The life of a college student is said to be filled with hope, development, and celebration. When I first attended classes at Raymond Walters College in 1979, I discovered these fine qualities on a colorful autumn campus that was filled with promise of great things to come. The instructors provided an inspiring catalyst to higher learning. Many of my compatriot students offered encouraging fellowship. And my parents offered great pride in their once struggling, dyslexic son, who would make his way to the venerated Dean’s List for his first two quarters at “Ray’s Place.” It was also at this very same time when my destructive disease of alcoholism and drug abuse began to take its toll on my downward spiraling life. One rarely ever sees the early devastation of his own alcoholism or drug abuse. Loved ones and others attempted to tell me in as many ways as is humanly possible about the escalating dangers of my “partying adventures.” However prevalent those admonishments were, my pride would not have anything to do with accepting the fact that my disease was a rapacious creditor that would eventually take everything from my life that it could. At the time of my early roller coaster alcoholism, I would rationalize that I must not really be having trouble with drinking because I had a job (however rudimentary it was as I would clean up after the animals at the Veterinarian’s hospital), and my grades were still very strong. Although there were other mentors in my life to follow, my drugged-out persona found solace in molding itself to the banners of Hendrix, Morrison, and Joplin (all of whom had died from overdoses). Not too long after I began to skip classes for the chance to drive around Blue Ash with a forty ounce bottle of beer between my legs, fall down drunk at local bars, and get a DUI, I cut my full time course load down to part time classes and then to not taking any classes at all. Alcoholism and drug abuse and my inaction toward recovery took my opportunities from graduating or from many other things that could have otherwise been experienced in an otherwise happy, joyous, and free life.
On December 1, 1999 (my recovery anniversary day), I was to take hopefully my last drink of alcohol. A miracle of clarity came to me in admitting to my most inner self that I am an alcoholic and drug addict. I will die if I ever take any amount of alcohol into my body again (however quickly or slowly that will happen). Also, doing drugs will only lead to death. Going to Alcoholics Anonymous meetings, working the 12 Step program with a terrific sponsor, giving as much as I can to carry the message of experience, strength, and hope of recovery, and care from a Higher Power have all led and continue to lead me back home to cherished places like Raymond Walters, where I will begin taking classes again at the evening of my writing this article.
As one of my dearest friends would tell her son: “I don’t know if you have what I have (alcoholism). But if you do, it will find you. And it will try to kill you. If you don’t have the disease I have, have fun. Don’t harm anyone, and make it a better day for folks around you.” Toward the brighter side, I have discovered that the awful things my disease took away, recovery brings back. Today is a great day to be a student.
(If you feel that you may have trouble with alcoholism or drug abuse, you probably do. For recovery in alcoholism, call the Cincinnati AA office at 513-351-0422 or visit them by using the key words Cincinnati AA on your computer. If you have a problem with drug abuse, contact Center for Chemical Addiction Treatment at 513-381-6672. There is hope.)