excerpted from Young, Sober & Free
Desperately, she sought to fill the emptiness in herself.
I had one of these normal childhood's. You know the kind--full of loneliness, insecurity, remorse, fear, low self-esteem, and dishonesty. But I didn't have all those fancy words for it before. All I remember was that it felt BAD. No, I want an orphan or product of a broken home. Actually I don't know what made me a drunk, but it happened.
My Dad was in the service and our family moved around a lot. There was fear in my childhood about making new friends. "What do I say?" "How do I act?' I remember the constant feeling of NOT KNOWING. I did not know the people around me, I did not know what to do so they'd like me, and I did not know what was wrong with me. I always had the feeling that I was not as good as they were. I would see people around me and they were so smart. All the girls who wore pretty flowered dresses made me jealous. Those girls seemed to be able to talk to the boys and I couldn't. Everyone around seemed to have friends but me.
Near the end of the fourth grade, the most popular boy in the class had a party, and everyone was invited. Even me. I recall sitting on the porch and slowly, slowly all the kids went around to the side of the house. One other girl and I were left. The vague idea that the other kids were playing kissy-kissy was in my head. Then two boys walked up to us. One boy said to the other, "She's cute, let's get her." And they took the other girl off to the side, too. Ad I sat munching on a cupcake, I remember that it didn't feel too good on the inside. I began to hate those people then, but I still wanted them to like me.
At our family get-togethers there would usually be lots of liquor. I would always sneak a little. somehow I knew that the secret to being happy was hidden inside that bottle. Later I would tell my friends about how much I drank; a little lying would make me O.K. I just wanted to be loved. This search for approval didn't always lead me astray; in one way, it helped.
Where I lived there was a group of people, Palmer Drug abuse program much like AA, except that most of the people were from ages 13 to 25. Here was a group of people who seemed to be happy and didn't even get high. I couldn't believe it. They had a loving, fantastic fellowship and I wanted to be a part of it. They said it was simple: just make meetings, stay sober, and follow these Twelve Steps.
However, the part about the Twelve Steps was something else. Hell, I didn't really have a problem, why should I follow these steps? They said the answers to all my troubles were there, that's why. So for the next six months I stuck with this program, stayed sober, and followed the Third Step--a little. Most of the Steps I followed by picking and choosing. I eliminated Step One, the Fifth Step inventory and whatever else seemed uncomfortble.
With this attitude, I made little progress. and I still had this big hole inside me that needed to be filled. After all that time of sticking around and staying straight, I still wanted to get high. "I could," I conned myself, "I was in control." Little by; little, I stopped hanging around people in the program and started to run around with people who got high. And sure enough, it was only a matter of time till I got high.
Then details of the next; half-year are not important. All that is important is that I spent a lot of time and energy trying to fill the hole inside that refused to be filled. I was sure that the secret still was inside that bottle but I could never find it. Bottle after bottle was poured into that hole deep inside me, never filling it, never patching me up.
Misery surrounded me. I could not understand why nothing worked. Finally, when I had about a half-a-day's dryness, I went to a meeting, a special, twenty-four-hour-long meeting. Everyone around me laughed and had fun. They felt loved and serene and I felt one inch tall. I sat through that entire meeting feeling BAD. The hole inside was still there.
A couple of days later something happened. I got sick and tired of being sick and tired. I didn't want that feeling anymore. The people with the faded blue jeans and the empty look had nothing to offer me anymore. I had to made a decision, and it was that the program and sobriety were the only way. For the first time in my life, I was willing to do anything to stay sober, and I knew I couldn't do it ;by myself. I had to have a Higher Power.
With my back up against a wall, I gave ;up. Finally I said it and meant it: "I can't, He can, I think I'll let Him." The fight was over, the struggle gone and that felt GOOD. The result was that the hole inside me was getting patched. Where booze had poured right through that emptiness, love, sharing, and caring started to stick around the edges. The more I got, the more that stuck, until finally the hole was filled.
For the next two and one-half ;years, good replaced bad, openness replaced mad, happy replaced sad. The Twelve Steps have been my path to completeness. There still are hard times because growing is usually painful but I am neither alone nor empty. We do this together. ALL our steps say WE, not I.
The things I have learned are indescribable, but let me mention few:
These things are available to all of us. I know that my completeness can be your completeness, too. We are here, hoping for you, praying that you find some of what we have, and we will help you patch your soul, repairing all the holes in your life.