You and Me and We

Several years ago, I went to a meeting for Adult Children of Alcoholics (ACoA).



I lived on the Upper West Side of Manhattan at the time, and the meeting was on Wall Street, in the Financial District.  This required a commute downtown on the red line of the New York City subway system.  I caught the 1 local from 86th Street, transferred to the 2/3 express train at 72nd, and pulled out some reading material for the 15 minutes I guessed it would take to get me to Wall St., a few stops down on the express line.  I hopped off the train at Wall Street and climbed up the stairs to street level.  Not knowing my way around the Financial District all that well, I searched for street signs, looking for a marker that might point me in the right direction.

If you know me, then you know I walked in the wrong direction first.  Glancing at my watch, I started to grow agitated knowing that I'd be late.  (I hate walking into meetings late.)  I didn't know what to expect, and the thought of having a room of unfamiliar and possibly unfriendly eyes on me was increasing my anxiety by the minute.  I started walking quickly, desperately searching for the entrance to the basement of the church in which the meeting was being held.

Finally!  I found it.

I rushed down the stairs and into a large room filled with people of every size, age, color, and apparent economic status.  Some were sipping coffee out of small, white, styrofoam cups.  I could see the coffee station set up along one wall, and as the speakers spoke,  people casually stood up, walked over, refilled their cups, and sat back down.  The meeting was relaxed.  "Phew!" I thought to myself, "no one seems to care that I was late!"  Not only did no one seem to care, the man I sat down next to immediately smiled at me warmly.  I smiled back.  "These people are friendly!" I thought.  And they were.  A couple of others noticed my entrance, smiled, and one even leaned over and said, "Is this your first meeting?"  "Yes," I answered.  And a look of compassion and understanding registered on his face.

It was then that I thought to myself, "Wait a minute.  This isn't right.  Where am I?"

I leaned back over and said, "Is this the ACoA meeting?"

"No.  That's down the hall.  This is A.A."

And just quickly as I had felt welcomed, relieved, and settled, those emotions were replaced with anger, resentment, and disgust.

I hastily got up, grabbed my things, and made my way down the hall to the room where the ACoA meeting was being held.  I raged inwardly and the clear thought surfaced in my mind, "YOU are why WE have to come these meetings!"

YOU being the alcoholics.
WE being the family members.

A line drawn.  You and We.  You and Me.  You........................Me.

I entered the correct meeting even later than I wanted and listened as broken people shared their stories.  Stories of deep pain, of growing up in families where problems weren't discussed but rather ignored.  I listened to people who had been trained from childhood, for fear of abandonment and rejection, to live in denial and swallow their own despair. 

And I raged.

I raged for everyone in that room.
And I raged for myself.

Why did we have to suffer these injustices?  Why were we even born?  We didn't ask to be born!  How were we ever going to heal from such entrenched, deep wounds?

What I didn't realize at the time was that the "alcoholics" down the hall were sharing the same stories, expressing the same pain, faithfully attending the same kinds of meetings, and had also fought midtown traffic, Times Square crowds, subway delays, and the confusion of the Financial District to get better.  Just like me.

I left that meeting and didn't go back to another one for a long time.

~ ~ ~

The addiction cycle looks like this:

Borrowed from www.christianchallenge.us

Those who have danced with the demon of addiction know that they can never get into the "Stress" phase of this cycle without seeking help right then.  So they might call their sponsor, a friend, a trusted ally in the fight and work through the emotion that the addiction is attempting to suppress.

Addiction is an ugly problem.  A debilitating one.  A road marked with pain, regret, remorse, shame, and fear.

And I'm an addict.

Not to alcohol.  Not to drugs.  Not to cigarettes.

To Anger.

I've got a deeply sensitive heart and around the age of 13, I stopped feeling hurt (I was hurt quite often) and moved directly to anger.  Instead of risking the vulnerability of being hurt, I chose anger, a much more viable, aggressive, formidable emotion.

It wasn't safe to express my feelings of hurt.  But my anger became a wall around me and made me feel safe.  Or so I thought.

For years I've lived as a rage-aholic.  No, it's not always visible from the outside.  Social graces and pride don't allow for that.  It's all inside.  And my recovery from my own addiction involves the same humbling (at times humiliating) work as the brave men and women who cross the threshold of A.A.

See, I have anger attacks and then say and do things I don't mean.  I wake up the next day filled with self-doubt, remorse, and guilt.  This is an anger hangover.  I shut people out and then feel lonely, isolated, and riddled with shame.  Another kind of hangover.  I then circle back to these same people and check in to see if my behavior was bad enough to sever the relationship.  I am usually very quick to apologize and make commitments that I'll try and communicate more effectively next time.  This is damage control.  Then I'm swell for a spell... until I'm triggered again.  If this doesn't sound familiar, please see the above diagram of the Addiction Cycle.

My recovery work involves dialing back the anger and finding the hurt.  And once I've done that, I have to do the impossible: ask for what I need.  I have to reverse the clock and let the 12 year old girl speak again, and find the words to express her heart.

The alcohol numbs the pain.
The anger numbs the pain.

..... what's numbing yours?

Sex?
Your hangover might look like this: STD's, unwanted pregnancies, feelings of rejection and being used, a hole in the soul that never seems to be filled

Pornography?
Your hangover might look like this: the inability to love and feel loved, the inability to connect to another human being, credit card debt, imprisonment

Cigarettes?
Your hangover might look like this: cancer, dry breath and skin, no real lows of emotion but no real highs either, just easy come, easy go

Shopping?
Your hangover might look like this: an endless, compulsive need to keep up with the Joneses, soaring credit card bills, deep debt, deep shame

Relationships?
Your hangover might look like this: the inability to be at peace when alone

Abuse?
Your hangover might look like this: alienation from your family, estrangement from your spouse, deep feelings of self-loathing, trouble with the law

Intellectualizing?
Your hangover might look like this: tons of knowledge in your head but little love in your life, loneliness, searching for meaning in books, not experiences

Food?
Work?
Lying?
Drug use?
... Religion?

This list goes on and on.

It's not Us and Them.  It's not Me and You.

Open your arms wide.  Welcome yourself to the human race.  It's All of Us. 

And start talking...