Tipping Point
Last weekend I was talking with a loved one who is deeply worried about someone in our circle who is using drugs and causing heartache. That person is not ready to admit they have a problem. Like a muddy dog shaking filth all over the couch and rug, the abuser's actions affect everyone around them. My loved one has only known me sober, and we have rarely spoken about my alcohol use disorder. She desperately wants the bad actors to be good. Or go away. I told her what I know about chemical dependency - that it is a chronic and progressive mental illness that no one wants to have - and that denial keeps the sick person from admitting they have a problem. Yet, only the person with the problem can do anything about it. Exasperated, my dear one asked, “So what happened? How did you finally stop?”
“What happened?” is a great question. A tipping point implies a change is at hand and fingers crossed, it’s a change for the better. But in reality, events slowly come together, and over time bits of circumstance and consequence add up like a sticky ball of tape collecting dust and pet fur. A story, my story, your story is a timeline of events that ultimately blossom into “what happened.” It happens and then the petals drop.
When I got sober in the mid-1990s, I hung out with other people who wanted to stay sober. We’d meet and one of us would tell our story. The format was only a suggestion, but it made sense: begin with what life was like, what happened (what made you get sober) and what it’s like now. The stories feed us. They are a lifeline and give hope to the hopeless. What makes someone want to get sober is the most exciting and juicy part. Ears perked, we long to hear that change is possible.
The answer to what happened is rarely like what we see in films or streaming. There’s no silver bullet. Few folks get their comeuppance–thank goodness, or we’d all be black and blue. My “bottom” was a slow roll to a stop. I tried not to drink, but couldn’t help myself. I'd be standing in front of the beer section at the corner store as if in a trance. Unable and unwilling to stop. Until the day when I was.
But I said to my loved one, “I just wrote a book* about what happened to get me sober. The shorter answer is I stopped when I had suffered enough. I couldn’t take the misery any longer.”
What I did not say was it took years and was an arduous slog of demoralization. My bottom was a slow cruddy roll to a stop, hastened only after the alcohol quit getting me drunk. Nothing fancy. Nothing quick. Yet there was grace - I didn't do it alone - and it’s nothing short of a miracle that I’m not drunk right now.
We will always need more grace and mercy especially now that the dirty beasts of addiction to money and power are slinging their shitty-sickness all over our democracy. It demeans every American. We don’t know how bad it will get or how long it will take to bottom out. My primary purpose is to stay sane, have dignity, tell the truth and keep believing that intelligence and decency are stronger than denial and destruction. I’ve heard enough stories to know it’s possible to change. I still lean in to listen to them. Our country’s tipping point is yet to be determined. I wish the sick well, but keep your distance. The current administration may not be my circus, or my monkeys, but it is my country. Let’s help each other stay well.
* Swollen Appetite, a memoir will be available in the summer of 2025.
