My Reprimands – Part 2

Misdemeanor#2 – 2012: The Arrest, Drunk Tank and Post Drunk Tank:

  • Drove with one hand over one eye and was pulled over a mile from my destination when I was informed that a concerned motorist had reported me. I didn’t bother attempting to lie. I was hammered. I knew I was screwed and didn’t even cry…at first.
  • Upon entering the drunk tank once again, I cried to the booking officer that I didn’t belong with the women already in there and that I was scared.  These chicks looked like they’d throw down if anyone even looked in their direction. I was officially “locked up” with them as they were recounting their arrest stories. Charges? Domestic violence. Yep, nailed it.

Did I just say domestic violence charges? That I did.  Cue another “winner” I dated.

He most definitely was NOT a fixture at the time because I was married, however, I HAD been in contact with him a few months prior.  Hubs wasn’t home, it was Halloween and I was drunk. Not only was I a frequent drunk driver but I was also a drunk dialer/texter. When you consider all the brain cells I have killed in my day, I don’t know how, but my memory is a vault and I can remember certain things most people don’t. I still knew his number and that particular night, I had texted him the following:

Hey, do you remember when we went to that Halloween party as white trash?…

…you could have gone as yourself.

Totally unacceptable. Really. Now that I am a mother, I feel sorry for calling him names. If some dude was calling MY daughters names like that, I just might find myself back in jail.

Kidding. I’m not one to use physical violence to send a message. No, I use my words and sometimes my words are mean-spirited and unkind. He’s still someone’s son and I remember her being so nice, quiet and meek.  He used to be a little boy and she was his mama…and down deep, he still was…a mama’s boy. Let’s be honest, most guys are.

But Pixie, you are calling him a selfish dick in this blog. Doesn’t that go against everything you just said in the paragraphs above?

That I am, no it doesn’t and I’ll tell you why.

But before I do, I want to make something VERY clear: by no means do I think single mothers aren’t capable of teaching their sons how to be men and/or how to treat women. If daddy isn’t around, and for whatever reason, she remains single and/or there is no positive male role model in his life, then she has no choice and will do the best she can because that’s what us moms do, the best we can.

But his parents WERE married and his dad BARELY worked soooooooooo…he was around. Calling him a selfish dick is not meant to be a reflection of her as a mother.  It wasn’t her job to teach her son how to treat girls/ women.

It was his dad’s.

That’s on him.

#morewillberevealed

P.S. Oh yeah, I mentioned “post drunk tank.” It was a Friday morning, I was supposed to be at work but instead I was on the phone with the bail bonds biz up the road. After getting my car out of impound, my husband went back to work and I went home to drink the rest of the opened bottle from the night before; because…why wouldn’t I?

My Reprimands – Part 1

Reprimand(s) #1 – February, 2005: The Drunk Tank and Community Service

Highlights from my arrest, “the tank” and community service:

  • Cuffed and chatting* with the young officer en route to jail, I BRIEFLY considered offering him sexual favors if he’d just let me go.** I said brief, people. It was like “I wonder if…” and then a half-second later I heard my OROD’s voice say in my head “don’t be an idiot, Pixie” and that was the end of that. 
  • Shared the drunk tank with a tweeker who kept banging her head on the concrete wall, biting her tongue till it bled and who I graciously allowed to braid my hair to pass the time.
  • Sought refuge in a corner as two women came close to brawling over the barely private toilet stall.
  • Upon my release, being the sentimental person that I am, I asked if I could keep my inmate tags they cut off my wrist.  The woman behind the glass window gave me disapproving eyes and I sheepishly bid her farewell, never thinking I’d find myself there again. You know what happened next. Just a mere couple hours later, I drank, got behind the wheel again, got pulled over and drove away with a warning. Un-frickin-believable.

Oh yeah, I mentioned community service. This experience was pretty uneventful. The only memory worth mentioning from my time in the orange vest was the small exchange I had with the supervising officer on day 1 and it went a little something like this:

Officer: Alright ya’ll, grab your gloves and let’s get to work.

Me: Shoot, I need gloves?  I didn’t bring any.

Officer: You came to community service with no gloves? How many days you got?

Me: um, 2?

Officer: That’s all? Hey everybody! White girl here only has 2 days.

Me: (in my head) oh no, now I have a target on my back.

(Eye roll) So dramatic. Know what, I’m gonna say it: That’s some racist, judgmental, white privalege bullshit right there. All of it. On MY part. I mean, wow. Shame on me!

