Recovery

162. 29 YEARS IN RECOVERY

Twenty-nine years ago today I took my last drink, but twenty-nine years, four months, and nine days ago, when I was obviously feeling pretty lousy, I sat down and wrote myself a small letter. It was most likely during one of my countless ten-hour overnight janitorial shifts in either a Marshalls or TJ Maxx clothing store. Even though it’s been almost three decades back, I can still instantly access the pain of that time along with all the feelings of hopelessness I was drowning in.

One might think those memories would be a burden, nightmares meant to be left behind and never revisited, but that’s not the case. Those periods where my future was hanging by a thread continue even now to provide leverage that makes manufacturing my daily dose of gratitude all too easy.

The note I’m referencing was lost for almost twenty-seven years, and a long time passed where I’d forgotten about it. After writing it I carried it in my wallet and read it every day. Although it did not directly stop me from drinking, I do feel it planted a seed. That seed began to grow through a continued groping in the darkness looking for a way out. The missing element which completed my escape was surrender, and by surrender, I mean verbal surrender.

It might sound a bit too ‘metaphysical’ for some here, but I really do believe writing down what we want AND eventually saying aloud that you’ll do anything to find salvation and absolution are two of the most powerful tools we humans have at our disposal. I’ve experienced it as well as witnessed it. 

The letter is a bit difficult to actually read, so here’s the text –

March 18, 1995

The next time I feel the urge to drink I promise to sit down and read this. I feel like shit, I’m depressed, and I want to die. I’m losing sleep and I’m losing my mind. I’m dragging everybody down with me. I can’t eat right and I’m hurting myself. I must change the way I think. I must turn to God and ask whatever is necessary that I may live again before I die. I’m tired of being scared and forgetting things. There is always something better to do than drink. I’m wasting money and I’m pushing my luck. I don’t talk to my friends anymore. I’m ashamed. I want to like myself again. I’m tired of lying. I’m tired of making excuses.

Reading this now, 29 years sober, I’m grateful I can still touch the past, for without it I wouldn’t have the added value that makes today priceless.

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With Love and compassion, Daniel Andrew Lockwood

157. 28 YEARS IN RECOVERY

It’s been an odd year. My last job was so involved that I’ve had little time to attend to my blog. If you’re from Denver, or you’re a South Park fan, then you know about Casa Bonita, which is really a bit of an indoor carnival/Mexican restaurant. If memory serves, it seats up to seven hundred at a time, so it’s damn big. Since the previous menu needed purged and badly upgraded a world-class chef was also brought on board to revamp the menu. Both her skills and her personality are impressive. The food is indeed much better as are the inner workings of the establishment itself. From May of last year to June of this year I was the plumbing foreman in charge of the remodel. We had to sign NDA’s (understandably) and other paperwork that would allow the creators, Matt Stone and Trey Parker, to turn us into cartoon characters if they so choose. It was a huge challenge and I’m glad it’s over.

During this time I’ve been dealing with hyper increased arthritis, which my rheumatologist says I have in every joint now. I can even feel it in my jaw which clicks and crunches, but thank God it doesn’t keep me from being a blabbermouth, at least not yet. Two weeks ago I went in for a pro-op to get my left knee replaced on August 2nd (the right one was done a year and a half ago) only to find out, in their words, I have massive blood clots in both lungs and behind my left knee. The blood thinners I’m on are causing migraines which are pretty disabling, but they are getting better. Also, because of the clots I have trouble breathing which adds to my energy level being pretty low. For now (but not forever, I like to work too much) I’m on short term disability which is a nice safety net. 

One thing’s for sure, other people are definitely going though much worse than me, in fact the weekend I went into the hospital a beloved coworker was in a horrific motorcycle accident. He’s alive but his injuries are extensive. Another of my coworkers has cancer. They are on my mind all the time.

If all these events are a test to see if I’ll turn back to the bottle, then I’m winning hands down. This path never enters my mind as a way to escape. Last night I had a lucid dream where I was using again. I was lying in bed, knowing I was ‘awake’ and asking myself if my wife could smell my breath while I tried to go to the bathroom without looking like I was drunk. These episodes feel as real as anything in life and it always takes me a while to shake off the illusion. I’ve said it before, my occasional nightmares of slipping are a precious gift that keeps the horror close, even twenty-eight years later.

