“Entrances to holiness are everywhere. The possibility of ascent is all around. There is no place on earth without the Presence.” This is a prayer we sometimes read on Shabbat (Sabbath) services at my synagogue. Our siddur (prayer book) is filled with short, poetic renditions of ancient prayers, making them more accessible for modern day.
If there is no place on earth without God’s presence, then God was with me while I struggled. I was diagnosed with clinical depression when I was fourteen, and for the next few years, God and I were not on good terms. At first, I blamed my problems on God. Maybe He was punishing me for something I did wrong. A sense of guilt and shame haunted me everywhere I went. The relationships I had at the time tugged at my memories as though there were something I needed to remember but could not. I was angry at God for “making” me feel how I felt, and when He didn’t answer my prayers by making me feel better, I decided that He wasn’t there at all.
I labeled myself an atheist, and I was proud of that designation. I felt that I was smarter than my religious friends and family, that I had achieved a higher understanding of truth and how the world worked. But the only truth I really knew was that I was depressed and hurting over some very old memories. I sought chaos in all aspects of my life, trying to recreate the chaos I experienced as a child. Soon, I was covered in self-harm scars, and deep into an eating disorder that would follow me into adulthood.
Addiction comes in many forms. Some people are alcoholics and drug addicts. For others, cigarettes become a staple of their routine. For still others like myself, emotions become addictive. In high school, I chased after unhealthy (and sometimes flat-out abusive) relationships. I felt that I had no control over what happened to my body--a feeling I later learned stemmed from a traumatic childhood event.
Since I felt that I couldn't control what happened to me, I didn't care what kind of substance I put in my body, how much weight I lost, in what condition I was driving, how badly I cut myself or if I remembered to take my medicine. I was completely miserable, wallowing in depression and self-loathing, with no sense of spirituality in my life.
Finally, I started going back to synagogue only because I missed the music I'd grown up with. Many synagogues have a cantor in addition to a rabbi, who leads the musical aspect of the service, while the rabbi does everything else. My synagogue's cantor had become a rabbi and was working at another temple, so we had different congregants help the rabbi with music. Eventually, I was leading the music every Friday, and I started to feel right at home on the bima with the rabbi.
Still, my compulsion to chase after the "high" of abuse followed me. Pretty soon, I was chasing actual highs and drinking with my friends. Since I'm not 21, I often found myself stealing liquor from my friends and girlfriend. I didn't consider myself addicted to anything other than pain and chaos; the irresistible urge to create chaos in my life and the lives of those around me was undeniable, but I didn't need drugs and alcohol to function. However, my friends pointed out that the way I acted around alcohol might have been a problem. While they could have a couple of drinks and be fine, I always wanted more. As it says on page four of Bill's Story in the book titled simply "Alcoholics Anonymous," "As I drank, the old fierce determination to win came back."
Bill's Story relates the experiences of the man who founded AA, the original alcoholic, so to speak. When I read it, I was convinced that I had no substance abuse problem because Bill was a mess before he got sober, whereas I was doing just fine. However, I understood the "old fierce determination to win." Every time I got drunk, I thought this time would be the time where it would be tons of fun, that I'd drink like a normal person, that I'd win over alcohol. It never was. I found myself mixing booze and my prescriptions, which made me very sick, waking up either still drunk or too hungover to go to work, driving drunk, and plotting to steal more alcohol so that I could do it all over again.
I finally realized that if I didn't already have a problem, I was well on my way to developing one. With my 21st birthday right around the corner and my self-destructive nature not going away anytime soon, I figured I'd better do something about it, so I got myself to an AA meeting.
Like I was taught since I was little, God is everywhere, even in a roomful of alcoholics who smell like cigarettes and are chugging coffee like their lives depend on it. At first, as I listened to the people in the rooms speak, I felt like I didn't belong. These were people who had been hard drinkers for years and years, people who had lost everything to alcohol. I wasn't like them. Maybe I liked to drink a little too much, but I didn't have a problem that serious. But something kept me coming back. These people became my friends, and I absorbed their wisdom. I listened to stories of people improving their lives, taking control back, and finding God. That's all I wanted: control of my life and to feel God's love.
Pretty soon, I got my 30-day chip. The applause and congratulations I received that day were more rewarding than any attention I might have gotten for something I did while I was drunk at a party. I started to feel good about being sober, and I began to pray more. I felt God moving in small ways in my life. The more I prayed, the more aware of His presence I became. The Twelve Steps are bringing me closer to God one day at a time. I'm beginning to feel like I have the power to turn my life over to the care of God and live in such a way that honors my connection with Him, not tears it apart. Maybe my story isn't that of the "typical" alcoholic, but who's to tell me what my problem is? That's between God and me, and we're working on it day by day. As someone told me at a meeting, "Each day when we look forward with positive anticipation, we are putting the wreckage of our past further from our mind."
