Tim Lineaweaver shares his experience of his rough road to recovery, sobriety, and subsequent self-respect.
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I was twenty-eight and fresh out of detox when I first went to an AA meeting. At the time I was separated from my wife and one and a half year-old daughter and struggling with untreated PTSD. I felt like every nerve ending in my essentially sedentary body and mind was painfully sensitive to any stimuli. My image of myself was perforated by the stigma of being a drunk and a junkie. To my way of thinking back then, I was a permanent resident in loserville.
In detox, they told me that if I wanted to be clean and sober I had better go to AA… a lot. Just like any other addict alcoholic, this idea was antithetical to my drug and alcohol centered upbringing and life style. My father was an alcoholic, as was his father before him. I worked and lived in barrooms and all my friends were alcoholic/addicts.
I dealt cocaine mostly to support my habit, but also because I thought it was cool. The people I ripped and ran with were like-minded. We saw ourselves as renegades and nonconformists. Now I had to go to meetings with a bunch of holy rollers and tea-totalers! Really?
I remember sitting in group therapy at detox and asking my counselor incredulously if she thought I was an alcoholic. She turned toward me and leaned in until her face was a few inches from mine and said in a quiet but firm voice, “Absolutely!” A trained professional, exposing me right there in front of the group!
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I knew I had a problem with cocaine. It was hard to deny even though at that point in my life I had a huge capacity for denial. The shit was burying the fan but I thought I was just unlucky. I was an addict a day at a time as each day I would make a solemn oath to myself for self control, only to obliterate it with abundant piggish, indulgence that was costing me relationships, scads of cash, my physical and emotional health and my own dignity and self respect. I once stayed up smoking cocaine and drinking day and night for four straight days.
But admitting to my alcoholism meant I was the same as the Old Man. Dad, that is, he of the verbal abuse, shriven body, and rage. Mr. Self destructive. My unblinking beacon of shame; the guy who could vector onto whatever microscopic morsels of existing self-esteem were left in his sons and verbally obliterate it. Initially anyway, to admit to alcoholism was to admit that I was just like him: a shriven wastrel who had jettisoned his good looks, intelligence and potential on booze.
Day by day I stayed sober and before I knew it a year had passed. In AA it is traditional to acknowledge sobriety dates: a day, a month three months, six months and, for me, the biggie a year…I felt like I could do anything.
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When I left detox with my new understanding of myself as an addict AND an alcoholic I knew I was vulnerable to relapse. One of the benefits of being on an inpatient treatment unit for me was safety. I learned that my problems weren’t unique and that with ‘round the clock supervision and help from the staff there, I could stay sober. The problem was, I couldn’t stay there forever. At some point I had to go home to all the stress and temptation I had left behind while in treatment. I was taught that I needed to support myself on a daily basis and stay away from situations where I could be tempted.
As soon as I got home I checked my apartment answering machine for messages. All told, there were sixteen messages, all from people wanting to buy cocaine from me, or sell it to me. As I listened my heart sank a bit with each message. Much of the confidence I’d gained in treatment started to ebb away. I knew I needed a quick injection of safety and sobriety. What to do?
I didn’t know what the hell they did in those AA meetings, but I hoped it’d be a place safe from the temptation and dysfunction of my life before treatment.
So, I dialed an old friend, the only sober guy I knew and he said he would take me to a meeting. My buddy Nick had been sober for a while and had a no-bullshit take-me-as-I-am attitude about things. He wasn’t ashamed of himself and he tromped right into the meeting and plopped down while I dragged myself in behind him.
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It was almost thirty years ago but I remember it like it was yesterday. There was a guy named Bobby chairing the meeting. He was a bit older and more “street” than me. He looked like a biker, a burly guy with tattooed arms, a mop of brown hair and an unshaven face. He was four years sober. Four years! I couldn’t believe that someone addicted like me could be clean that long!
Despite his appearance he had a very calm and forthright demeanor. He told his story and the small-sized meeting was spellbound. I could identify with many parts of it: the desperation of alcoholism, the slow peeling away of one’s dignity and self-respect and the steadily mounting losses, financial, health and marriage. The sense of being cast aside, lost to everyone else and worst of all to yourself.
There was a quiet strength in the room, an emotional cohesion that united the people who seemed, on the face of things, very different. It seemed that there was a base understanding and respect in the room. Maybe, if I kept coming here I COULD stay sober.
So I did. Day and day out I went to meetings. I heard the stories, talked to people and got involved. I made friends with people who on the outside I would have very little in common with. I helped set up the rooms, made coffee whatever I was told. Despite the storminess of my life at the time, AA gave me a daily respite of understanding and support. Day by day I stayed sober and before I knew it a year had passed. In AA it is traditional to acknowledge sobriety dates: a day, a month three months, six months and, for me, the biggie a year. This has the salutary effect of encouraging struggling people forward. If I could stay clean and sober for a year I felt like I could do anything.
On my anniversary Bobby and his wife Sharon presented me with a cake. When I stood up, for the first time in my life, I felt a swelling pride. For a regular person, maybe it’s nothing to go through their days sober. For me it was a monumental achievement because I knew what it took to change myself. Other recovering alcoholics know it too. I owe AA a debt I can never repay. I have been sober for almost thirty years now and I’ve done a thing or two, but I think that was the proudest moment of my life.
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Photo by David Goehring/flickr used under Creative Commons 2.0 license
I am so grateful and so very proud of you and all the good that you do.
Article is very thoughtful and honest. Wonderful Tim
Great article in this scary time of opiod addictions, overdoses and deaths! Congratulations to your success and for helping others try to achieve theirs.
Judy: Thanks for reading and your kind feedback!
I’ve known of Tim through his parents since 1971, but I have known Tim personally since 2005. I am so proud of him, his achievement and his ability to share his experience with other addicts and alcoholics as a message of hope and possibility. You are an inspiration to me and all who know you, Tim! Keep up the good work.