Chapter 14: Freedom From Bondage
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Young when she joined, this A.A. believes her serious drinking was the
result of even deeper defects. She here tells how she was set free.
THE MENTAL TWISTS that led up to my drinking began many years before I ever
took a drink, for I am one of those whose history proves conclusively that
my drinking was "a symptom of a deeper trouble."
Through my efforts to get down to "causes and conditions," I stand convinced
that my emotional illness has been present from my earliest recollection. I
never did react normally to any emotional situation.
The medical profession would probably tell me I was conditioned for
alcoholism by the things that happened to me in my childhood. And I am sure
they would be right as far as they go, but A.A. has taught me I am the
result of the way I reacted to what happened to me as a child. What is much
more important to me, A.A. has taught me that through this simple program I
may experience a change in this reaction pattern that will indeed allow me
to "match calamity with serenity."
I am an only child, and when I was seven years old, my parents separated
very abruptly. With no explanation at all, I was taken from my home in
Florida to my grandparents' home in the Midwest. My mother went to a nearby
city to go to work, and my father, being an alcoholic, simply went. My
grandparents were strangers to me, and I remember being lonely, terrified,
and hurt.
In time I concluded that the reason I was hurt was because I loved my
parents, and I concluded too that if I never allowed myself to love anybody
or anything, I could never be hurt again. It became second nature for me to
remove myself from anything or anybody I found myself growing fond of.
I grew up believing that one had to be totally self-sufficient, for one
never dared to depend on another human being. I thought that life was a
pretty simple thing; you simply made a plan for your life, based upon what
you wanted, and then you needed only the courage to go after it.
In my late teens I became aware of emotions I'd not counted on:
restlessness, anxiety, fear, and insecurity. The only kind of security I
knew anything about at that time was material security, and I decided that
all these intruders would vanish immediately if I only had a lot of money.
The solution seemed very simple. With cold calculation I set about to marry
a fortune, and I did. The only thing this changed, however, was my
surroundings, and it was soon apparent that I could have the same
uncomfortable emotions with an unlimited checking account that I could on a
working girl's salary. It was impossible for me to say at this point, "Maybe
there is something wrong with my philosophy," and I certainly couldn't say,
"Maybe there is something wrong with me." It was not difficult to convince
myself that my unhappiness was the fault of the man I had married, and I
divorced him at the end of a year.
I was married and divorced again before I was twenty-three years old, this
time to a prominent band leader---a man whom many women wanted. I thought
this would give me ego-strength, make me feel wanted and secure, and
alleviate my fears, but again nothing changed inside me.
The only importance in all of this lies in the fact that at twenty-three I
was just as sick as I was at thirty-three, when I came into A.A. But at that
time I apparently had no place to go because I had no drinking problem. Had
I been able to explain to a psychiatrist the feelings of futility,
loneliness, and lack of purpose that had come with my deep sense of personal
failure at this second divorce, I seriously doubt that the good doctor could
have convinced me that my basic problem was a spiritual hunger. But A.A. has
shown me this was the truth. And if I had been able to turn to the church at
that time, I'm sure they could not have convinced me my sickness was within
myself, nor could they have shown me that the need for self-analysis that
A.A. has shown me is vital if I am to survive. So I had no place to go. Or
so it seemed to me.
I wasn't afraid of anything or anybody after I learned about drinking. It
seemed right from the beginning that with liquor I could always retire to my
little private world where nobody could get at me to hurt me. It seems only
fitting that when I did finally fall in love, it was with an alcoholic, and
for the next ten years I progressed as rapidly as is humanly possible into
what I believed to be hopeless alcoholism.
During this time, our country was at war. My husband was soon in uniform and
among the first to go overseas. My reaction to this was identical in many
respects to my reaction to my parents leaving me when I was seven.
Apparently I'd grown physically at the customary rate of speed, and I had
acquired an average amount of intellectual training in the intervening
years, but there had been no emotional maturity at all. I realize now that
this phase of my development had been arrested by my obsession with self,
and my egocentricity had reached such proportions that adjustment to
anything outside my personal control was impossible for me. I was immersed
in self-pity and resentment, and the only people who would support this
attitude or who I felt understood me at all were the people I met in bars
and the ones who drank as I did. It became more and more necessary to escape
from myself, for my remorse and shame and humiliation when I was sober were
almost unbearable. The only way existence was possible was through
rationalizing every sober moment and drinking myself into complete oblivion
as often as I could.
My husband eventually returned, but it was not long until we realized we
could not continue our marriage. By this time I was such a past master at
kidding myself that I had convinced myself I had sat out a war and waited
for this man to come home, and as my resentment and self-pity grew, so did
my alcoholic problem.
The last three years of my drinking, I drank on my job. The amount of
willpower exercised to control my drinking during working hours, diverted
into a constructive channel, would have made me president, and the thing
that made the willpower possible was the knowledge that as soon as my day
was finished, I could drink myself into oblivion. Inside, though, I was
scared to death, for I knew that the time was coming (and it couldn't be too
remote) when I would be unable to hold that job. Maybe I wouldn't be able to
hold any job, or maybe (and this was my greatest fear) I wouldn't care
whether I had a job or not. I knew it didn't make any difference where I
started, the inevitable end would be skid row. The only reality I was able
to face had been forced upon me by its very repetition---I had to drink; and
I didn't know there was anything in the world that could be done about it.
About this time I met a man who had three motherless children, and it seemed
that might be a solution to my problem. I had never had a child, and this
had been a satisfactory excuse many times for my drinking. It seemed logical
to me that if I married this man and took the responsibility for these
children that they would keep me sober. So I married again. This caused the
comment from one of my A.A. friends, when I told my story after coming into
the program, that I had always been a cinch for the program, for I had
always been interested in mankind---I was just taking them one man at a
time.
