Why I'll Never Be Anonymous

Mike Runner is my Sunday Guest Contributor, and he brings a perspective to Wings Like Eagles that is unique and challenging. 

I normally cover topics relating to the horror of having someone else bring darkness into the home.  Mike covers the same topics, but from a completely different angle.  He was the one who brought darkness to his family.  Mike is an alcoholic.

It is my hope that the perception of what we think we know about Family Crisis is shaken up a bit.  Because there is far more involved than we think.  Much can be understood by examining the other side, and I deeply appreciate Mike's willingness to help us gain understanding as he shares with us the mind as it is affected by alcoholism.

He isn't just an alcoholic.  He is an intelligent mind, has a bright, hopeful future, and he is my friend.  And this is his story.

Editor's Note:  Mike promises to begin his post next week with the words, "My Story."  And something about being 26, if memory serves.  He's been getting us there, and frankly, I've enjoyed the journey.  His insight into the mind of an alcoholic is particularly revealing this week.

Never Anonymous.  

I thought I should say something on why I picked that name.   The word anonymous is an obvious tie in with Alcoholics Anonymous and alcoholism in general.  The great majority of people I know in recovery programs such as AA and Celebrate Recovery choose to stay anonymous and work behind the scenes.  It is a great relief for many who walk into an AA room to find out they need only use their first name.  In all recovery rooms, absolutely nothing that is said or heard is supposed to leave the room.  

The systems are built on anonymity so that people can be honest about themselves without having to worry about their dirty laundry going public.  The school teacher would not want people to know that she drank between classes; the physician would not want it to get out to his patients that he is an alcoholic, for fear of losing patients' confidence; the homemaker does not want everyone to gossip that she is a horrible mother, etc.  

The rooms have to be open for people to say what they need to say because there is nowhere else in the world that they can say it.  Based on my spot in life and my personality, I am in a unique situation where I can share about my alcoholism publicly.  I would not suggest that people who are going out on job interviews write descriptions of their alcoholism on Facebook.  Bad idea.  

Never Anonymous means that I can and will talk about my story and other topics freely without fear of consequence.  If there ever are consequences, I am fine with them if during the process I can give even the slightest hope to one alcoholic or alcoholic family who was as desperate and hopeless as I was.

I want to make the point before I go into my story that I am not the guru of sobriety.  I have no magical pills to prescribe.  I have learned by experience not to announce that I will never drink again.  I can say that if I do a few simple things today, I will not drink.  If I get up and do the same things tomorrow, the results will be the same.   What I can tell people is my story, many of things that did not work, and a few things that eventually did.  I believe in a God who could have instantaneously healed me had He so chosen.  

Well-meaning people in the church have told me over the years that I just needed to have more faith.  I certainly tried, read, and prayed, but the quick fix miracle path was not for me--on a similar note, He also did not choose to make my infected wisdom tooth go away by prayer.  Instead, an oral surgeon did it.

A quick story.

The dam broke in the hills above a small town and total destruction was imminent.  The church pastor stood by as people fled.  A passerby in a Jeep yelled out, “Pastor, get in!”  The pastor replied, “I have faith that God will save me."   

The waters continued to rise and the pastor climbed to the second floor of the church.  A boat passed and the captain yelled, “Pastor, get in before it is too late!”  “Go on my son.  The Lord will rescue me,” replied the pastor.  

The waters rose further and the pastor now stood on the roof of the church.  A helicopter dropped a ladder next to the pastor’s feat and the pilot yelled, “Climb up and join us, or you will surely drown!”   “Fly away son, God will not abandon me, and I surely will not drown," the pastor said calmly.  

A few minutes later the waters rose above the church and the pastor drowned.     The pastor arrived in heaven he sat down with God and said, “Lord, I don’t understand.  I had great faith yet You let me drown.”

God smiled and lovingly said, “My son, I sent you a Jeep, a boat and a helicopter.  What more did you want me to do?”

In my case, the Jeep, the boat and the helicopter represent tools that God gave me along the way such as personal experience, the experience of others, wise council, 12-step programs, and many others.  I believe that God allowed me to go through what I went through so that I can help others.  I understand people staring at me in disgust.  I understand getting up every morning and turning on the sink so that I could not be heard dry heaving in the toilet.  I understand waking up in a soaking wet bed because my body has been trying to un-poison itself all night through my pores.  I understand the humiliation of being arrested and going to jail.  I understand dreadfully walking downstairs in the morning because I had no idea what had happened the night before.  I understand having my blood pressure run 200/150 because of drinking, or detoxing.  I understand not being able to light the candles on my own daughter’s birthday cake because my hands were shaking so violently.  I understand family members who have tried everything.  

I have recently talked to a couple of desperate alcoholics.  In both cases, after they talked a bit, I told them my stories and they knew that I was one of them.  Only when they knew I had been with them to the gates of insanity, shame, desperation, and death, did they began to ask me questions.  

Never Anonymous.