Step by Step - Группа авторов

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      Instead of retiring, I decided to make a career change and took to travel writing. Soon, I experienced something called “writer's block" and found one way to get through it was with a couple of shots of vodka. It worked, so I imbibed on an increasingly frequent basis.

      It wasn't long until I was sneaking bottles into the house and hiding them in filing cabinets. My wife noticed liquor on my breath and that at times I walked funny.

      She and I talked, and in order to bring peace to the family, I agreed to go to an AA meeting. The idea of me being an alcoholic was preposterous—alcoholics sleep in gutters, pass out on barroom floors, are homeless, and drive on the wrong side of the road. Me? An alcoholic at sixty? With my record? Ridiculous!

      I became more careful about hiding bottles and kept my bottle of mouthwash handy. My wife was as smart as I was, and she soon caught up with me. I agreed that I would go to a rehab facility if I continued to drink.

      One day I came home from the store with my spanking new bottle and when the garage door opened, there was an empty vodka bottle standing in the doorway to the house.

      That was it—off to rehab.

      It was there that my stereotype of an alcoholic changed. I met professional people, bright young folks, others around sixty—a random sample of humanity. Here, it was comfortable for me to admit that I had become an alcoholic—I had acquired the disease.

      But I held to the belief that this was like a bad cold—if you blow your nose often enough, it will go away. Also I am different from most people—I know how to handle problems. This thinking, in time, led to a relapse, in spite of working the Steps with my sponsor and attending meetings.

      Then came a period of sobriety and another relapse—and another.

      One morning I booted up my computer to continue working on an article. I sat there. My brain was like a bowl of mush. Nothing happened. Then I thought of other things that were happening. My golf handicap had risen to thirty-nine. My kids had caught me drinking out of a bottle at Thanksgiving, and I had missed several writers' club meetings.

      The dawn came. I had hit bottom.

      I found a home group and began to attend regularly and collect chips: thirty days, sixty days, ninety days and finally one year. I fastened these to my key chain, and each time I started my car I reminded myself of my disease. Sobriety feels great and my writing career is in full swing.

      I have added a third thing in life that is certain. Death and taxes are two. The third thing that is certain is that if you are an alcoholic, you are an alcoholic.

      D.D.

      Vacaville, California

      September 2007 (PO Box 1980)

      In January 2005, I was asked to leave a rehab before completing the twenty-eight days. My counselor said I was disruptive and unwilling to get honest.

      Alone, cold and angry, I reluctantly headed for a meeting at a nearby psych center, thinking maybe there would be coffee and donuts. I was late, and everyone stared at me. I began to walk out in fear, but someone yelled, “Get back in here! ” He was a scruffy-looking, long-bearded biker type. As everyone looked on, he asked, “Are you an alcoholic?”

      Terrified, I answered, “Yes.”

      “Then sit down! ”

      At the end of the meeting. I raised my hand and said, “My name is ChrisAnthony. I'm an alcoholic, I'm hungry, I have nowhere to go, I'm scared, and I really want to drink. But if I do, I'll die.”

      Within seconds, the whole group surrounded me, hugging me, giving me phone numbers, and offering me jobs and places to live. Only an hour before I was homeless. The more they offered to help, the harder I cried.

      Within two months, I had my own apartment, and my sponsor, Patrick (the same scruffy-looking biker), hired me as his electrician's helper and gave me a station wagon. That meeting became my home group, and I did electrical work for the members.

      Patrick passed away a few years ago, but not before I did my Fourth Step with him. My First Step was done at that first meeting, when he asked, “Are you an alcoholic?” and I answered, “Yes.”

      ChrisAnthony S.

      Bronx, New York

      “Came to believe that a

       Power greater than ourselves

       could restore us to sanity.”

      “Few indeed are the practicing alcoholics who have any idea how irrational they are, or seeing their irrationality, can bear to face it,” says the essay on Step Two in the “Twelve and Twelve.” “Yet no alcoholic, soberly analyzing his destructive behavior, whether the destruction fell on the dining-room furniture or on his own moral fiber, can claim ‘soundness of mind’ for himself.”

      “I was a little surprised that my dictionary defined (sanity) as the quality of being sound of mind, sound of judgment, reasonable and rational in one's thoughts,” an AA wrote in a 1982 Grapevine story. “As I sat there mulling over the definition, an idea occurred to me: ‘This is what I'm to be restored to—sound, reasonable, rational thinking.’”

      AAs writing about Step Two in the pages of Grapevine have often mentioned similar revelations—of how insane they were while drinking and of being restored to sanity through the working of the remaining Steps of the program.

      Still others focus on the first part of the Step—about coming to grips with the idea of “a Power greater than ourselves.”

      It is not a requirement of membership that we believe anything, the “Twelve and Twelve” assures us. “All you really need is a truly open mind.” And members can make AA itself their Higher Power, the book goes on to suggest.

      Any AA—believer, atheist or agnostic—can take this Step, as the following stories reveal. “The hoop you have to jump through is a lot wider than you think.”

      December 1944

      Having taken the First Step of the AA program by admitting that we were powerless over alcohol, we were confronted with Step Two: “Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.”

      This Second Step is often referred to as the first spiritual Step; but is it or the subsequent Steps any more spiritual than Step One? Is not anything spiritual which tends toward elevating us to the best and highest type of human being we are capable of becoming?

      The Second Step contains the crux of the AA method of getting well: it shows us how to expel that little streak of insanity which caused so many relapses into debauchery long after the normal drinker would have shrunk from another drink. This twisted kind of thinking is eliminated by faith in a Power greater than ourselves.

      The question which naturally arises in the newcomer's mind is: “How can I acquire enough faith to get well?” The road to faith is by taking all Twelve Steps. Faith is acquired by working for it; it is retained by continuous use of the Twelve Steps.

      One who has gained faith in this greater Power finds such faith reflected toward himself. To the alcoholic this means faith that he will not take the first, fatal drink. But that is not all, for soon we learn that in some mysterious way our whole lives have been changed, our thinking changed, and our desires as well. Finally the realization comes that we no longer drink—because we just don't want to.

      The greater Power now becomes for us the court of final appeal. Those harsh judgments of people, conditions and so on, which we made in the past, are now left to this court. This is the way to tolerance. Our own ideals, aims and ambitions are also submitted. This leads to progress, and it is by progressing that we become—and remain—well.

      Horace C.

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