The Reprimand Series

img_0299All of that drunk driving I did eventually caught up to me…twice…and I’m lucky it wasn’t more. I’m even luckier that I never seriously harmed or killed anybody or myself.  I swallowed the bitter pills of humiliation and shame as I went about righting my wrongs. I paid my debts to society by spending a couple weekends in community service AND jail with a bunch of lost and abandoned souls serving out their short to long term sentences or awaiting trial.  The next few posts will feature highlights from my days in the orange vest, my time “on the inside” and the guys that were, what one might consider, “fixtures” in my life during those times.

That being said, I do need to say something:  I already told you, this series is MOSTLY for me. I know I previously mentioned that I wasn’t going to be very nice in my “reprimands” to my DUDS but let’s be honest, I’m also really good at blowing hot air.  It’s likely they’ll never read this anyway, but my conscience simply won’t allow me to unload it all. Truth be told, I no longer care what they think about me but I DO care about the impact my words MIGHT have on them or others they care about. Anonymous or not, it’s not right for me to go there.

Don’t be mistaken though. I’m still going to go there. Just not THERE there.

#morewillberevealed

Reprimands Avoided – Bullets (with Balls)

Reprimands (past): Many bullets dodged and not enough lessons learned.

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If there was a game called “let’s see who can dodge the most bullets in life,” it’s safe to say I would have dominated the competition. Remember that cheating scandal I told you about and how I was mad that I wasn’t in on the scheme? Bullet dodged.

Engaging in illicit activities along side my boyfriend with a stranger outside a club in a foreign country, losing my wallet and running into said stranger on the beach who had it with nothing missing? Several bullets dodged (seriously, you have no idea.)

Calling in “sick” from the night before or showing up late, still drunk with booze on my breath, misplaced or lost keys, and emotional outbursts without ever getting fired from my job? Obscene amounts of bullets dodged.

Countless times drunk behind the wheel and damaging multiple cars with no severe consequences? How about getting pulled over for expired tags 20 minutes after drinking bloody marys just after my release from my 1st of 4 stints in a women’s detention facility and driving off with a warning? Undeserving bullets dodged.

Then there’s my revolving door of friendships. I have run with various circles through different phases of my life and I’m surprised I didn’t do more wreckage.  I’m sure I did, I just don’t know to what extent and I cringe at the thought. But what matters today is how I show up for my friends now because I actually need and value these special people in my life.

But listen…just because I don’t drink anymore, doesn’t mean my “assism” went away. I can still be a total asshole sometimes. I’ve just gotten a lot better at recognizing it and making amends when necessary.

I came close to losing best friends at different times during my drinking career but came the closest to losing my OROD a couple times IN recovery.* No alcohol involved, imagine that. 

And finally, all the years, emotional energy and money squandered dating and/or pining over degenerate losers or playboys. Most of them were selfish with no moral compass who used me for their own financial gain and/or didn’t see me for more than a sex object. However, I still managed to redeem my stellar credit score and avoided a handful of STDs and/or getting pregnant with their children.

SO.MANY.BULLETS.DODGED.

Clearly, I got away with a lot of “shtuff” and needed to repeat the same mistakes over and over to end up in all the low places that I did, physically, emotionally, mentally and spiritually.

I needed things to work out the way I didn’t think they should have, in order for me to have the life I never thought I would have…

and you know what that means…

#morewillberevealed

Skeletons 2.10 – My Recovery Revealed

Revealed: It is easy to let up on the spiritual program of action and rest on our laurels. We are headed for trouble if we do, for alcohol is a subtle foe. (BB, pg. 85)

I remember the first time I learned that smoking pot was a no no in the rooms of AA. I was sitting in a meeting watching a woman take a 1 year token after “smoking a little weed” when she had 11 years of sobriety. I distinctly remember a part of her share when she received the coin and it went SOMETHING like this:

“I really don’t want to be taking this token but my sponsor is making me.”

I thought it was ridiculous that a woman with long term sobriety would be “told” she had to start over.  I still do and that’s why I kept my “marijuana maintenance” a secret for so long.

Revealing my chosen recovery path here isn’t the first time I have “outed myself.”  I came clean to 3 friends a few years ago and their response was this:

“So? The only requirement for membership is the desire to stop drinking.”

I couldn’t believe my ears and was really happy they were so accepting.  It was a game changer for me and I started going back to meetings. But not regularly. Even though no one else in the program knew, I still felt like an outcast and “not worthy” to be an active member of AA. Down deep, I really did want to be “a part of” but I was convinced I wouldn’t be accepted if I fully “got honest.” I felt like a fraud and it was killing me inside. I could NOT let go of the idea that I didn’t belong because I WAS doing it “my way” and if they knew, they’d shun me. Why?

