Why Staying Sober Is Harder Than Getting Sober — Emotional Sobriety Behind Bars – Rose E.

Good morning, everybody. My name is Rose, and I'm an alcoholic. First of all, I want to thank everybody on the committee, Loretta, Jim, everyone who's been so gracious to me. This is the first time I've ever been at a conference or a roundup or anything, and it's just been such a wonderful experience for me, and I'm truly grateful to have an opportunity to speak. It's an honor and a privilege to be able to speak at a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous, and that's something I never thought I'd be able to say. But I believe that, and I mean that with all of my heart. My sobriety date is January 12, 2001. I have a home group. It's the Wise Women Group in Spring Hill. I have a sponsor, and I work the steps to the best of my ability. I'm very nervous. I always get very nervous when I speak. Somebody told me once that God's shaking the truth out of you, and I don't know if that's necessarily true. I just think that I'm just a fearful alcoholic. I think I'm just afraid of everything, you know, and the difference between when I drank and today is that I just do it anyway. It is an honor to share my experience, strength, and hope with you because I never thought I'd be able to get sober. It wasn't my plan. It wasn't my intention. I honestly believe that I would die with a drink in my hand. I would die drunk. At the end of my drinking, I drank just to die. So the absolute reality that I'm standing before you today and I haven't had a drink, it's just a miracle, and it's one of the many gifts that Alcoholics Anonymous has bestowed on my life. Somebody also told me once, if you don't remember your last drink, you're probably going to drink again. My last drink was really not that eventful. What I remember is the pain. I remember the pain that I was in when I was drinking, and that's enough for me, and I think if I keep remembering that pain, that I'll stay far away from that drink. And the way I do that is I suit up and I show up. I go to meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous. This is the only thing that's ever made sense to me. This is the only thing that's ever worked. And I truly love AA. I don't like speaking. I don't like sharing. But I do it because I honestly believe that my secrets kept me sick for a very long time, and I believe my secrets want me dead. And recently I found that I started to slip into some old behavior, and I started to keep secrets again, and that was very fearful for me. And one of the reasons I stand here shaking, and I am nervous, and I tell you the truth about who I am, is that I don't ever want to go back to the hell that was my life, and it truly was a hell. I'm going to tell you a little bit about who I am. But I just really want to preface my story by if I had gotten what I wanted, I'd still be drunk. If I had gotten my way, I'd probably be dead, and I can't even imagine what would have happened to me if I actually got what I deserved. My sobriety is a gift. I take absolutely no credit for it. It was by the grace of God that I was given the gift of desperation, and I chose to live a different way. I'm 45 years old. I'm originally from New Jersey. I come from an Irish Catholic family, which is probably something you never hear of in AA, an alcoholic with an Irish Catholic background. But I come from a good family. There's alcoholism on both sides of my family. I have struggled with whether or not my father is an alcoholic or was an alcoholic because he's deceased now, but it's really none of my business. I just know that there was that predisposition to it, and coming from the type of cultural background that I come from, alcohol was always present. So Irish Catholics drink if you get married. They drink if you die. They drink if you have a baby. They just drink. You know, that's what we do. So I always equated drinking to some social event, and I always watched the progression of my aunts and uncles. You know, they got a little looser. They got a little funnier. Everybody started to sing, and I always equated that with a good time. You know, and I even remember as a kid tasting drinks. You know, they'd leave their drinks down, their whiskey or their beer or whatever it was, and as a kid I remember going up and tasting it and never liking it. I knew it. I never liked the taste of alcohol, you know, but that certainly didn't stop me on the progression of my disease. As a kid, I was painfully shy. I mean painfully shy. I used to hide behind my mother. I was afraid of everything, and I still am. I'm still the same person. I'm still that same little fearful girl, but I was overweight. I had bright red hair. I had freckles. I had a big gap in my teeth. I mean, I was just, I was like Alfred E. Newman from Mad Magazine's sister. I was just horrible. You know, there was just nothing really attractive about me. I mean, I think red hair was not attractive. I mean, it was not in vogue 40 years ago, and I think there was two of us in school, and she was the thin one and I was the fat one. You know what I mean? And it was just horrible to be who I was, and I had two older brothers, and they were just popular. They were athletic, and they were everything I wasn't, and I was just this misfit. I was just a loner by nature. I just was never comfortable in my skin. I just was awkward. And really, the only place I ever felt comfortable was alone, and really, the only place I ever felt safe was at home. You know, I just wasn't that kid that