Paper Boy …
Courtesy: Crackedajester on WordPress
It was a rather cold day today and a little windy this evening, made it a little bitter out for our walk to the bus stop. Even layering my shirts, I was still cold.
The day began with a trip to Truvy’s beauty salon for some grooming. And she took those clippers and went to town. Now I have a shorty haircut. All the better for Spring than a new look. It wasn’t a very chatty time, as usual. The only thing she talked about was the cake she baked the other night, that fell in the oven…
And really she was talking to another hairdresser to our left, and not to me specifically. Baking must not be her best ability because she asked if loud noise could make a cake fall. Um – No !!!
I came home and washed off all the hair on my collar and took an afternoon nap until I had to get ready for the meeting tonight. My little group of caravaners purchased our tickets for the West Island Roundup in May. Twenty five bucks bought us a weekend’s worth of speakers all from New York City and a Sunday meal to boot. You can’t go wrong for the money well spent.
Our speaker is a down-towner. Not long in the rooms, just over a year.
There were a number of common threads from his story to mine. That feeling of being different was pervasive. As kids growing up in a world of abuse sends us into life not knowing that it can be different, and we shouldn’t have to grow up in a family of abusers. Add to that our man was adopted, just added to the insecurity and different-ness.
Something I found particular is the notion of anger. Our young man, as a young man was a trouble maker and exhibited anger in his actions. And much later in therapy the anger issue came up and the counselor told him, it’s no wonder you are angry coming from the home you did. It’s a miracle that you only were (so destructive) and not more…
And I sat there thinking, coming from similar backgrounds of abuse, I never found my anger in my drinking. In hindsight I guess I was angry. And that only came up later in my life – that anger of being left for dead by family after years of physical and verbal abuse. My anger was inwards towards myself. That was pretty present when I tried to kill myself with the drink the first time I got sober.
You are only as sick as your secrets …
And it is attraction rather than promotion…
He found his way in, after finding and meeting his birth family. We either have one of two genes. The “chocolate gene” or the “alcoholic gene.” He truly inherited the latter. And in time, his birth father led him to the rooms, by attraction rather than promotion.
He counted his days, like many of us did. He found his roots in meetings and getting sober in the U.S. a few months in, he returned to our city a sober man, returning to the city where he did all of his destructive, drunk and purge drinking.
St. Patty’s day is coming to Montreal. And it won’t be pretty.
As a younger man, our guy loved St. Patty’s day. Drinking, Dancing, humping and bumping. You need to be in the middle of the maelstrom to get how insane St. Patty’s Day is.
Returning to Montreal last year, experiencing his first St. Patty’s Day sober, just made him sick. Walking amid the puke and binging folks on Crescent Street turned his stomach. And to think, this was the one place he had to be…
No more …
I am glad that I came here sober. That I never took a drink in this city. But I’ve been to some of the haunts he drank in, as a sober person myself.
The stories are the same. We are born, we grow up, we are damaged. We find the drink or it finds us. And we are off to the races. Some win, some loose. Some never make it, others die in the process.
Then by the grace of God, some of us make it to the rooms, as a last resort to quit drinking. And what was shameful looking in from the outside, becomes grace filled and sacred. We learn from each other. We speak the same language. And in the end, when someone gets up there and speaks, we can laugh together. Because we identify so the laughter is convivial.
Earlier in the evening I had the chance to speak to a member about my journey that I have begun, and she listened to how I explained it and she understood. We spoke of “the shake-up” and she added that maybe my shake up is not over, but maybe I really need to shake things up.
So the listening process is on going. I think that in time, I will hear a message that resonates with me, in finding the next person to help my journey. That’s the way it goes in the room right? We come in, we listen, and at some point you hear your own story told, or you hear an old timer or a new timer say something that just resonates with you from the inside out.
I think that’s how this is going to go. So prayers are appreciated.
We had a six year cake at the end of the meeting. And I shared in cake and conversation after the meeting.
A good night was had by all.
Caravan brought us home.
More to come, stay tuned …