Absent Alcoholics

An acquaintance spotted a missing friend the other day, a guy who’d been absent from the 12-step meetings for a few years. At first this acquaintance didn’t recognize him because the fellow was disheveled, had put on a lot of weight, and had signs of dissipation in his face. This was totally out of character because this man was known for taking pride in his appearance. He was a regular at the gym and ran several times a week.

A while back someone said he’d been seen drinking at a bar in a nearby city. On this occasion they’d spoken to the man. But he was so drunk he couldn't respond.

These sad events transpire in recovery. Someone will be attending meetings. They might even be doing service work. Then, all of a sudden, they're no longer coming around. Of course the obvious is to think that maybe the person has relapsed. And while this is not always the case, it’s a reasonable assumption.

What does one do when he encounters someone who’s relapsed? Do we try to take them to detox?. Or do we take them to a meeting? It probably depends upon the person. If they seem receptive then we help.

We must remember our mandate: carry the message to those who still suffer.

Recently, one of our managers encountered a ghost from the past, someone he’d used drugs and hustled with some thirty years earlier. The man expressed surprise that our manager was prospering and alive, because the last time he saw him he was running and gunning his way down the path to destruction.

As they caught up with the lost years the manager explained that he’d been in recovery since the early nineties and that life had completely changed. He said he’d had the same job for nearly 20 years, had a circle of loving friends, and lived a relatively happy life. He said someone had once commented that his life seemed “boring.” But he told his friend he preferred boring to the insanity of having his door kicked in by the police, to sleeping on cold jailhouse floors, or working on prison chain gangs.

As the two reminisced, they discovered that several mutual friends had died from either drinking and drugging or a bad lifestyle.

When our manager shared this encounter with me he said he was grateful to be one of the lucky ones who’d been saved by the 12-step programs. He said if he hadn’t gotten sober he would be in an unmarked grave in a prison cemetery as had his friends who never had the opportunity to walk through the doors of recovery.

Indeed those of us who find sobriety are in the lucky minority of those who’ve been spared the miserable existence of living day-to-day trying to satisfy our addictions with another drink or fix.

Recovery transforms us into new beings.

The other day I saw a sports figure on television, a man I had once considered very arrogant, begin to develop some humility. This man is well known in sports circles. He is accomplished in many areas of the sports world. He is a champion in the sport he has selected. But he is not a popular champion because he is viewed by many as egotistical and arrogant.

However, he suffered a serious illness about a year ago. The buzz in the sports world was that he might never compete again. However, after major surgery, he recuperated and started training to regain his title. His quest succeeded. Even though he met one of the toughest opponents of his career, he succeeded in regaining his crown.

When interviewed after the site before the announcer could ask him any questions he made a telling comment. He profusely thanked his wife and family, his doctor, trainer and his teammates for the support they gave him during his recovery. What he said was in stark contrast to his previous post fight statement. After the last fight he had berated his sponsor and made some other tasteless remarks. In my mind his latest comments showed that he had opened the door to humility.

As a recovering person I learn lessons when I see things like this. I know that for many years, early in my disease, I would get beat up by my addiction and end up homeless or in jail. But after a few months or years locked up, I would forget how far down I had gone. My health would return, I would regain my senses, and all the pain and misery would recede far into the background. Had I learned humility, I might not have returned to my addictions.

I believe that arrogance is the opposite of humility. And I believe that arrogance is linked tightly to the ego. And the ego is what separates us from the rest of the human race. One of the things I have learned since entering recovery in 1991 is that part of staying sober is the process of rejoining the human race. When I was in my disease, I thought I was an outlaw, that I was different, that I was unique. The only thing unique about me was that I had probably screwed my life up more than most of the people I knew.

I have heard it said in the rooms of recovery that to have humility is to be teachable. When we are in a state of humility, we are fertile ground for the seeds of recovery. We can hear the truths that are uttered at the podium. We can learn from the pain and misery we hear in the voices of those who have relapsed. We can fill our cup with the lessons of sobriety.

I received a message from God the other day while sitting alone in a doctor’s waiting room. I was there to be fitted for a new kind of brace to help me deal with neuropathy which has affected my right foot for the past few years. I was semi-immersed in self-pity because I’ve always been a runner and racquet ball player and now my aerobic activity is restricted to riding a bicycle or using an elliptical machine. Alcohol and drug use from years ago is beginning to affect my nervous system.

But my funk was quickly dispelled by the next three patients who came in the door.

First in was a man who was only able to walk only with help from his lady companion, who was smiling and encouraging him as he labored into the lobby.

