This post is going to be very polarizing, and may cause some people to stop reading me, which I get, I do, but it’s my opinion and my blog, and I’ve never held back from telling y’all the truth about my shit before. So this will be no different. First, a caveat.
Alcoholics Anonymous is a worldwide phenomenon that has saved countless lives. I do not dispute this.
I also don’t go to AA. When I was forced to go to AA I did not enjoy it, nor did I find any illumination or any emotion other than a feeling of slight queasiness and social anxiety. I would leave the room feeling ten times worse than when I walked in. I loathed it, and I have countless reasons why *I* PERSONALLY do not follow AA.
Alcoholics Anonymous saves relationships, jobs, parenting responsibilities, and people’s lives every day.
When I went to rehab, it was a 12 step centered program. I willingly and without complaint went to every meeting, raised my hand, participated, and did everything and beyond what was expected of me. After rehab I went to 90 meetings in 90 days, and I did not complain, nor did I ever do anything out of turn, or disrespectful to the program. I also hated every single solitary moment of it.
My story is not the norm. Alcoholics Anonymous is an organization that does amazing things.
You all know I slipped. And part of my outpatient therapy is mandated AA meetings. I even have to get signatures to prove I went to three meetings a week for the entirety of my outpatient program. I was informed of this today. And I am so angry that I have very few non-obscene words for everyone involved in my “therapy” and “getting me better”. This, I can assure you, is the one and only time I will talk about AA, being that I’m being thrown back in it and it is, after all, anonymous. But I need to vent, and this is my soundboard.
My beliefs, thoughts, and opinions of Alcoholics Anonymous are mine and mine alone. I speak not for you, nor anyone else. This is coming from my brain and nowhere else. I speak for no one else.
I have a great deal of trouble being told what to do. When I get pushed, there is only so far I will go before pushing back. I am extremely solitary, I am very uncomfortable in group situations, and anything that follows a dogma is distasteful to me. Chalk it all up to 15 consecutive years of Catholic education. I don’t recite mantras, I don’t presume to know what, if anything, is up in the sky or down in a pit of fire or anywhere that I have never personally been. I don’t think that highly of myself.
This organization. This wonderful program that has given countless people their lives back, this lifesaving group. This AA.
This is not for me.
I’m being told what to do again. Because I slipped. Because I asked for help. And I’m so full of rage I can barely speak.
Three meetings a week for the entirety of my outpatient treatment. And I’ll do it, goddammit, and I will be polite and quiet and unassuming and do what is expected of me. But the rage isn’t going anywhere. If anything, this is fuel to the fire. But as my mother has said since I was a child, “Eat shit and smile”. And I will. Hey! Maybe in a couple of weeks I’ll be spouting the gospel of Bill and regaling you with stories about how I was so wrong and my life has changed and blah. But don’t hold your breath.
And let me tell you, asking for help? Hasn’t exactly been working out so well for me. What’s the lesson I’m supposed to glean from this? That my feelings and emotions are a pittance and inconsequential to the groupthink of inpatient, outpatient, and now forced AA meetings because I clearly am unable to know my own self? Because I made a mistake and owned up to it?
I asked for help. And boy am I paying for it.