My wife bought me the item in the picture above. It’s nice she cares and celebrates with me.

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With Love and Compassion, Daniel Andrew Lockwood

153. TWENTY-SEVEN YEARS IN RECOVERY

When I turned 27 years old, I stood at the edge of a cliff. It would be three more years before I sobered up, and the time between the worst of my addiction and my surprising salvation was to be hell on Earth. I started breaking down with tremendous strides, both physically and mentally. My pace back then was a handle of vodka a day. I did, however, manage to keep working, though looking back, I don’t know how. My boss (who I’m still friends with today, go figure) was either oddly sympathetic or just didn’t care. In any case what was required of me, I accomplished for the most part, so repercussions were rare. Since I was a one-man crew and no one else relied on me showing up, I would often blow off my duties in favor of staying home and getting hammered. Putting off my workload was rather easy since it required no sacrifice (other than broken expectations) on the part of the customer, so this “logic” justified my ever-increasing incompetence.

During this period I was sent north to scrub and wax a TJ Maxx in Fort Collins, one of many such similar trips. I usually felt like garbage, but this night was especially tough. After being left alone to my duties I decided to call a hotline looking for help, mental help, and all they did was repeatedly ask me if I was going to hurt myself. I said no several times, but they were persistent with the question. They ultimately asked me if there was anything in the store I could hurt myself with, which startled me. I remember saying I suppose I could take a running start with my head down at a brick wall. When I told them that, they called the police department. Luckily the front doors were locked with just a turn bolt inside (they normally were keyed on both sides) and after talking for a couple of minutes through the glass, I reluctantly let them in. They didn’t officially arrest me, but they did shuttle me to the station after contacting the store manager.

I had acting normal down to a science even when I was falling over inside, and they were surprised to meet with someone who was outwardly, quite calm and stable. I passed a breathalyzer so there was nothing they could charge me with. We talked about my issues but little else came of the incident. They were kind, and after a few hours they brought me back to my truck and I drove home. Looking back these days, I understand why the cops were called. The person on the other end of the phone could not act unless I was a danger to myself, so they played the script they had. I disagreed with their motives, but to them they were warranted.

The horrors of the days to come couldn’t have been described by Dante’. My trips to the bathroom were always a bloody mess, literally. The first time I turned the toilet red I almost passed out from the sheer sight of it. The second time, I didn’t care. My urine was consistently pink, and I could spit blood. Nose bleeds were common too. My bouts of dipteral tremens were exceedingly common, and blackouts, once something I had sidestepped, became the norm. How I managed to live through those times could only be described as astonishing. How I got out was miraculous.

Today I celebrate my 27th year in recovery. Twenty-seven years ago I was a liability to anyone who knew me, and truthfully, to most people I met casually as well. On the 28th of July in 1995 I took my last drink and have been actively in front of my demons since. I have so many things to be grateful for these days and constant practice of this attitude feeds both continued resolve and a life of abundance. There’s nothing on earth I would trade my journey for.

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With Love and Compassion, Daniel Andrew Lockwood

149. GODSHOTS PODCAST WITH LYDIA CORNELL #3 –

 Lydia Cornell 

Here is the third podcast with Miss Cornell. Although it is in video format it does not need to be watched, nothing visually presented is necessary to the content, though I must admit, Lydia is a lot more pleasant to look at then I am…

This is the third one  I’ve done with her. The major topic of our discussion is focused on her passion for what she has labeled as “Godshots” ™ which are coincidences that are highly spiritual in nature.  

Please take a little time to find out more about Lydia. She’s an enthusiastic woman who really does want the best for everyone.  

Links to referenced pages below are in bold, just point and click.  

For those who might recognize the name, Lydia Cornell is a star of the highly successful sitcom from the eighties, “Too close for Comfort”.  Her name under the picture is also a link to her IMDB page. In addition to an acting career, she also runs two blogs, PoliticallyHot and GodShots. Her resume’ includes a wide range of projects, talents, and passions from writing to mentoring and even stand-up comedy. Please visit her links to learn more.

We originally connected on another web site known as Quora. We have common ground in recovery, and it’s here we began communicating our enthusiasm for helping others.   

Listen to previous podcasts by Lydia here.

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Comments are welcome, I will answer in kind. 

