was a problem with alcohol.
On her previous visits Marla had sat through meetings, listening to the different speakers and finding nothing in their stories that was relevant to her. But each time, just as she was smugly assuring herself she didn’t belong here, someone would say something that would resonate and she would feel a ripple of fear. She could push that fear down most of the time. But then after a binge she would stand in the shower full of self-loathing, terrified and ashamed at what she had been powerless to stop.
Something propelled her to the front of the meeting this night. As soon as Thomas, a shy man with glasses, finished telling his tale of losing his family and self-respect through an affection forrum, Marla was up and out of her seat, wanting to declare something. Make it public.
‘I’m an alcoholic,’ she repeated, still staring at an invisible spot on the carpet a few feet in front of her. That seemed to her to be the crux of it. What else was there to say?
‘Hello, Marla,’ the group responded as one, full of encouragement.
Marla looked up at them, blinking. ‘I … I have a problem.’ She stumbled over her words. No-one moved in their seat or coughed. Every ounce of attention was directed to Marla. ‘I haven’t had a drink today. I hope I don’t have one ever again.’ That was true, she thought, but it sounded trite. It didn’t really express what she meant. She tried again.
‘I hope not but I really don’t know that I won’t. I’m not sure I have the strength to not have another drink ever again. Today, now, as I stand here, I don’t want a drink. I think of my behaviour over the past couple of days and I am so ashamed and cannot imagine that I would want to get myself into that state ever again. And yet I know that some time in the future, I don’t know when, a few weeks, a few months maybe, I’m going to want to get drunk. It isn’t the drink itself I want, it’s that feeling of being drunk.
‘They use the word intoxicated for being in love and when I get that alcoholic high that’s how I feel. I just love it. Today I hate myself and I am ashamed and embarrassed and filled with disgust. But I know that is just how I feel today. Soon I won’t care about any of that. I’ll just want to beintoxicated again. I don’t know how to fight that desire. I give up. I can’t do it on my own. So here I am.’
She turned to a poster that had been taped to the wall. It was headed The Twelve Steps. Marla pointed to the first one and read it aloud: ‘I admit I am powerless over alcohol. My life has become unmanageable.’ She turned back to the audience, almost shyly. ‘I don’t know if you can help me. I’m not really sure that I believe anyone can. But I’m here tonight so I guess that’s a start.’ Then she stopped.
The audience realised she had finished and clapped loudly, as if she had just given the best speech in the world. Marla was taken aback at the enthusiastic response and fled from the front.
Isaiah moved back to the microphone. ‘Thank you, Marla. We are here to help you.’
Two more people spoke. Unlike Thomas and Marla they were old AA members and their stories were less about their drinking days and more about how they maintained sobriety.
‘My name is Cherie and I haven’t had a drink for one year, four months, two days and probably about three-and-a-half hours,’ said a petite blonde with lots of makeup and a bouncy manner. She paused, waiting for the response.
Everyone in the room cheered and stamped their feet. ‘Hi, Cherie.’
‘Well done, Cherie,’ called out Isaiah.
Cherie continued. ‘I am here because of my sponsor. Without her I wouldn’t have been able tofight the madness. When I can feel myself spending too much time in my head, and starting with all that negative stuff, I pick up the phone to her and say I’m going mad. She’s great. She’s been there herself. She doesn’t judge me, just listens then tells me I am mad. We
On her previous visits Marla had sat through meetings, listening to the different speakers and finding nothing in their stories that was relevant to her. But each time, just as she was smugly assuring herself she didn’t belong here, someone would say something that would resonate and she would feel a ripple of fear. She could push that fear down most of the time. But then after a binge she would stand in the shower full of self-loathing, terrified and ashamed at what she had been powerless to stop.
Something propelled her to the front of the meeting this night. As soon as Thomas, a shy man with glasses, finished telling his tale of losing his family and self-respect through an affection forrum, Marla was up and out of her seat, wanting to declare something. Make it public.
‘I’m an alcoholic,’ she repeated, still staring at an invisible spot on the carpet a few feet in front of her. That seemed to her to be the crux of it. What else was there to say?
‘Hello, Marla,’ the group responded as one, full of encouragement.
Marla looked up at them, blinking. ‘I … I have a problem.’ She stumbled over her words. No-one moved in their seat or coughed. Every ounce of attention was directed to Marla. ‘I haven’t had a drink today. I hope I don’t have one ever again.’ That was true, she thought, but it sounded trite. It didn’t really express what she meant. She tried again.
‘I hope not but I really don’t know that I won’t. I’m not sure I have the strength to not have another drink ever again. Today, now, as I stand here, I don’t want a drink. I think of my behaviour over the past couple of days and I am so ashamed and cannot imagine that I would want to get myself into that state ever again. And yet I know that some time in the future, I don’t know when, a few weeks, a few months maybe, I’m going to want to get drunk. It isn’t the drink itself I want, it’s that feeling of being drunk.
‘They use the word intoxicated for being in love and when I get that alcoholic high that’s how I feel. I just love it. Today I hate myself and I am ashamed and embarrassed and filled with disgust. But I know that is just how I feel today. Soon I won’t care about any of that. I’ll just want to beintoxicated again. I don’t know how to fight that desire. I give up. I can’t do it on my own. So here I am.’
She turned to a poster that had been taped to the wall. It was headed The Twelve Steps. Marla pointed to the first one and read it aloud: ‘I admit I am powerless over alcohol. My life has become unmanageable.’ She turned back to the audience, almost shyly. ‘I don’t know if you can help me. I’m not really sure that I believe anyone can. But I’m here tonight so I guess that’s a start.’ Then she stopped.
The audience realised she had finished and clapped loudly, as if she had just given the best speech in the world. Marla was taken aback at the enthusiastic response and fled from the front.
Isaiah moved back to the microphone. ‘Thank you, Marla. We are here to help you.’
Two more people spoke. Unlike Thomas and Marla they were old AA members and their stories were less about their drinking days and more about how they maintained sobriety.
‘My name is Cherie and I haven’t had a drink for one year, four months, two days and probably about three-and-a-half hours,’ said a petite blonde with lots of makeup and a bouncy manner. She paused, waiting for the response.
Everyone in the room cheered and stamped their feet. ‘Hi, Cherie.’
‘Well done, Cherie,’ called out Isaiah.
Cherie continued. ‘I am here because of my sponsor. Without her I wouldn’t have been able tofight the madness. When I can feel myself spending too much time in my head, and starting with all that negative stuff, I pick up the phone to her and say I’m going mad. She’s great. She’s been there herself. She doesn’t judge me, just listens then tells me I am mad. We
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