MY ego.

MY pride.

MY will.

I was IN self and entering the danger zone, distancing myself further and further from the program.

I’ve heard countless times that people who smoke weed in recovery end up leaving AA altogether and eventually turn to the drink when life gets really hard. And guess what…

…it did. I left AA and then shit got real. And guess what…

…the thought to drink DID occur to me a handful of times. But did I?

#morewillberevealed

Skeletons 2.6 – My Recovery Reflection

Reflection (past) – Hindsight is 20/20…sometimes.

Sooooooo, we decided it was a good idea to go to Las Vegas for Easter weekend 2018.

Easter weekend in Sin City? Really? Yes!

With the kids? You know it! 

We needed to get out of dodge. H suggested it and I said “hey, why not?” The plan was to leave early on Saturday morning so we had 2 full days. But something unexpected happened two  days before that threw me into panic mode: We had a lice infestation!!!

I will spare you the series of events that occurred but let’s just say, once again, I made things harder for myself than they needed to be. It was a cluster of a situation that had me crying and cursing myself left and right.  We were close to canceling the trip all together but I gave in and spent every pretty penny’s worth on having it professionally removed.

The whole debacle was such an ordeal, I knew there was no way we were going to get on the road as early as we had planned. And we didn’t. We lost the entire day and arrived to our hotel at 5pm.  Not the end of the world, at least we made it and enjoyed the time we did get to spend there. However, I’ve reflected a bunch since we’ve been back and have caught myself doing a little bit of self-loathing with the “coulda, woulda, shouda” statements (CWSs):

I could have saved a lot of time, stress and tears if I would have just slowed down instead of rushing to fix the problem without informing myself better. I should have done more research.

If only I could have seen them sooner; then I would have taken care of it before it got so bad. I should have been paying closer attention. 

I might as well be incarcerated for the mental beat downs I give myself, I mean damn.  When this pattern of “stinking thinking” takes over, I cannot be in the present or of any use to others. So, figuratively speaking, I am a prisoner…..in my own mind.

This “stinking thinking” has carried over into my recovery life as well. I remember somewhere in year #3, S2 said “I wish you would put as much time into your spiritual fitness as you do your physical fitness.” Looking back, I totally get what she was saying.

As I reflect on the first 4 years of my recovery, the CSWs held me back from taking it really seriously.  Plus, I still hadn’t accepted my alcoholism and was l”ugging around my baggage,” so I always had one foot in and one foot out when it came to AA.  I thought it was all about drinking and as long as I wasn’t drinking, I was good.

Other than that, as I talked about in Part 1, my recovery from March 2012 – December 2016, was half-assed, at best. I did the bare minimum of what was required of me and flew below the radar. I did not “get in the middle” and fall in love with the program or the fellowship. Sure, I was cordial and even made friends but I was basically faking the whole recovery part. Yep, I celebrated each year abstinent from alcohol, took dirty tokens, and celebrated others do the same. I was genuine when it came to my interactions, most of my shares, the relationships I formed and what I brought to the table in terms of friendship. However, everything pertaining to recovery was pretty much an act but I wasn’t just fooling others, I was fooling myself as well.

In hindsight, if I HAD taken suggestions and done everything that I coulda, woulda shoulda done in early recovery, I probably would have “gotten it” sooner and not wasted the first 4 years at war with myself, delaying my growth as a spiritual woman in recovery.

But see, I thought that if I revealed my BBS to others, they would think less of me, internalizing this negative belief that I am automatically less deserving of all the gifts that recovery and working with others had to offer.

After 2 more years of meetings (still on again, off again,) a lot of prayer, self reflection, and candid discussions with people in and outside the rooms of AA, I now have a different perspective so here’s what I think of that:

FTS!

#morewillberevealed

Skeletons 2.5 – My Reactions

In this next post, I talk about my interventions. Fun times, you guys, fun times. If you think you may have a drinking problem, well, I hate to break it to ya but you’re probably right. Wanna chat about it? I’m all ears! You can find me on Insta @myrecoveryrevealed.


Reactions:  Life is 10% what happens to you and 90% how you react to it. – Charles R. Swindoll

I’m just going to cut to the chase and give you a clear picture of what alcohol does to an lush like me: a codependent, conflict adverse, people-pleaser who needs validation, praise, love and acceptance from others.  In my right mind, I’d never be on a rooftop as my family approached my front door below shouting “WTF are you doing here!?!?”

