The theme of tonight's meeting -- in both the speaker's story and the members' shares -- was the phenomenon of craving. In other words, the physical deathgrip hold of alcohol on the body.
The speaker's story was very visceral; he spoke about the fact that he drank under any and all circumstances. He had alcohol stashed in every room of his house. He could not survive past a few hours without some alcohol in his body. Many members shared about experiencing the very same thing, including one woman who would arise on her livingroom sofa, having passed out, and would begin to drink as soon as she came to so that she wouldn't have to experience the devastating effects of withdrawal.
I became physically enslaved to the power of alcohol by the time I was 20 yrs old. I drank almost daily and, on some days, almost hourly. The sorority house in my apartment complex had a soda machine in which one slot was stocked with cans of Bush beer. On my way to class, I would pop my 2 quarters into the machine so I could chug-a-lug a beer in order to just walk upright for class. That is, if I made it to class. I had extreme panic if a class was longer than 70 minutes and sometimes never returned from the break, heading straight to the bar just off campus or to a friend's apartment or with anyone really who would supply me for that moment. On the weekend, I usually arose from having passed out on a floor or a sofa at the last party I'd been to and would search for plastic cups that still had beer remaining in them in order to combat any possible withdrawal symptoms. It didn't matter if the beer was piss-warm. It didn't matter that someone else had drank from the cup and could've slobbered in it. On really desperate, pathetic mornings it didn't matter if someone had put their cigarette out in it. I'd just fish it out 1st.
The physicality of my alcoholism was part of a continuous, vicious cycle that was coupled with my panic attacks. It really was a chicken or the egg first debate. I'd drink excessively, arise with a hangover and the beginning signs of a panic attack and so I'd drink to head those off, and when the effects of the alcohol would begin to wear off, the panic symptoms creeped in, and then more alcohol consumption and so on, and so on ... At my worst, I could not even tolerate to experience being without a buzz. To take more than a 20 minute ride in the car required at least 2-3 beers or a huge vodka-infused cocktail. And forget bridges. The moment I approached the entrance to one, I'd begin to hyperventilate and soon learned that it would require a substantial buzz to get me across it.
The first job I had I was a live-in supervisor of a group home. Right after I'd give the ladies their breakfast and they'd be picked up by the van to go to their day program, I'd have my first drink of the day. If I had to be on duty for when they arrived home, I'd have put down at least a 6-pack to get me ready and then would periodically sneak down to my apartment during the shift to re-fuel. It is still a mystery to this day how I functioned well enough to actually provide adequate care and to not have been fired.
Drinking for me was as constant and vital to my daily living as breathing. There was no activity or time period that didn't include alcohol. I frequently took baths, because I would have panic symptoms taking a shower and could not stand to be in an enclosed space for that long; a beer or cocktail would be sitting on the floor within arms reach of the bathtub. A cooler was permanently in my car, stocked regularly with beer. Pints of vodka or rum or tequila could be found in the glove compartment. 5ths of vodka in the trunk. All social activities required the pre-pre drinking alone, followed by the pre-drinking with one or two friends, followed by the actual drinking with a group, followed by the post-gathering drinking and then the wee hours of the morning til I passed out drinking.
And here's the miracle for each of us: somehow, somewhere in the midst of the ever-deepening quicksand of alcohol, a hand is extended out of seemingly nowhere to pull us out. Tonight's speaker referred to it as "grace". Some say "God". For others, "Higher Power." This is what many call their spiritual awakening. Whatever label this aspect of the cycle gets, it is clear that it is not one-way. Those of us longing for recovery recognize that the hand is there to help and we extend ours back to receive the help. Others who are still suffering and have not made it to the rooms of AA continue to sink. Some never rise back to the surface.
It is with deep gratitude that I had the sense to grab on and be pulled out.
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