June 17, 2022
Good morning, God. Today’s reading is about you protecting those who come to you for help, or you Jesus go to them to comfort those in pain. In God’s Promises, it writes: “The Lord is good, giving protection in times of trouble. He knows who trusts in him.” Nahum 1-7 Last year I started to believe in you. It wasn’t always that way. I have been running my whole life. I ran from relationships or to them, and I ran the show. I had to be strong when I was sixteen, but I was amid my alcoholism then. I didn’t even think about you, Jesus. I was a frightened girl, is what I wrote it in my journal back in nineteen-eight-seven. It tells me that I was scared all the time. But I believe you protected me from harm during my sohba years and my drinking days.
The party was always at my place. A bunch of co-workers and I had fun with alcohol. We played games related to alcohol, but I think I was a full-blown alcoholic at sixteen. When the party was over, I became legless. I’d be a mad scientist mixing drinks after everyone left my apartment. I’d mix all kinds of drinks; vodka was my favorite. Any think with vodka in I would drink. I would also drink my friend’s drinks after they left my place. I didn’t think I was an alcoholic. Now, my parents were alcoholics. I was starting to drink heavily at sixteen. Alcohol became my High Power. No one dared tell me that I was having a hard time with alcohol. None of my friends thought I was drinking too much. I’d drink with the boys at Babson College with my boyfriend, Joseph. We would go to New York and drink all night and throughout the morning. I drank the guys under the table. They were puking and getting sick. I loved alcohol. It gave me a false sense of myself. I thought I was the cat’s ass having my place and drinking whenever I wanted. The Department of Youths Services didn’t know, except for my casework Christena.
Christena was a beautiful case worker; she dressed elegantly and gave me clothes from New York and a winter fur coat. And she’d help me cook healthy foods. She was from New York, and she became my friend. Christena was a peer counselor. She helped me cope with the harsh people in the world. Well, that’s how I saw people. The world seemed dark during my drinking days. Christena showed me how to do my make-up and hair. She was the only person I could trust. Letting a stranger in my life was big for me, especially as a case worker. But there was an attraction about her that made me feel safe. She never told DYS that I was having a problem with alcohol, She knew I was drinking a lot, and Christina suggested a meeting in Boston. I ignored her suggestions to attend a fellowship meeting. We always met at the Trident bookstore on Newbury Street in Boston, and we talked about everything and anything except my drinking.
One day Christina came to my apartment unexpectedly. I quickly shoved the bottle under the sofa, and I had one extra bottle, so I shoved it down a cheerios box on top of the refrigerator. The cheerio box looked pregnant. Christina knew I was having a hard time drinking alcohol. She was in the fellowship for four years, so when she saw the box on top of the refrigerator. She then strongly suggested that I meet her in a meeting.
I was now twenty, drinking like my mother, who I despised at the time. Any memory of my childhood caused me to drink. I was medicating myself with alcohol to stop the sad memories. Drinking, I thought, would take all the pain away. I was going through away. I attended a meeting and didn’t like it. I attended a men’s meeting, and they let me stay. They didn’t kick me out. Then I went to my third meeting and met the love of my life, Burt. We went to meetings together and stayed sohba. Burt was a gentleman, rough on the outside but kind and loving on the inside. We eventually fell in love after two months of knowing each other. We went everywhere together. We were in love. Burt showed me what it was like to love a person. We never argued. After seven years, Burt picked up a drink, and the love of my life drifted away from me. It broke my heart. But I stayed sohba.
I know Jesus, I can’t stop writing to you. I change topics. Well, that’s what free writing is all about. You brought me to the program, sweet Jesus. Again you protected me. I love you, Jesus love me