got along or was popular. I had lots of friends. I had friends, but they were kind of misfit-y like me, you know, and I just was never the person I wanted to be. I was always trying to be something I wasn't, you know. And to make matters worse, when I was nine, my parents had another child. They had a little girl, my little sister Katie. And the only place... The only place I really had a spot, a place that I knew was my own was at home. I was the only girl. I was a baby, you know, as my father's favorite. And then this little baby came along, and she just kind of took my place, you know. She just became the center of attention, and I just kind of disappeared. And because both of my parents worked, and they were good, honest, hardworking people, I had to assume a lot of responsibilities in raising her. I'd have to come home after school and take care of her. So at nine years old, I was acting like an adult. So I kind of missed out on a lot of my childhood. And I don't blame anything. Because I absolutely believe that all of my life's experience creates the sum total of who I am today. And it's taught me a lot of really great lessons. And I love my sister. My brothers have struggled with alcohol and drugs over the years. But neither one of them, to my knowledge, has had a problem like me. And I'm grateful to say that my sister has never had to struggle with this disease. So I was kind of the black sheep, the misfit, the odd one, right from the rip. School was challenging. But what I remember most is getting into high school, and desperately. Just desperately wanting to fit in. You know, I wanted to be a part of something, anything. You know, and I just wasn't. And I was right behind my brothers. And I was always, you know, John's little sister or Tom's little sister. I never had my own identity. And I remember most was the first time that I got drunk. I was 14 years old. And it was before high school dance. And I begged my brother, my oldest brother, Tommy. I said, please buy me a six-pack of beer. And he said, I don't think so, Rose. I don't think that's a good idea. And I said, but why? You do it. Your friends do it. That's what people do. That's how you. You fit in. That's how you be cool. Because I was not cool. And I bugged him enough to the point where he finally gave in. And he bought me a six-pack of beer. And I remember drinking three bottles of Rheingold beer. And what I remember most is after I drank those three bottles of beer, the feeling of not feeling anything. I didn't feel like my skin didn't fit anymore. I didn't feel like I was too fat. I didn't feel like I was too ugly. I didn't feel like I wasn't funny enough or pretty enough or smart enough. I felt normal. I drank to normal. And I believe, honestly, for myself, that I never drank socially from that point on. I was never a social drinker. I drank to get drunk every single time. And from the age of 14, any time I had an opportunity to drink, I did. And it was always with the absolute mission of getting drunk. I wasn't the person who could go out and have a drink and a meal. I was the girl that was looking to get drunk. And I probably had something in my purse that would help me along the way. It was always about getting drunk. It was always about getting past the uncomfortability that was me. I believe I've always struggled with suicide. I think that for many, many years, alcohol prevented me from committing suicide because it brought me up to that place where I could accept who I was and the pain in my life because everything that I seemed to feel was overwhelming. Everything was bad. Everything was so deep and so intense for me that alcohol was the only thing that allowed me to live day after day after day. I don't have a lot of these great funny stories like some of your speakers have had here this weekend. My drinking was really bad from the start. I was a drunkard. I was a drunkard. I was a drunkard. I was a drunkard. I was a drunkard. I was a drunkard. My first drink was at 14. By the age of 15, I'd had my first bout with alcohol poisoning, and I almost died. I was out in the woods with some friends, and I drank a whole bottle of Smirnoff straight down. I was 15 years old, and I passed out. I became unconscious. I had to be dragged by my friends to help. They rushed me to the hospital. They used the paddles and started my heart again. What I learned from that was, well, gosh, I better slow down a little bit. I didn't think for a minute that, you know, you're not really good at this, Rose. You're not doing this well. I thought to myself, well, you just better pace yourself a little bit better, because it was never an option for me to stop drinking. That was not the problem. You know, everybody's always said drinking is the problem. For me, drinking was the solution. That was the answer. You know, all those years of uncomfortability, of not fitting in, the awkwardness, the shyness, the pain, that's what allowed me to continue on. By the age of 16, I was hanging out in bars. I've always looked older than I was. And so after school, at the age of 16, I was hanging out in bars. By the age of 16, I passed for being a little bit older, made friends with all the bartenders and the bouncers, and I was hanging out in bars. I wasn't doing my homework. Thankfully enough, I was smart enough, or I was lucky enough or fortunate enough, that I always seemed to get good grades in school, because my parents would not have tolerated anything less. But I was a kid hanging out at the bars after school every day by the