This is my story as posted on our sponsorship website RumRadio.org

My name is Joseph G, and I am a grateful recovering alcoholic, my sobriety date is Jan. 10, 1997, for which I am truly grateful. -------

Hi everybody! I have no professional certificates, no degree or professional standing of any kind, but I have spent a night at a Holiday Inn Express.

I came to the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous because my wife had become unmanageable. She had insisted that I was an alcoholic; I insisted I was not, no way, no how. After an ongoing barrage of accusations, insinuations and ever uglier threats, I relented and agreed to go to a therapist. You see I was willing to go to any length to prove that I was Not an Alcoholic. After several months of therapy, the therapist suggested that I quit drinking alcohol for a year. I told him that was an absurd idea; I could stop drinking at any time, just not right now.

My wife took up the battle cry, “you’re an alcoholic, and if you do not go AA, I will divorce you” she raged. Again, I insisted that I was not an alcoholic. She paused, and said, with a steely-eyed chill, “until they have an assholes anonymous you need to go to A and A”.
I relented. The closest group was the Aquarius group in Dallas Texas. I do not remember much of my first meeting, as if they were speaking in some foreign and cryptic tongue. I would arrive late and leave early; again my mission was to prove that I was not an alcoholic and was willing to go to any length to prove that I was not lesser than my fellows.

The divorce came down hard, like most do. My fortune, my business, my sanity, my health and my freedom were all taken away in less than two weeks (a fortnight). My last drunk was on port wine. The TV evangelists were talking to me over the airways. I was going out to get good and ripped and was going to call a fellow I knew for company. My moment of clarity: I didn’t even like this guy’s company and having nothing left, the last to go was pride. I was finally beaten into a state of reasonableness. I searched for an AA meeting; the first I found was ironically closed. I doubled back to the Aquarius group; it was 6 o’clock pm and sundown, the meeting was just starting. I had the overwhelming sense that I was right where I was suppose to be. I shared through the choking tears and even then stammered out that my name is Joe and I am an a- a- alcoholic. I could finally breathe and was given hope.

First order of business was to find a sponsor. I was told to find a sponsor that had something I wanted. Since my fortune was gone, I wanted someone with a 500 SEL Mercedes Benz. Once the pain subsided, pride was not far behind. I had met a fellow named Bob. He was friendly and kind towards me when I was first determined to prove that AA had nothing to offer me. Bob was a dentist at one time and had lost his professional credentials because of drug and alcohol abuse, surely a hard hit. Bob had a window cleaning business. Alas, no Benz, but I was drawn to ask where’s Bob? I was then told that he had applied to the dental profession to work back in his field as an assistant, in a much lower capacity and was still turned down. Instead of putting another drink of alcohol in his body, he went to Bachman Lake and put a bullet to his brain instead. This was my first experience with death in AA; unfortunately not the last.

The soon to be ex explained that Dallas was too small for the two of us and suggested in the strongest possible way for me to move to Austin, Texas. I was attempting to get accommodations in Dallas but it seemed all doors were closed. I had a business connection in Austin and always seemed to do well there. I packed my VW bus in an ice storm and headed to Austin chanting the mantra all the way, that “God loves me and wants to see me happy”. I connected quickly and had a small room and a place to start my business over again. First things first; where was the closest AA meeting house? I contacted Intergroup and received directions, to the like of, you go down this particular road and at the end of the road there is a little yellow house, you cant miss it, looks like a place where alcoholics would go. It looked like an old crack house. It was smoke filled and had a yellow shag carpet that had seen better days and I felt right at home. It was like a metaphor for where I was in life except now I had hope. It was the Hope Group Cedar Park, Texas.

Like most of us in recovery, life happens on life’s terms. I have suffered the loss of two of my daughters to this deadly disease: Juliann my oldest in 2001 at age 29, to an accidental overdose, and my youngest Christina in 2008 at age 22, again, an accidental overdose. To help stop this tragedy from occurring to others, I have dedicated my time talents and treasure to increasing the tools that I have found to be useful in being the most effective sponsor possible that I can be. As sponsors we have other people’s lives in our hands, who are suffering from this disease of mind, body and spirit. I do not take credit for this work; this is God’s and the fellowship.

These are suggestions, take what you need and leave the rest, and if I pray if you find this useful, like always, pass it on. Please join me in the fellowship of the spirit as we trudge the road of happy destiny; the road does narrow, but the view does broaden.

When we are in the service of our fellows are we not in the service of our God.

see you on the radio
rumradio.org

"the road does narrow, but the view does broaden"

Awesome... thanks...