We admitted we were powerless over alcohol, that our lives had become unmanageable.”
Wait, what? Me, powerless? How could my life be unmanageable when I still had a career as an Army officer? Big house, required divorce, kids on the weekend.
Those were my thoughts when I first entered AA. Fast forward five years, several suicide attempts, multiple medical detoxes and psychiatric hospitalizations, three seizures, a 45 day stay in the brig, forced medical retirement and back in the hospital due to another binge.
I could put together a few months of sobriety on my own but I was miserable. I didn’t know why I kept binge drinking other than my life was unfulfilled, listless, devoid of purpose since retiring from the Army. But my drinking problem was well underway during my active duty time.
Step 1 for me is the incessant beeping of machines in the emergency room, an I.V. jabbed in my arm, the frustrated and pitying glances from medical staff, the look of despair upon my wife’s face. It is the feeling of self-loathing based on my abject failure to control my drinking; the knowledge that I failed my family yet again. I hated myself. I wanted to die. I begged my wife to let me die.
When I made it to my fourth treatment facility, which was completely different from the previous three, surrounded by fellow veterans, active duty military, law enforcement officers, and first responders, I held onto how I felt this last time. It hurt, really, really hurt. Admitting to another human being that I was powerless, that I had failed where I had tried so hard to control my drinking, was perhaps the most difficult thing I had done in my life.
Me, badass, tabbed out, master – rated Jumpmaster. Survivor of six combat rotations. Ribbons on my chest attesting to my valor, courage, and various accomplishments. Outside, sobbing on my knees in the middle of the K9 obstacle course while a sweet service dog licked my tears as I acknowledged my powerlessness and that something had to change.
