...and the saga continues
And then…well, let me tell you about the very first AA meeting. I went in fully expecting to be cured or changed on the very spot. Steps were something one walked up or down. Traditions meant saying Grace at mealtimes (if I ate or remembered to). I knew I had to control my drinking and could not understand why I couldn’t. I’d been able to give all the drugs up, but booze was an entirely different manner. So – I snuck into this AA meeting in the basement of a church in Waltham, Massachusetts. My real hope was that the meeting would be over before the liquor store closed. I did not even attempt to talk to anyone. I made myself as small and as invisible as possible in the corner closest to the door. After suffering through the preamble and the serenity prayer, I was ready to listen to this impossibly old lady who seemed to be getting ready to speak up in the front; she may have been in her mid-thirties, if even that!! She started to speak and told of how, while she was sitting on the toilet that very morning, a blue bird had landed on her windowsill. What a thrill. And she could tell that it was a sign from God! Well, you might imagine that my attitude wanted nothing to do with the #*#@!* bluejay (!) or with the old lady. Nosiree – this wasn’t for me and I was out of there faster than any colored bird could fly. I wasn’t to return for many, many years.
The following years were filled with different jobs and misadventures and a steadily deteriorating relationship with my family. I had only a few friends during this period. I was too busy trying to hide my sexuality (because if anyone found out, they would hate me). I was too busy drinking because, after all, if I was an alcoholic then I might just as well act and drink like one! The primary emotion that I now remember from those years was that I was free to do whatever the hell I wanted to do. Nobody cared enough about me, nobody even really liked me, and so to hell with them all and besides that I liked to be drunk!! (These are past emotions that I’m sharing and in no way reflect the actual reality of the times- other than in my own mind). I always seemed to work at good jobs, as I am not unintelligent. I always managed to drink my way out of these good jobs and not even really care about it. There was always another job to get. There are many “war stories” in this period but I’ll save those for ‘the book’. (this would be the book that my aunt is constantly urging me to write)
On February 7, 1978, I turned 28 years old. Some buddies and I decided to celebrate by going into Boston to have a few drinks at Fanuel Hall Marketplace- a bar called Lily’s. The Blizzard of ’78 struck that night and we wound up stranded at the bar. We were there for three days and the drinks were free for the last two of them. I woke up the next morning in a hotel room, feeling relieved that at least I had sense enough not to drive home the night before…
There was only ‘one’ problem.
The hotel room was not in Boston.
The hotel room was in San Francisco.
It was not the next day. It was a week later.
My VW Bus was in the parking lot of the hotel.
I called one of my friends in Boston and asked what happened. He told me that I’d said that I was sick of winter, sick of Boston in the winter and that I was going to California. “Then, you got into the van and drove off. We thought you were going home. Thank God that you’re okay. We were really worried!”. To this day, I have absolutely no recollection of that drive across the United States!
At that point, I knew that I was in big trouble and that there was nothing I could do about it. I could not stop drinking. I knew that I had to but I could not and that was that. I was frantic. I was depressed. I was lost. I gave up all hope. This drunken alcoholic was going to throw himself in front of a cable car trolley and end it all. (I can almost laugh at that today – cable cars reach a speed of about four miles an hour). What happened instead was this…
What I now recognize as the Grace of God saved my life that day. I was approached by a pretty young lady and invited to dinner! I declined, telling her that I was gay. She told me that that didn’t matter and that there would be a lot of people at her house and I should really try to get there. Somehow, I managed to stay reasonably sober and was able to get to the house that evening- bottle of wine in hand. I was met at the door by some incredibly happy person, made to feel welcome, fed a nice meal, and then sat through a fifteen-minute talk. All of this without a drink! I was invited to vacation on the farm that these people owned a hundred miles north of the City and, having nothing to lose by this, I decided to go. I was to stay there until 1984!
I’m going to break here for a little bit here. The next few years are the one’s that probably saved my life and I want to be fresh when I write of them. I’ll be back later this afternoon. Love and Peace from Key West and from… Chris.
The following years were filled with different jobs and misadventures and a steadily deteriorating relationship with my family. I had only a few friends during this period. I was too busy trying to hide my sexuality (because if anyone found out, they would hate me). I was too busy drinking because, after all, if I was an alcoholic then I might just as well act and drink like one! The primary emotion that I now remember from those years was that I was free to do whatever the hell I wanted to do. Nobody cared enough about me, nobody even really liked me, and so to hell with them all and besides that I liked to be drunk!! (These are past emotions that I’m sharing and in no way reflect the actual reality of the times- other than in my own mind). I always seemed to work at good jobs, as I am not unintelligent. I always managed to drink my way out of these good jobs and not even really care about it. There was always another job to get. There are many “war stories” in this period but I’ll save those for ‘the book’. (this would be the book that my aunt is constantly urging me to write)
On February 7, 1978, I turned 28 years old. Some buddies and I decided to celebrate by going into Boston to have a few drinks at Fanuel Hall Marketplace- a bar called Lily’s. The Blizzard of ’78 struck that night and we wound up stranded at the bar. We were there for three days and the drinks were free for the last two of them. I woke up the next morning in a hotel room, feeling relieved that at least I had sense enough not to drive home the night before…
There was only ‘one’ problem.
The hotel room was not in Boston.
The hotel room was in San Francisco.
It was not the next day. It was a week later.
My VW Bus was in the parking lot of the hotel.
I called one of my friends in Boston and asked what happened. He told me that I’d said that I was sick of winter, sick of Boston in the winter and that I was going to California. “Then, you got into the van and drove off. We thought you were going home. Thank God that you’re okay. We were really worried!”. To this day, I have absolutely no recollection of that drive across the United States!
At that point, I knew that I was in big trouble and that there was nothing I could do about it. I could not stop drinking. I knew that I had to but I could not and that was that. I was frantic. I was depressed. I was lost. I gave up all hope. This drunken alcoholic was going to throw himself in front of a cable car trolley and end it all. (I can almost laugh at that today – cable cars reach a speed of about four miles an hour). What happened instead was this…
What I now recognize as the Grace of God saved my life that day. I was approached by a pretty young lady and invited to dinner! I declined, telling her that I was gay. She told me that that didn’t matter and that there would be a lot of people at her house and I should really try to get there. Somehow, I managed to stay reasonably sober and was able to get to the house that evening- bottle of wine in hand. I was met at the door by some incredibly happy person, made to feel welcome, fed a nice meal, and then sat through a fifteen-minute talk. All of this without a drink! I was invited to vacation on the farm that these people owned a hundred miles north of the City and, having nothing to lose by this, I decided to go. I was to stay there until 1984!
I’m going to break here for a little bit here. The next few years are the one’s that probably saved my life and I want to be fresh when I write of them. I’ll be back later this afternoon. Love and Peace from Key West and from… Chris.
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