Author: webservant

My name is Sean. I am writing from the Utah State Prison and am in the Conquest Drug Program and am getting ready to graduate the program in a couple of weeks and then be released shortly after that. I am from Ogden UT and have tried doing parole there in the past and as it turns out it’s just not a good place for this alcoholic/addict. When I violated my parole Aug 19, 2016 I figured I would do my violation and go right back to doing what I do again. I started going to AA and working with some great people who bring us hope each week. After a few months things started changing in my heart and mind. I started to want what these people had. Fast forward to today a year later and I have a solid plan. When I leave this place in a short time, I am going to a sober living in SLC. I know exactly what meeting I will attend the Tuesday I get out, and look forward to a Sunday morning meeting that Craig, Kristen and Pine have told me so much about. I cannot thank these three enough. They have given me hope, they have treated me with nothing but respect, and all three I consider among my closest friends today. If you are feeling hopeless go to a meeting and find someone who has what you want, ask them how you can get it. If you are doing good and are wondering how you can give back please consider coming out to the prison to chair meetings. I can only imagine what my plans might have been when I leave here if I hadn’t met these three heroes a year ago. Now with their help I feel like I am in a much better place today and know I can make it out there sober and clean one day at a time, and I can’t wait to meet everyone at the Sunday morning meeting.

Respectfully, Sean

Chocolate or vanilla? Coffee. Decaf coffee over ice that isn’t wet. Chicken or beef? Bacon, bacon. More bacon. With bacon sauce.

Talk to me about your first high or your first alcoholic high. What were you trying to cover up?

The first time I remember getting high was out front of Ripple’s drive-in in Edgemont. We moved to Orem from Salt Lake City where all my family lived, and my mom put us into Catholic school in Provo virtually ensuring us pariah status among the Mormon children. In our Orem rental house, we lived in a sane family oriented neighborhood with lots of kids to play with who all went to public school. I stepped on my first bee and I dropped a rock on my big toe, losing the nail. I also knocked the wind out of my lungs when I fell off my bike jumping moguls. Normal childhood stuff. I could handle my Mother and Father because I had friends to confide in. When we moved to our house in Provo, it was on top of a mountain with a paved road and a propane tank. Limited access. My parents dream home. They purchased the acreage so they could run around naked outside without any neighbors watching. It was the 60’s. I needed friends and I got on my bike every day to ride around and find them. Summers were the loneliest time for me. I hooked up with some local kids down the street from the ward house. We’d been to primary and they wanted to go to Ripple’s for Lime Rickey’s. The purpose of the adventure (although unspoken) was to find a way to ease our collective, pre-teen angst and raging hormones. We went into the market next door and bought some airplane glue. We took turns sniffing it. This is what I affectionately call the valium effect. Certainly, alcohol followed afterward. It was easy to get my hands on and affordable. I was trying to cover up the fact that my family was insane; that every day I went home not knowing if I would either be body slammed to the floor (by my father) or serenaded by him with his sultry voice and guitar or staring into a circle of my 3 immediate family members who were screaming at each other .. I never knew what to expect. Getting high was a discovery of immense proportion because this was a way to make all feeling disappear. No feeling, no thinking, no pain. This became my formula for survival.

What happened to you?

Traumatic experience. I was date raped on my 18th birthday. I became pregnant. I graduated from High School. I moved away from home. My parents found out that I was pregnant. They came to where I lived and grabbed me; one wrist, one arm, one parent; other wrist, other arm, other parent. Threw me into the back seat of a car and told me to lie still all the way to California. I disassociated into two people that day, both named Kathy .. or maybe it was DID. We’ll never know for sure. They traded my baby for the payment of a hospital bill. I had the money to pay the bill, but they wouldn’t let me pay it. We drove home like nothing ever happened. I was forbidden to talk about it with anyone. My afterwards plan was to drink until I killed off all my brain cells. Turns out killing off your body and brain is more difficult than one can imagine.

What stopped you?

It took decades of alcohol abuse and severe loss to have any impact on my awareness. I had no healthy relationships, no self-worth, no money, and no spiritual connection what-so-ever. I’d been in and out of several psychiatric hospitals to address everything but the alcohol. I’d been diagnosed with several mental health disorders, but I always kept my usage hidden as I couldn’t face the possibility of losing the one tangible item that meant the most to me always: booze. I finally stopped because I was going to die. I didn’t want to die, I just wanted to be dead. Only an alcoholic knows what that feels like. In April of 2009, my daughter told me she was engaged to be married and I could not allow her to walk down the aisle with a broken, disheveled, drunken mother at her side. She was more important than the booze. She was the one person I loved more than the booze. I didn’t love myself, but I knew that I had to learn to live a life with the absence of alcohol, or risk losing her forever.

