My Story for AA

There is a challenge in debriefing the trauma of alcoholism and bipolar illness.  Shame reigns supreme and monsters are behind every corner.  Searching for the words to define this time is not a task I relish.  I am meek in my mind and I cower at the harsh light an honest telling of my story provides.  I will have the courage to begin and pray that in the telling I will find a doorway to freedom and hand the keys to another turbulent soul.

I walk down a lane and see the perfect flower at the end.
I seek to be that flower.
I seek to be shiny and bright.
Dark voices in my mind win in the every day.
I desire to be something, though I fear I am nothing.
I sip from the cup and my wings spread.
My magnificent feathers shine as I imbibe the magnificent solution.
Their is perfection in the alchemy of alcohol and mania.
I walk in a land of princes and kings.
Others fall by the wayside until only I can confront the nonexistent dragons in my mind.
I see this panacea as a conduit to spirit and I grasp the bottle as if there is a thief to my answer behind every corner.
Consequences mount and my reality falls off the shelf and shatters on the ground.
A mirror is unveiled in its place and I sob at my dilapidated state.
On my knees, I begin anew and I rest in the room picking up the pieces for what seems like eternity.

I will start at the very beginning.  A very nice place to start.  I was born in Honolulu in 1970.

In the end I see the devastaion with detachment.
I cannot find my conscience under the rubbel of shame and shock.
My mighty vision lays lifeless on the ground.
The allies I had made in the media are now revealed as false visions.
Reaching up, I enter the room and peers grab my shaking fingers.
The message of 12 guiding principles lights the end of my tunnel.
Daily I seek the refuge of humilty.
I struggle, but I now bond with other creatures.
Treating two in one rains confusion in my head as I still seek the chalice.
I have not overcome, but I do not push up the daisies or a bar stool.
Seeing the horizon is a challange, but I enjoy the sunset nonetheless.
Gratitude is heard as a song, but I struggle to discover the key.
Melody mixes with my madness and God reminds me that I am dancing barefoot on a golden beach.