And on that note…

Intervention #1, 2006

My sister was concerned after I shared something disturbing that had recently happened when I was drunk at another dude’s house. Disturbing enough that she felt it was time to get my parents involved. All 3 of them arrived unannounced. They calmly expressed their worries and asked why I was so sad. I recall mentioning not being pleased with my life, depression and whatever else I could muster up for self seeking pity. There was no drama. I knew I had a drinking problem and I was going to fix it! I set out to stay sober for 2 weeks. And I did. But then I drank again and I picked up right where I left off.  I moved back in with my parents for the last time and gained SOME control but not for very long (per usual.)

Fast forward 6 years and being the go-getter that I am, I managed to set myself up for not 1 but 2 interventions, back to back. Go meeeeee!

Intervention #2, February – 2012

In Skeletons 2.3, I talk about the events leading up to this quiet sit down. It was just H & my parents and once again, I was calm and not defensive. But that’s only because I was sober and knew I couldn’t talk my way out of this one. H asked me why I kept relapsing and my dad said “it’s the disease.” At that moment, I silently agreed with him. I had no defense of my own. Once again, I solemnly swore that I was done drinking for good.

I told you what happened next: I took advantage of a stop to run into the store for something and prepared for Intervention #3 by smuggling 2 mini-boxes of wine back home for a rainy day.

Ha! Just kidding…

Intervention #3, the very next day

I also share details about what led up to this showdown in the post before this.

You know that horrible feeling when you wake up in the morning, not remembering something troubling from the day before and then you do remember and your heart sinks? I’ve experienced this feeling many times, post drinking and not drinking. Well this was my reality waking up and I was going into panic mode. My mom was talking to my mother in law and what I was hearing discussed enraged me. I was chain smoking in the back yard trying to think of a reasonable excuse I could give my boss as to why I had to miss work.

I was beside myself.  Not because I was being forced to quit drinking. I knew I needed help stopping, just not the level of help everyone else was insisting I needed.  I was trying to tell them all this but no one was listening to me.  I knew how much I was drinking and it sure as heck did not require a supervised detox and 30 days at an inpatient facility.

But again, no one was listening to me.  My internal need to be heard was being ignored and I felt like I was being a treated like a child; and in their defense, I WAS acting like a child. 100%.  My power of choice had been taken away from me and I was throwing a tantrum.

Long story short, I did end up getting evaluated.  Physically, I was not in withdrawal and I answered all questions honestly, thus determining what I already knew: I qualified for outpatient rehab, NOT inpatient and I started the 6 week program right away.


When I have shared scathing details of my drinking career, people say “I can’t picture you acting like that.” I know. Neither can I.  When I think about all the questionable and downright unacceptable things I did, it almost feels like a completely different life. Like, I can’t even fathom living that way.

But I did. I lived it. And by the grace of God, I lived long enough to come out the other side. However, my inability to take responsibility made it take much longer than it should have. As a result, I stayed a dry drunk until December, 2016.

It wasn’t long after then that God said “alright, she’s ready now” and intervened in a way that made me question EVERYTHING.

Including my chosen path of recovery.

#morewillberevealed

Skeletons 2.4 – My Recovery Responsibility

Responsibility (past & present): “Every time you point a finger at someone, there are 3 pointing back at you.” – Unknown

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My favorite game to play in life has been the “blame game.”  Call me out and my go to reaction is more often than not, defensive. I will go to great lengths to justify my mistakes by giving you all the details that led up to them, paying particular attention to who and/or what I could blame so that I am pardoned. Not only that, if push comes to shove, I’ll even unfold my laundry list of transgressions made against me to deflect from the issue at hand.

Before taking my recovery and spirituality seriously, my former ROD had pointed this out to me in the past and I would deny it tooth and nail. I didn’t even understand this concept and had never heard of the “blame game” until S2 related to me when discussing marital quarrels. She stated that she too could be a “blamer” and that it’s important to be mindful of our roles in difficult circumstances and to not shift blame where it doesn’t belong.

When it came to my drinking, everyone, everything and what happened around me was to blame and I carried that mindset with me into recovery.  If I couldn’t make a meeting, complete some step work or get together with my sponsor or friends in the program, you best believe I had an excuse as to why and it was almost always not my fault. Unless backed into a corner, I straight up could never take responsibility for ANYTHING.