The children kept me sober for darn near three weeks, and then I went on
(please God) my last drunk. I've heard it said many times in A.A., "There is
just one good drunk in every alcoholic's life, and that's the one that
brings us into A.A.," and I believe it. I was drunk for sixty days around
the clock, and it was my intention, literally, to drink myself to death. I
went to jail for the second time during this period for being drunk in an
automobile. I was the only person I'd ever known personally who had ever
been in jail, and I guess it is most significant that the second time was
less humiliating than the first had been.
Finally, in desperation, my family appealed to a doctor for advice, and he
suggested A.A. The people who came knew immediately I was in no condition to
absorb anything of the program. I was put in a sanitarium to be defogged so
that I could make a sober decision about this for myself. It was here that I
realized for the first time that as a practicing alcoholic, I had no rights.
Society can do anything it chooses to do with me when I am drunk, and I
can't lift a finger to stop it, for I forfeit my rights through the simple
expedient of becoming a menace to myself and to the people around me. With
deep shame came the knowledge too that I had lived with no sense of social
obligation nor had I known the meaning of moral responsibility to my fellow
men.
I attended my first A.A. meeting eight years ago, and it is with deep
gratitude that I'm able to say I've not had a drink since that time and that
I take no sedation or narcotics, for this program is to me one of complete
sobriety. I no longer need to escape reality. One of the truly great things
A.A. has taught me is that reality too has two sides; I had only known the
grim side before the program, but now I had a chance to learn about the
pleasant side as well.
The A.A. members who sponsored me told me in the beginning that I would not
only find a way to live without having a drink, but that I would find a way
to live without wanting to drink, if I would do these simple things. They
said if you want to know how this program works, take the first word of your
question---the "H" is for honesty, the "O" is for open-mindedness, and the
"W" is for willingness; these our Big Book calls the essentials of recovery.
They suggested that I study the A.A. book and try to take the Twelve Steps
according to the explanation in the book, for it was their opinion that the
application of these principles in our daily lives will get us sober and
keep us sober. I believe this, and I believe too that it is equally
impossible to practice these principles to the best of our ability, a day at
a time, and still drink, for I don't think the two things are compatible.
I had no problem admitting I was powerless over alcohol, and I certainly
agreed that my life had become unmanageable. I had only to reflect on the
contrast between the plans I made so many years ago for my life with what
really happened to know I couldn't manage my life drunk or sober. A.A.
taught me that willingness to believe was enough for a beginning. It's been
true in my case, nor could I quarrel with "restore us to sanity," for my
actions drunk or sober, before A.A., were not those of a sane person. My
desire to be honest with myself made it necessary for me to realize that my
thinking was irrational. It had to be, or I could not have justified my
erratic behavior as I did. I've been benefited from a dictionary definition
I found that reads: "Rationalization is giving a socially acceptable reason
for socially unacceptable behavior, and socially unacceptable behavior is a
form of insanity."
A.A. has given me serenity of purpose and the opportunity to be of service
to God and to the people about me, and I am serene in the infallibility of
these principles that provide the fulfillment of my purpose.
A.A. has taught me that I will have peace of mind in exact proportion to the
peace of mind I bring into the lives of other people, and it has taught me
the true meaning of the admonition "happy are ye who know these things and
do them." For the only problems I have now are those I create when I break
out in a rash of self-will.
I've had many spiritual experiences since I've been in the program, many
that I didn't recognize right away, for I'm slow to learn and they take many
guises. But one was so outstanding that I like to pass it on whenever I can
in the hope that it will help someone else as it has me. As I said earlier,
self-pity and resentment were my constant companions, and my inventory began
to look like a thirty-three-year diary, for I seemed to have a resentment
against everybody I had ever known. All but one "responded to the treatment"
suggested in the steps immediately, but this one posed a problem.
This resentment was against my mother, and it was twenty-five years old. I
had fed it, fanned it, and nurtured it as one might a delicate child, and it
had become as much a part of me as my breathing. It had provided me with
excuses for my lack of education, my marital failures, personal failures,
inadequacy, and of course, my alcoholism. And though I really thought I had
been willing to part with it, now I knew I was reluctant to let it go.
One morning, however, I realized I had to get rid of it, for my reprieve was
running out, and if I didn't get rid of it I was going to get drunk---and I
didn't want to get drunk anymore. In my prayers that morning I asked God to
point out to me some way to be free of this resentment. During the day, a
friend of mine brought me some magazines to take to a hospital group I was
interested in. I looked through them. A banner across one featured an
article by a prominent clergyman in which I caught the word resentment.
He said, in effect: "If you have a resentment you want to be free of, if you
will pray for the person or the thing that you resent, you will be free. If
you will ask in prayer for everything you want for yourself to be given to
them, you will be free. Ask for their health, their prosperity, their
happiness, and you will be free. Even when you don't really want it for them
and your prayers are only words and you don't mean it, go ahead and do it
anyway. Do it every day for two weeks, and you will find you have come to
mean it and to want it for them, and you will realize that where you used to
feel bitterness and resentment and hatred, you now feel compassionate
understanding and love."
It worked for me then, and it has worked for me many times since, and it
will work for me every time I am willing to work it. Sometimes I have to ask
first for the willingness, but it too always comes. And because it works for
me, it will work for all of us. As another great man says, "The only real
freedom a human being can ever know is doing what you ought to do because
you want to do it."
This great experience that released me from the bondage of hatred and
replaced it with love is really just another affirmation of the truth I
know: I get everything I need in Alcoholics Anonymous---and everything I
need I get. And when I get what I need, I invariably find that it was just
what I wanted all the time.