I wasted all of my twenties and most of my thirties partly through the abuse of alcohol. Once I became aware of my bi-polar disorder, I was like "Oh, so that explains it, I drank to relieve a chemical imbalance." It was still a cop-out plain and simple. My older sister attendend narc-anon meetings because her ex-husband was a total fry head, and when I fell upon hard times and needed to stay at her place, attending AA meetings were part of her demands for a roof over my head. I thought nothing of it and nearly shit myself when a former landlady was at the meeting.
I had put this poor woman through hell as a tenant. I would do shit like come home drunk as shit from the rock club and ride up the sidewalk on my motorcycle at 2 in the morning. If that were'nt enough, I hit a pile of wet leaves on the sidewalk while braking, lost control and hit the side of her house so fuckin hard that I knocked out some of the foundation blocks from their moorings. But there sat Mrs. Eastman, all ears to hear me stand up and admit to being an alcoholic. Instead, I stood up, said my first name and stated that I had bipolar disorder and that since receiving medication, I no longer drank like a fish.
I could'nt bring myself to "give in" so to speak and was smug in my decision until a lady I had not seen in quite some time came up and introduced herself. She was gorgeous, looked like Barbara Bach/Daisy Duke, we used to pal around together. I apologized for putting a cigarette burn in her car years earlier, and she apologized for doing multiple donuts through Woodlawn Circle at 70 miles per hour cuz I could'nt find her any pot one night. I awkwardly asked her on a date, and she replied, "You are'nt ready yet," and patted me on the shoulder. It would be years before I would come to realize what she meant. This was around 1987.
I saw her in the grocery store not long ago. Her dark hair had streaks of grey and she was wearing bi-focals reading a package of cottage cheese or something. She recognized me at once and even remembered my name. Glancing down, she could'nt help but notice the six-pack of Rolling Rock in the bottle sitting in my basket. Her face disolved like rain first hitting the windshield, said her goodbyes, nice to see ya agains, and moved on, leaving me standing there feeling like a jerk. I guess I still am not ready for some things.
For myself, I attend support meetings for people who are bipolar. Some meetings I get alot out of, others leave me frustrated. I still drink on occasion, but I fight the desire more and more. My secondary drink of choice is Lemonade, followed by Jasmine Tea. I would prefer Sassafras, but does not grow wild this far south and was taken off the market several years ago. As it stands, I am about 40 pounds overweight, and know damn well that I will not get below 210 pounds as long as I keep on drinking. Hopefully the new medication the doc put me on will help curb the urge. I also need to spruce up the Mountain Bike and hit the road instead of drive everywhere. A.A. works for some and not for others. I am one of the 'others.' The meetings are like that scene in the EMPIRE STRIKES BACK where Luke Skywalker has to go into the cave, refuses to give up the lightsaber and is forced to see that he was defeated by his own fear. Could I go to a meeting? Yes I could. Will I? Not until I learn to trust in myself enough to trust other people.
