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October 2007

I had my first drink when I was twelve years old. I loved it. I loved the way it made me feel, and the way it made me not feel. I grew up yearning for a place to belong, and when I drank, I found it. My first drink allowed me to become someone completely different. It allowed me to have a voice, and believe me, people heard it. It made me feel like I finally was being noticed, and I never looked back.

At first, I drank just on weekends. I looked forward to Friday every week. I dropped out of school in eighth grade, and took up drinking instead. I never drank socially. I always drank to get as drunk as I could, as fast as I could. I didn’t care what I was drinking, as long as I was going to get drunk.

When I was thirteen, I made a pitiful attempt at suicide. I took a large bottle of extra-strength acetaminophen. I don’t think I really wanted to die, because I phoned my best friend an hour later and told her what I’d done. I was desperate to be seen, to be noticed. I especially wanted my mother to see me. But all she did was tell me to go and drink some coffee and then go to bed. I ended up in the hospital for a couple of days, with a social worker telling me I was crying out for help. I went home feeling embarrassed and stupid. I didn’t care about anything. I drank right away, too.

By this time, alcohol had taken hold of me. I went back to school for a year and then left—I had a hard time with teachers and authority. That was just an excuse at the time, though. I really just wanted to drink and be cool. At fifteen, I got pregnant. I didn’t drink for the nine months that I was pregnant, but it was all I thought about. I wanted to have the baby so that I could get on with drinking again. When I did have the baby, I got drunk a month later. I tried to breast-feed, but couldn’t do that and drink, so I eliminated the breast-feeding. That’s how it was for the next few years.

I went back to school twice, but quit both times. Alcohol consumed my whole life. I went from weekend drinking with my friends to drinking almost every day, alone. I wasn’t the best parent all the time, either. It was as if I had absolutely no morals when I drank. I didn’t care about anyone or anything except getting the next drink. This included my son. Most of the time, I left him at home with my mom while I went out and partied. When he woke up in the middle of the night, my mom would call me to come home. I would go home, but just to get my son and bring him back to the party. That was the insanity of my drinking.

I had no God in my life, except when life was going badly. Then I begged God for help. When it didn’t come, I hated him. I certainly didn’t have any real faith. Then, in July 2000, I ended up in a hospital in four-point restraints, ready to be committed to the psych ward. I was more drunk than I’d ever been before, and I had left my son at someone’s house, and then forgotten about him. As a result, I was under investigation by the Ministry of Social Services. I thought my life was over. I begged God to get me out of this one, and I would never do it again. I wished that it had all been a bad nightmare and that I would wake up. But the reality was that I was in big trouble and alcohol had gotten me there.

My therapist came and released me from the hospital and took me home. I had to call an alcohol and drug counselor in order to get out of trouble with the Ministry of Social Services. I swore to myself and everybody else that I was never going to drink again. Never.

I was drunk that night. I couldn’t figure out how it happened, or why. When I called the counselor the next day, she told me that I was a binge drinker and that I should get some help. I was very angry, but a seed was planted.

I wasn’t quite ready to quit drinking, but every time I drank, I wondered whether I was an alcoholic or not. I drank for another month after that, and it got worse. All I could think about was getting drunk and how to get the money to get drunk. I even spent my son’s savings.

My last drunk wasn’t my worst drunk. It wasn’t even anything special. But that morning, I had a moment of clarity—my spiritual awakening. I looked in a mirror and saw that there was nothing left inside of me. My family wanted nothing to do with me, and neither did the family of my son’s father. I was ashamed, and full of guilt and fear. As I was walking down a flight of stairs, I heard a voice inside my head. It said, “My name is Rosie, and I am an alcoholic.” I don’t think it was my voice. I think it was my Higher Power’s voice. But when I heard it, I thought of Alcoholics Anonymous. I looked up central office’s number and called. Somebody picked me up that night and took me to my first meeting. That was August 24, 2000.

My favorite thing about Alcoholics Anonymous is the genuineness. People are honest and they care. I have earned trust. I have learned to trust and to love. I am the secretary of my home group. Every so often, I speak about alcoholism and AA in high schools. I finally finished twelfth grade.

All my life I searched for a purpose, and now I’ve found it. I need to carry the message of Alcoholics Anonymous to others so they will have the same chance at life that I did. My son now has a chance at life, too, and I am forever indebted to AA for that.

ROSIE B.

NANAIMO, BRITISH COLUMBIA