Category Archives: Ann G. Kroger

I’m the Earth in my Own Life

Posted in Alcoholics Anonymous, Alcoholism, Ann G. Kroger, Big Book, Houston, Recovery by

It’s is pretty common in AA to hear that newcomers should make a list of all the things they want out of their first year. The bearers of this advice often follow it by adding that whatever is on said list will surely be gotten and surpassed. Whenever I hear that advice, though, I wonder if it is wise. I’m not sure. I’m not passing judgment. I really do not know. There seems to be something so contrary to asking an alcoholic to dream, to make lists, to plan for the future. It feels like setting one up for resentment. On the other hand, the books tell me that my imagination will be fired at last, and truthfully, lately it does feel like my imagination is on fire. I want to do more, dream more, aspire more.

So, here is my question: Are only people in their first year allowed to make lists or can anyone do it?

I was so tempted by the idea of the list, I figured it was worth the inevitable resentment when none of it came true. But an interesting thing happened as I started to write it… The list changed. What should have been Number One on the list success and financial security, but it wasn’t. It was my sobriety.

  1. Sobriety. So, I know sobriety has to be Number One on the list. It might be a formality. It feels like a formality. I roll my eyes as I write it. “Of course she would put sobriety Number One. What a goody two-shoes. We all know that if this were a real list, a million dollars and a book contact would be at Number One.” Okay, you make a point. But this is a real list, not a fantastical monkey paw list. Furthermore, I fear the moment I take my sobriety for granted. The moment I begin to believe my own mind and the crazy it produces, I am in severe trouble.

 

So, then I thought, well, success would be Number Two, except it wasn’t again. Number Two was to be a better person.

  1. Be a better person. This, of course, holds hands with Number One. I have to grow spiritually to remain sober. The Big Book tells me that. It goes beyond that though. I legitimately want to be a better person. I like to think of myself as a cynic. I question most everything. I’m judgmental and competitive and a little mean. I don’t like Pollyannas. I want to be brazen and bold, not sweet or kind. But in my heart, when I am lying in bed late at night, I think about what it must feel like to have patience and love and tolerance in one’s heart instead of dripping black goo. So, Number Two is to figure out how to simultaneously be a badass and nice.

 

  1. I want my family to be well.

And then I had this weird memory from my very early sobriety. I haven’t shared it in a long time. I was sitting outside chain-smoking with my friend Baughbee who also had maybe thirty or sixty days. He was a little bit older, gray around the temples, but somehow we had formed a fast and true friendship. One day, we got started on the conversation of how Galileo realized the sun did not go around the moon. I have no memory of how it started, just that it happened.

What I do remember doing was turning to Bobby and in one enormous breath exclaiming,

“What if I am Earth? What if I am not the center of my own universe? What if all this time, I thought I was the center, but I am not. What if I am really just Earth orbiting three revolutions away? And what if the Sun is actually God or AA or a higher power. And that is the true center of my life? In my own life. In my own life, what if I am not the most important thing in my life? What then? What then…? And I think it was Copernicus.”

There was a long silence. Baughbee looked over at me. I think he thought I was crazy. But now, seven years later, it turns out I was right. I am not the most important thing in my own life. AA is, sobriety is the sun. It is from this warmth that all the other things spring forth. And then there is spirituality. And the health of my family. I am Earth afterall. And so, what then? What, nothing. It’s just fine. I am sitting here in the calm of the early morning on Labor Day weekend. Bob is asleep. The puppies are asleep. And life is good. I don’t need everything to revolve around me. I just need it to revolve, to keep going. And if the top three things on my list continue to be taken care of when I turn eight, well, that would be nice too.

Happy Labor Day.

And yes, it was Copernicus.

 

Cause if you ain’t Drunk now, it’s Gonna be all right

My life is just this side of unmanageable. I really and truly do not understand how other people keep all their parts moving with seemingly effortless ease while my life is usually held together by a concoction of spit and duct tape. But my life wasn’t always this together. In my early sobriety, I was a real mess.