With Love and Compassion, Daniel Andrew Lockwood

 

145. THE BRAVEST WORDS

I’ve always felt the idea of people suggesting to “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” when all hope has drained away is not only a waste of time, it’s the height of indifference. Those who jump to criticize may think they see a solution, but there’s no way to guarantee the person being judged will embrace their opinions. Some dig holes so deep that eventually all they see is darkness and all they hear is silence. When hope vanishes, so does our desire to take action. If you’ve ever been in a place so depressing it reaches all the way to your soul, you’ll know what I mean. On occasion I’ve been asked “How do you know when you hit bottom?” In my experience it comes down to having only two choices left, we’re either willing give up completely, or we start screaming for assistance. I prefer to endorse the latter.

I don’t want to give the impression we don’t (usually) own the skills needed to find our way out of unwanted situations, of course we do. In most cases our setbacks are balanced by a combination of exercising the proper emotions and taking necessary actions. Unfortunately, many eventually find themselves slaves to a broken mindset, and that mindset is “Whatever the cost, I want instant gratification.” This manifests in a variety of ways. Drugs and alcohol are probably the most common, but there are others. Gambling, food, shopping, sex, and many others are also themes of self-abuse. The common denominator is they cater to physical cravings rather than mental or spiritual ones. All are designed to change how we feel from the outside in.

When we are deeply lost in nightmarish places, our only way out alive requires bravery. This means we must sidestep our OWN ego, embrace humility, and with loud sincerity, scream for help. Help is therefore the one of the bravest words. While there are certainly legions of people who look for any reason to stomp on us, and are more than happy to see us fail so they can feel “they’re winning the race”, there are actually MORE willing to reach out and help. Not only that, those who offer assistance normally ask for nothing in return, other than to perhaps “pay it forward”. If you believe the opposite, you’ve embraced one of the biggest lies in life.

This is an important step to growth, the first one, but it is NOT the path itself. The journey from desperation to gratitude will require an even more courageous act, and here is where many stumble. The highest act of bravery is embracing help; acceptance is therefore the bravest word. This is where we face a point of no return, and many times the familiarity of pain is more comforting than an unknown future, no matter how promising it looks. When we accept what we ask for, when we are willing to pay any price for salvation, we pass the ultimate test. Unfortunately, we cannot ask for help with conditions attached, it doesn’t work that way. This is why we often hesitate. It means admitting we are broken and unable to stand on our own. We must totally rely on the direction and experience of others if we are to survive. Faith in the hand that reaches out is an act of humility. Trust is the word that embraces the most courage because assistance is ALWAYS under the discretion of those who offer it. We aren’t allowed to make the rules, and failure to accept this can be a massive roadblock to redemption.

How do we determine if a so-called lifeline is a deception, a trick designed to take advantage of our situation? Is there a way to know if the hand willing to pull us from the abyss is the right one? This is easier than it sounds. Ask yourself, “Does this person have in their life what I need in mine? Do they practice what is necessary for nurturing the spirit rather than the exploiting the body? In other words, look inside rather than outside for the characteristics you seek. Evaluation of a potential savior is not that difficult, nor does it take all that much time.

There are some bullet points, that, in my opinion will help refine an assessment of those promising salvation.

  • If your first reaction is anger or insult, this is a good sign. Why? Because those who makes you instantly happy are catering (subconsciously) to your old beliefs and patterns, and since this is what’s causing pain and suffering to begin with, you’ll just have to make up your mind this response is both healthy and normal.
  • Do they want to clone themselves or or do they simply want help you become the best version of yourself you can be? Most criticize intending to inflate their own ego, they seek to justify their behavior by showcasing how you “aren’t like them”. Those who point out your cracks and flaws without looking for applause are in the correct mindset. This one can difficult to assess, take your time here.
  • Everyone has flaws, everyone. This is one of the most important pieces of advice I’ve ever been told, it’s difficult to practice, but 100% on target. “Do NOT look for examples of the teachings in the teachers, just look for examples of the teachings.” Why? Because when we judge the source before evaluating the information, we lose both instructor and lesson.

If you don’t think I know what I’m talking about, you’re wrong. I’ve been to the edge of oblivion, and I know how it feels. I also know how to get back, and trust me, without a map, we’re forever lost. It really does seem all of mankind’s pain comes from the unwillingness to pull over and ask for directions.