If I didn’t know better today, I’d likely still be twisting, manipulating and lying my way out of everything so long as it didn’t hurt anyone and I felt assured that I remained in your good graces. Old habits die hard and I have to really check myself at times.

Truth be told, my recovery suffered because of all the lies I was telling myself: I’m not an alcoholic, I’m not like everyone else, they need help more than me, everyone else made do (or not do) it, I will drink again someday, blah blah freakin’ blah.

There’s only one person to blame for my slow progress and spiritual growth in recovery. All I had to do was take a look in the mirror to see the real person at fault:

Me, myself and I.

#morewillberevealed

Skeletons 2.3 – My Reckonings

Reckonings: “Most of us have been unwilling to admit we were real alcoholics. No person likes to think he is bodily and mentally different from his fellows.” (BB, Chapter 3)

I’ll never forget a moment that occurred while talking to my sister on the phone.  It was day time. I was drunk and I remember saying to her something to the effect of:

“I’m an alcoholic and I don’t care.”

I’m quite certain that is the only time I ever called myself an alcoholic and actually believed it. Up until the end of 2016, every other time was me just saying it because that’s what I knew everyone wanted to hear and/or expected me to say. In my heart of hearts, I knew I was but I just could NOT accept it.

“My name is Pixie and I’m an alcoholic.” And in my head I’d say next , “not really but I’ll pretend to be so you leave me alone.”

I was no stranger to AA, however. See, with every sizable consequence that could have been way worse, I’d go to a meeting or 2 just to compare myself to “real alcys” and prove to myself that I wasn’t AS bad as them. They say to look for the similarities and not the differences. Not this stubbon ass. Alllllll I cared about were finding the differences and if there were similarities,  I still deemed them way worse off than me. The most common comparison I made was to my uncle. Alcohol literally ruined and essentially took his life. Surely if that’s what alcoholism looks like, then I am definitely not an alcoholic…right?

What I didn’t realize for a long time is that I was exactly like him, I just hadn’t gotten there yet.

My fierce pride and obsession to drink was so strong, it took several interventions to finally get me to agree to seek treatment (albeit, kicking and screaming.) And not the type of interventions you see in those reality shows where there’s a professional interventionist and letters being read by a big group of people. (Yes, I compared myself to those people too.) Just a handful of concerned loved ones telling me I needed to fix the drinking problem before it got worse.

Fact: alcoholism is a progressive disease. It always gets worse the longer one stays in their addiction. And mine did. Aside from an intervention I did on myself in 2011, I was intervened on 3 other times. I was hanging out with one of my exes, drunk on the rooftop in the middle of a work day just minutes before the first one happened. The final two interventions occurred 6 years later on a weekend – one on Saturday and the other the very next day.  I was in legal trouble and wasn’t supposed to be drinking anymore. But I just could.not.stop and I’d get sick thrills out of hiding it when I could. So having that attractive image in your mind, try to get a a clearer visual as I relive it for you here:

#1: Saturday –  The previous night, I went to see a movie with one of my besties*, aka one of my peas in my pod (PEA) or my ride or dies (ROD.) I was 3-4 drinks in before meeting up with her and she could totally tell.  We had a bite to eat and then went to see a romance movie. I passed out and missed all but 5 minutes of the flick.** PEA had to wake me up and I drove home…without my phone.  I don’t know how I made it home safely or how H didn’t smell the booze on my breath in the morning.  We went to an early breakfast and I couldn’t believe I was pulling it off.

By now I had realized my phone was at the theater so I retrieved it on my way to my parents house where I was meeting my other bestie at the time, ROD, to go for a hike. Shortly after my arrival, H called my parents’ house requesting a sit down. PEA had texted him to make sure I had gotten home safe because I didn’t text her when I got home.

I can’t remember my exact demeanor but I’m pretty sure I wasn’t freaking out.  In fact, I know I was relatively calm because as soon as I met eyes with my  ROD, it was almost as if I didn’t have to tell her. She knew. I knew. We both knew. Yep, I had been caught red handed and it was right then that I laughed my last laugh for a good long while when ROD looked at me and said “I’m going to call you RED from here on out.”

Hence the birth of a new nickname and boy did I take it seriously. So much that on the way home, I was sent into the grocery store to get I don’t even know what, and I had the balls to buy 2 more mini-boxed wines and smuggle them inside my purse for the next day. Nevermind the fact that I had literally JUST promised my husband and parents that I would never do that again.

