I haven’t been to a twelve-step meeting in a long time, but whenever someone comes to me with a problem, that’s where I tell them to go. If they keep choosing addicts for partners and don’t know why, I ask if they’ve ever been to Alanon? If they have difficulty making a living, I suggest they check out Underearners Anonymous. Can’t stop chomping burritos at midnight, clearly OA (Overeaters Anonymous) is the answer. You’re watching porn and yanking away ‘til you’re raw as a pound of chopped sirloin, you probably need the sex program (SAA), and if you’re falling in love with every waitress who smiles when she brings your coffee, then SLAA (Sex and Love Addicts) may be your only hope.
I’m not sure why people seek me out when they or their loved ones are struggling, but I guess it has to do with the life I’ve lived and what I’ve been through. Doesn’t seem to matter that I’m off the recovery circuit, in fact, I think it helps that I’m not a book-thumper, as twelve-step zealots are known. I do have a lot of reverence for the program, but it’s conflicted reverence. Why? Why do I want to send everyone to meetings, but refuse to go anywhere near one myself?
First off, I just don’t like joining or group think. If there’s a boat full of people rowing in the same direction, I pick up an oar, face the other way, and start paddling as fast as I can. I know I need to belong. I just don’t want to belong. I also don’t like sitting in a room where people are reading out of a book like it’s the bible-- unless, of course, the book was written by me. To be perfectly honest, I just don’t want to sit in a church basement for an hour and listen to people share their “experience, strength and hope.” I was just about to write-- “But even though I have no desire to go to meetings, it is never lost on me that AA saved my life.” But now I wonder, did it really?
I talk a lot about my addiction in my posts, and most of you are familiar with my story. But just in case you’re not, I was a mess. Dope had me and it would not let go. I went to meetings throughout my addiction, but I was always high and the truth is I didn’t want them to work because I didn’t want to stop using. I don’t know if you’re familiar with the 12-steps, but I think they should add another one, and that step is, “Are you willing to get better?” I was not, and so it didn’t work. Not the meetings, not the twenty rehabs, not fatherhood, not anything. It took a catastrophic illness, where I was literally tied to a hospital bed to get me to stop shooting drugs. It was after all that, that I started going to meetings in earnest. I went every day, sometimes twice. I got a sponsor, I took commitments, I worked the steps. It took four years for me to wean off Methadone, and it was the love and support of my fellow addicts that saw me through. The program hadn’t changed. I had.
Does that mean the program “saved my life?” I don’t know. My ex-wife was able to do it on her own, but I needed all the support I could get. And to be honest, who cares if it saved my life; one thing I know it absolutely did do is teach me how to live.
The way I move through the world has been changed by my experience with twelve step programs. I did not mean for this to happen. It just kind of seeped in. I naturally ask “what’s my part?” in any given situation. I say to people “more will be revealed” and mean it. I believe the serenity prayer is a profound piece of wisdom and I inherently sense when I need the “serenity to accept the things I cannot change” and when I need the “courage to change the thing I can.” But the most helpful thing I learned over my years in meetings is to live my life in consultation. I no longer take bold or impulsive actions until I have talked it over with someone. Someone who cares for me, knows my story and whose opinion I value and trust. What a gift to be able to call my friends Peter or David and read them an email I just wrote in reaction to a rough work situation or painful bump with a woman. To give them a chance to say, “Don’t send that” or "You sound a little crazy” or "What is it you're really trying to say?" To know to reach out and ask for help when I am struggling with the complex, mysterious and challenging vagaries of being human.
And now, having said all that, I just want to sing the program’s praises. Tell you how it is the great spiritual movement of the 20th century. That the way it functions is revolutionary, and that if all governments adopted some version of the 12-traditions, the world would be a better place. I want to tell you that one addict helping another is a holy communion, and that when I was lost and at my lowest, I found succor and salvation in the rooms. Just don’t call and ask me to go to a meeting tonight, ‘cause I’m going to say no.
Actually, I did say yes recently. I went to an OA meeting at the drug and alcohol center in West Hollywood to support a friend. It was classic: community center room, partitioned walls, folding chairs, six souls present on a Tuesday afternoon.
We went around the room and introduced ourselves. The literature was read and the leader shared. She spoke about sobriety, her struggles, and how easy it is to lose our way. As she talked, I felt myself take a big exhale. I didn't relate to the specifics of what she was saying, but her vulnerability softened me. I can't say I felt like I was home, but I did feel like I was at a friend's house. A friend I hadn’t seen in a while.
There was some extra time at the end, so, I raised my hand. I told them I didn't struggle with food but had other addictions, and that for the last several years I'd sworn off meetings even though rooms like this had saved my life. That I had done a lot of things and been a lot of places and this was the only one I knew where you got to raise your hand, say your name, admit that you were a total disaster who kept hurting themselves over and over in the same way and have everyone say "wonderful, we love you!"
Then, an interesting woman carrying a bag full of canned goods and wearing a down jacket on an eighty-degree day, went on a rant about her living situation until the timer rang. Someone read the traditions and we passed around the basket for the seventh. I put a few bucks in.
This is eloquent. Every day is a run down an alley, hoping it doesn’t end in a wall too high to climb.
You used to do drugs? Oh my God I had no idea. Well good thing you quit buddy that stuff is no good for ya. Sure I'm glad I never got into that junk. I've heard of people shooting crack with lemon juice. Now that's pretty crazy! I can't imagine. lol.