age of 16. By the age of 17, my father saw that there was something drastically different about me. He saw that I was drinking more. I was coming home drunk. And he sat me down. And my father was a bartender. So if he knew anything about drinking, he knew that his daughter had a problem. And he sat me down at the dining room table. God, and to this day, I still remember him just looking at me. And he said, Rose, you have all the earmarks of being an alcoholic. And I knew he was right. I never denied the alcoholism. I knew I was. I knew I drank differently. I knew it was too important to me. I knew my friends could go out and maybe have drinks and no big deal for me. It was okay. I got to get drunk. You know, I was on that mission. And I knew he was right. But I also knew absolutely that I didn't care. I was 17, you know. I had the world. I had my own car. I had a job. I was responsible. I got good grades. It's my life. I'm going to live it any way I want. And I really believed for many, many, many years, actually into recovery, that I never hurt anybody. That my alcoholism and my drinking, I was only hurting myself. I was never able to see until I was sober. For a very long time, the path of destruction and the lives that I ruined with my drinking. So even though I knew the old man was right, I knew I was a drunk, I was okay with it. It's good. It's fine. It's manageable. I always struggled with the unmanageability. The powerlessness I got, you're right, I'm a drunk. But my life's manageable. I can do this. This is fine. I got out of high school and I tried to go to college and it just wasn't working for me. You know, I wanted to go out and drink. I wanted to go to the bars. I wanted to play pool, which I never did until recently I realized that. I never actually got to the bar. I never actually got to the bar. I never actually got to the bar. I never actually got to the pool table. I actually just stayed at the bar. And recently I had my first lesson in pool, which was interesting at the age of 45. I thought I played pool, but I never did. And it was apparent when I picked up the pool stick that I'd never played. And that's what I wanted to do. You know, I realized as a sober woman that my drinking and my use of other things just took away all my motivation. It took away my desire to do anything. I started settling forever. Everything, you know. And that's the progression of this disease. You know, you always say to yourself, well, I'll never do that. That's unacceptable. And then all those things become acceptable over time as your disease progresses. You know, because it just becomes normal for you. By the age of 18, and this is something I just recently remembered, I had my first suicide attempt. And I hadn't remembered that. You know, I thought I'd done all this work on myself and I'd really gotten to grips with who I am and what I'm about. And this thought came to me. Like six months or so. That I had forgotten about this. That I had tried to commit suicide with antidepressants and they weren't even mine and booze. And I remember the scene of my father just wrestling me to the ground and taking the pills away from me and being institutionalized and begging them to please just let me out. Please let me out. I won't do it again. So I always think that that sick, suicidal person has always been deep down inside of me because I just never knew how to cope with anything. I never had any coping skills. I never had any coping skills. I love my parents to death, but they never gave me that place. That safe place to talk about how I felt. You know, am I scared? Am I angry? Am I lonely? I never knew how to do that. I never knew how to express myself. I just stuffed it. And alcohol just made that beast quiet. And that's why I kept drinking. By the time I was 20 years old, I was not only an everyday, full-blown alcoholic, I was also a blackout drinker. It didn't matter if I had one drink or 2,000 drinks. I couldn't remember what happened. Around the same time, I met a man, another alcoholic. You know, and that's what attracted me to him, is he drank the way I drank. You know, he wasn't a little sissy drinker. He drank to get drunk. And I could get with that. That was good for me, you know. And that's why we got together, and that's why we stayed together for 13 years. I don't think we ever dated. I don't think we ever courted. I don't think we ever danced. I don't think we ever did anything but get drunk together. And it was obvious almost from the beginning. Of this relationship, that it was really unhealthy. You know, and I think I knew it deep down, but something was better than nothing. And, you know, I'm settling for everything else in my life, so why not this too? And I just kind of stuck with him. And a couple of years into the relationship, his parents got with my parents, and they decided they better break us up or we'll kill each other. And they were probably right, but, you know, we were in love. So that wasn't happening. And so we stuck it out. And when I was 25 years old, I was still with him. I was still with this man, but I was still living at home, because I really kind of liked the setup at home. You know, my parents charged me $20 a week rent, and I pretty much did whatever I wanted anyway. And it was good, and it worked for me. And then they decided to up and move to Florida and threw me out on the street at the age of 25. And I decided to move in with this man. And while I was already an alcoholic, full-blown, while I was drinking every day, the amount of alcohol