Next came a man with crutches who had braces on both legs. He seemed very angry and was short with the receptionist as she gave instructions on how to fill in the form. As he left the counter he apologized for his attitude, saying, “It’s not about you.”

The third patient, a developmentally disabled young boy with braces, was pushed into the office in a wheelchair by his parents. He seemed frightened and was communicating his fear to his parents, who were attempting to calm him.

My self-pity – like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon – transformed into gratitude for the relative health I still enjoy. God often reminds me to enjoy what I still have…

When I first heard the word surrender after I went into recovery it was an alien concept. I wasn’t one of those wimps who would surrender to anything. I’d fall on my sword first! The idea ran counter to everything I’d learned, everything I believe in. After all, I was the guy who fought the law for much of his life, even though the law always won.

It seemed like I trusted no one when I was young. I rebelled against everything. Because of the rampant alcoholism in my family I trusted no one's decisions but my own. And instead of surrendering to others ideas, I went to the ultimate and thought I controlled everything. And of course this idea is what caused me to spend a lot of time incarcerated for many years trying to figure out how to successfully drink alcohol and shoot heroin.

The real surrender for me came the day in 1991 that I admitted I was an alcoholic. For some reason, I always held out against the idea of admitting I was powerless over alcohol or anything else. I knew I was powerless over heroin and other drugs. But I only admitted that because I kept getting arrested repeatedly for drug offenses. I think I held out alcohol as being okay because it was legal. Yet, every time I drank I went out the door one more time because when I drank for a week or so I ended up with a needle in my arm.

It’s still a fascinating revelation to me that from the day I admitted I was an alcoholic my life changed. Even though it might sound like some 12 step drama, it was an epiphany when I finally admitted that I was an alcoholic. Although it didn't happen in a flash of lightning, my life entered a path I'd never been on before. All of a sudden I was in acceptance about many things I‘d denied. I no longer had any reservations. There wasn't a molecule in my body that said "oh, you can have a drink."

I had over and over again proved to myself that I was powerless over alcohol, and any other alien substance I put into my body.

Surrender opened the door for me to the promises of the 12 step program. Once I surrendered life started on a different path. Never again was I to go to jail, be homeless, jobless, or living in a muck of despair.

Even though it seems counter-intuitive, my surrender set me free to do a lot of wonderful things with my life.

A client became the focus of a group session recently over a cell phone he’d found on a job site. Instead of turning the phone in or looking for the owner, he viewed the phone as “kind of a gift from God,” an unexpected divine blessing.

Of course group members immediately began pointing out that what he interpreted as a “gift from God,” was simple petty theft on his part. Attempting to defend himself, he said he became honest about the phone after he was confronted by the program manager. That's when he admitted he shouldn’t have kept the phone.

As the group moved along someone pointed out that honesty once one is caught is not honesty. Honesty would have been to turn the phone in immediately.

And the real issue is much larger than a stolen cell phone. When an addict starts behaving dishonestly, where does it go from there? Sooner or later when we start lying to ourselves we might ultimately arrive at the big lie: am I going to be able to use this meth? Can I shoot this heroin? Can I drink this 40? Can I smoke a few joints without it affecting my life?

Our disease creeps on us incrementally. First I'll do something small, then something larger. Pretty soon all bets are off. Sooner or later, if I start being dishonest I’ll one day tell myself the big lie: that I can somehow successfully use drugs or alcohol again.

So, for that reason, we make a big deal of transgressions here at TLC. We are dogmatic about imposing consequences when clients steal, lie, or act out. For the whole thing is about when am I going to use again? And our behavior patterns are one of the best indicators.

So what happened to our client who stole the cell phone? He ended up getting moved back 30 days in his program. And he says that this small setback makes him realize how important it is to be honest.

A client asked to speak to me in private after yesterday’s employment meeting, saying he had “serious issues” to discuss with me. I took him to a separate part of the employment area and asked what was on his mind.

He started off with a list of complaints, one of them being lack of help from the employment staff. Since we were in the employment office I summoned the manager and asked him to join the discussion.

It turned out the client was unhappy because the manager hadn’t spent enough time helping him with his resume – nor had he found the client a job in IT, which he said was his profession. When I told him the employment office provided leads, rather than guaranteed jobs, the client seemed to understand.

As the conversation evolved the client had several other complaints, including the condition of his feet which he said he injured on a construction job when he’d “stepped on nails.” I told him if he was in serious pain we’d drive him to a hospital or urgent care as we were not a medical facility.

He declined, then went on with his complaints, to which I listened for a while. The conversation ended abruptly a few minutes later though when the man asked me, very seriously, if I’d received the “two trillion dollars,” he’d recently donated to the program.

At that moment I understood his real issue and excused myself for a meeting I had to attend.