Yes, I’m annoyed.
I mean, WHY, oh why, does it feel like I can’t express my quickly declining interest in the steps, the thinkin’, the analyzing, the “learn to live” aspect of AA? Oh, right, because NO ONE in the room seems to allow it. I guess it might just be a matter of get on board or drown, but… That’s just not how it’s supposed to be! Quitting drinking is a process, and AA is simply not the only way.
Tonight’s meeting was the usual: five long-term sober males spouting off their “words of wisdom” and nearly getting off hearing themselves talk (to each other, basically) while the rest of us just sat there. Sure, I could’ve spoke up, but… It doesn’t feel right. I can hardly stand it anymore. Time to find a new meeting, methinks.
I’ve told my women friends that I’d LOVE to share my current thoughts about the program, which are: I don’t want to think about drinking even more than I have been doing. I don’t want to replace one set of “should’s” with another (I drank to escape self-imposed “should’s” and now I SHOULD follow the steps?). I don’t want a sponsor (well, not really, except to answer my questions and let me complain). I don’t want to look at my “denial,” my “horrible character defects,” my “lack of spirituality,” which is, of course, a result of not living AA (cough cough). I don’t want any of this, and I don’t want to feel guilty — or worse, like a wallflower, or like someone who is simply refusing to engage because she’s being a prick — about not wanting it. I just want to not drink.
I just want to not drink. Isn’t it OK to Just Not Drink?
This whole AA thing is fucking with my head. Maybe because I’ve done some of this work, maybe because I do analyze my drinking and the reasons behind it — a LOT. I mean, every single one of the old men rambling on about their drinking tonight talked about how selfish they were and how they never knew it, or how they never even considered that they had character defects.
Huh? The reason I drank — drink — is because of my “defects.”
I bought a bottle of wine on the way home — the first purchase of booze on the island this time around, 34 days later. As I was getting ready to walk the dog (which includes rubbing an inordinate amount of tiger balm all over my left leg, buttock, and hip = frustration nation, but I have faith that this sciatica flare-up has got to subside soon), I realized that today is day 34, which means tomorrow is 5 weeks.
I caved after 5 weeks the last time.
Still. Sometimes I can’t help but think, Come ON, DDG, isn’t this all a bit much? I mean, the abstinence, the black and white, the “never drinking again EVER?” It’s just a bottle of wine! It’s just grapes! And, then I have to remind myself that I don’t have to demonize the substance; I need to analyze my relationship to it and how I USE it. (I also have to remind myself that if I drink it, it’s my choice. Just like going to meetings. It’s all my choice, and none of this, including the rambling old white men, are meant to make things worse.)
I GOT THIS. 34 days sober and 13 out of 90 meetings in 90 days. NO STOPPING ME. (As I think about that cheap bottle of red in my bag…)