that I started to consume once I started living with him was just unbelievable. I had crossed that line. There was no going back. I couldn't choose anymore. And I probably hadn't been able to choose for years. But it was just to survive in the house with this man, I just had to drink. And I drank. I, at that point, probably was drinking 1.75 liters of whiskey every night. But I had a great job. I worked for a Fortune 500 company. I still don't know how I got the job. I still don't know how I kept the job. But I did, because I think in some ways I'm a workaholic as well as an alcoholic. And I poured, you know, I had nothing going on in my soul, in my real life. So I poured everything I had into this job. And so I ended up being very successful. I ended up traveling a lot. And I had a good life. And I had lots of money, which allows you to keep up the facade that your life is okay if you have money. Because you've got the right car, and you've got the right jewelry, and you've got a $400 purse, and you're wearing the right perfume, you must be doing okay, right? Well, I wasn't, but it sure looked like I was. And I sure wanted everybody to believe that I was okay, but I wasn't. And I knew my life was spiraling out of control, but I also knew it was his fault. Now, I'm a drunk. I knew that. I knew I was a drunk. And I knew my life was, I was completely powerless over alcohol, but he was really the problem. You know, if he could just kind of get this whole thing straightened out, it wouldn't be so bad. And I could just keep doing my drinking on the side because I'm doing all right, right? I'm working. Shortly after we moved in together, he stopped working completely and allowed me to be the sole provider, which, of course, I settled for because that's what I'm good at. I'm good at settling for everything. And he also became very abusive at this point. He started to become sexually abused. And he would occasionally rape me. And he became psychologically abusive and emotionally abusive and physically abusive. And the physical violence started. And I was so sick myself that I believed this man when he told me he would kill me. I believed him when he said he would hurt my family. And I allowed myself to stay in a situation because I was so sick I couldn't see that there was a way out of it. Around this time, he decided he was going to try yet another rehab. He was in and out of detail. He was in and out of rehab for so long that it just became commonplace. But he decided to go away for a longer period of time than like three days and get sober. And I thought, oh, thank God, you know, it's about time. If he just gets this together, everything's going to just be fine. And he did. He went away to rehab and he came out and he said, I'm going to go to Alcoholics Anonymous. I would like for you to come to a meeting with me. And I'm like, I don't know. The last thing in the world I want to do is go to a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. But I'm supportive, right? I'm going to be the girl. I'm going to be the woman. I'm going to help you. So I decided to go to my very first meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. And it was in a hospital in New Jersey. And it was a speaker meeting. And I remember walking in and instantly feeling so uncomfortable, the hair on the back of my neck standing up. Because I was a drunk, but, you know, I got this. But I went there to support him. And we sat down and this woman started to speak. Her name was Debbie B. And I will never forget it. The minute she opened her mouth, she had me. I knew it. She was telling my story. She was talking about feeling alone and feeling like a misfit, not fitting in and being betrayed and abandoned. And all those deep emotional things that I'd felt my whole life, all those things that drove me to the drink so I could bear to live another day. And I just was drawn in. And I found myself just weeping as she was speaking. And I didn't understand that that was my first absolute identification with another alcoholic. And when the meeting was over, she walked up to me. And she said to me, you know, you don't have to live the way you're living anymore. There's a better way. And she asked me for my phone number. And I gave it to her. And she gave me hers. And she reached out that hand of AA and she tried to help me. What I didn't do was I didn't stop drinking. I kept going to AA. And occasionally I'd show up at a meeting drunk. And she convinced me, maybe you need to go away to rehab, Rose. Maybe you need to give yourself a chance to clean up. And I did. I went away to a very nice rehab, a very exclusive rehab in New Jersey, you know. And I did my little. I think I got the chip at the end that says most likely to succeed or something like that, which is kind of funny right now because it didn't work. And I got out of rehab and I actually stayed sober for a couple of months. And then because I didn't do what I was suggested to do, because I wasn't willing, to be honest, because I wasn't open-minded, I started drinking again. But what I never did was I never told my family in Florida that I had picked up. And for the next ten years I allowed them to believe that I was sober. And. It wasn't that hard. I was in New Jersey most of the time. And, you know, I wouldn't call them when I was drunk. I might call 4,000 other people, but I wasn't calling my folks. And I did dial for drunks a little bit. And when I'd go come down here for visits, I'd clean up a little bit and I'd white knuckle the first couple