Tag Archives: Ann Kroger

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.

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.

 

Nightmare

The Four Horsemen Copyright Ann G. Kroger 2014

The Four Horsemen
Copyright Ann G. Kroger 2014

stars secure Tuck quiet screeching PAIN glass blood Tuck head blood more blood dripping blood sirens helicopters screaming crying Tuck arms pulling whirling strapping struggling PAIN numb quiet rocking loud fluorescent lights Chaos Chaos Chaos

Calm.

PAIN.

 

Ricochet

Posted in Alcoholism, Creative Writing, Houston, Love, Recovery, Short Story by

Tuck pulled the black BMW out of Jamaica Beach and on to the two-lane road leading back towards Galveston. Lydia rolled down the window. She wanted to feel the warm salt air tousle her hair and kiss her face. She leaned back in the leather seat and stared through margarita eyes at the canopy of stars above. The entirety of the moment washed over her. The love of a true friend, George Strait’s soft croon of Amarillo, the smooth rhythm of the wheels on the pavement. The day of sun and the night of tequila felt like a warm blanket tucking her in. Lydia looked one last time at the stars above as she gave her body permission to drift off to sleep.

Out of tranquility, the world erupted with the pained screeching of metal against metal. Lydia was thrown forward. She slammed against the dashboard as her head careened into the windshield. Her vision exploded with fireworks. Lydia tried to raise her arms to cover her head. Pain screamed through her body. The world spun for a few more seconds then came to an abrupt and disquieting stop. Lydia took a breath and then another one. She raised her head to look around. She could taste blood in her mouth and feel glass in her hair.

Slowly, she attempted to crawl off the floorboard of the passenger side and pull herself onto the seat. Her right shoulder roared in pain. She let out a scream.

Lydia looked over at Tuck. He sat erect in his seat, his eyes partially closed. “Help me, Tuck,” Lydia whispered. Tuck’s head barely shifted as he tried to look at her.

From the glow of a nearby streetlight, Lydia could see tears running down his cheeks, “I can’t.” Lydia looked closer. In the blackness of the shadows, she could see dark liquid oozing out from Tuck head.

Forgetting her own pain, Lydia launched herself forward. She yanked her t-shirt over her head. Her shoulder made an unnatural crunch as agony careened through her body. Lydia placed her shirt against Tuck’s head. “Tuck! Oh, Tuck… Oh God… please… please… Don’t, don’t leave me.”

Her shirt slowly filled and blood began dripping down Lydia’s arm. Tuck closed his eyes. Lydia lowered her forehead against his, her tears mixing with Tuck’s blood. She could feel the heat from her words, willing him to not give up, to keep trying. A few seconds later, sirens filled the air as red and blue lights ricocheted off the interior of the car. Lydia sat there hugging Tuck. They would come for her soon enough. She just needed a few more seconds with her best friend.