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With Love and Compassion, Daniel Andrew Lockwood

 

 

 

 

132. TWENTY-FIVE YEARS IN RECOVERY

12 Step Jewelry Alcoholics Anonymous 925 Sterling Silver Men's AA Unity Ring with Turquoise

“Stick around and the miracle will happen.”

Well, the miracle happened…

These words were spoken early on from those who encouraged me, and I still hear them frequently when attending meetings. At the time I had no idea what the “miracle” was. All I wanted was to just not hurt anymore. That alone would have been, and eventually was, a blessing in and of itself. It was astonishing the amount of misery I put myself through, throwing up several times a day, every day. Seeing blood pour out of my mouth (and everything else that came out of me) was a ritual I got used to. I’d shattered the vessels in my face so many times I looked as if I had a permanent sunburn. I hadn’t had a real night’s sleep in years, choosing to pass out, day, after day, after countless, pointlessly lived days. Such is the insanity of self-destructiveness.

As my recovery finally began to move diligently forward, the hurricane of pain slowed and eventually subsided to the point where I began to function somewhat normally; yet this was STILL not the miracle. My sleep improved, and my horrific nightmares dwindled; and this was still NOT the miracle. I began to laugh, enjoying the smallest of what most would consider mundane moments while looking forward with enthusiasm to whatever tomorrow had to offer; this too was not the miracle. On a leap of faith I switched jobs. I went from working over a decade and a half of mostly graveyard shifts to the beginning of a career that still supports me. I moved into an apartment on my own without a net under me. I began to pay my bills on time. My refrigerator always had food. I got a decent vehicle. I met the woman I Love. The list is long, and continues to grow, but all these things do not define the miracle spoken of in the Big Book.

Although I had read it several times, the passage had escaped me, droning on frivolously in my mind while I went through the motions of repetition. I must say, once I zeroed in on it, the revelation was both astonishing and, in my case, accurate. In the fourth edition of the Big Book, in the chapter “Into Action” at the bottom of page 84 and on to the top of page 85 it says this –

“You will seldom be interested in liquor. If tempted, you will recoil from it as you would from a hot flame. You will react sanely and normally. You will find this has happened automatically. You will see that your new attitude toward liquor has been given you without any thought or effort on your part. It just comes! That is the miracle of it. You are not fighting it, neither are you avoiding temptation. You feel as though you had been placed in a position of neutrality. You feel safe and protected. You have not even sworn off. Instead, the problem has been removed. It does not exist for you.”

There was a time where I thought of alcohol every minute. Every minute; and I’m not kidding. When we choose to carry chains, we are never unaware of their presence, so the best we can do is justify their existence. Alcohol was my calling card. It was my foundation for blame as well as my attempt to escape. I spent so much of my life pointing and running, and then the day went by where I just stopped. I didn’t think “today I will stop”. The monster withered when I ceased to feed it. It quit tapping me on my shoulder every time I had a Pavlovian trigger. I quit looking for liquor stores on my way home. On the other hand when I saw a billboard or commercial advertising booze, I thought nothing of it. There was neither a feeling of superiority over thinking I had beaten my demons, nor a fear I might slip. As said in the text above, I was placed in a position of neutrality. Do I see it these days as something I’ve beaten? Nope. Instead I have a knowing that my path of progress, or recovery to be more specific, will continue to nourish tomorrow and starve yesterday.

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Comments are welcome, I will answer in kind.

With Love and Compassion, Daniel Andrew Lockwood

113. SEEKING HIGHER POWER

Higher-Power-Chip_BRM132_1

Twelve step programs can be life-saving paths for those in desperate need of direction and support. My opinion sides with the obvious, they are highly available and free; which means when it comes to people blithering out excuses they’re in a hopeless place where no one will help them, my eyes roll backwards so far I can see my bald spot. One thing’s for sure, the effectiveness of any particular group is limited to the quality of the recovery of those in said group, which means messages and lessons will vary drastically. This sucks, but it’s all too true. It ALSO means when first entering the program one must go to a large variety of meetings before one where healing and more importantly, honesty is required on both sides of the table.

The idea of embracing a higher power, insofar as what’s expected by the steps themselves and those who are willing to help and guide you, is probably the most common stumbling block I’ve encountered. Some oppose the structure of A.A. and similar programs because of what they feel are built-in Christian ethics and ideas. Hogwash. Yes, there are some references to religion, but rest assured no one is forcing this. There are zero recruitment practices encouraged. It exists for two very important reasons, at least as far as I’m concerned.