of days. And if it got really painful, you know, when they went to sleep at night, I'd have a bottle of whiskey in the bedroom and I'd just drink it to level it out. And I never stayed more than five days, you know, because that was about as much as I could take. And then I'd go back to my life. The relationship with this man just got progressively worse. Of course, he started drinking again because, you know, if you're in a kind of sick, toxic relationship with another alcoholic and you're muddled in with the addiction and the codependency and just the horror of that type of relationship, eventually, if you don't live right, you're both going to drink. And we did. And he started drinking again and the violence started again. And I just thought, I can't do this anymore. I can't take this anymore. I just can't do it. I was at the point pretty much where I was just going to walk away from him. I had found the strength to do it, you know. I'm going to leave this because he's the problem. If I get rid of this guy, everything's going to just be fine, you know. And I was just about to do that and he fell down a flight of stairs and he broke his neck. And he became partially paralyzed. And then all the guilt and the shame set into my heart and I couldn't leave him. Who would do that? A good woman wouldn't do that. She wouldn't leave a man when he's at his worst. So I stayed with him for the next. I'm not sure if it was. Between a year or two years, something like that. And it just never got better. He was still drinking naturally because I bought him the alcohol because I couldn't stand him. So I got him liquored up at night. And if that didn't work. What you realize is that when you're in an abusive relationship, at some point you cross the line and you, too, become an abuser. If you've been beaten enough, you start to fight back. And if you've been hurt enough and wounded enough, you start to try to do the same thing to the other person. And I did. And he became so violent and so unkind. He became so unpredictable that I used to go to the drugstore and I'd buy over-the-counter sleeping pills and I'd crush him. And I'd mix him up in his drink so he would pass out. Not realizing at the time that I probably could have killed him. But that's what I did. And sometimes he'd pass out and it would be like peace. And then sometimes he'd sleep for about 12 seconds and Satan himself would be back alive. And eventually I'd had enough. And he was hospitalized repeatedly because he had bleeding of the varices. He used to have internal bleedings. He was very sick. He was very sick. He was very sick. He was very sick. He was a very, very sick man. And on one of his hospital stays, I decided I couldn't take it anymore. And my mother had been up here on a visit from Florida and she saw how broken I was. She still didn't know that I was drinking, but she saw how broken and beaten down I was. They had known in a roundabout way that I had, there had been domestic violence because it used to be reported in the papers. See, the police in New Jersey will press charges. It doesn't matter if I do. They will. And the police were called to my house frequently by my neighbors, thought that I was being murdered. So there was always an argument. There was always an article in the paper about, you know, something. And my brothers would call my parents and tell them. So deep down they knew, even though I wasn't honest and I couldn't tell them, they knew. So my mother had, was able to see how broken and shattered I was on this particular visit. And I really think she broke up with him. I don't know if I really did. I think she did. And all I know is he was gone. And now this magic transformation is going to take place in my life, right? He's gone. I'm still drinking, but it's okay. It's manageable. I still got a job. I got a nice car. I got nice clothes. Everything's good. And he was gone. And it didn't. It didn't get any better. You know, it just didn't get any better. I was still miserable. I was still angry. I was still sad and lonely and depressed and frightened. I was still all those horrible things that I'd always been. The only difference was he wasn't there anymore. And I knew at that point, I knew it was the booze. It had to be the booze. But I couldn't stop. I didn't know how. And I wasn't willing to try Alcoholics Anonymous because, quite frankly, it's a cult. And quite frankly, nobody could really be that happy without drinking or drugging on the side because they're a little frugal. And that's not really something for me. I'm going to try this on my own, and it never seemed to work. I never drank during the day because I couldn't. I was a sick alcoholic. Every time I drank, I got sick. I was sick every single morning of my life for 20 years. I would get up, and I would be violently ill. And I couldn't drink because I couldn't hold anything in my stomach. And then I'd have to use other things in order to calm my stomach down in order to get to work. And I'd work 10 hours a day, and I would white-knuckle it on the way home. I mean, my jaw would be clenched. My hands would be on the steering wheel. Because I had to get a drink. And I'd try to tell myself, just don't do it, Rose. This is your problem. And I'd say, just don't stop at the liquor store, and I'd stop. And then I'd say, just don't go in, and I'd be in. Just don't buy a bottle. I'd buy four. You know, and I just couldn't do it. And I remember so many nights sitting in my apartment and pouring that drink. And I drank out of 20-ounce Solo