Step One

Search form

StephanieDolzall's picture
Step Number: 
Custom question

What does Step One mean to me today where I'm at?

Wow... I am a true all out addict.  Back in the day I would pop any kind of pill to conjour up any type of response... numbing, moving faster with more energy, slowing down and trying to come down, getting an adrinaline rush or hyped from it, "enhansing" life... and I could go on.  But truth was, I couldn't stop.  One pill made me bigger, and one pill made me small... It was the same for everything else I used.  Gasoline, Weed, Thai Stick, Hash, Opium, what ever... If I could smoke it, pop it, drink it, snort it, what ever... I did it. 

I started drinking at 14, heavily & alcoholicly. I drank and drugged at 16.  I had the police called on my by my parent's at 16 to do the "scared straight" program.  It didn't scare me, it educated me of better places to hide my stash and my paraphenilia.

I gave up my home, my car, my children, my dignity, my morals, my values, my relationship to my HP, my self-esteem, my self-worth, my life all for the love of using.  I was incarcerated more than once, for periods of a couple of days to a year & a half.  I was institutionalized in a mental ward, and I experienced a near death experience more than once.  I lost a year and a half of my children's life.  I missed seeing their little faces change, their voices change, some of their "firsts"... like riding a bike, swimming, going to kindergarten, & more.  Nothing made me stop.  I swore I'd never pick up again when I got out, but I lied.  Within a month I was right back at it. 
I put myself in harm's way over and over.  I ripped and tripped through my family's life, whirling and twirling and destroying hearts, their esteem, their morals, hopes and dreams.  I used up money for bills and necessities and I took from what was important to cop a high. I stole heart medication from the elderly (Quaaludes) to get stoned not caring they wouldn't have enough heart meds for that month.  I used up my parent's retirement money, not caring they would never get to go anywhere before they passed away, so that they could pay my attorney's fees, my probation fees, my urine screens, and court costs.  I physically, mentally and emotionally harmed just about everyone who came in contact with me. 
I started arguments and used manipulation to make the arguements their fault so that I'd have a reason to justify my getting high and using up all available resources of money, time or space.
I lived in the dark and came alive at night, peering out curtains and blinds for fear of being caught.  I cringed from the police and constantly worried it I was going to get busted or arrested.  "They" were out to get me.  I became a zombie and no longer "felt" anything.  I existed and nothing more.  Finally I begain to hate living, hate breathing, hate laughter, hated hearing the birds sing and hate myself more than anything else. I hated who I was and what I did. I wanted off the face of the earth. All I could think about was my next drink or drug and plotting a way to be done with this life.
I screamed out to the Unseen God, in desperation, in anguish and in surrender, begging his help with tears and loud, furious beseeching. "HELP ME PLEASE!  DO SOMETHING!!  YOU'VE GOT TO HELP ME!!! I CAN'T LIVE THIS LIFE WITH - OR WITHOUT A DRINK OR A DRUG!!  i CAN'T DO THIS!!!  YOU'VE GOT TO HELP ME!!!!  I CAN'T DO THIS ALONE!!!  PLEASE!!!  PLEASE!!!  HELLLLLLLLLPP MEEEEEE!!!!"  Was part of that request.  I turned my life over on June 2nd, 2001 in my kitchen, standing at the sink, looking out the window, up at the sky.
I went to the living room and sat on the couch.  I fell into a trance and sat there staring into space for 2 hours, then I heard a still quiet voice say, "Why don't you call AA?"  I'd never heard of it before, didn't know what it was, but I did know that I had nothing left to loose.  I called and two days later, I attended my first meeting.  Following that first meeting, I've been known to go to AA & NA meetings, work the steps and follow the suggestions of a sponsor.  I began to rid my home of all the drugs & alcohol.  I was finding bottles into my 9th month of sobriety.  Just to name a few places, I had hid it in the toilet tanks, in the back of the shelves behind storage items in all closets (4), in the top of the kitchen cabinets behind the small kitchen appliances (3), in the laundry baskets under clothes (2), in the freezer (1), inbetween the matress & box springs (1 flat bottle), in the car glove box, under the car seat (1 flat bottle), in my tool box in the garage, under the kitchen sink, under the bathroom sinks (2), one - two cases of beer in the fridge, and I'm sure there is more that I'm missing.  I was going to make sure that if someone came over and caught a little of my stash, that I would have plenty left for myself.  I dumped each bottle out and threw it away quickly before I could change my mind.  If dumping it out bothered me, and it did, I turned it upside down in the sink and walked outside as it emptied.  I called my sponsor and talked to her as I dumped them out and threw them away.   I haven't picked up a drink or a drug since June 2nd, 2001.  I claim June 4th as my sobriety date because the 2nd & the 3rd could in no way stand for a sober moment in a body that had as much alcohol in me as I did that day.

Has my disease been active recently?  In what way?  My disease is always with me, just some times less verbal or less compelling than others.  At times it tells me that I can use again, but this time I'll be able to conrol it.  (I recognise that as a flat out lie - I've NEVER been able to control it and I've "quit forever" a hundred times.  My disease will tell me "this" or "that" will make things better, feel better, help out, make me loose weight, have more energy, be happier, be more calm, etc.... I know that's a bunch of bull.  It will help me land right back in a concrete floor jail cell with the bars clanking shut and a 2" sawdust matress on a metal slab to sleep on where every time I roll over, my hand will go right in the toilet.  No windows, no privacy, the same yellow/orange jumpsuit and shower with mold growing up the walls.  Handcuffs, shackles, standing in front of the judge in shame, and listening again to someone tell me what's going to happen to my life without me being able to say a word to stop or change it. My disease is a liar.  My disease is a manipulator.  My disease is waiting on the opportunity to catch me unaware and make me think it's going to be "fun", or that "everybody else is doing it, so why not?" "Look what you're missing..."  I don't miss the handcuffs and the paddy wagons, the squad car back seats, the shackles.  My disease will have me observe or consider a drink or a drug and tell me "that's the answer."  Today I respond, "No... that's the problem, NOT the solution."

Step One:  My name is Stephanie and I'm a gratefully recovered (recovered of a hopeless state of mind & body) alcoholic/addict.


Public - accessible to all site users


Yogiart's picture

Wonderful. I love it! Thank you for sharing

allen's picture