This post is another in a series of occasional installments describing my early recovery and treatment for alcoholism.  The most recent prior post is  Discharged from rehab to ER, Demerol, and recovery angels.   Others may be found in the “My Links” section on the left side of my blog.

Every time I post one of these stories I hear from a number of people struggling with alcoholism/addiction – either theirs or someone in their family, or a friend.  I am grateful for that as my primary purpose in telling my story is to carry a message of hope to others who are dealing with this killer disease. It also makes me humble and grateful for my sober life and recovery program. I mention AA periodically, as that is what works for me.  I am neither a spokesperson nor do I represent AA in any manner. There are many ways to get clean and sober and it doesn’t matter to me how one achieves this. 

Simply put, this is my story.  I appreciate you taking time to read it. 

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Christmas Day in an Oxford House 

The two weeks after the ER visit for a kidney stone are a blurry mélange of therapist visits, anger at home, interviews to try to get into an Oxford House somewhere near my hometown, and AA meetings. One of my rehab buddies called from the west coast and he was very intoxicated.  I called another new friend; but, never received a call back. Family therapist wanted to know if I interpreted everything as rejection. I am feeling that I am having trouble catching a break.  Maybe that’s rejection? 

I went by a potential group home and it’s located in an economically depressed and crime-ridden area of town.  Great!  One year ago I had a good job with a good salary, and now my life has brought me to scouting out this neighborhood where I used to do volunteer work to help “those people.”  This is not feeling very safe. 

I am finally accepted at another group home after a softball interview with the residents.  I move in on December 21, 2000.  I loaded up some sheets, a towel, and some clothes at home and put them in a big duffel bag and motored over on my moped.  It wasn’t a long drive, but it felt like many miles.  I must have been quite a sight.  I used to drive nice cars wherever and whenever I liked, and here I was, duffel bag riding high behind a gray-haired 50 year old alcoholic with nowhere else to go, putting along at 19 mph. 

On Christmas Eve day I am allowed to leave and go with the family to the in-laws (two hours away) for a pretend fun holiday celebration.   It is early afternoon and I am in a Big Lots shopping for some sheets for me, and a few presents for the kids (ages nine and fourteen). The loneliness and sheer sadness of my life engulfs me as I eye some flannel sheets ($14.95) for my first twin bed in 30 years. I stand motionless in the aisle, almost numb and on the verge of a complete come-apart.  I push the cart a little and I have this image of myself.  This is it.  I worked almost 30 years to spend Christmas pushing a goddam shopping cart in a Big Lots so I can get some items for my new group home.   I have a Ph. D for goddsake.  I am bright, educated, a husband and a father, and a fucking alcoholic. This is not looking too good. The tears come for a moment, and I shuffle on. 

I arrive back at my new home the day after the loneliest Christmas ever. My roommate smokes – in the bedroom too and it is “allowed.”  I am furious but there is little I can do. All the guys in the house smoke, except me, and the group sets the rules. I’m loving this group stuff already.  My first group meeting is a disaster, to put it mildly. Unbeknownst to me, some of the guys have been having a running dispute. Two group home “alumni” and three House committee Service Reps from the Oxford regional office are attending.   

Turns out this was a problem solving meeting between Gabriel and Gary. Seems that Gary was constantly eating Gabe’s Cornflakes, and leaving the kitchen messy.  Gabriel (not the angel) was the house leader by virtue of seniority (lived there over a year) and Gary was the house prick, and nobody ever told Gary to do anything, including Gabriel.  The meeting lasted three hours.  The five visitors called into help argued more than did the combatants. I sat quietly and watched the most dysfunctional group of men I had ever seen act out their issues with each other. I had no voice here, and no standing.  I was the new guy and needed to learn from them. I remain quiet and withdrawn. 

My diary notes contain this: “Self-esteem low…self confidence low…don’t feel wanted or needed…this is insane…I’m supposed to be okay with this crap and see this as good for my recovery?...it sucks…very lonely…let’s face it I really AM not wanted at home and this has probably been true for years.” 

The weather has been cold.  I ride everywhere on my moped and my watery eyes sting constantly in the wind. I go to lots of meetings. Sometimes I hear something “good.”  I want to get more connected with people but I really don’t know how.  Feeling very vulnerable.  Lots of fears and worries, and talking about them doesn’t seem to help much. I have a thought that all of this will pass, and that someday I’ll “get it.”  My money is just about out.  Maybe I can use the kids’ cash until an income tax refund comes.  No luck finding a job yet and I mean any job.  But what I really want is for these feelings to go away.

I talk to several rehab friends on the phone.  I would like to go to Portand to see one of the guys; but, I need my probation officer’s permission to leave the state, and, I’m really not allowed to leave the group home for even one night without special permission.  Hmmmm… the last twenty years of my life have been pretty wasted, so maybe the next twenty will be better. That’s about as good as my thinking gets at this point. 

The days pass. New Years Eve in an Oxford House.  Woohoo! I watch some TV.  My best non-alcoholic friend (I have two) takes me out to lunch. My family stops by for a visit and my nine year old greets me with “You smell like smoke.”  I think, “Living here is insane,” which it is.  I am now attending two AA meetings per day and am pretty confused.  I know there must be a message for me somewhere in these discussions but I really can’t figure much out. One meeting is about how in early sobriety you are still seen by others as a problem.  That helps. I am told to “hang tough.”  Life in this Oxford House is hard. My roommate smokes all the time, turns on his light whenever he needs to in the night.  Gabriel, the house leader is fining us if we leave our clothes in the dryer. I am loving this. 

I am on an inter-city bus heading to my weekly therapy group meeting. “Things are insane” keeps playing in my head. Wife seems very angry all the time and denies it. Makes me mad. I am encouraged to talk about my feelings and when I do she gets mad”because all I ever think about is me.” She seems to have a plan that affects me, but I am not a part of it. 

The Oxford House continues to be “fucking nuts (this will become a favorite expression of mine in future years).” Erik has girls over all the time, smokes incessantly, always has his radio and the overhead ceiling light on, and I can’t sleep. I would move out and get an apartment but I have no money and no job.  At an AA meeting I actually hear someone when they share about “keeping it simple” and just trying to make TODAY work, and not always thinking about tomorrow.  Seems kind of profound actually. At another meeting I am miles away. I flash back to fifteen years ago and how my wife and I drove our two month old daughter to Cape Cod (from NC) in a $50.00 Dodge Dart that I bought from Roger Mudd’s (yeah, the news guy) son.  He (son) was my neighbor.  At that time my future seemed so bright, and it was.  Only fifteen years ago, so maybe something good will happen again.  

I can feel myself giving up at home.  The feelings and fighting just don’t seem worth it. The funny thing is that the things I feared happening are in fact appearing to be the reality. There is no negotiation or give-and-take in the relationship. We argue a lot about several past events, especially the one where I wanted to accept a job out of state, and she refused to move.  I turned the job down and resented her for it.  Years later she insisted that’s not how it went.  We dance the same dance a lot.

The bus reaches my stop and I get out for the half-mile walk to the treatment center for group.

************************************************************************************* NOTE: I have been writing excerpts of my alcoholism and recovery story and posting them on OS for over a year. Many reading this today are “new” readers and I appreciate you taking time to read this.  This all occurred about nine years ago.  My life today is a total miracle in all ways, and I want readers who may be struggling to know that there is hope and that it takes time. . Family, health, job and self-image have all been restored beyond belief.  Sure, life has its struggles and hardships – that’s just life.

And to you “veteran” readers of my story, I offer you my most heartfelt thanks. 

Best wishes to all for a peaceful holiday season!!