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I was the product of a broken home, and was reared on a farm by my grandmother and aunties because my father was a shearer. My mother stayed in the city working as a barmaid. The only time I saw anyone drunk was when my father returned.
I was sent to a Catholic boarding school for two years, after which I went to my mother to live and work. My mother had lots of drunken parties and I was talked into leaving this environment by a friend. I joined the Land Army; even though I was under the age they accepted me. I was posted to Griffith–the home, those days, of plenty of wine. I palled up with a drinking crowd and was spoken to by a senior officer about the company I was keeping, but nothing serious happened at that time.
On my return to Sydney I worked and played pretty hard. It was not until I got married and had two children that things started to go wrong. I took my father, an alcoholic, to see a doctor who promptly told me I was one. My answer to him was, “Don’t call me, I’ll call you,” which strangely enough I did do just two weeks later. This doctor helped me greatly. I still don’t know if he mentioned A.A., but I stayed “dry” for seven years, mainly because I didn’t want my children to have a drunken mother.
When I picked up a drink again after this period of time, the rot really set in. I tried control; changing drinks; promises to my husband; but nothing worked. I started the rounds of hospitals after a suicide attempt (thinking my children would be better off without me). I had ten hospitalisations in the next two and a half years. The last seven were in Sydney where as part of the treatment I had to attend meetings and, in spite of me, something must have rubbed off.
I managed to get eighteen months up once, drank again and was back at the Clinic. Then I sat in meetings, only two a week, for the next five years. “Boundary riding.” I did nothing about me. Nothing about the Steps. Consequently, I picked up a drink again which lasted half a day until my daughter threatened me with hospital. Instead, I went to a meeting, and I tried to leave several times, but was stopped by the secretary. On completion of the meeting, I beat a hasty retreat, only to be captured by a member who insisted on driving me home!
That night, while trying to outsmart my daughter, I fell asleep, and I truly believe the Higher Power, God as I understand today, came into my life. I was sane enough to know next morning that if I picked up a drink I would probably never make it. So I started running to meetings–doing ten a week for a long while.
From there the days have turned into weeks, weeks into months, months into nineteen years. There have been a lot of happy times since then, punctuated by sadness, madness and gladness, and work and more work on myself to gain a degree of emotional stability. I was told by older members to put my seat on a seat, don’t pick up the first drink and take the cotton wool out of my ears. Stick with the strength; think positive, not negative. Get rid of anger and resentment as those emotions had led me to drink previously. Not to isolate–and I don’t; today I still go to three or four meetings a week. I analyse my problems with that Serenity Prayer, making my life so much easier.
I worked for thirteen years of my sobriety till I was made redundant, and was respected by my fellow workmates, simply because I like myself today and work the Twelve Steps in my life to the best of my ability. I wonder, sometimes, why I was granted this beautiful gift when my father, mother and brother all died from this disease. Thanks be to God and A.A!