The most memorably unmanageable part of my early sobriety was not the fact that I was homeless or that I was unemployed and unemployable, but that the stickers on my car were totally and completely expired. Not just kinda expired. Not just the police pull me over just in case I didn’t realize that the sticker three feet away from my face had somehow missed my keen observational skills. If I remember correctly, both my registration and my inspection sticker were like three years expired. And for the life of me, I had no idea how to fix them. My license was expired. I had no money, no insurance, no idea how to get money or insurance. The inspection and license required insurance, the insurance required a license (or so I thought). And who knew what a registration required. The license required me to go to the DPS, the registration to the courthouse. And none of that seemed the least bit doable.

One evening as I was heading home from a friend’s house, I got pulled over. The police officer didn’t, to my surprise, arrest me. Instead he gave me a handful of tickets with an accompaniment of frowny police countenance and a threat. Shaken, I turned my car around and drove straight back to my friend’s house. The next morning, I fortified myself against the world and once again began the drive home. This time I was smart enough to turn left out of the housing development instead of right. One minute after I got on the Sam Houston Tollway, I saw lights in my rear view mirror. Man, oh man. In my head, I’d like to think I kept it together for thirty seconds, but it might not have been that long. The officer just looked at me with an even frownier countenance than the previous officer because this wasn’t just regular police, this was sheriff police.

As a way of introduction I stammered, “Sir, I just got all these tickets last night, and really, I’m just trying to get home and park my car.”

Sheriff looked at the tickets for a minute and said, “These are dated last month.”

I looked at the tickets and then looked at Sheriff and back at the tickets and said, “I assure you, it was last night.”

And Sheriff said, “But they’re dated last month.”

For a second, I swear, I thought I might be on Candid Camera. I’m a pretty fast thinker, but I did not know if insisting that the other patrolman was wrong about the date was the right way to go or not.

An awkward paused stretched out. Sheriff said, “Tell me, why are your stickers so out date.”

This one I could answer, and I quickly stumbled over my words in a gush of new tears, “I just got sober and I am trying to get my life back together and I don’t have the money or know how to get the even get the stickers…” I trailed off and sat there staring at my hands against the steering wheel.

Sheriff took a long, hard look at me, “You drunk now?”

“What? No, sir!” (Though looking back, I have to admit, it was a fair question.)

“Cause if you ain’t drunk now, it’s gonna be all right.”

Sheriff said, he’d keep an eye out for my car, and if I ever drove the tollway again with my stickers expired, he’d pull me right back over. And then he let me go.

I finally did get out from under. I got the job, the money, the insurance, and yes, I went to the courthouse and the DPS. It took a while, but it got done.

But sometimes when life gets especially life-y, when things don’t go my way, or when I’m driving down the tollway, I think of good, old Sheriff and how he spoke my truth. “Cause if I ain’t drunk now, it’s gonna be all right.”

 

 

The Elimination of our Drinking is but a Beginning

Posted in Alcoholics Anonymous, Alcoholism, Ann G. Kroger, Big Book, Houston, Recovery by

I have been thinking about the line form the Big Book, “We feel the elimination of our drinking is but a beginning,” (19). I often hear in meetings that if you do not remember your last drunk, then you haven’t had it. I don’t really understand that. I presume it means that usually something so terrible happened the last time you drank, that it would be hard to forget. But that’s not my case. I don’t remember my last drunk. My guess is that it was like the hundreds that came before it.

Sometime towards the end of February 2007, I awoke one morning with the flu. At least, I think it was the flu. To this day, I still struggle to put all the pieces together. Over the next few days, the flu continued get worse. I was nauseous and had a shivering fever, but it went much deeper than that. I hurt down to my bones. I went in and out of sleep and had terrible nightmares mixed with paranoia. At some point, I knew this was no longer (if it ever was) the flu, but rather the DT’s. It is not my last drunk I remember so well, but my sobering up. The fear of experiencing that level of pain again has kept me sober through some of my most desperate white-knuckle times.

