[honeydumplin]

And, it is now that I realize that this is not some sort of story where a guy finds A.A. at the end, and all of the characters live happily ever after. It is more like a conviction. A confession. A winding stream that goes in several different directions, and by the force of gravity must search for its lowest geographical point in order to flow into the unknown. The only way that this can happen, is through spontaneous revelation. In order to ever see the water moving, and hopefully the river, valleys will have to be exposed in a manner in which that the two of us can see them. Otherwise, it is merely the boring diary of a drunk.

--Anonymous



Talking to people, making minor chit chat, without of course, injecting outspoken opinions and biases, has been difficult for me. I have over the years gone from the extreme of offending everyone, to being so afraid of having what I have said critiqued, I've responded by saying absolutely nothing, often wondering how one could have had such an inferiority complex, and yet unapalogetically think I was the center of attention.

Getting my head around, say the last fifteen years, of being out there, has not only been difficult to remember, but also to look at honestly. It scares me. It isn't so much that I am shameful, or feel guilty about it, it's that I'm fearful of what you might think about me. This is what prevents me, and others, from doing the step. And yet somehow, getting through that fear is exactly what moves us along. Taking the rest of step five did this.

No matter the setting, the occasion, or method used to self-medicate, it was usually a journey into a few hours of euphoric bliss, followed by a depressive withdrawal, an isolation, and a continual anxiety which would last all the way up until the next mind-altering substance could be consumed.

If that following morning did anything, it twisted the knot even more. It had occurred to me that I'd got what I wanted, and had absolutely no idea what to do next. Pacing didn't help. The urinalysis was dirty. My naval career was finished. A few weeks later at a Captain's Mast in Maine, it was stated that my service record looked like twenty miles of bad road. And I started to see myself become that which I vowed to never be.


I've been kind of stuck lately. It is like, in retrospect, a point
has been reached in which I can no longer easily disclose the
facts in this play by play format of what actually happened.
I heard a guy in a talk one night say that it isn't what we do
as much as why he did it. In other words, for me personally,
this step isn't a walk in park regurgitation of past events as it
is an on and off again resistance to dissemble truth and reason.

And too, there was a temptation to skip ahead to the more
recent, to venture into the defects, to start making amends.
Not only can I not afford such a luxury, but I can't help but
to question what good would come from such an approach.
I digress though. Why delve into the hypothetical, when I
need to just work, and yes live, the step, and try and release
this need I have had, and continue to deal with, in blaming
everyone else under the sun for my own transgressions.

Let it be said also, that I may fall short of the mark. But
that too, changes for the better, when a genuine effort is
made to do the work. Somehow, some way, either through
the help of what I hear what is said in a meeting, or through
working with a sponsor, changes can happen. What is important
for me to remember, is that doing nothing doesn't change anything.

Subsequently, I constantly find it hard to believe how
revealing, the program becomes when I'm honestly working
the fifth step. Those moments where the pen is in
hand and I stop sugar-coating my wrongs to myself.
Stuff begins to unfold so quickly that I can't write fast
enough to keep up.

Even though, I had on occasion, with little regard
for others, been able to walk away from relationships, there
was something about the one with wife number two that I
couldn't let go of. Maybe it was the fact that the two of us
were a match made directly from the throngs of depravity,
from which was borne an allowance to bask in the
co-dependance of our own demons, excusing each other
to wallow in our own fog of complacency when we
weren't walking shoulder to shoulder in a down trodden
path to victim-hood.


Not just to drugs and alcohol, but to discord, distrust. I've
always been somewhat of a skeptic, but somewhere along
the line, I started to dislike almost everybody. I loved to hate
people. If I did, in fact, like someone, it was because I hadn't
been around them long enough to pick them apart piece by
piece. And if you had something I wanted, I could put up
with nearly anything. Even though I couldn't stand the
hypocrisy, I could come up with rationale to justify the
smoke screen of so-called social grace frequently extended
to those of whom I commonly abhorred.

Since my old car had blown a head gasket, and my wife had
what I wanted, which was a vehicle home, I participated in
a common charade quite consistent with the charlatan that I was,
and packed up her car to head down the imaginary
yellow-brick road, where we were sure to find a new beginning,
back home with family and friends who'd greet us
with open arms. What awaited was a rude awakening.