I Found Myself

I Found Myself

By: M.Amber Conrad

Hi. My name is Sam, and I am an alcoholic. No, this is not a meeting place. Far from it. Although, I do recommend you try a meeting. Even for non-alcoholics, it can be very enlightening. I know several who have gone that have no problem with drinking, and the Alcoholics Anonymous program helped with their every day lives. As I was saying, this is not a meeting. It is a story about how I found out I was an alcoholic.

Let me start by telling you a little bit about myself. I am 36 years old, although my ex-wife tells me I look closer to 50. Her name is Rebecca. We have a beautiful daughter Marla. Of course, Becca has full custody of her right now. I live by myself in a small apartment, almost the size of a closet. As an occupation, I am a Private Investigator. I was working for the local Police Department, but I was asked to go on a long leave of absence. So, for now, I work on my own cases. I also play the saxophone in a small local jazz band.

In two months, if God’s will is so, I will be sober for one full year. That may not sound very long to some people, but to someone who has been drinking since the age of 12, one year is a very long time.

In this story, I am the bad guy. Not many people can honestly admit something like that, but this program has helped me to grow and live honestly.

The story begins one year ago today when Becca gave me the papers to sign for a divorce. She didn’t give me an ultimatum when I came in drunk at noon. She had dug out my suitcases and had them packed for me.

“I don’t think Marla needs a drunk dad. I’m doing this more for her than myself,” she had told me. She wasn’t exactly angry. More exhausted and agitated than anything else. “Sam, I love you. I really do. I just don’t like you anymore.”

Ouch, that hurt. I felt a stab of guilt, but the half-pint of whiskey was telling me, She’ll let you back home in a couple of days. This will totally blow over. I checked into a local hotel room. Three days went by. I called Becca several times, giving the number to the answering machine where I was. A week went by. Still nothing.

The judge gave Becca full custody and ordered me to go to AA meetings. Three nights a week, minimum. He gave me some cards to have signed. I thought to myself, I’m not an alcoholic. I’m too young to be an alcoholic.

So, for the first month, I didn’t go to a meeting. I stayed in my motel room, plotting my own death. Some strong scotch should do the trick. And my revolver. Or should I jump? I was on the third story. If I landed on my head, I’d die instantly. Now I know this sounds really corny, but when you think you’ve lost everything you have, this is the way you think.

Then I thought, Wait a minute. None of this is my fault, it’s Becca’s fault. She’s the one who doesn’t like me. So, at nine o’clock one night, I called.

“Huh-hello?” Of course, she was sleeping.

“Why do you hate me so much?”
“Sam?”

“Yeah, baby. It’s me.”

“Sam, it’s three in the morning. And you sound drunk. Go to bed.” I looked at the alarm clock beside the motel bed. She was right. It was three in the morning.

I started crying. “Why do you hate me?” I sniffled. “Please. Please. I want you to tell me.”

I heard her sigh. “Sam, I really don’t hate you. But you are an asshole. Worse than when I first met you.”

“What have I done” I must have sounded like I was whining.

“Sam, you spend all your time working and drinking in a bar. You came home when it was convenient for you. Marla is five years old. Even with her condition, she knows when you’re not home. She’s not dumb. And you never help me.”

“Help you? With what?”

I could imagine her balling up her fists. She does that when she’s really aggravated. Like she wants to hit me, but she never has. “Sam, around here, I cook, clean, wash the dishes, do the laundry, and take Marla three days a week for her therapy. And that’s on a day when I’m not busy. Are you getting what I’m saying? Being married to you is like being a single mom. Because I’m doing all the work.”

“So, you want me to cook? I can cook. And I know how to separate the colors from the whites to wash clothes.” I felt like I was grasping for a rope that was slipping away quickly.

“Sam, it’s more than that. Listen, I need to go. I have to get up early. Good-bye.”

With that, she hung up. She sure can be a bitch when she wants to be.

Two days later, while I was sober on accident, her words finally sunk in. She wants me to change. But how do I do that? I opened the bedside drawer to find the telephone book. I took a deep breath and looked for Alcoholics Anonymous.

There it was. In black and white. The address was there, too. One more deep breath and I dialed the number.

“Hi, this is Rick. How can I help you?”

I didn’t know what to say.

“Please, whoever you are. Don’t hang up. I had a bad day and I really need someone to talk to,” the voice said.

“What?” Did I say that aloud?

“What’s your name?”

“I’m Sam. And I’ve had a bad month, so I hear what you’re saying about a bad day.”

“Well, Sam, I’ll let you talk first, that is, if you want to.”

I told Rick the story of Becca divorcing me and told him all about Marla. “She’s absolutely beautiful, inside and out.” I think I told him more than I had intended.

“Well, would you like to come to a meeting?”

I was about to protest when he went on. “You don’t have to talk, or say your name. You don’t have to ever come back. But just try at least one meeting.”

Well, I have always said I’d try anything at least once. “Can you give me directions?”

