In my 12-step meeting a few days ago, a woman stood up and announced that she was new to the group and that she had 36 hours of sobriety. She was greeted with a rousing round of cheers and applause. Sober people tend to do that; it's as much for themselves as it is for the newcomer. "Hooray for her, and thank goodness it's not me" is the expressed but unspoken sentiment among fellow travelers.
I clapped, too. Then my skin tingled as the hairs stood upright on my neck and arms. I shuddered. Once, I was counting hours, too, exactly 15 years ago. On a rainy, cold October morning, I walked out of a crack house and back into treatment for the fourth time in five years. And lying on the floor in a detox unit at Ridgeview Institute, I stared at the ceiling in acute withdrawal, wondering how I ever could live a minute without drugs, much less a day or the rest of my life. All I wanted to do was get high one more time. Or just die. I have been clean and sober ever since Oct. 12, 1994.
A long time ago, I stopped counting the hours, but they kept adding up. And now I have 15 years clean and sober. According to my back-of-the-napkin calculation, that's 131,040 hours, plus or minus daylight saving time. Except for my first days in detox, in all these hours, not for a minute have I craved a drink or a drug. The compulsion is gone. Sure, I could smoke crack or drink a cold beer if I wanted. But using is no more an option than skydiving without a parachute.
The outcome wouldn't work in my favor.
Still, my illness hangs around because there is no cure for alcoholism. So I work hard on the solution — recovery meetings, daily readings, journaling, helping other alcoholics in trouble, and prayer and meditation with my higher power, God. Sometimes, though, I get distracted by what life throws at me. In the past year alone, that's included the loss of a long-term relationship, my daughter's volleyball and my sons' football games, a flu bug that knocked the kids and me in bed for a week, financial stresses, projects and work and, just the other day, an innate desire to spend an evening with a special friend going to a movie and dinner. As a single parent with a full-time job, I am darn busy these days.
And then suddenly, the illness sneaks up to tap me on the shoulder or jumps in front of me like a goblin in a Halloween spook house. It happened the other day after a dinner party. Helping the hostess clean up afterward, I carried half-empty wine bottles to the sink. In a split second, I easily defaulted into my alcoholic mind: I could take a sip of this '84 chardonnay. But a second later, that thought was neutralized by another: It is time for me to go to a 12-step meeting.
I admire the woman who stood up to say she's counting hours. I'm grateful it isn't me.
William Moyers is the vice president of foundation relations for the Hazelden Foundation and the author of "Broken," his best-selling memoirs, and "A New Day, A New Life." Please send your questions to William Moyers at wmoyers@hazelden.org. To find out more about William Moyers and read his past columns, visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at www.creators.com.
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