At our home in Walworth, I would wake up in the morning just after having a dream. When I opened my eyes, I was more than alone. There was nothing to see.
Many mornings, when I awoke, I would suddenly realize that I was blind. For a split second, I was horrified and had a sense of terror. Then I realized I had to start another day in this new world of darkness. I had not even considered the word acceptance yet.
I had to go into my acting mode, denying that anything was wrong and that everything would be simply fine. I had a spot for myself. It was a recliner in front of the television set, watching reruns of Andy Griffith and M*A*S*H. We only had a TV antenna, but I was good at getting these shows, sometimes up to six times a day.
These shows gave me solace. They fit right into my denial of having anything wrong because I had these shows memorized anyway, and I could see all the scenes in my mind. Therefore, I was still watching TV, and I sure did enjoy them in my denial of blindness. They helped me cope with my reality daily.
When the shows were over, I felt trapped in my blindness again, having no direction at all. Reality seemed to be getting worse for me, and I felt separated from my family and other people due to the friction in our home and my blindness.
Now my spot—the recliner—was where I could settle in with my very deep depression. In one of the loneliest moments of my life, in deep self-pity, my brother Bill walked into our home. Bill asked me, “Dan, do you want to go to an AA meeting with me?”
I turned him down again, for he had asked me many times since the accident.
Ann was within earshot and heard this conversation. In a sarcastic tone, she said, “Why don’t you go? It might help you!” She pushed my button, and I was very upset.
I was upset enough to look toward Bill and say, “If I go, will you never ask me again?” He replied, “Yes.” I got up out of the chair, just to satisfy them, and walked out to the car with him.
By this time, both Bill and Kenny were successful members of A.A. for over two years. I thought I knew about alcoholism, mainly because of Kenny’s history, and therefore I knew it did not work. Besides that, I was deathly afraid of it, even the mention of the word “alcoholic.”
I avoided AA at any cost because I did not want anything to threaten my beer supply or my lifestyle of drinking. The drinking helped me cope with reality. My beer drinking took me to the past—to the good old days—daily. I could not afford to let anyone threaten my beer supply.
We arrived at the meeting on time, and Bill directed me to sit in a chair next to him. I felt unique enough just by being there and being scared to death, but I had another uniqueness about me. I was the only blind person in the room. Therefore, I knew that I was in the wrong place at the wrong time and did not belong there.
I had to go into my acting mode again and make it look like nothing could bother me. In addition, I did not want them to think that I was a newcomer, so I sat there trying to act as if I were already a member. I had to talk with Bill in my nervous condition just to make it seem OK.
Then I noticed something about these people. They were all talking and laughing, and everyone seemed to have their lives in order, having a fun time with each other.
I thought that this was very strange. As the meeting went ahead, I felt a structured environment with several readings. Then the significant impact on me happened when the chairperson started sharing his story in front of all these people. I could hardly believe my ears. With my feeling of keeping any family secrets from any other human being, I was almost embarrassed for this guy. I was thinking, “Why are you telling these people the things you are saying?”
He finished his story, and other people shared their thoughts. I came to find out that they were only sharing their experience, strength, and hope with each other. I came to find out, in the basics of this program, that they were being honest with themselves. In addition, as they were doing that, they were getting out of their own self-centeredness, in which, in my own life, I was deeply entrenched.
After the meeting was over, we all stood and held hands, and we recited the Lord’s Prayer together. When the prayer ended, I perceived all of the people closely. Bill was already talking to someone. Everyone seemed to have someone to talk to, and each one was enjoying themselves. It seemed like they all knew where they were going. The laughter especially hit me. I could not understand how they could laugh amidst all these tragic stories.
After the meeting, Bill walked me to the car. It was about nine miles to my home from the meeting. Bill did not talk to me about the meeting on the way back. In my self-righteousness, I was bracing myself to turn him down if he were to ask me to go again. However, he did not, and God worked on my heart all the way home.
Suddenly, I had a yearning to be able to do what that chairperson did. I was thinking, “I would like to be able to do that.” It piqued my interest.
Bill dropped me off in my driveway as we said goodbye to each other. He went up to the top of my driveway to turn around and started coming back down. I then found myself going over to the driveway to stop his car. He put the window down to ask what I wanted. I said, “When is the next meeting?” He replied, “I’ll pick you up tomorrow night.”
Therefore, my last drink was September 4, 1982, and I keep close track of that.
The second meeting with my brother Bill was not that much different, except at the end he started introducing me to people that he knew, and they were genuinely nice, greeting me with unconditional acceptance.
The way I felt, I knew I still did not belong there, and I did not plan to come back due to my perception of my self-worth. Then I started to notice a pattern with the members that I met—who actually talked to this blind man. They kept saying, “Keep coming back,” or “I hope to see you here again.” That interested me in coming to yet another meeting.
The perception of being unworthy of anything better than I had in my life gave me no plans of coming back or going to the next meeting. I really identified with Groucho Marx, who said, “I would never belong to any organization that would have a member such as myself.”
I started liking the meetings, only because of the spark of hope that I had for any possibility of improvement in my life.
At the next meeting, Bobby offered me a ride home, and I took him up on it.
This is where I found out about the “meeting after the meeting,” when we talked in his car, getting to know each other. As he dropped me off on the sidewalk at my home, he said, “I will pick you up tomorrow night.” I was a little bewildered, but I found myself saying, “OK, I might as well.”
The first and primary suggestion in A.A. is to put down the drink and to go to meetings. I was reluctant to do this, but I decided to try it, with the intention of giving up eventually. I now thank God that I did not give up.
With the love, acceptance, and help from other AA members, I have not had a drink since the day before my first meeting. This is miraculous to me, as I had not planned this for myself. I started going to meetings regularly. Despite all my fears, I was starting to like being at these meetings, as there was nothing at all threatening about them.
In addition, I was also attracted to the meetings by something I did not realize. I found myself being loved and accepted unconditionally by all members during the whole hour of meeting time. I was not used to that. It was brand new for me, ever since my dad’s death. It felt good. This was the beginning of my spiritual life. I was interacting with people with healthy fellowship.
I started to look forward to the meetings, and I would seek out rides to be able to go again.
I was now communicating with people outside of my low self-worth. The people in AA treated me much differently than I was feeling about myself. I started to recognize the clear distinction between the two. My life was changing for the better, despite all of the “alcoholic behavior” I had lived through.
It suddenly seemed to me that there was a God in control and that He was working in my life. I felt a force outside of myself calling me with hope.
There is a standard at the meetings that when a person wants to share verbally, they identify themselves as, “My name is (their name), and I am an alcoholic,” and then they share their experience, strength, and hope.
I loved it when they shared their stories that so many could identify with, and I was yearning to say something myself—but how was I ever going to say that I was an alcoholic? It seemed impossible.
Nevertheless, the day came, on a Sunday, that I chose to raise my hand, and I had to say it: “My name is Dan, and I am an alcoholic.” Well, I thought everyone was going to gasp in shock! I could tell that they all just looked at me, waiting for me to say something.
Just then, I felt like a bubble burst. I finally said it!
Another piece of magic happened that day. Someone came up to me after the meeting and said, “I enjoyed what you shared. Thank you for sharing that—it meant a lot to me.”
It was my first feeling of getting out of myself and helping someone else out. This was brand new to me.
Another pattern started appearing with me. The people did not mind that I was blind. They accepted it just fine. In addition, they were not afraid of my blindness, especially after I learned to share my experience, strength, and hope. I found out that there was nothing to be afraid of here. It was all love and acceptance, and it was starting to feel good.
After becoming a member, I went from being called “Dan, the blind guy” to simply “Dan.”