I sat on one of the benches that lined the street in downtown Dalton, Georgia. Staring at the ground in front of me, my head was swimming; the bottle in my backpack was more than half-way empty. I’d been walking for hours, drunk and depressed - one of Dalton’s Finest stops in front of me. He asks if I’d seen a guy walking around the area looking depressed and suicidal, or whatever (paraphrased). He said the guy’s name was Brad, and he was unstable. They had received a heads-up from the Suicide Hotline that someone by that name was ready to give up and just needed a quick way to do the deed. Of course, I was Brad…but I didn’t tell him that. I must have looked more sober than I felt, because the cop just went along his merry way after I told him I knew nothing about all that. As soon as he was out of sight, I gulped down another big swig of the fifth in my pack. The next few hours were a blur of blue lights and squad cars.

That was my first P.I. and the last time I got good and drunk. Part of me wishes I could say that was the last time I drank…part of me just wishes I hadn’t got caught. When I was released two days later, I found out I was kicked out of the half-way house in which I had been living. No big surprise there. I felt like a fucking failure, but that had become the norm for me. My wife had left me about six months prior to this escapade; I hadn’t seen our two sons for weeks…months maybe. What did I have left to keep trying for? It would take me several more months to learn that this attitude was exactly the problem – exactly what was causing my downward spiral.

I went back home to northwest Tennessee. I had such lofty visions of getting sober, getting back in school, and generally succeeding in every way that had evaded me for so long. Instead, I settled into a cycle of chronic relapse. I went to meetings. I stayed around sober people. I lived one day at a time, leaving the past behind me…or so I told people.

The main thing I took away from this time was the idea that I was sick. I was broken. I had a lot of work ahead of me to fix my screwed up train wreck of a life, but I was completely incapable of doing this work. I was powerless. If I was ever going to have any hope of healing, I had to admit utter defeat and let a Higher Power heal me (whether that power be God, or the fellowship of AA, or Karma, or whatever). It took me a while to realize it, but this was actually horribly detrimental to my recovery from addiction.

In essence, I was substituting alcohol for God (or whatever you call it). Day in and day out I was telling myself that I was not good enough, and I never would be. I was blocking out the past, because today was the only day that really mattered (one day at a time…one day at a time…one day at a time…just don’t drink…one day at a time). I was not letting myself heal; I was not facing what I had done. And always, in every single aspect of my life, I was continually relinquishing control. I had no power. I could never make a difference in how I felt or how I lived.

This was nothing short of cowardice.

I recently read an article entitled “Everything You Think You Know about Addiction Is Wrong” (Johann Hari, 2015). Basically, the author asserted that addiction is not a disease. It is not something we are helpless to and powerless over. Rather, addiction is more closely related to our environment. If we immerse ourselves in toxic circumstances, we will long for an escape. Therein lies the fundamental flaw of AA and groups like it. The program works for so many because the circumstances that newcomers become immersed in are – usually – far from toxic. A good group will love and support a newcomer; they will encourage and uplift them; they will show them how great life can be if you don’t throw everything away chasing a buzz. This is truly powerful, and it helped me a lot…at first.

Eventually, however, I saw the glaring flaw in the program. I have to take responsibility for my own recovery. Riding along on the strength of a Higher Power is not taking responsibility for my recovery. This is the same problem I have with religion. I’m somehow never going to be “good enough,” but I should continually thank God for revealing that fact to me. Fuck that.

I suppose you could say that I follow a higher power if you look at it right. My higher power is who I am going to be tomorrow, in the next hour, even in the next second. I am the highest power in my life, now. No, I’m not sober…but addiction does not consume me like it did. Since I left AA, I have returned to school, I have begun pursuing my dreams (something I never would have done when I was totally committed to some celestial deity), I have begun to tackle the real issues that led to my unhealthy behavior, and I have begun to actively shape my own circumstances.

That’s the kicker. I am not at all saying that there is no God. I am just saying that whatever Higher Power you choose to believe in, it cannot become an excuse to give up on working to better yourself. Nobody is coming to help you out of the mess of you own making – you MUST help yourself.

YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN