My math was off a bit...my 90 days is Friday.

I've noticed that it seems to be MIP protocol to introduce with The Big Share. I'll try to keep it short enough to read but complete enough to be relevant. My hope is that my experience will help others stay sober and maybe provide me with some insight in the telling.  

I'm the last of four kids. I'm 1/2 Spanish and 1/2 German (so I figure that there isn't a civilization in the world that some of my ancestors haven't screwed over). I'm not including them in my Step 8 list. I can't make amends to the entire Aztec Empire.

Dad died when I was 7.5 and Mom did her best to raise her only boy without a Dad. Shortly afterwards I was raped by a teenage neighbor kid. Never told Mom. Nobody in my family knows to this day. Being fat, brainey, slow and insecure I made a great punching bag for the angry sons of the working class Italian & Irish Catholic dads that made up most of my East Coast town. When I was 8 some kid said I killed my Dad with my "ugly" and I beat him with a school book badly enough to require plastic surgery. They kicked me out of Cub Scouts for that.

Being the target of violence from my peers became a way of life. I lived in constant fear of getting beat down. Mom put me in kiddie therapy. I didn't know why, so I got nothing out of it except a couple of fishing trips and a really poorly made toy boat.

We moved around a lot. Mom tried to make a living while being single Mom to a 9 year old boy. Mom worked the 3pm - 11pm shift, so I got my first apartment key when I was 9. My first arrest was for B&E when I was 9. We moved again. I did 4th grade in three different schools. I found trouble if it didn't find me. I was a shoplifting & B&E machine. I stole anything that wasn't nailed down.

I exercised the sociopathy that only a pre-teen boy is capable of. Somehow my morals stayed in tact just enough that I never raped or killed. Sure, I thought about it, but the male role models in my life wouldn't have approved. The adult men in my life were Mister Spock, Superman, Batman, Iron Man, Daredevil and the Flash.
 
I forgot to mention that I did believe in God; just enough to hate, loathe and scorn him for taking my father from me and letting a Big Kid laugh at me as he left me sticky, sore, cold and ashamed in a pile of pine needles with my pants around my ankles.

Repeat above 2 paragraphs until age 14.

Summer of 1980. John Lennon was still alive, but not for long.  

My cat got run over in front of me. My sister, ten years my senior, decided that what I needed was a drink. She fixed me a stiff vodka and orange. It went down easy, and as the gossamer oblivion descended on my senses I felt as though a part of me I never knew was missing had been replaced. I felt whole. I felt happy...for the first time since I was 7. I had another, and another and began chasing that dragon every chance I got.

Alcohol was my gateway drug, and my sister fed my habits so that she wouldn't be lonely. (I just realized that. Holy Dysfunctional, Batman!) The teenage years that followed were a blur. Alcohol led to (umm, protocol moment) lots and lots of drugs. I tried anything once and if I liked it I did it as often as I could afford it, trade for it or steal it. Alcohol was a staple. A shrink diagnosed me as alcoholic when I was 16 after I wrecked a couple of cars, got kicked out of school and got us evicted from our apartment. Somehow I graduated high school and got into the USAF in my early 20's. The Coast Guard was my first choice, but when the recruiter asked me "when was the last time you used marijuana?", I looked at my watch. In hindsight....not a good move.

My 20's were still a drunken blur, but being young and resilient I was able to function. I still ended up doing some time in Air Force jail for alcohol related offenses like contributing to the delinquency of a minor, assault and drunk & disorderly. I got kicked out of the USAF for smoking dope and not having the sense to lie about it. I was tired of England anyway (no offense, but how the heck do you folks survive without direct sunlight!?)

I went to school, got a degree in Interior Design, my fiance left me and I got drunk. For two years. My degree hung on my wall next to my Pizza Hut uniform. I hated me. I hated her. I dated recklessly. The ex-fiance got married, so I slept with her sister. Nope, still no closure. Back to the bar. Who's next? I'll have a chilled shot of Jack, a Guiness and an STD, please.

