“Isn't it great that we don't always get what we deserve? I know, if I got the things I really deserved, I'd be dead or in jail right now.” ~Anonymous
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“Just give the program 30 days, and if you don't like it, we'll be happy to refund your misery.”
That's what my sponsor told me when I first met him. That was twenty-six days before this day. I was already dealing with the fact that what was left of my life was crumbling down around me. I didn't have any where else to turn. I figured, why not? I took his suggestions. One really bad night in the beginning he told me to pray.
“Pray for what?”, I asked.
“Pray for God's will to be done, not yours, because your will sucks. Then turn it over, leave it in his hands and see what happens.”
So, that's what I did. Man did God have some shit stored up for me! Things spiraled out of control fast. One revelation after the other... Things weren't crumbling down around me anymore, they were already dust and I had just been too blind to see.
I did what any good alcoholic does, I isolated. I locked myself into a prison of my own making. Praying in between exercising; begging for answers. Leaving the house to go for walks late at night because I knew that the bars and package stores would be closed and because I couldn't sleep. And, when the answers came I didn't listen because they weren't what I wanted to hear. That little voice kept whispering in the back of my mind, and I kept pushing it out until I finally got fed up.
I let the anger take over. Anger is the only emotion I've ever known how to deal with. I've had lots of practice. I can direct it here or there with ease. Anger is such a fickle emotion though. It never does what you want it to do, and always just makes things worse.
That day, I directed my anger towards my sponsor. I called him for the first time in days. He was worried about me. I very calmly asked him, “Do you remember when you told me to give you 30 days or you'd refund my misery?”
“Yes.”
“Well, you've got four fucking days left. I don't deserve the shit's that happening to me. If this is God's will for me, he suck my fucking cock.”
Then, I looked up at the sky and told God the same thing. I walked out of the house and drove to Hartford to visit my grandmother. There's something about her and her house that always have a way of calming me down. She's a sweet old Cuban lady who believes in some of the old Cuban religion. There are statues of saints and candles everywhere, rosary beads, and even glasses of water for the spirits of the dead. Strange things have happened in that house, and sometimes I honestly think she's psychic.
I don't recall what we talked about or how long I stayed. I just sat on the couch and stewed in my anger and misery when suddenly the room started to spin. Things got blurry. My chest got tight and I could hardly breathe. I looked around the room and the statues and pictures of the Virgin Mary and the baby Jesus kept popping out at me. Everywhere I turned they were right there; the only thing I could see clearly. I was suddenly reminded of something awful that I had done in the past. I tried to shake the thought, but it wouldn't leave. Every ounce of me wanted to break down crying, and begging for forgiveness.
I felt trapped. I needed to get out of there. I think I said goodbye and left as hastily as I could. I got in my car, rolled the windows down and started driving hoping that the fresh air would help. I got one, good, deep breath in and it hit me; I was acting like a spoiled child. I was just a fuck-up and I didn't deserve shit.
I went home, got on my knees and asked God to forgive me, laid down and fell into a deep sleep. The next morning I met my sponsor at a meeting, and told him what had happened.
“Isn't it great that we don't always get the things that we deserve,” he said, “I know if I got the things I really deserved, I'd be dead or in jail right now.”
