Getting sober

I’m always early, maybe it is the fact that I am a Virgo, although, I don’t really believe in that. I think my anxious nature is truly caused by my anxiety and that is just a fact about me. I worry, another fact about me. This worry caused my earliness and even at my breaking point, I was still early for that, an overachiever.

To better define my breaking point, or at least one of them, I am referring to the time I attended my first AA meeting. Holding true and respecting the anonymity of it all I will describe this experience in as much detail as I can while still ensuring that those who might appear in this retelling have their identities protected. Also, I will do my best to retell it as I remember it, although, this point in my life it is hazy and I feel I am still piecing some of it together.

Before making the decision to attend my first Alcoholics Anonymous meeting I had to make the decision to quit drinking. My drinking career started at 12 and was intermixed with drugs and any other mind-altering substance that I could get my hands on. Things got bad then they got better, this seemed to be the pattern. I moved from place to place trying to outrun my problems, this worked for a little while until it didn’t. My habits always had a way of catching up with me. Finally, when things got bad, for the last time I had made the decision to try things differently. This was one that I came to quickly and slowly all at the same time, but that is a topic that I feel deserves a story of its own.

Arriving about forty-five minutes early, sick to my stomach from nerves, I quickly circled around to the area behind the building, thinking this would be a good place to chain-smoke cigarettes and bide my time until the meeting had started. This plan would have worked out well if I hadn’t accidentally pulled into the designated parking area behind the building. I knew it was the building as I pulled up, I don’t know what gave it away, probably had something to do with the 10 pm coffee and cigarettes that were being had by the six or so people standing, chatting out back around two dimly lit picnic tables.

I figured in that moment I had three options. Number one being, to leave and spare myself the embarrassment of having to try and fake my way through small talk to kill enough time before this thing started. Number two being, that I could wait in my car so that way I would, or rather, everyone would be spared from the awkward attempt at sober socialization. The third being, to suck up my pride and walk up to the group and figure out the rest as I went along.

Ultimately, I chose the third option, I figured I had already driven all the way out there and I was honestly scared to go home. I was scared to be alone with my thoughts and scared that I would drink again. Nights were difficult and this night was proving to be especially troublesome. I didn’t want to find out if I could make it through on my own because, I think, deep down I knew I wouldn’t.

Hesitantly, I approached the group. I stood to the side, eavesdropping, and trying to remain unseen. As I was listening in, I noticed genuine connection. People were talking to each other and taking the time to listen to one another, they were giving advice and catching up on life events. There was an older man probably in his sixties chatting with a guy around my age, they were talking about the younger man’s work situation. There was a group of three women. One of the women looked like she was reliving some of the style choices that she was inclined toward in the eighties. Another woman looked like a more athletic version of my third-grade teacher, Mrs. Birchard. The last woman looked completely normal which made me wonder why she was here. I tried to shake my judgement and continued to listen in an get my barring.

I then realized that the majority of the conversations that I have had with people up until this point were often shortsighted and fueled by drugs and alcohol. These inebriated conversations were comforting in their lack of substance because I knew I wouldn’t be able to let anyone down if the bar was set so low for all of those around. As I looked on I grew more and more uncomfortable. I grew envious, how were all of the other people around me so comfortable at talking and sharing themselves with another.

I wanted to leave. I looked at my phone to check the time. Upon looking up and seeing that there was still fifteen minutes to go before the meeting started, I finished my cigarette and was approached by a man in his early fifties.

“Hey,” Johnny said as he closed in, “I haven’t seen you here before.”

“It’s my first…” I wanted to speak but tears shuddered my words as my eyes began to fog and my throat began to feel tight. I had so much I wanted to say but I realized that I hadn’t quite contemplated the weight of all the secrets I was bearing.

“That’s OK,” Johnny said as more as the conversations around began to dampen and people took note of me, “you’re in the right place.”

“Thank you.” I was finally able to spit out. I don’t remember what was said from there on out but I do remember that I was proud to share the definition of insanity with him. “It is insane to attempt the same thing over and over again and expect a different result.” I confided in Johnny that I was tired of feeling insane. I would later learn that this was something that was said many times in the rooms of AA and that is probably why it was greeted with a chuckle from Johnny.

As we entered the meeting room my tears that I had managed to subdue began to come forward with more of a vengeance. I was fully sobbing now and unable to speak. As the meeting was underway and people were celebrating receiving chips of various lengths of time the secretary called out for anyone there for their first time to introduce themselves. As heads swiveled in my direction I continued to sob and was unable to raise my hand let alone introduce myself to this room of strangers. The secretary then approached me and brought me a shiny tin 24-hour coin and said, “welcome to your brand new life.” Which I remember thinking was corny and now know that there are endless corny lines that frequent the rooms of AA that I have grown to know and love.

I took the coin and held it firmly to keep my mind on anything to avoid the immense amount of self-pity that I was feeling at that moment. I heard people share stories that I saw myself in. I began to feel less alone.

The meeting came to an end and Johnny found me outside. He had just received a 30-day coin, which at that time seemed, to me, an impossible feat.

“Here,” Johnny handed me his red 30-day coin, “Hang on to this till you get your own.”

Stunned, I took it from him and did exactly that. I held onto it until I was able to earn my own.

Now, some 27 Months later I have still managed to maintain my sobriety. I think about Johnny still. He wasn’t so lucky he came in and out of the rooms until sometime last year when I saw him for the last time.

I was able to give that coin to another newcomer sometime ago. He taught me that and showed me kindness before I was able to see it for myself.