As my 20's wound down I met a woman, not in a bar, who wouldn't sleep with me on the first date. Wierd. So I saw her again. Still no action. I found myself strangely attracted to this woman with morals obviously at least slightly better than my own. I was confused. She called me, wanted to hang out with me, but didn't drink like I did and wasn't a slut. Huh!? They still make women like this? 

So I moved in with her. We took a trip to meet her parents. They liked me (I was NOT the kind of guy a girl's parents are supposed to like!). I heard her play Mozart on her mom's baby grand. I fell in love with her. I smelled her skin while she slept and she smelled the way my kid's Mom should smell. I decided to marry her. She said yes.

That was almost fifteen years ago and during that time we had three wonderful kids and she made it clear that I drank too much. But so did her Dad, so I figured I had a pass (duh). That was until my first DUI. Man, was she angry. I did my court mandated classes, lived without a car for three weeks, payed a lawyer too darned much money and saw a court-mandated shrink who told me "I'll sign off on this report, but you're an alcoholic." 

I wish he didn't call me an alcoholic. I preferred "heavy drinker", as that implies a certain degree of skill.

Every dumb-arse thing I did eroded at my wife's tolerence for my boozing. We had a cycle. She'd say "you're drinking too much" and I'd either hide it better, or slow down. Then an excuse for a wicked bender would pop-up (lost my job, got a job, Mom is sick, Mom is better, the dog ran away, the Home Team won, the Home Team lost, it's a party, I'm fishing.....). My garden-variety depression became full-blown and I feared losing my life to my own hands. I saw a shrink and got meds. Stable enough to function. Then, two years ago Mom died.
 
I was hungover and high when they buried my Mother. I felt empty. I drank more. I started drinking at work. I got warned about it, and then, a little over 3 months ago I got caught making an arse out of myself at a company function, on company time. Friday night I was told there would be a meeting the following Monday. Saturday morning I took an old guitar string, made a noose and fastened it securely to the ridge-beam of my shed. My plan was to go to work Monday, get fired, bring my crap home, compose a text-message instructing my sister to call the fire department and recover my carcass before my wife or kids could get home to find it, kick out the chair and press "send". I spent Sunday fishing with my kids, sure that it was the last time.

Monday came. "Rob", they (boss and owners; all family) said, "We love you. We value you. We want you to get help." I was stunned. These people LOVED me? These people VALUED me? Once I saw that even as I was ready to throw myself away, and others valued me, I knew that I had hit bottom. I stood at the turning point. I recognized that I was powerless over alcohol and my life had become unmanageable. We cried together. A lot.
 
I agreed to 90 days probationary employment terms and opened the phone book to "A". Ya know what's right after the first "A"? Another friggin' "A". "AA". First listing in the yellow pages. All these years it was right there and I never saw it.

So I went to my first meeting. I looked at the sign and said to myself "who the heck is Bill W. and why are his friends squatting at this AA meeting?" I was early. I didn't know what to do. Before I could say a word a man bounced out of his chair with bright eyes, stuck out his hand and with a toothy grin said "WELCOME!" I'm a sales guy, and I can read body language pretty well. His handshake wasn't dominant, his other arm was hanging peacefully at his side, he was leaning into me and best of all, when he said "WELCOME!", his pupils got bigger. This guy was comfortable. He was at ease. He had nothing to prove and most important of all - he was genuinely pleased to see me! Pupils can't lie!

Well, that scene was repeated four or five times, and then the meeting started. Praying. Guidelines. Preamble. How It Works. Traditions. Reflections. Then came the Sharing. By the time they were halfway around the tables I realized three things;
1) That podiums aren't neccessary, like in the movies and on TV,
2) The coffee didn't suck and
3) That I wasn't alone. That if God could find these people; these ex-cons, these orphans, these rape victims, these ex-soldiers, these confused kids, these fallen angels JUST LIKE ME then I could leave a light on for God, as I understood Him. I could have the life I wanted when I was 7. It wasn't too late.

The guy to my left said "I'm just grateful to be sober another day and I'll pass."

"Hi. My name is Rob, and I'm an alcoholic."


That was almost 90 sober days ago.