By the time I made it to AA, all I wanted was to not drink. I was not worried about anything else. I was so tired and so beat up. I don’t even know if I really thought I could be sober. I just knew I couldn’t drink that day.

I remember a particular meeting from early on. It was one I attended fairly often. A girl about my age started to share about how difficult it was growing up in public. I sat there for the rest of the hour trying to figure out who she was. She didn’t look rich or famous. Nor did I recognize her as any of the kid stars from my childhood TV watching. When the meeting let out, I rejected the idea of asking her how she was famous and just walked out. I figured maybe it was one of those TV shows that I never watched, “Eight is Enough” or “The Waltons.”

Thank goodness I kept coming back. Yes, elimination of our drinking is but a beginning. The funny thing though is I am still at the beginning. If you would have asked me at thirty days if I were acting rightly, I would have looked you straight in the eye and told you emphatically, “Yes.” That would have been the truth too, as much truth as I had at thirty days. At seven years, I’m doing the best I can with seven years. I continually stumble my way through the process of “growing up in public.” I make what feels like a ton of mistakes. I am, at any given time, impetuous and demanding, self-pitying and foot-stompingly immature. I don’t always think my actions through to the consequences. I am often too quick to answer and too slow to think. I want everybody to read my writing every day and then tell three friends about it! Hands on hips and a sharp nod for emphasis.

But as I wrote last week, “AA does not make too hard terms with us.” Whenever I fail at maturity, AA is there. Sure, they may not pass me the Kleenex box, but they do not deride me either. Last night’s meeting topic was the spiritual axiom. I realize part of the way through that I had been nursing a resentment about one thing while totally misdirecting my anger towards another thing entirely. So when my turn came, I shared about it. Speaking my truth allowed me to realized the solution to my, let’s face it, high-end problem. It helped me put things in perspective. AA allows me the forum to learn. I think that’s why meeting makers sometimes do make it. I need to hear other people sort through the problem of living life sober. Even with a few years, I still cannot heal my mind with my mind. I need other people to infiltrate my crazy and show me a better way. Everyday I stay sober, I think, man, I’m still at the beginning, for the I closer I come to perfection, the further away it feels. But really, isn’t that a good thing?

 

Hide Less. Seek More.

Posted in Alcoholics Anonymous, Alcoholism, Ann G. Kroger, Big Book, Houston, Recovery by

***This Friday’s post was not written by me, but by a very dear friend of mine who wishes to remain anonymous. I hope you will take a minute and leave a comment either below or on Facebook to encourage her to keep writing, as you have so generously encouraged me. Thank you. ***

Hide Less. Seek More.

By: Anonymous

My mouth feels like cotton, my glasses are lopsided on my face, and my body aches.  I squint in the dark to look up and see wood. I roll slightly to my left and feel rough carpet on my cheek. That is when I realize I have fallen asleep under my desk at work…again. I lost count of the times I have done this recently. I call my mom right before I do. She lovely tells me that I should not sleep at work. I hang up the phone, shut my door, turn off the lights; and crawl. I crawl into a small space, the space where your feet rest under a desk. My u-shaped cherry wood desk hugs me like a warm blanket. My eyes shut as I black-out into a sleep.

I have always relished in the relief and safety of a quiet, dark, small; space. I became disappointed when someone found me when I played the game hide-and-seek as a child. I was suddenly jolted out of my peaceful space with a loud voice screaming, “I found you!” I continued to hide in many variations of emotionally, physically, and spiritually destruction well into my adulthood. Drinking was the best hide-and-seek game for me. I would hide my feelings and emotions with each sip of a drink I took. On a good night, I “found” an attractive, young, confident, social butterfly. On a bad night, I “found” myself at 2:00am chugging the last of my double-fisted drinks before walking out of the bar.

The bad nights were more frequent, I couldn’t get drunk enough to find that attractive, young, confident, social butterfly again. Years after chasing that person, I got sober through the rooms of AA. The phrases I heard in my first meeting, “There is nothing that a drink won’t make worse” and “It will change and get different” stuck with me for the next several years. My sponsors always encouraged me to accept service commitments when I was asked to tell my story or chair a meeting. When asked, I was always to say yes. They explained the importance of that side of the triangle, the service side that keeps us in the middle. When I asked what was so great about being in the middle, they said, “Because when your ass falls off, someone will be there to catch it.”

