Breakfast with Alcoholics Anonymous

Went to a breakfast A.A. meeting. It was Rosa's idea having talked to one of my A.A. friends on the phone last night. Rosa cooked a delicious sour cream, cheddar, and hash brown casserole to carry with us. It was an open meeting so she could go even though she is not an alcoholic. It was a pleasant meal with plenty of homemade biscuits, scrambled eggs, bacon, and sausage. Rosa's casserole was a hit and there was only a small amount left to carry home. I felt comforted by seeing my old A.A. friends and even my friend, Wanda, was there, having a day off from working at the hospital. She has been having struggles with drinking as well and that is why I haven't seen her lately. When A.A. members tend to just disappear then you know that are "back out" as they say in the groups.

"I've heard you've been struggling a lot lately," Wanda told me after the meeting. "Your girlfriend just said something to me about it."

"The only time I feel well or okay is after drinking a six pack of beer," I told her. "I feel like a hopeless drunk."

"Just don't drink today, okay?" She said. "One day at a time. Let's do this together. Read the stories in the Big Book about the hopeless drunks that got sober. They were so much worse off than you and they got sober for years until they died."

I agreed to not drink just for today and promised my friend that I would try and stay sober to be there for her. Wanda told me she had a slip up as well and got drunk and said terrible things to her daughter.

"I destroyed years of built up trust in just one night," she told me forlornly. "All for a bottle of Cuervo Gold. I don't think my daughter will ever forgive me. Tequila always did make me mean. It seems I have to constantly remind myself why I can't drink."

I gave her a big hug and told her to hang in there. I am so glad I don't have children as I would have put them through hell over the years with my drinking and crazy ways. God works in mysterious ways and I think he worked wonders when he made me a very asexual creature -- no rug rat's lives to destroy in the process. I was never much one to sleep around.

After the meeting, was my shot for my schizophrenia. I have been afraid of driving lately and Rosa drove us down to my father's pharmacy to pick up my injection and to go to the doctor's office. I got my digital camera ordered while I was down there with my father's American Express card and it will be here next week. I can't wait to take pictures again and videos. It was a $380 dollar camera so it should take awesome pictures. I had to borrow the money from my father to be able to afford it much to my chagrin.

Canon 650 IS digital camera

Tonight is our usual Thursday night hotdog supper I host for my mother and Rosa. Rosa went by the grocery store a moment ago and got some delicious looking Hebrew National 1/4 pound hot dog wieners. Even after a big breakfast, my stomach is already grumbling and it is going to be a long wait until tonight. One of my favorite foods is a dog with mustard on a toasted bun piled high with kraut.

Felt so frustrated by the whole drinking, alcoholic thing and told Rosa about it after she had arrived back home.

"Why can't I just have two or three beers like a normal person?" I decreed. "I just want to be normal and average."

"You're not a normal person," Rosa said, plainly. "You're an alcoholic."

I get so tired of labels. Alcoholic. Mentally ill. Bulimic. Schizophrenic. Food addict. Bi-polar. The list could go on and on. I wanted to lash out and it is a shame you tend to lash out at those you most love when this happens.

"You can't drink for the same reason I can't smoke rock," Rosa finally told me after my little temper tantrum. "We get carried away. We can't stop once we get started."

I sat sulking on the couch as Rosa held me, frustrated. It doesn't help that I have a $269 dollar check coming in the next few days that I consider frivolous "play money" -- the money from last month's Google Adsense revenue. All my bills are paid. The car has a full tank of gas. I have plenty of food in my pantry and fridge. Two cartons of cigarettes. And I could just get rip roaring drunk for a few weeks with the only repercussions being the damage to the relationships I have by neglect. I sometimes wish I worked, as I would think that would help moderate these urges. I tend to have far too much freedom and free time. I would be too tired after working all day to even think of drinking and would just watch t.v. and go to bed.

The deep inner struggle is the hardest part -- that "stinkin' thinkin'" as they say in A.A. I put up this big charade that everything is okay for my family and Rosa when I am two steps from just saying, "to hell with it all," and walking away in a drunken stupor. Somehow, amazingly, I manage to keep it together everyday. For my loved ones. For Rosa. For Maggie. I've been pretending all my life really, since I was that young teenager hiding in that crawlspace in my bedroom drinking a bottle of wine as I smoked cigarettes. I've been hiding and struggling ever since -- putting on a brave face for a world the completely exhausts and exasperates me. For a daily mental grind I sometimes wonder if I can keep up.