North & West

One

I think what amazed me the most was the formality of the place. With nameless people scattered around the room in metal chairs pressed against the walls and in circles facing the front of the room where a small stage sat, it was easy to forget why I was there. It was almost comfortable to feel at home in this place, almost as if we were all normal people gathering together to talk.

It was easy to forget that I had a problem, as did the countless people in the room. The only difference was that I had no interest in changing my ways, no interest in dragging myself away from the intoxication that fogged my eyes and chased away the memories.

Here, in this spacious room, I could be anyone I wanted. It was easy to remain invisible, easy to remain anonymous and unimportant. We were all the same; mixed up people all shoved into a room with others who didn't have the slightest clue as to what to do with life, let alone how to deal with their problems.

And that's why we all sat around, listening as the brave ones among us walked up to the podium, sharing their stories and filling our eyes with tears and our hearts with hope. 

Those were the lucky ones, the very representation of the result we all strove for.

There was no obligation to share your name or where you were from - there wasn't even an obligation to make your presence known. It was perfectly alright to fade into the background, to act as if you didn't matter. It was perfectly alright to admit that you were just as fucked up as the rest of the population, and in this room, you could be just about anyone you wanted to be - and maybe that was why I decided to speak next.

It was almost as if my brain made the decision for me, moving my body up to the podium before I could think twice and stop myself. And then I was talking.

"I guess you could call me whatever you like, as I'd rather not share that in here. I don't really know what I'm supposed to share up here, seeing as I haven't got much of a story as of yet, but I do know that alcohol is really the only thing that makes me see clearly for a little while. I don't really see that fact changing, but for the rest of you," I paused, looking around the room at all the faces I wonderfully didn't recognize. "You really can do it. And for the ones who already have, you're one hell of a fighter because addictions run deeper than just your exterior." I finished, my voice cracking a bit as I realized how much of a mistake this had been. I also realized, a bit belatedly, that I probably shouldn't have mentioned how reliant I was on the alcohol I often consumed.

Everyone says that there's a first time for everything and that, with a little practice, it all gets better, but I wasn't seeing that as I realized how out of place I was. Even in a room full of strangers who weren't any more put together than I was, I was still an outsider.

With that thought ringing in my head like a sick mantra, I carefully walked off the stage and took my seat, sitting among the people. These people were willing to work to better themselves, and then there was me - only here because I'd gotten tired of the arguing with the people who cared about me.

It was my first and hopefully my only Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, and it was proving to be rather terrifying. I wanted to sit in the corner and rock back and forth, a bottle of Jack clutched in my hand - the only way I'd ever felt a real comfort.

I couldn't particularly say that I cared if I lived or died, and maybe it was my indifference that would be my downfall.

I sat and listened to the others speak, feeling particularly out of place when a woman, maybe a year or so older than me, took her place at the podium and spoke about how it was her first time at a meeting. She spoke about how she wasn't anxious to air her dirty laundry like this, in a room full of people, but then she went on to say how proud she was for her brother to have come with her to help himself, too.