AA: My Journey Begins

One of the best vacations I ever took was a mixture of planning and serendipity. My partner was on the cusp of entering the final and restrictive stages of a terminal illness, and we decided to take a road trip through New England and Nova Scotia. We began our journey at home in Virginia, and elected to take the interstate highways as far as they would take us on Day One, and travel smaller highways and byways for the next two weeks. This strategy would take us well beyond places we could reach on day trips, and allow us to do some creative meandering from that point onward. Our trip exceeded our wildest expectations, and we found it exciting to prowl the countryside, never knowing where we would lay our sleepy heads each night.


On the journey through life, some of us blunder. Some of us stumble. And some of us try to control every aspect of the trip. For me, control needs to be used sparingly, like strong spices when cooking. When I try to control everything like the director of a play, I end up frustrated because things rarely work out as I envisioned anyway. Other people forget their lines and blocking when they are on my stage, and I wind up pulling my hair out instead of enjoying the show. This is a lesson I have learned only recently, and I still have my mulish moments and grow resentful when the world doesn't bend to my wishes.


In April I was bitch-slapped out of my self-directed gin-soaked world into the harsh reality of a hospital bed. I had known for years that I was an alcoholic, but didn't fret about it because - hey! - the bills were paid, the credit rating was excellent, and I thought I was actually able to control how much alcohol I consumed. I just chose to drink a lot and drink often. I drank at home, so I wasn't endangering anyone on the road, right? I still owned my home, held the title to my car, and hadn't been thrown in jail. Alcohol is legal, so I wasn't breaking any laws. The only problem I had with drinking was that the gin bottle became empty.


Oh, and I forgot to eat. When was there time? Life became a cycle of shaking martinis and passing out from exhaustion. It was exasperating that my body grew weary when deprived of regular healthy meals, yet I remained inexplicably overweight. If this is starting to look like an ugly picture, you're seeing more than I did at the time. But let's get back to the control issue. Here's how this alcoholic exhibited control...


When it seemed like I was having too many drinks, I switched to larger glasses. There, see, I only had three or four drinks! Not a big problem.


When the clerk at the liquor store started having my two jumbo bottles of gin on the counter waiting for me when I walked in, I started rotating visits among three different stores.


When I grew too tired and disinterested to clean house, I stopped inviting people over or answering the doorbell. Problem solved.


When I grew too weak to stand up long enough to shower thoroughly, I sat down on the built-in bench in the shower stall, and decided it was okay to shampoo my hair once a week. We Americans are overly concerned with personal cleanliness anyway, wasting water and electricity, right?


When I started having gnawing concerns about my health, I made sure I had my last will and testament in place. In fact, my last words to my hostess when I was being wheeled out of her home by paramedics were to tell her where my will and related legal documents could be found.


See how in control I was?


At the hospital I was diagnosed with severe dehydration, life-threatening anemia, and a liver the size of Texas. I answered all questions honestly regarding my health, lifestyle, and alcoholism. Four days, several invasive tests, and many blood transfusions later I was released from the hospital. I came home and shook a martini.


After my second night of drinking, I woke up the next day and admitted defeat. I could not control my consumption of alcohol. I had no intention of drinking when I came home from the hospital, but I was the moth and gin was the flame. I logged onto the internet and located AA meetings in my area. Finally, with the smallest grain of hope in my mind, I did not drink before I went to my first AA meeting several days later, and I have not had one sip of alcohol since then through the grace of God.


I realize now that I didn't do this alone. God was my silent partner, but I certainly wasn't ready to admit it at the time, so he (or she) stayed in the background but still directed my path once I made the humiliating admission to myself that I was powerless over alcohol. I'd like to write more about this later, but let's get back to the control issue for the moment.


In AA, through listening to others in meetings and reading literature, I learned that most (if not all) alcoholics crave control. Since we lack control over alcohol, we seek it in inappropriate ways. I've learned that control is elusive at best, and is most likely imaginary. I am slowly and sometimes painfully learning to accept that God's will works much better in keeping the world on its axis than mine ever will. Boy, it's much calmer and more relaxing now that I'm not in charge of the world! It was a big responsibility, one I accepted with alacrity, but now I've moved over to the passenger seat. Funny how I have more time to get to know people, help others, and (I'll admit it) talk to God. I don't pray for specific things like money, security, or a pony. I just ask him do his will and direct me on the right path. I've put away the map, just like my partner and I did so many years ago on our memorable trip up north.


I don't recall our first or last day of that trip when my partner and I were on a mission to see how fast we could get to our destination. I do remember each day in between when we slowed down, folded up the map, and rolled down the windows.