#2: Sunday – H went into the office, as he did often early in his career. I figured I had enough time to drink one and sober up before he got home. But then he called and told me to get to an AA meeting. My car was at my parents house so I asked a dear friend for a ride and she gladly obliged.*** I went to a meeting buzzed, came home and continued to drink a little more. Next thing I know, H is home and he smells it. He leaves to get our parents and so what did I do? I left too.

It was about 2 hours and an ultimatum later and I was back in my living room telling H and our parents how much I hated my life. It was decided that I was to stay at my parents house that night and get evaluated for rehab the following morning.  Can you imagine what that must have looked like?

Have you ever experienced….

…..taking a dog for a walk when they don’t feel like it?

…..trying to give a cat a bath when it’s in their natural instinct to clean themselves?

…..dressing a toddler who is does not want to stay put?

Yeah, it kinda went down like that.

#morewillberevealed

Skeletons 2.2 – My Recovery Review

**Disclaimer: As mentioned in my About page, this blog has morphed into way more than I thought it would and with that has come various changes over the past 3 years.  I’ve updated the Home Page again to reflect those changes so check it out if the mood strikes you. Wanna know what else I did? Obviously that’s a rhetorical question because of course I’m going to tell you whether you want me to or not. I decided that I need to stop insisting new readers start reading from the very beginning; especially since this is Part 2. If I need to reference something from Part 1, then I’ll just link to the referenced post; just like I did in this paragraph…twice…and in the first sentence under this disclaimer. Simple as that.**


Review: KISS – “Keep it simple, stupid.” 

In June (2018), it will be 20 years since I graduated high school. As you already know (and if you are a new reader, then you don’t; so if you are curious, click the link above) I became ASB President by default, not by choice. This meant I gave the graduation speech and (basically) was committed to planning our future reunion(s).

Since I planned the 10 year* I knew that everyone would automatically assume I would do the 20 year and I was procrastinating. Honestly? I really didn’t want the responsibility. I was kiiiiinda hoping it would just pass by and no one would say anything. But I know myself. I would then feel bad and start wondering if I let people down, sending me into this little rabbit hole of “what ifs” and “what do they think of me? do they hate me now?” etc.**

But someone did say something and the more I mulled it over I was like “fine! I’ll do it. But not by myself,” and an event page was formed.

Here’s the thing though: I’m a perfectionist.  I obsess over finite details and complicate things for myself. Like, all the time.  So now my brain is getting a smidge overwhelmed by all the ideas popping into my head – the whos/whats/whens/wheres of the whole thing. The more I think about it, the more daunting the task feels….ugh…but then I remember, ‘oh yeah, I’m not doing it alone this time. Phewf!’

The same can be said about my recovery. I have made it waayyyyyyy harder for myself than it needs to be because I have allowed myself to believe that I need to do it perfectly. I have listened to countless shares in the rooms of AA and compared my recovery to everyone else’s. Simply put: my alcoholic, codependent, perfectionist thinking told me that my recovery had to look a certain way in order to be considered (and remain) sober.

Before I dive in to WTF happened that finally forced me into a new life without alcohol, let’s review what my recovery has looked like, as laid out in Part 1; in chronological order, of course :

  • I’ve been lying and carrying around a BBS and I’m sick of it.
  • I was a dry drunk feeling bad for not working a program the AA way and have spent a lot of time reconsidering my AA membership.
  • Aside from a few relapses in early recovery, I have reverted to thinking and behaving alcoholically and I blame this on not having put more effort into my program up until this past year. So essentially, I’m still a “newcomer” and learning.
  • I’ve had 2 sponsors in recovery and have been without one for almost 3 years. I’m not 100% clear on if I will ever have one again. I also have never sponsored anyone and I’m not 100% clear on whether I ever will either. (THAT has changed. You should follow me so you can keep reading!)
  • At (almost) 9 years in recovery and being in and out of the rooms of AA the entire time, I have discovered two things:
  1. I AM an alcoholic and should stay sober from alcohol for the rest of my life and
  2. While I no longer have a drinking problem, I still have a thinking problem that I need to work on with the help of outside support.

Just like becoming ASB president wasn’t my choice, neither was recovery.  I started my journey with support, but wanted to be left alone.

Just like not wanting any part of planning the reunion, I wanted no part of recovery. I started my journey alone but didn’t want to be IN it alone.

And just like accepting my role as reunion planner took me a few, so did accepting my alcoholism. I started my journey a hard core dry drunk and the road to getting where I am today has felt somewhat lonely.

By choice.

That is, until God intervened.

#morewillberevealed