As I crawl from under the desk, I fix my glasses, turn on the lights, and get on the internet. My ass fell off so long ago I can’t even tell you when it did. I have decided my black-out sleeps are not enough to escape my sober pain. Blackness is oozing from my rotting soul into my throat and out of my pores. I have decided I’m going to drink. Like a good alcoholic, I look for a place where I can go out with a bang. No sir, I’m not going to be one of those people who go out on a sip of beer and then come back in the next day. What a waste of a relapse. I find a very expensive out of town hotel with a swim-up bar. I am excited about the prospect of swimming up to a bar. That giddy feeling sweeps over me the same feeling I used to get years ago on a Friday night. My mouse hovers over the calendar to book the room for this Saturday. My stomach drops, I know deep in my heart this is the time I should pick up the phone and call someone. I don’t. I cry. I cry for the lost sober person I desperately want to find. I cry for the sober people I cut out of my life. I cry for the drunken butterfly.

At that moment, my phone rings. I answer irritated that someone is interrupting my drinking plans but curious enough to pick up the phone from this person in the middle of a work day. The person calling wanted to know if I could tell my story this Saturday. A yes came out of my mouth without thinking. Because I had been practicing it for a while with service commitments, it was second nature even in my darkness. I stayed sober for the next 48 hours, asking for the Spirit I had turned my back on to come back into my life and remove my obsession to drink. Just for today, I was not going to drink. Or book the hotel room.

It is Saturday night. I take a shower, something that I have not been doing daily. I go to paint my face with make-up to hide my darkness, but it takes too much energy and I leave barefaced. There are a lot of people in the room and I am not feeling sober even though I physically have not taken a drink. I feel like a fraud, all these people in this room and I’m going to talk about how great sobriety has been the past several years and how wonderful my life is, even though I am dying on the inside. The lights go down, the spotlight comes on, and I feel safe in the quiet, dark, large; space. I am not alone and I can tell my truth. “Hi, I am an alcoholic and today I am grateful to be here. Thank you to the person who asked me to tell my story, I was booking a hotel with a swim up bar and had decided to drink when she called and saved my life. Only an alcoholic would think about a swim-up bar in January.” The crowd laughed and I knew I was home and ready to begin my honest journey up toward the light, away from the darkness.

 

About the author: The author remains sober to this day without sleeping under the desk at work. Through a heap load of spiritual, emotional, and physical crawling over the next 18 months; the author is walking again hand in hand with the Spirit, one day at a time.

 

 

 

Me Agnostic

Posted in Alcoholics Anonymous, Alcoholism, Ann G. Kroger, Big Book, Courage, Houston, Recovery, We Agnostics by

I was recently told this: “I know they have agnostic and atheist meetings, but if you ain’t talking about God, you ain’t in an AA meeting. You’re in something else.”

The force of the comment literally made me take a step back. The purveyor of such words was a woman with more years of sobriety than I have existence on this planet. She didn’t know me from Adam. I’m sure she meant no real offense, and yet… I was rendered speechless. Out of nothing more than pure respect, I muttered something along the lines of “You may be right,” and extricated myself right out of the conversation. But inwardly, I feel confused and uncomfortable.

Have you ever a conversation that when it was over, you wish you could rewind to say what you should have said to begin with? So here it goes…

Excuse me, ma’am. I don’t believe in God. I haven’t since I was about nineteen. A series of rational circumstances led me to this decision. I did not make it impetuously. I neither evaded nor ignored the question of God existence but indeed thought long and hard about it. Nor am I angry with God. (Contrary to what Bill writes in “We Agnostics,” those who truly do not believe in God cannot be angry with him. For one to be angry with God, then one would necessarily have to first admit that God exists as a thing to be angry with.) I simply do not believe in an almighty creator of heaven and earth or a cosmic watchmaker or any sort of divine entity that watches over me in any significant way. I do not have faith.