cups, which was one drink because I put a straw in it, and I could drink the whole thing straight down. And it would be about this much whiskey, and I'd tease myself with a little bit of Sprite on the top. And I remember staring at this drink for sometimes a half an hour, saying, just don't drink it, just don't drink it, just don't drink it, not being able not to drink it. I had to drink it. I had to drink it. And sometimes when I would drink it, it would come right back up, and I'd drink it right back down again because that was the only thing. And I never, I mean, I was so far gone at this point, I would go from sitting there not wanting to drink it to the next morning where I'd be passed out. You know, and all these things. It was so obvious my life was unmanageable, but I couldn't see it was unmanageable. You know, if you get up and you throw up every day, that's unmanageable. If you wet your bed every night, that's unmanageable. But I just, you know, after I bought four mattresses, I just bought a plastic cover for the bed. You know, and then I bought 12 sets of sheets, 700-pound cotton, but 12 sets of sheets, you know. I mean, and I really thought that's manageability. Well, it's not. I know that as a sober woman. But I was desperately lonely at this point in my life, and I was just looking for anything. You know, I've had this big gaping hole inside of me. Whole life. And I've tried to fill it with everything. I've tried to fill it with food, with booze, with drugs, with men, with shopping, with money. Every single thing. And nothing has ever filled this void inside of me. I started hanging around some people at work, and I started being a little more social. I hadn't been social. I hadn't drank socially ever. I was a closet hermit alcoholic. I drank alone at home. Nobody knew I was an alcoholic. That's so funny now. But... And I started doing... I started doing little things, you know, because I always had to go home and get drunk. But I'd maybe go shopping for a little while with this girl, or do little things to try and get out of myself a little bit, because I couldn't stand it. I was so absolutely alone in my addiction. I was so desperate that I needed something, because I was just at that point. And one night she asked me if I would like to go to a bar after work. And I didn't do that. I didn't drink in bars. First of all, because I couldn't drink the way I wanted to in a bar. I mean, I drank. You know, they give you these sissy little drinks. You've got to be kidding me. And I just... I didn't do it. I didn't want... And if I couldn't drink the way I wanted to, I didn't drink. You know, if I went somewhere and I could have one drink, I ate. Because I made a choice. I either ate or I drank. You know what I mean? It was all or nothing for me. I don't have balance in my life still. I struggle with balance. So I just didn't do that. But I was so lonely at that point in my life and so desperate, I agreed to go out to a bar with some friends. And it was November 25, 1998. It was the night before Thanksgiving. And... What? What I didn't know. I was 35 at the time. And what I didn't know was that's a really big night out in the bars. Kids are home from college for the first time. And they all go out. And, you know, because they're young and they have energy. And so when we got to the bar, it was around 9 o'clock at night. And when we walked in there, it was really crowded. And it was difficult to get a drink. And like I said, they give you these little sissy drinks anyway. And I just wasn't having a good time because I couldn't do what I wanted to do, which was get drunk. So, you know, I hung around for a couple hours. And I said to my friends, you know, I'm going to get home. Tomorrow's Thanksgiving. I knew I had to go to my brother's house. So my plan was I had to leave the bar, get home, get drunk, pass out, get up, get sick, and make myself look presentable before I got to my brother's house for Thanksgiving. Because I'm always the planner, you know. And so never for a minute did I think when I left that bar that I shouldn't drive. You know, I'm a professional alcoholic. I've been doing this for years. I've had a couple of drinks. You know, I'm fine. I'm good at this. I know how to drink. If I know how to do anything, I know how to drink. So I never thought that I shouldn't get behind the wheel of my car. You know, and I didn't. I walked to my car. I put the key in the ignition. And I started to drive home. I lived 18 miles from where the bar was located. And I was almost home. I was 17.3 miles from the bar, just literally around the corner from my apartment. And I lived in a very rural part of northwest New Jersey. A lot of farms, a lot of deer, you know. No streetlights, no sidewalks. And I was smoking a cigarette at the time. And I was smoking a cigarette. And I dropped my cigarette. And when I bent over to pick up my cigarette, I hit something. And my windshield imploded. And I immediately panicked. You know, I thought I'd hit a deer. But because I knew I had been using some illegal substances, and because I knew I had been drinking even though I didn't think I was drunk, I panicked. And I didn't stop. And I kept going. It also factors in that the police station was about 100 yards up on the left-hand side. So being the fearful alcoholic that I still am, I wasn't taking the chance to get out. I was taking the chance to get out and check because the cops could be right here. So I just turned the corner. And I parked my car and I went inside. I was talking to a friend