Talk to me about the lies you told yourself about getting drunk.

I lied to myself about everything. You could not tell the truth in my family. It fell upon me to tell a story of believable proportions to extricate myself from the fighting, which involved my mom, dad and sibling. I learned to lie, exaggerate and embellish just enough to keep my dad from beating me up or chasing me off the balcony in one of his daily rages. If he believed my story, I was off the hook for whatever infraction he was going to attack me for. If he didn’t believe me, I could wear him down with my bullshit. It had to be a win for me because I lived every day with the fear that I would not live. The lies served as a protection from him, her and my community. And with that lie strategy firmly entrenched into my thinking, I could substance abuse with impunity.

How do you know when your Higher power is live streaming through you?

I know that God is live streaming through me when I have enormous peace just before an extremely difficult task or when I must make a hard decision. I become awash in peaceful feeling, like a sonic bath; invisible guidance. Life has real challenges which must be faced soberly. I also know that there are helping hands with me always. I feel energies intensely, and I try to stay alert for these guides. I know that I know some things which I can’t explain, and I look for proof in the form of intuition, just to secure my confidence that I am indeed downloading from source. There is no difficulty with the size of a miracle and they happen every day, everywhere. You can hear them, you can see them, you can feel them. Most recently, I had one come through me as a violent chill; it was painful. And I knew in that moment that I was to be part of something, probably awful but necessary for the universe to get its work done. Then, awash in peace. The valium effect; but instead, this little valium is from God.

Do you have any parting advice to pass on to your future self?

It is okay to be an alcoholic. It’s rather cool. Just keep on truckin’, baby .. don’t pick up no matter what. No matter what. I would tell myself to remember the day that my liver stopped hurting, because I remember that day and it did stop hurting! And other healing milestones. There are no stupid questions and no shameful events; just missed opportunities to change and to grow. They do circle back, the opportunities, so pay attention for a chance to learn an additional lesson. And stay connected to your like-minded peeps in recovery. That’s what the Fellowship is for.

Kathy B.

I started drinking when I was fourteen. Like with many A.A.s it started out as taboo recreation, however, early on I was an excessive drinker. I didn’t stop at just enough to catch a buzz. I consumed alcohol until there was none left. I didn’t see it as a problem at the time. I thought everyone drank like I did. Even as an adult, when celebrating, the goal was oblivion. I often went to parties without a contribution, and my hosts and friends quickly became tired of the rate at which I consumed alcohol. In my mid 20s I had alienated the grand majority of the people I associated with. My nights were spent at work, and my working hours were spent consuming the most inexpensive, yet most potent alcohol. In my final months before incarceration I can’t recall many sober days. Eventually my alcoholism bled into work hours as well. I know it is cliche, but prison literally saved my life. But even behind chain link and razor wire I found ways to numb out reality, including home brewed hooch. At last, after a UA scare, something snapped in me and I knew I had to do something different or I would die in prison. A friend recommended A.A. I was familiar with twelve step groups, so I gave it a shot. But this isn’t a Cinderella story. I only have six months of total sobriety, but it has been the most rewarding six months of the last decade. I have my higher power and fellow A.A.s to thank for this blessing. I still crave using when things get tough, but I only have to be sober today. I let tomorrow take care of itself.

-Anonymous

In August I was able to spend some time in Eastern Europe. I had a chance to attend several English speaking A. A. meetings while there. One was in Zagreb, Croatia. It was a holiday week in that country and I was told that most of the regular members were out of town, so it was a small meeting. I said I was glad that the meeting was still being held and indeed felt lucky that it was. And I added that I felt that we were the lucky ones! There was another American at the meeting. He said that his Croatian wife and he had just moved there a couple of weeks before. This was the first meeting he had been able to attend since moving. He told me that the comment ‘we are the lucky ones’ held a lot of significance to him. He said that about nine years before during his early attempts at sobriety that he had really struggled. He had tried a few A. A. meetings thinking that it would likely be his last. As soon as the meeting ended he bolted to his car in the parking lot. Someone tapped on his car window. He thought, “Good grief! Did they chase me out here?” He rolled down the window and a man smiled and said, “We are the lucky ones.” He answered, “I’m miserable. How can we be the lucky ones?” Later he recalled thinking, ‘I want to be one of the lucky ones!’ Those were his first words to the man who became his sponsor for the next nine years. He said that he felt adrift with his recent move. He had spoken with his sponsor by phone once since being there, and was looking to get settled into A. A. in Croatia. He said he was grateful to see another American in recovery. We talked for a while about how good it was to be able to be sober. That meeting meant a lot to me. I really believe that we are the lucky ones! – Jeff W.