I know people find God in the program, but I am not one of those people. And yet, here I sit with a few days under my belt, proof that belief in any higher power is good enough. The Big Book says, “We found that God does not make too hard terms with those who seek him. To us, the Realm of Spirit is broad, roomy, all inclusive; never exclusive or forbidding to those who earnestly seek. It is open, we believe, to all men” (Page 46).

I honestly feel that if AAs are going to walk in the footprints of God, then they also should not make too hard terms. You should not degrade my beliefs just because they do not align with yours. How I read those last sentences is, “To us, Alcoholics Anonymous is broad, roomy, all inclusive; never exclusive or forbidding to those who earnestly seek recovery. It is open, we believe, to all men.”

And ma’am, with all due respect to your very many, hard fought years, I show you this, a letter from Bill, published in the Grapevine…

“We still make no contact at depth with those suffering the dilemma of no faith. Certainly none are more sensitive to spiritual cocksureness, pride and aggression than they are. I am sure this is something we too often forget. In AA’s first years I all but ruined the whole undertaking with this sort of unconscious arrogance. God as I understood him had to be for everybody. Sometimes my aggression was subtle and sometimes it was crude. But either way it was damaging- perhaps fatally so- to numbers of nonbelievers… Boasting of my faith, I had forgotten my ideals,” (The Best of Bill From the Grapevine, 1962).

I am not sure if these lines were Bill’s way of making amends for some of the things he wrote in his early sobriety, but I like to think so. I remember early on a guy telling me that if I didn’t believe in God, it was okay, because I would by my first birthday. I more recently had a friend of many years look me in the eyes and correct my nonbelief. It’s really gutsy to tell another person what they believe in.

So, please. Please do not tell me what you think I need to, should, could, possibly, maybe, believe in. Do not tell me to put my cigarettes under my bed so I am forced to get on my knees and pray, just for a couple of weeks or so. And please, do not tell me if I attend an agnostic or atheist meeting that I am not in AA. Because I’m pretty sure I am. I earned my seat just as surely as you have earned yours. I would never dare tell you what I think you should believe in. All I ask is for the same consideration.

 

A Bit of Good and Bad

Posted in Alcoholics Anonymous, Alcoholism, Ann G. Kroger, Big Book, Houston, Recovery by

Driving into work today, I found myself making what could only be called an anti-gratitude list. As I inched along in rush hours traffic, I began making a mental list of all the things that make me crazy. It started out, not as one would imagine, because of the other drivers on I-10. No, what started this fiasco was my irritation at other AAs when they complain of bad driving in Houston in Step Six meetings. First, I am not a good driver, so this always makes me uncomfortable. I want to raise my hand and say, “Oh, was that you in the red Toyota? Whoops. Sorry about that.” But secondly, I cannot imagine a world in which an alcoholic’s worst character defect is exasperation at other drivers. I don’t have to see the fourth step to know that that ain’t true.

My mind goes a million miles a minute and can invent all sorts of things to be bent out of shape over. Was she just looking at me? Oh, no he didn’t just crosstalk at me. On Tuesday, I led my homegroup’s 10 PM meeting. I finished the opening, Step Ten. The first guy I called on, looks up and asks, “Was there a topic?”

“Shakespeare said, ‘All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.’ He forgot to mention that I was the chief critic. I was always able to see the flaw in every person, every situation. And I was always glad to point out, because I knew you wanted perfection, just as I did. AA and acceptance have taught me that there is a bit of good in the worst of us and a bit of bad in the best of us; that we are all children of God and we each have a right to be here” (Big Book 417).

I like the line that says, “I was always able to see the flaw in every person, every situation. And I was always glad to point out.” People around me know, I get really crotchety. As soon as the meeting lets out, I have an opinion about something. It’s not pretty. And it always makes me self-conscience as well. Was my share too long or esoteric? Off topic or crazy? And my criticism is not just limited to meetings. Its touches everything and everyone around me.

