Seven Months

It occurs to me that tomorrow will be the 7 month anniversary of the day I quit drinking. As I ponder this, a number of emotions and thoughts bubble up to the surface.

I guess first is a feeling of pleasure. I don’t want to say “pride” because although I’m proud of not drinking for 7 months, I know that it wasn’t just my own accomplishment. What I did was decide, first that I needed help, and second, to let God help me. Every day since February 10 has included a decision to let God continue to help me. I have to decide all over again every single day, and frequently multiple times a day, to turn to Him rather than to alcohol for help coping. I have to decide all over again to stop, assess the situation, breathe deeply, then release the fear/anger/stress/sadness/etc to God. It is up to me to make that decision, but it is God’s grace and mercy and unbelievable, unconditional love that takes me through to the other side.

There is also some incredulity that I’ve actually made it this far. I remember, all too vividly, sitting neck deep in my bathtub, crying, hearing that voice on my heart asking, “How bad are you going to let it get? How far down are you going to have to go?” I remember how impossibly hard it was to even think the “A” word. Even there, in my tub in my bathroom with the door locked, knowing with absolute certainty that I needed to say it and even wanting to say it, the word would not come. Because there is no going back after it is spoken. Once it has been uttered, admitted, it is not a word that can be taken back. Like “cancer”. Once you take it on, acknowledge its presence, it’s always a part of you. I could easily take it on in that moment, for that moment, but I understood that, one day at a time or not, it’s a lifetime commitment. Thanks be to God that it’s not a commitment I have to fulfill on my own.

I finally did it, though. Lying back in that tub, I took the hugest breath and an even bigger leap of faith and whispered the words “I am an alcoholic” and then, “I need help”. Seven tiny little words but man, I’m pretty sure they’re the biggest ones I’ve ever said.

Another emotion I feel is anger. Anger at what I sometimes see as my lack of control. I love wine. I love the taste, the smell, the way all of the complex flavors within it combine to form this rich, wonderful product. There is a lot of love that goes into the making of wine and you really get a feel for that when you drink it. Not anymore, though. Not me. I can’t control myself and stop at just one or two glasses, so now I can’t have any at all. Can’t have any bourbon either and boy howdy, did I love me some bourbon!! On an intellectual level I understand that this is a disease, at least in part inherited from my father. It just sometimes makes me angry that every party that I ever go to from now on will be the same scenario. Everybody else drinking, whether a little or a lot, and me sitting there enjoying my Sprite and cranberry juice, wishing I could just go home.

I’m sure this is similar to how diabetics feel at dinner parties, or anybody else with a chronic disease that sets them apart. I have a friend with multiple-sclerosis, who I’m sure wishes she could do half the things she used to be able to do. I’m angry because there is still a part of me that does not believe it wasn’t my fault. Nobody can blame you for getting MS or diabetes or cancer. I nod my head when I hear that alcoholism is a disease just like any other disease but I think on some level I still don’t really believe it. And, even if it’s true, I’m still pissed that it happened to me.

Mostly, though, I am overwhelmed with gratitude. I am in recovery. As a cancer patient goes into remission, I am no less relieved and grateful. I have been given another chance to live. God gave me the gift of life, not once but twice. And not just because I’m special, but because I asked. It’s just that simple. I asked. God gives us His grace and eternal life with Him in heaven when we ask for it, and He just as quickly and willingly gives us His grace and mercy for our battles here on earth. We have only to ask.

Having been given this second chance at life, I also feel an incredible sense of urgency. What am I going to do with the rest of this life that He has given me? It must matter. It must count. It must be more than just minutes, hours, days and weeks strung together with no design. I have been given so much, it must be given back. Step 12 involves helping others; taking what we’ve learned and sharing it so others can have the same chance at life.

My heavenly father has called me His Warrior Princess. We have been on the battlefield many times together. Each time I come away stronger and better and more honed than the last time. I am not always strong or happy to be on the battlefield. Many times I have cried out “Enough! It’s enough! You said you wouldn’t give me more than I could handle and I am there now!” Every time, though, He is there, shielding me, supporting me, holding me up, holding me in his arms, nursing my wounds, guiding my path. Because I ask.

Regardless of what holds us in captivity, whether it’s abuse, alcoholism, wounds from childhood that won’t seem to heal, our heavenly father can and will take us through to the other side if we ask Him to. I will have to decide to ask Him again tomorrow, and probably later on today as well. But I know with absolute certainty that He will be there when I do. He is waiting to be there for all of us if we will only ask. He is eagerly waiting to come into our lives and release us from our bondage and give us all second chances at life.

Please ask Him. I promise you won’t regret it.