The parking lot was half full at a quarter before eight. I parked in the back and sat in my truck for a minute. You can do this. You can do this, I kept telling myself. What was I afraid of anyway? Afraid of being judged. Afraid of finding out of whom I really might be. I was more afraid of the latter than anything else. I heaved a big sigh, and stepped out of my truck. I walked across the parking lot to the door. It was a door that swings both ways. How ironic for such a place.

I pushed open the door to a room full of people drinking coffee from Styrofoam cups. They were talking amongst themselves. And laughing. I must have stood there a good minute because a gentleman approached me. He was a tall man; I estimated about six feet five. His thinning hair was blond. His face was friendly. “Hi, I’m Rick.” He stuck his hand out to shake.

I took his hand. “Hi, I’m Sam. Sam –“

“There are no last names here. I must have talked with you on the phone. I am so glad you can make it. Coffee?” He gestured to the two pots of coffee simmering on the counter.

“No, thanks. Got a soda machine?”

“Sure do.”

He showed me to the machine. I pulled out three quarter. I put them in and pressed the button for my root beer.

I sat next to him in the meeting. I did not say a word for the entire meeting. There were lots of people there. And several shared. I learned a lot in just one night. But I was still in denial about being an alcoholic.

Two weeks later, I had not been back to a meeting. I didn’t think the place was for me. Sure, the people there were informative and very friendly. But I didn’t feel I fit in.

I hadn’t spoken to Becca since that night. And I hadn’t seen Marla since the day before I left. I sure was missing them. I thought to myself, I am way too selfish to change. I can’t do this.

When I came to that conclusion, I bought myself two pints of whiskey. I went to a spot by the lake where I used to watch the sunrise. As I drank, I thought one of the times Becca and I had a fight.

I remember I had been drinking most of the day. I justified to myself by saying that I had finally finished a case. It was time to celebrate. So I celebrated. A lot. I had come home that evening to smell a wonderful lasagna Becca cooked.

Marla greets me at the door. “Daddy, daddy!” She threw her arms around my leg, and most of her weight had nearly pushed me to the floor.

Becca must have seen that I wasn’t exactly stable on my feet. She gave me a hard look. I knew that look. I was in trouble.

After supper and cleaning the kitchen, she sent Marla to her room to play before her bath. “Why are you drunk?” She was always one to get right to the point.

“I’m not drunk. I –“

“The hell you’re not. You’re drunk.”

“No, honey.”

“Don’t you honey me. I know what this is all about. You think life is all about you. You go and do as you please. You lie to me about where you are going and what you’re doing. You think I don’t know? You think Marla doesn’t know? Sam, she’s your daughter. But you’re not being much of a daddy.”

With that, she had left the living room to give Marla a bath.

Back at the lake I finished one of the pints, thinking about how pissed Becca must have been. I threw the bottle in the water. I just wanted to find a small room and die there. I was pissed at the world. I started to cry. My tears tasted of whiskey as I opened the second bottle. I just wanted to jump into the water and drown.

Before I could stand up, I heard a car slow down and then stop. A door creaked open, then shut.

“Hello, down there,” called out a woman’s voice. “Are you okay?”
I could barely move. I must have been pretty drunk because I said, “Rebecca? Ba-aaby? Is that y-you?”

“No, I’m not Rebecca. Rhonda. That’s my name and I was wonderin’ if I could get drunk with you.” For some reason, the words she spoke sobered me up for a moment. Instead of drinking, she listened to my story about the divorce with my wife. She listened until the sun came up over the water.”

“Tell you what,” Rhonda says to me. “Meet me here at seven-thirty tonight. If you really want help, I’ll help. But you gotta be here. And don’t you be late.”

We were almost late for the meeting. She handed me a brochure. It had a questionnaire in it. I answered the questions honestly. Yes, my family has been affected by my drinking. Yes, I have drunk on the job. Yes, I have lied about where I have been when I was drinking. According to the questionnaire, I was an alcoholic.

There are twelve steps in AA. The first one is to admit and accept the fact that you are alcoholic. That took the longest. For some people, the admission is gradual. But for me, it was like lightening hitting my brain. I have wrecked the lives of other people because of my dishonesty and selfishness.

Today, I have been sober for ten months, three days, and seven hours. These days, Becca and I are dating again. There is no marriage between us anymore. We still love each other. But we really need to get to know each other. It’s like I have been born again, and the God of my understanding has given me a second chance. Marla comes to my apartment on weekends and we spend our time coloring, going to the movies and reading books. I never really knew just how smart a five year old could be. She knows how to spell and read simple words. And we talk a lot. I tell her ghost stories. She loves to be in my lap and hold on to me when it gets to the “scary” parts. The stories I tell her are child-like and she enjoys them. And I enjoy the time I am able to spend with her.

Being sober is more than just a beginning. It’s a learning experience. You learn about yourself, and you find yourself more in tune to others. It wasn’t just alcohol I had a problem with. I, myself, was the problem. Sure the first couple of months of being sober I still had my head up my you-know-what. But now, I see the sun shine. The grass is greener on my side now. I found out that I know how to cook. I make the best fried pork chops on this side of the continent. Life is not a box of chocolates. Life is what you make of it. Life is your own perspective.