With that said, I don’t want to be that person anymore. Its taken me a while, but I am finally beginning to understand what it means to want to be rid of character defects. Before, I wanted to rid myself of laziness or procrastination, and those are still important. But what I want today feels deeper. I want to be a better person. A kinder person. I want to see the positive in people and in the world instead of the negative. Being able to see flaws does not make me smarter or more intuitive. It makes me mean. “There is a bit of good in the worst of us and a bit of bad in the best of us.” That is what the book tells me. And that is what experience tells me. So that, is what I should remember. And that is what I should practice.

Has to be Smashed

Posted in Alcoholics Anonymous, Alcoholism, Ann G. Kroger, Big Book, Courage, Houston, Recovery by

For the past few years, maybe because I am a writer at heart, I tend to adopt themes that represent my current mindset in my recovery. (Or maybe they adopt me. Wink.) For two or three months, it feels as if most everything I am feeling or thinking somehow revolves around one central idea. Last spring, I started tossing around the idea of character development, specifically the top of page 72 in the Twelve and Twelve. The end result of that period of exploration ultimately became this blog. I realized if I am to practice principles in all my affairs then I needed to practice courage by following my dreams.

Lately though, my mind keeps returning to the idea of denial. This has not only been reflected in the choices of those close to me in the program, but choices by my family members, and indeed with myself. The power of the human mind to forget, ignore, rationalize, justify, and delude is astonishing. One some level, I think it might be one of the most fascinatingly interesting aspects of the alcoholic mind. How do we not see? Or if we see, how do we ignore?

While speaking with a friend last week, I had one of those oddly random memory flashbacks to my drinking days. It occurred perhaps ten years ago, not long after I had moved from Boston to Houston. I was at a local sports bar. Neon lights reflected in sticky veneer. Country music blared a little too loudly from a jukebox as if at any moment a rousing crowd of patrons would suddenly appear to two-step around the scattered pool tables and “Golden Tee” machine. I remember both my hands clasping a Guinness as I sobbed and hic-upped a longing to be “normal.” I remember saying it over and over again, a mantra to my alcoholism. It is one of those memories, that while tragic and tragically depressing, actually brings a hint of a smile to my lips. How ridiculous was I?

I am of the variety of alcoholic that believes I was genetically predetermined to have an acute and profound reaction to chemical brain stimulation. In addition to my predilection for alcohol, I possess a plethora of emotional and psychological baggage that will tell me at any given moment that while I may exist in this world, I am not of this world. My whole life, I have felt that I am an oddity. A tomboy with a speech impediment. An awkward teenager with a pocket full of secrets. A disillusioned adult with a drive towards escapism and obscurity. I have always been too overweight, too liberal, too outspoken. I don’t wear makeup. I do wear glasses. I shop almost exclusively at Old Navy and thrift stores and the back of Teresa P.’s closet.

The last thing I wanted added onto my list was anything even remotely close to straight edge, pious, abstemious, holy, or self-righteous. I wanted to be funny and light and awesome.

Only when I sobered up, when I stopped singularly focusing on myself, did I realize everyone is a bit weird. We all carry around a knapsack of strange and questionable qualities that help define us and differentiate us from others. What makes me abnormal is not my differences, but that my alcoholic perception tells me these differences are a negative thing.

“The delusion that we are like other people, or presently may be, has to be smashed,” (Big Book, 30). See? It’s not just the delusion that I might be able to drink like other people, but the delusion that I act, feel, or look like other people, that has to be smashed too. I can’t live my life judging myself by the actions and appearance of other people, because I’m not other people.

Every day I stay sober, I love myself just a smidge more, for I have learned it is neither the clothes nor the make-up that determine my self-worth. No, what defines me today is not what is on the outside, but what lives in my soul: service, friendship, honesty, gratitude, and love. (And maybe, just maybe, a little bit of fun, light, and awesomeness too!)