  1. Most people have some sort of religious background in the first place, and in the United States it happens to be Christianity, which, by the way, covers a plethora of beliefs and titles, most of which don’t get along anyway.  Even if this is only from unwanted childhood experiences, very few people have never been to a church service. Let’s face it, a lot of us grew up with celebrating the holidays of Christmas and Easter anyway through television specials and family events, so there’s a Pavlovian response built-in.
  2. There HAS to be a starting point to the idea of embracing a “higher power.” Where the person goes from here is totally up to them.

The preconception of a “higher power” as needing to be a deity of some sort is nothing more than an excuse on the part of the person seeking treatment to deny help and go back to a self-destructive and self-centered lifestyle. 

Let’s take a look at what “higher power” actually means. I can think of no one on Earth who cannot look toward a “higher power.” No one at all. If you are the type of person who wants more money, there are thousands of people who are obviously above you on the food chain. If it’s a peaceful mind you seek, one free of mental torture and anguish, there are legions of people who successfully practice this lifestyle. If it’s alcohol you want to be free from, trust me, there are plenty of those who were once in a hopeless state now willing to share their journeys. ANYONE who possess what we want is indeed a higher power. This is the way of life to begin with. We learn to read, communicate, work, play, and improve everything we do on the heels of those who have gone before us. Without the willingness to be led by others we are left with nothing but trial and error, and while trial and error may ever so slightly advance us toward our goals, it’s a horse and buggy ride compared to the rocket ship of teacher/student. The speed at which we learn from others is determined by a single factor, we MUST be willing to be criticized, which is the same thing as dropping the ego and embracing humility. This is a skill, one that can be honed and perfected, and when it’s wielded with practice and focus, can command the very power of the universe. Take notice that religion is totally off the table at this point. If this way of embracing life leads to an inner understanding of what God means to you, so be it. As far as I’m concerned it doesn’t matter.

I will add this last observation which comes from experience. Don’t let the walls of A.A. (or any 12 step program) hold you in from exploring other venues and ways of expressing your dreams and goals. The Big Book itself says these two sentences towards the end of chapter eleven. “Our book is meant to be suggestive only. We realize we know only a little.” Even the authors of this manuscript were insightful enough to admit their way was only a start. I’ve known many people who have sought out other paths in addition to the program and it can be a wonderful, and more than likely necessary enhancement to a stratospheric life. It certainly has for me.

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With Love and Compassion, Daniel Andrew Lockwood

 

 

111. HOW I STARTED IN A.A. – PART FOUR

When I turned twenty-nine my self-worth was non-existent. I really had forgotten, even for an instant, what happiness was. I occasionally had moments of pleasure and amusement, but these fleeting experiences were poor substitutes for what I wanted most. I attempted to manifest what I lacked by serving the hedonistic urges of my body, but I really had no idea how to feed my spirit. The soul needs only one nutrient to live, and I was starving it to death.

I loathed mirrors. All I ever saw looking back was someone not worthy of living. Rosacea covered my face. Massive amounts of straining from vomiting every day further enhanced the look of my existing splintered redness, especially in my eyes. Sometimes my heart would race wildly, so much so I thought a heart attack was imminent. I felt as if my absence from this Earth would improve the lives of everyone I knew, and the sad truth was, I was probably right. To be honest it was only after a year of recovery I could finally face my reflection and say out loud “I am a man!” Thirty-one years into my life before this would resonate as a warm truth instead of an outright lie.

For six months into of my last year of drinking I had sporadic contact with what would eventually become my home group in Alcoholics Anonymous. The man on the other end of the phone (when I’d called in January) was also a part of this circle. That night I was working at an Office Depot doing a monthly scrub, wax, and polish. I walked in, stuck my left hand that wouldn’t stop shaking in my pocket, put on a smile, and kept my distance until everyone left and locked me in. Once I was sure I was alone I immediately collapsed on the floor. No kidding. It was then I said a prayer, though at the time I had no idea it WAS a prayer. Before I made my call to destiny I said out loud in total desperation “I don’t care if I die broke and naked tomorrow as long as I die sober.” This was my bottom. It was also the beginning of my rise (it did NOT feel that way however) because I had, at that moment, resolved to pay any price the universe asked of me. I had painted myself into a corner where my only option was to start screaming for help.

