I came into recovery in 1988. I was miserable, broken, and lonely. I was pretty much friendless and hopeless. I felt like I was dropped onto this planet from another universe and didn’t belong there or here.
I was smoking a lot of pot, sniffing speed, and drinking until I passed out every night. I never fell asleep, back in the day, I just passed out. In the mornings I came to; never woke up. I had no idea it was the drugs and the booze that was causing me to disconnect from my family, friends and society. And of course, all the drugs I was consuming had nothing to do with why my life was so wretched. For someone who had been told she’s fairly intelligent (though I never believed it) I hadn’t had a cohesive thought in years - maybe decades. I was the last to find out what my problem truly was. I walked the thin tightrope between denial and stupidity.
When a friend told me she was going to Alcoholics Anonymous and felt at home there, it made an impression on me. What did “Felt at home there,” feel like? What did it mean to fit in? It wasn’t long before I attended my first meeting on July 15th 1988. It was there, at my very first meeting, I discovered a way out of my loneliness and also, in fact, I realized I was an alcoholic and a drug addict. I learned about true spirituality. Found and honed my own Higher Power until it fit me.
Now it’s 27 years later and I’ve not had a drink or a drug since the night of July 14th 1988. Jeeze! That’s over a quarter of a century! Has it been that long? Then all at once, one day at a time, people began referring to me as an “old-timer.” Me? An “old-timer?” Yuck! I couldn’t imagine that. I don’t exactly remember when that title began falling on my shoulders. It seemed like a dreadfully heavy responsibility. An “old-timer!” I hadn’t changed - or had I? I was still the same me - or was I? My character defects still popped up and caused me pain. But now I could feel them and do something about them. I certainly never had all the answers for anyone, including myself. I still trudge the road while learning and growing, certainly never reaching any destination.
I look around in the rooms of the programs and I wonder, where are all the other “old-timers?” The meetings I attend are filled with alcoholics and drug addicts, but why are there so few people with 20 years or more? Most of the people in meetings are much younger in sober time (and in age). What happened to the people I used to know? The other “old-timers-to-be” Did they stop going to meetings? Did they forget to give back what was so freely given to them? Have they started drinking? I realize I may never know. These people become the forgotten ones. The individuals I knew in meetings, sat beside, shared a cup of coffee and a laugh. Time, and the new people who fill their chairs have erased them from my memory.
It actually scares me when people call me an “old-timer.” And I feel excluded from the pack of new people. They travel in packs, from meeting to meeting like I used to do; finding a new sense of hope, surrounded and secured by a blanket of the warmth only found in recovery. There are no “packs” of people with time, nowadays, there is just a few of us. My friend Karen and I both celebrated our Anniversaries in July. She had 36 years and I my 27th. We talked about our upcoming celebration meeting. I told her I was a bit embarrassed by the years I had collected. She felt the same. Why would we both feel embarrassed that we were able to stay clean and sober all those years? That was certainly something to be proud of, wasn’t it?
I thought back to when I was new to recovery, struggling to understand this program. Desperately looking through the Big Book for the answers and trying to understand them. I thought someone with six months was an “old-timer!” I looked up to them and asked them if they truly had not had a drink in half a year? So then why do I keep my length of my time to myself?
Now people ask me the same questions I used to ask and I answer them with the same wisdom passed on to me. In fact, everything wise I say or do or think is something I have learned through recovery. I have learned much from meetings and AA approved literature and sometimes from spiritual text separate from AA altogether. I don’t always remember where I heard or learned the particular piece of wisdom and it’s not important. What is important is that I had remembered it and could try to apply it in my life and pass it on to someone who needed to hear it.
I had learned how to live my life a day at a time through the 12 steps and the 12 Traditions protected by my Higher Power. I don’t always succeed of course. Sometimes I don’t listen to my HP. But later on a quick 10th Step shows me my part in what I had done and why I felt the way I did. I imagine that’s the point of having time - actually working the program.
However, just so you know, I have never liked the word “newcomer,” it always sounded degrading. I prefer to say new in recovery. Nor have l liked being called an “old-timer.” I would prefer not being singled out with the word “old,” instead be thought of as someone with experience. I hope never to feel like I am not teachable and often times, the lesson comes from the mouth of someone new. Being new, their minds are searching for answers and often express their thoughts in an insightful question. Many times people, who have started on their path, bring with them a wealth of information and perceptions they learned before coming into recovery. There is also the energy that the promise of new life brings.
So, I’m still learning. I’m still growing. I’m still changing. I guess that is why I do not feel like an “old-timer” and hope I never will. I want to leave earth clean and sober, with the light of recovery in my eyes and questions still to be answered.