 

 

The Boy Whistling in the Dark

Posted in Alcoholics Anonymous, Alcoholism, Ann G. Kroger, Big Book, Creative Writing, Houston, Recovery by

Last week, a friend of mine decided that after five years of sobriety that she was not an alcoholic after all, and if she just stay away from the drugs, she could successfully drink. Her friend, a girl with eighteen months, asked with all earnestness, “Why? After all these years?” I responded without much ado or forethought, “She wasn’t happy with her sobriety.” My answer came so smoothly, resounded with so much simplicity and wisdom, I surprised even me. I thought… Man, I’m goooooood.

Only later that evening, lying awake in bed, did I realize I was not the recovered guru I momentarily thought I was. All I did was reiterate one of my favorite passages in the Big Book. “We know our friend is like a boy whistling in the dark to keep up his spirits. He fools himself. Inwardly he would give anything to take half a dozen drinks and get away with them. He will presently try the old game again, for he isn’t happy about his sobriety” (Big Book, page 152).

I often refer back to the boy whistling in the dark. He has become a working part of my recovery, a part of my daily tenth step, a way to spot check my emotional sobriety. Am I, today, a girl whistling in the dark? If I could have half a dozen drinks and get away with it, would I?

Some days, the answer comes a bit slower. I have to think deeper. What does that mean, half a dozen drinks? Does that mean just once? One time, I get half a dozen drinks? What if I want seven or ten or a baker’s dozen? Do shots count? And then I have to smile. My alcoholism is so deeply rooted inside me that if I were to take half a dozen drinks, I would want more, more and more often. I know this. I’m so alcoholic that even in my hypothetical world, I am trying to nudge my way into more.

The reason I do not take half a dozen drinks has nothing to do with whether or not I would get away with it. I certainly didn’t care too much about getting into trouble when I was drinking. And I think that those closest to me can attest that sobriety has done little to damper my defiance.

For years, I wanted my brain to shut off. To be quiet. To stop the harassment that existed in my own mind. It felt like a whirlwind of hate and disgust. I used drinking to accomplish this end. Then one day, my drinking quit quieting the voices and instead added to it. My inability to exist within my own body perpetuated and exacerbated the cesspool which was my mind. With the vicious nature of this circular thinking, I find it a miracle that anyone stops drinking even for five minutes.

I do not take half a dozen drinks because I do not want to have to spend my life trying to figure out how to get the next half dozen. The question is not, could I outwit and shuck and jive my way back to inebriation, the questions is why would I ever want to? The consequence of not half a dozen drinks, but of the very first sip of the very first one, is the madness of my own mind slamming into me with the force of a bulldozer. I am confident about this. The alternative to sobriety is insanity.

So, tonight, as I lay my head down on my pillow, I will know I am not the boy whistling in the dark inwardly hoping to take half a dozen drinks. I am the girl whistling in the sunlight of the spirit as she trudges down the road of happy destinies. May God bless me and keep me until then.

Open Letter to the Reader

Posted in Alcoholics Anonymous, Alcoholism, Ann G. Kroger, Houston, Recovery by

So… I have a lot on my mind. And I figure, I should just write candidly. I think only about fifteen people actually read this thing, though, so the chances are that I actually offend someone are pretty slim. I am in a quandary. I want to write, to be a writer. And what I want to write about is recovery, and yet I do not want to be typecast as a recovery writer. I think I should probably be grateful to be able to publish some kind of daily meditation or be a circuit speaker. But my heroes, oh my heroes: Hemingway, Rushdie, Salinger, wrote beautiful works of art. I want to be an artist. And yet, here I sit, where I’ve sat for everyday for the last week, really wanting to write about the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous. I want to explore my relationship with my recovery on paper in a way that is both honest and hopeful. And so, I think I must.