As I said in part three my worst days were yet to come, and since I felt my health had no chance of a return to anything resembling normalcy, I went full-bore towards what I honestly hoped would be a quick death. The pain of D.T.s, my blackouts, and so on escalated. Still, there remained a steadfast flame inside, one that sprang to life the night I said my fateful prayer, it was the candle of willingness. Willpower it seems (also known as ego) had little to do with what I wanted to accomplish and everything to do with my self-destruction. Einstein said it best, “We can’t solve problems by using the same kind of thinking we used when we created them.” 

These days I realize being open-minded equates with the ability to admit I’m wrong, and I’d indeed become open-minded, even if the door was cracked ever so slightly, although I’ll admit it seems like it came about by accident, albeit a stupendously fortunate one. Before I quit for good, and during the time I was wavering between sobriety and oblivion, I found myself once more on the phone with the same gentleman whose voice greeted me on the A.A. hotline a few months prior. I was working overnight in yet another location. The previous week had been one of the worst.

“You know Jeff, I just don’t know if anyone can really help me.”

“I actually agree with you, Daniel. I don’t think there’s a single person on Earth who can help you.”

That pushed me back on my heels. I was pitching the victim, and Jeff hit a home run with it, though it wasn’t until many weeks later I recognized the true dynamics of this particular conversation. After a few moments of stunned silence on my part I managed to get out another question.

“So,” I said in a shaky voice, “I’m never going to quit?”

“I never said that, don’t worry, you’ll quit eventually, trust me.”

Well, THAT knocked me down for the count. I felt my lips and face go numb at the truth of it. This moment was the turning point for me. I was both deeply frightened and massively inspired. Here was my “why not?” moment. Soon after this I took my last drink, and on August 28th, nineteen ninety-five I had my first thirty days of recovery in over ten years.

One thing’s rock solid, I had nothing to lose by going full tilt into the program. Two belief systems I owned ahead of time saved my life. First, I’ve never had a problem with accepting a higher power exists. I’ll admit my definition of a “higher power” is somewhat different from most who hold the same conviction, but in the long run it doesn’t matter anyway. No need to explain myself further on this point, at least for now. Second, I had a knowing I was going to express anger toward those people and ideas I was soon to surround myself with, and honestly, that helped with both expectations and tolerability.

I went to meetings the first year about three times a week. Many were in clubs and other fairly public venues like church basements or rented spaces, but it was my once a week home group on Thursday nights (which was in an actual home, my sponsor’s) where the REAL healing took place. I allowed myself to become deconstructed and reassembled here. This is where my spirit became greater than my body. This is where I FINALLY shed the layers of armor, masks, and secrets I’d buried myself under all my life, not just the past ten years. For the first time ever I felt…

human.

Happiness, purpose, prosperity, Love, a career, a real home, and many other facets of my life came rushing in. What I never realized was these things were there all the time, waiting for me to do nothing but step beyond my walls.

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With Love and Compassion, Daniel Andrew Lockwood

110. HOW I STARTED IN A.A. – PART THREE

big book 3

Before I get on with the history on how I immersed myself in A.A. I need to clarify something. I was NEVER a mean drunk nor was I destructive. As far as I know, other than being completely unreliable, I never hurt or abused anyone; astonishing considering how much I drove under the influence. The biggest change in behavior, prior to the inevitable crash on the other side of my binges, was I’d talk more, and for those that know me that seems like an unachievable task, but it was sadly true. When I lived in Des Moines long distance was still a costly endeavor, one that carried heavy charges if abused, and boy did I abuse it. All too often my phone bill rang up to three-hundred dollars or more a month leaving very little for me to spend on frivolous things like laundry and food. It was during these calls I ended up randomly pleading for a fresh start.

In nineteen ninety-three I asked if I could moved in with my friend, his wife, and two children in Aurora, Colorado. It was understood the arrangement was to be temporary until I could get re-situated into my own place. To my delight they obliged and I headed back to Denver after leaving my job to a fellow by the name of James who was sober (as far as I know) and much more responsible than me. I took off with high hopes and a false sense of new horizons.  Upon arrival I had little more than a closet to stay in, but it was very private, had a window, and there was just enough room for a twin bed and a chair. Whoever designed it to begin with probably intended it to be a small office because there were built-in bookshelves at one end of the room. From here I could come and go as I pleased through the garage without disturbing the family, and that too was nice for both of us.

