Discover more from The Last Hundred Miles
November 20th, 1981
…we become less and less interested in ourselves, our little plans and designs. More and more we become interested in seeing what we could contribute to life. As we felt now power flow in, as we enjoyed peace of mind, as we discovered we could face life successfully, as we became conscious of His presence, we began to lose our fear of today, tomorrow or the hereafter. We were reborn.
abandon ourselves utterly to Him
The Big Book, p. 63
At work this morning, Klaus had Ellen and I into his office to “discuss” the “production” schedule for the next few weeks. It was really a run-down on what unreasonable, impossible deadlines I am hit in the face with— again. And again. The next three weeks are going to be a nightmare. I have to work the day after Thanksgiving. Only me— the entire office is closed. My week off that I’ve fantasized about taking the week of Christmas seems impossible.
The rage begins. I hate this goddamn motherfucking job. I hate it. I detest it. I hate myself for being unable to do anything about it. I hate myself. I hate my life. Everything is hopeless. My life is a pile of shit. I am going to commit suicide. I am going to drink. I hate God. There is no God. Fuck you Higher Power. I call Joanne and cry on the phone. I leave work at 3:00 ready to commit suicide— images of slit wrists seductive and sexual. I stop at Penn Station and tried to cruise the stinking men’s room. I come home in hopeless despair and lie on the sofa in a heap and watch Mary Tyler Moore and eat a pint of Häagen-Dazs and masturbate to a new fantasy of sex with Irwin from the office.
Joanne calls. I call Jim. Tonight I went to St. Luke’s in a rage— muttering aloud all the way down Christopher Street about this “fucking program”.
The qualification was a horror story. Audible gasps from the group. By the end of qualification I was grateful. My own little problems seem so wonderful compared to the nightmare of alcoholism in it’s final stages. Several members wept with emotion. I left feeling sober and fixed. Again. In one piece. Again.
But I realize now that my “falling apart” lasts for shorter and shorter periods. At the beginning of sobriety, I had severe mood swings almost hourly. Now— there are days of well-being strung together— and the collapses are shorter.
This is a disease— and when it flares up— there is pain. The program teaches us how to avoid flare ups. But the pain must be accepted as a part of recovery.