Now, with that said, I have a few concerns. I worry a bit about my anonymity. Just a bit though. I read Traditions Eleven and Twelve a few times now. I understand Bill’s and AA’s reasoning. I just do not agree with it. And luckily, I don’t have to. AA Tradition Three states, “The only requirement for AA membership is a desire to stop drinking.” It does not say, “The only requirements for AA membership are a desire to stop drinking and adherence to the rest of the traditions.” I’m sure I will write a post explaining my thoughts regarding the traditions at some point in the future. And I am just as sure someone will want to argue the finer points with me. (That’s actually my concern. Not the blowing of my anonymity, but that I will have to listen to other people’s opinions regarding my blowing of my anonymity.) If you disagree with me, feel free to shoot me an email or comment in the comment box. But I guarantee you, I don’t care.

My second concern is that I do not want anyone to actually think that I know what I am talking about. I have never understood AA. I am not a guru, a thumper, or an Old Timer. I don’t know how it works. I don’t even have any pithy sayings. I just listen in meetings, and if I am called on, I try not to talk longer than five minutes. That is about the extent of my knowledge of this program. No one should be looking to me as an authority on anything.

So, that’s about it. I’m not sure, yet, how my writing will manifest itself. I thought maybe I’d start from the beginning of the Big Book. But that seems too systematic for me. I think I’d rather write without a preordained schedule of topics. And for Lydia and Henry, I will continue with that as well. I am simply bogged down in her storyline right now and I’m not happy with it. I want to take a step back to regroup and reorganize.

Anywho, I hope all y’all have a great Monday.

Thank you, as always, for reading.

Peace,

Ann G. Kroger

agkroger@gmail.com (In case you still need to email me)

13 Years and 1500 Miles

Posted in Alcoholics Anonymous, Alcoholism, Ann G. Kroger, Houston, Recovery, Uncategorized by

Hello, Everyone. Whenever something interesting happens in recovery, because of recovery, I always like to take a minute and recognize it. I thought I would share this story with you.

Last week, I heard friend of mine decided she was no longer an alcoholic, and as long as she stayed away from the drugs, she could successfully drink. This depth of self-deception is so common in recovery, it would be ludicrous, if it weren’t also so deadly. It’s so common, in fact, that this same friend’s first sponsor also fell victim to this delusion of drinking like a gentleman. My friend and I spent untold hours swinging on an old porch swing, smoking cigarettes against the backdrop of Houston sunsets, talking of the obsession of some to drug addicts to drink. She swore up and down that she would never forget she was an alcoholic first. And yet, just a year later, she did just that.

Some people may try to stay in contact, remain friends, with those that go back out. I have no interest in doing that. We are people who normally would not mix that find solace in our recovery. Without the recovery to talk about, I am not sure what is left. I don’t want to be friends today with any drug addict that is not trying to clean house, help others, trust God. Do what you want to do, there is no anger or hurt. I’m just not going to sign off on your behavior. Find someone else to do that.

So, I’ve lost a friend to this disease.

Then, a few days later, I was walking out the door to a local 9:30 meeting when my phone alerted me to a comment on my blog (If you click the “Shotgun Writing” tab and scroll down to the bottom, you will see it). Rebecca was my roommate when I lived in Boston. I was in a terrible place in my disease. I was envious of her. She was vibrant, and lovely, and intelligent, and amazing (And she still is). Our friendship dissolved one night when my barbed tongue spat opinions that I had no right to voice. I said things that one cannot simply take back the next day. She was hurt and angry, and I could not/cannot blame her. My behavior was atrocious.

But somehow she came across my blog. And decided to say hello. At first I was embarrassed. I have blown my anonymity all over the internet, but as soon as someone else validated it, I was uncomfortable. I have to be honest, I really wanted to delete the message. But something told me, my intuitive voice I guess, that running from the message was not what I am about today. So, I commented back. A day later, Rebecca email me. And we’ve talked every day since then. It has been amazing reuniting with someone whom I cherished when I lived in Boston.

So, that is my story. I lost one friend to this disease, but then another walked back into my life. Life works in mysterious ways. When I get down about the long odds, the heartbreak, the broken families, the erratic behavior, the poverty, institutions, insanity, and death that permeate the AA culture, I sometimes forget that families also heal, sanity is fostered, love occurs, and relationships (even those separated by 13 years and 1500 miles) are mended. As long as I stay sober, there is always a chance.