Once more I stayed sober for some time before the impulse to drink fogged my self-centered resolve. By this time I was disposing of at least two pints of eighty proof rot gut a day, no particular brand or type mattered, as long as it was cheap. I cleverly hid the empty bottles in my dirty laundry figuring no one would go through my soiled underwear to look for evidence. I spent a few weeks at my friend’s home and when I’d saved up enough money I contacted another friend who thought it was a pleasant idea to get a place together. In all honesty the apartment we ended up sharing WAS a nice one, at least compared to where I’d been almost all my life. We each had a bathroom, so “duties” here would not cross paths. There was a sliding glass door, a small deck on the bottom floor, and a dishwasher, high amenities for those deprived of such luxuries up until that point.

Here is where my final days of drinking came to fruition. I worked nights and my roommate worked days. We saw each other on occasion and we were casually friendly (still are, by the way) but Ron really had no idea just how much I was pounding away. I quickly worked my way up from two pints to two fifths of vodka a day. My typical routine was to buy a Tombstone pizza, sour cream,  one can of soda, and a bottle of the cheapest crap I could find. I’d refused to get drunk unless it was on an empty stomach because I loved what I called the sledge-hammer effect, so I’d wait to eat until afterwards. I could make a bottle disappear in twenty minutes using the soda I bought to wash the taste a little. All too often I be finished with my booze and still have half my pop left. I’d then eat my pizza with the sour cream (hey, I considered it just a huge, fancy, potato chip thingy) and proceed to play video games until I passed out, that way I could waste my time twice as poorly.

The last two years of my drinking saw a lot of deterioration in every aspect of my life. Whenever I awoke from passing out I’d usually purge. Got so good at it I learned to throw-up silently so I wouldn’t bother my roommate if he was home. I’d even drive while tossing my cookies into a Big Gulp cup; nasty and insane. If it came out of me it was tainted with blood. First time I saw the toilet full of bright red water I almost had a heart attack at the sight of it. I’d spit pink, piss pink. Nosebleeds were common as well. Saw it  every day and I figured my time was short for this Earth. I started getting delirium tremens (more commonly known as the DT’s) several times a month. There were periods where I’d force myself to stay sober for a week or two, white-knuckling it so to speak, only to become repossessed with an uncontrollable urge to drink again. It really felt as if another spirit entered my body and took over. I went through boxes and boxes of Altoids doing what I could to cover my breath to those I’d encounter.

Six months before I finally stopped I had an incident while driving. It’s detailed more in my upcoming book but, in a nutshell I almost died. I called A.A. that night and this was the first real step towards my eventual life of recovery, though it was another six months before it stuck for good. One may ask why I didn’t quit that night. In all honesty I was much more afraid of living than dying so I figured I may as well get it the f@#$ over with. During the last weeks of my march of suicide I started blacking out. It was surprising I hadn’t before, at least not that I could recall. (Feel free to laugh here.) Here’s the REALLY weird thing. I’d apparently know when I was entering a blackout but not when I was exiting one. I could see the “storm” coming as it were, so as a precaution I started taking notes. I’d answer the phone the next day and my boss would talk about what we had planned, all the while going through my almost incoherent scribblings from the day before, having no idea whatsoever I’d talked to him a few hours prior. Remember, my M.O. from the day I started drinking was to see if I could act completely sober while being totally hammered. There’s no doubt I got WAY too good at that. People to this day don’t believe I did this, but I swear it’s the truth, should have kept some of those reminders around, but my sponsor eventually made me throw all those things away, too many “bad vibes” attached I suppose. 

I met the man from A.A. who was on the other end of the phone that weekend and he invited me to his home-group where my eventual sponsor sat in waiting. For the next few months I’d talk to him, usually after a bad binge, and he finally said something that scared the hell out of me. This was the turning point.

Next up, my final chapter to how I started in A.A.  

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With Love and Compassion, Daniel Andrew Lockwood

 

109. HOW I STARTED IN A.A.- PART TWO

big book 3

For part two it feels appropriate to backtrack somewhat. It should help the arc of the story to see where my disposition for self-destruction has its roots.

