“Things were going really good, man. I mean, I felt good, you know? I finally got my old job back, the wife moved back in with me, the kids were happy that we were all living under the same roof… life was getting back to normal again.”
Fred made his recovery meeting 3-4 times per week. He even did some service work for the fellowship, making coffee for the members each Wednesday evening. He didn’t share very often in meetings, but when he did – it was most always on-point and filled with a deep sense of gratitude for being sober. He was one of those people who never had much to say, but when he spoke – people leaned forward and listened intently.
No one had seen Fred for several weeks. A few members who stayed in contact with him during this time relayed the message that he was busy with work, which was the reason for his absence from the rooms. But just a month shy of celebrating two years of sobriety, he was picked up for a DUI on his way home one evening.
Turns out that he’d gone back out drinking a few weeks before. During that time he lost his job, yet again. Except this time, probably for good. His wife and children moved back in with her parents, again. He lost his driving privileges, again. And he spent several days in jail before someone finally posted bail for him.
“I’m such an idiot,” he said.
That may or may not be true. But one thing is certain: Fred is an alcoholic.
Some folks learn early on. If they get sober and become active in a program long enough (and by “active” I mean making meetings, staying connected with other members, and working with a seasoned sponsor) they will see the progressive state that alcoholism is. I’ve been sober for a while, been to a lot of meetings over the years. I’ve yet to hear anyone who came back in from a relapse say, “But damn, it was worth it.”
What I do hear every single time is:
“It was like I never stopped. In fact, it was even worse than before. I was drinking from the time I woke up until the time I passed out in the bed at night.”
Birds fly. Fish swim. Alcoholics drink alcohol. It’s just what we do. That’s why it is a disease, a progressive disease that never gets better, but only worse.
“I thought I had finally gotten a handle on it, you know? I figured that maybe I’d learned my lesson, that I could control and manage it.”
Fred apparently never read page 30 in the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous. Or if he did, he refused to believe it to be true.
We learned that we had to fully concede to our innermost selves that we were alcoholics. This is the first step in recovery. The delusion that we are like other people, or presently may be, has to be smashed. We alcoholics are men and women who have lost the ability to control our drinking. We know that no real alcoholic ever recovers control. All of us felt at times that we were regaining control, but such intervals – usually brief – were inevitably followed by still less control, which led in time to pitiful and incomprehensible demoralization. We are convinced to a man that alcoholics of our type are in the grip of a progressive illness. Over any considerable period we get worse, never better.”
Here’s the thing about relapse, and not all of the time, granted, but most of the time: the alcoholic relapses mentally and emotionally prior to relapsing physically. He becomes complacent. He stops making meetings. He gradually begins to disconnect from the group of recovering alcoholics that he’s a part of, including his sponsor. This state of isolation, he feels, is good. Maybe he doesn’t need to bother with investing so much time in his sobriety. The emotional detachment is well underway.
Not long after that, the old attitudes and behaviors start creeping back into his life. Drinking buddies that he’s not seen or heard from in years – suddenly they’re back in the picture.
He’s already relapsed. It’s just that the alcohol has yet to be consumed. But when it does, and it certainly will happen, every last penny of his misery and suffering will be refunded back to him. And then some.
It was incredibly difficult for me to get sober. The last two years of my active drinking were filled with daily promises to myself that tomorrow will be the day! Starting tomorrow, I’m cutting back. Or starting tomorrow, I’m putting the plug in the jug, for good. I know those lies we tell ourselves very well. Yet despite all of the evidences in our histories at our disposal, some of buy into the lie that this time it is going to be completely different. And it often is. But in an even-worse kind of way.
That’s why some of us have come to realize this one incredibly important aspect of our sobriety:
It is simply much easier to stay sober than to get sober.
Former Blackout Artist 