What 12-Steppers tell you in the beginning is that you can choose your own concept of what that Higher Power is, as long as you choose something. That said, one big criticism of 12-Step programs is that even though they say you can choose your own HP, they really mean God when they say God. The subtext: if you don’t believe in God, you’re not going to make it. And if you argue about it, you’re not willing.
I am the voice of self-love. I’ve heard everything self-loathing has to say. It’s OK. Nothing new there. My job is to support the self – no matter how he’s feeling. I’m here, and have always been here. In fact, I was Present before the seed met the egg. When his mother was stressed, didn’t want to be pregnant, smoked cigarettes and got sick, I was here. I’m the real nurturer. In me, the self can always feel safe.
But in 1995 I relapsed for real with almost 10 years of sobriety. But I couldn’t wake up from that reality. It wasn’t just a dream. It’s quite shocking to dream that you’ve woken from a drunk dream but then discovered that it was not a dream at all.
Combine a smart ass 12-stepper with a holier-than-now Zen-tillectual and you’ve got a reason for Prozac whether you’re the subject or the object. On one hand we’re superior because we’ve overcome addiction and on the other because we’ve found The Way. Add the ability to quote some Freud and you get an insufferable jerk who really knows how to get under people’s skins.
I admittedly don’t know how to use theism, or the belief in an outside force, to feel better. As much as I’ve tried to use externals to change my feelings it’s never worked on any long term basis. Be it from drugs, women, grades, raises, applause, laughter – temporary relief always fades. And guess what doesn’t? That pervasive dark feeling of dis-ease, shining black through like a reverse sunrise-blinding any glimmer of satisfaction that the crack of quick cash or a fat stash or batting eye lash could give me. Gone. And there I am left to feel, one more time, like the wrong side of a colon.