I first got drunk when I was barely seventeen. A friend of mine and I paid some other drunk twenty dollars to buy us booze. We then proceeded to slam down a fifth of Jack Daniels in about an hour, chasing it with whatever soda we had on hand. We were smart enough to stay home and decided to play UNO in my bedroom with a strobe light on. For someone who had NEVER drank before it hit me like a piano. My friend didn’t make it to the bathroom but I did. My father came home from his own partying around midnight and found me lying on the bathroom floor, holding onto the base of the toilet trying to keep the room from spinning. He stood there staring at me.

“Looks like you’ve been drinking, son.”

“Oh yes, yes sir, we have.”

He stared a bit longer, looking back and forth at both me and my inebriated friend on his couch and finally said “Well, looks like I don’t need to punish you.”

“Oh God no.”

I had a hangover for two days and as a result I swore off booze for the next four years. Time rolled on through my late teens and eventually a lifestyle of minimum responsibility changed. I had to quit high school because Dad was laid off and they contested his unemployment. I was working at the local Target full-time nights during the summer to help with bills and also so I could buy my own clothing and school supplies; I figured it was the adult thing to do. I had planned on quitting once school started; unfortunately I had to keep working. With my measly three dollars and eighty cents an hour we lived on the barest of necessities for nearly a year. Once his mess was straightened out I felt like it was too late to reboot my schooling. I’d been held back in kindergarten for having a big mouth (go figure) and now I was two years behind everyone else. This was a massive lie I convinced myself of and it spawned a lot of shame.

Dad took off to live elsewhere and several months later after hopping roommates, I was in my own boring little apartment. A few months after that Dad moved back in with me after breaking up with his girlfriend and we stayed together once again (after moving into a larger apartment) splitting the bills for the next two years.

Eventually my father got the itch to change his environment once more and I ended up moving in with a friend of his from work he knew and had lived with at one point. By this time I was pushing twenty-one. Here was first real step of my descent into darkness. Jon liked to party and he ALWAYS had booze, not to mention he was the apartment manager where we lived and had a lot of similarly minded friends around, so he controlled the environment lock, stock, and barrel. Weekends were just another day, no need to wait when Tuesday would do just fine. I figured It was time to try drinking again and this time I found I liked it. The tingling in the fingers, the dropping of tension, the false sense of emotional detachment all were alluring, and honestly, extremely effective. At first four of five drinks were plenty, and it was just enough to allow me to continue my other responsibilities and activities without inebriation interfering. There WAS one thought I had prior to diving back in, I wanted to see if I could hide my behavior from the effects of alcohol. This early resolve was almost certainly the subconscious catalyst that drove me to insanity. Indeed I became quite good at it, even my father nor anyone else couldn’t tell when I was drunk right up until the very end. When I mentioned I was, they were always in disbelief, perhaps they figured telling me the truth wouldn’t matter or in denial themselves. More than likely the best explanation was I acted drunk all the time, so one couldn’t tell what sobriety looked like on me. Some of the evidence I was actually accomplishing my goal was that I drank and drove EVERY DAY FOR ALMOST A DECADE and was never even pulled over.  Such is the mind of madness.

Then it came when I finally said “Why not?” Why not just drink all the time? I was home during the day and worked the graveyard shift. I had the house to myself (we had moved by this time from the apartments and my father had moved back in, so now it was the three of us under one roof) and no one was around to witness my behavior. Sleeping wouldn’t have been a problem except our neighbor had dogs that would bark all day. All damn day. This was my excuse. This was the line I stepped over most never return from. Alcohol allowed me to literally pass out and ignore the never-ending noise coming from the yard next to my window. This was in nineteen eighty-eight, two years away from moving to Seattle.

Jon started his own business and I ended up under his employ. I worked nights in an Albertson’s grocery store and he was doing maintenance for Payless Shoes. When I’d come home Jon would be getting ready for the day and I would offer to go do his itinerary, which he loved. It allowed him to get more business and also brought me more money. Ultimately I got way too busy with the day work and he hired a replacement to take over the duties at the grocery store. My plan was working, I was off nights and motivated to better my life despite my drinking. When one of the district managers from Payless in Denver moved to Seattle, and in turn wanted to continue Jon’s services in the upper North-West, I saw my opportunity. I talked him into allowing me to take over three districts in the Puget Sound area, almost eighty stores all total. In late nineteen ninety I packed up the company van, rented a trailer, and set off to Kent, Washington.

How I started in A.A. – Part Three next.

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With Love and Compassion, Daniel Andrew Lockwood