This is the third installment of Church Basements, Andrew W.’s tales from the world of Alcoholics Anonymous
The five o’clock group in the church basement was small on Thursday; sleet and ice kept the numbers down. That was a good thing because Stanley was way out there, sharing about how his head was full of dark junk.
“I keep thinking about doing violence, killing people.” Stanley told us. “The only way to stop myself is to drink, that shuts my murderous thoughts down.” Gripping the sides of his chair, he screamed, “Can’t you help me? Oh God, won’t someone tell me what to do.”
The answer, really the only answer, was, “Call your sponsor every time you have those thoughts, and go to meetings even if it means spending most of your time in meetings.”
“How long did you spend drinking every day?” a voice chimed in, “Four, five, 10 hours, well, do the same in recovery. If you do that, the pain will ease and slowly those thoughts will go away.”
Very simple advice. It may work, though. Stanley comes to meeting every day, and he’s never again said that he will murder someone unless he has a drink to quell his demons.
JJ’s walleyes nearly popped out of his head when Stanley shared. He waved his weathered hand like an eager fourth grader dying to answer, his dirty cuffs waving like a surrender flag.
Mostly JJ talks gibberish, but a coherent thought bobs up from time to time. He’s got wet brain, the common AA phrase for excessive brain damage from too much booze or drugs, or both.
“Don’t, don', don’ don’ it, “ JJ stuttered before drifting slowly beyond reason. Like all of us, JJ is tolerated and understood as just another alcoholic. One who lost more of his mind than most, that’s all.
Loss of memory and concentration are common topics at AA meetings. JJ’s not the only one in my home meeting who’s incoherent. The other day Judy sputtered with rage because her husband had broken her anonymity:
“To my aunt, he told on me, told on me, told on me. She’s the one person I never wanted to know. He’s on the couch now.” A pair of girls, young addicts, giggled.
Judy has blond hair and sharp features, always color-coordinated in a place where matching socks are a novelty. She works as a perfume saleswoman in a New York department store. She’d be beautiful if it weren’t for the sad eyes, so common in church basements. Instead she’s striking, but the glimmer that must once have been there is gone.
Judy would share that she’s on a razor’s edge each day, never trusting that she would not pick up again when she’s out with the girls in Chicago. Meetings are nothing if not eclectic, but too much alcohol and other drugs are the common denominator. JJ and Judy belong together in the church basements where “more of anything and everything” is the most common problem.
Jerome,
Thanks for posting these. I just got my four-month chip last week.