“Going back out.” Only three words, but in many respects the scariest three words we can hear in AA.  Many of us who have been out dread the thought of going back out but we do it, again and again.  One of the greatest strengths of AA is that the group continues to support fellow members who make that huge mistake.  How many of us don’t come back in out of fear that they won’t be received with open arms upon returning to the group? After an extended trip to the dark side I have gone to new groups just to avoid the stigma of screwing up.  I have learned in my 13 years (in and out) that members want to do anything possible to encourage us to come back and work the program again and again.  The program’s lack of judgment is in many respects it’s greatest strength, I would like to thank everyone who has encouraged people like myself to come back to meetings.

Thanks, Trip M.

Having been in and out of addiction, alcoholism, and institutions for 32 years, I’ve gratefully just celebrated my 4th year of recovery. It has been a hard, hard road as I am back in prison for the seventh time for having dirty U.A’s. I am ever grateful for the chance to reach out to another person who’s in recovery also. I’ve never worked the 12 steps until now, and I am grateful for the journey. I stay in today only and sometimes I can only stay in the moment. It is not enough for me to be “dry” in prison. I now know that I must always be vigilant in working my program even in prison. I’ve come to learn that I have to reach out to God, others in recovery, and stay connected to myself. Prison is not forced recovery – I must always work on my recovery. The last four years gave me a bit of a head start on my sobriety and I’m grateful.

-Cassie R.

Hi, I am a grateful alcoholic. I never knew this day would come, only because I have drank most of my adult life. I thought my life was wonderful. Me and the drink took over 30 years to get stuck together. Jack, Jim, and the favorite was Sunny Brook. Life took a wide detour towards a big wake-up called rude awakening. I now sit in a nice room with others who have been in the same dilemma as myself. I receive strength by coming to our Thursday Alcoholic Anonymous meeting. It brings hope to another young alcoholic or addict when I see new comers who embrace this program. Being here in prison has its ups and downs, however I can manage to cope with everyday problems without reaching hopelessness. I’m able to endure this on Life’s terms. A.A. has given this native woman courage, strength, and hope to live without alcohol. I thank my Creator for giving me this second chance. Also the system. I have 4 years of recovery. I am happy these days. -Natalie

A deep dive into the first 164 pages of the Big Book is just cover for a raucous girls’ weekend, right? In fact, the Women’s Big Book Retreat (WBBR) lived up to its billing. We covered 164 pages, eleven chapters, twelve steps and many odds and ends. I heard a warning that “this is not an excuse to get out of working the steps with your sponsor.” I set aside my big-book-boredom and unexpectedly found insight on issues that had been nagging at me. I confiscated new slogans. I found a way to identify as a 1%er (long-term sobriety). I got a new makeup tip, plus meals and a bunk bed. All-in-all, $75 was a good investment to attend the WBBR held Sept 8, 9 and 10 at a dusty campground in the Uinta mountains.    WBBR is not an AA-sanctioned event; it is one woman’s walk through the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous. She shared conventional wisdom as well as new ideas by describing her experience in 28-years of sobriety. I felt right at home when her introduction to the Big Book mirrored what my sponsor had done with me 19 years ago – starting at the oft-ignored publishing dates, preface and table of contents. During her presentations in the spacious lodge, some of the 70-plus attendees busily highlighted and underlined their Big Book. One made jewelry, one meditated in the lotus position, most listened intently while chomping on a treat of some kind. I crocheted a few rows. At times I felt like a student at Miss Pamala’s Finishing School because it was clear I was being schooled by a fine lady. In the next moment she would tell a raw story with such honesty that it made me wince. I was moved by her generosity of spirit and comfort in her own skin. She gave me ideas I had never heard (Chapter 10 “To Employers” offers ideas on sponsorship). Occasionally groups of women would break away for their own meeting, gab-fest or walk in the woods. It was heaven. As with any kind of travel or emotional cleansing, WBBR was not all fun and games. Sleeping rituals were disturbed, bowel movements became irregular and I got cranky at my bunkmates. But I knew from past experience that if I could hold on until Sunday (wait until the miracle happens), there were a couple of surprises in store. I won’t give them away because you really have to be there to feel the impact. The WBBR has been an ongoing event in this region for nearly three decades. A core group of women keep it going and it was clear the behind-the-scenes work for this annual event is massive. At registration, you sign up for two kitchen shifts, and for the most part, everyone bellied-up-to-the-bar to help with the care and feeding of the large group. I saw myself in other women’s stories and patted myself on the back for showing up for my own recovery. I can’t wait until next year. – Lucy H.