of mine on the computer. And I said, you know, I hit a deer two streets up on my way home tonight. And my windshield shattered. And it's raining. And, you know, being the superficial materialistic woman that I am, I said I need to cover it. I'll ruin the interior of my car. So he said, I have a tarp or something in the garage rows. I'll come over and I'll help you cover it. And he did. Within ten minutes, I saw him pull into the parking lot. I went outside and we went to cover my windshield. And in doing so, we saw in the corner of the windshield that there was a chunk of a forehead and a tuft of hair. And I panicked. I said, oh, my God, what did I do? I said, take me back. So literally around the corner from where I lived, I mean, as we turned the corner and drove up, I could see all the police cars and I could see the ambulance. And it was really clear to me, oh, my God, something horrible has happened here. You're responsible. And he left. And now I'm going to leave again because I've got this man with me. And he's got nothing to do with this. And I can't pull him into this nightmare. So I said, turn around and take me home. And he did. And I walked inside. And being the good alcoholic that I am, I poured myself a drink and I sat there and I waited. I knew that something horrible had happened. I knew that the police would find me. I never ran. I never hid in my car. I never did anything. I sat there and I waited. And about two and a half hours later, there was a knock on my door and it was the police. And they said, Ms. Eshman, it appears. It appears as though your vehicle has been involved in an accident. We need to bring you in for questioning. And they did. And after five and a half hours, they told me that I had struck and killed a 45-year-old man that was walking in the road. And I never saw him. And I didn't stop. I spent the night there in the police station. But a good friend of mine bailed me out Thanksgiving morning. She came down there with a big wad of cash. And I went home and I absolutely knew from that moment on that my life was never going to be the same. And it was over. I knew the jig was up. You know, obviously, my parents. You're now going to know I'm drinking again. Obviously, whatever's happened here is far too much for me to handle. So I went on a mission to kill myself because I can't do this. I can't go on anymore. My family convinced me that I needed to do two things immediately. I needed to get an attorney, which I did. And I needed to check into a psychiatric unit because I was suicidal, which I was. And I did both those things. I went and got an attorney and I checked myself into a psychiatric unit. And I stayed there for 11 days. At the end of the 11 days, they said, Oh, you're not well enough to go home by yourself, honey. And they suggested that I went to a crisis house, which I did. I went to this crisis house for adults. And what I did is I proceeded to have an affair with my counselor. And he became, you know, I started trying to go to AA a little bit because it probably looked good for my trial. And he became my higher power within six weeks of being released. I was living with him. I tried to go back to work. I couldn't do that because I had just lost the ability to do anything for myself anymore. I was so deeply suicidal. I was so deep in despair that I just started drinking again because that's the only thing I know how to do. And I repeatedly tried to kill myself. I tried four times. And as God would have it, I was found every single time. Eventually, this man had gotten to the point where he couldn't tolerate my behavior anymore. He said, You can't live with me and do this. And I had nowhere to go. So I came down here to Florida. Which is technically bail jumping. And I lived with my parents. At the age of 36, I moved in with my parents. And really, the only mission that I had here, even though I knew I was going to take this case to trial, I knew that was down the road. My mission was that I was going to find a way to continue drinking and find the courage to kill myself. And that's what I tried to do. And my parents made that virtually impossible. My father was on me like white on rice. Every time I went for a walk that was more than three minutes, he was right on my tail. Trying to save my life. And eventually, we were having dinner at my parents' house. And it was my sister and her husband and their children and his parents. And it was a whole family sitting around. And my brother-in-law had just found sobriety in AA because he had a drinking and a drug problem. And he said the most god-awful thing to me. We were having dinner and he leaned over and he said, Rose, I'm going to a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous tonight. Why don't you come? And I never hated him more than I hated him at that moment. How dare you suggest that I go to a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous? I didn't. I didn't. I didn't. I didn't. I didn't. I didn't. I didn't. I didn't. I didn't. I didn't. But I knew I didn't have much choice. And that was driven home to me when my father looked over the top of his glasses and said, Baby, I don't think you have a choice. And so I did. I went to my first meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous in Florida. And what I remember is sitting in that room at this long table and not being able to pick up my head. Not being able to look anybody in the eye. The only thing I could mutter out of my mouth was, My name is Rose and I am an alcoholic. And that's all I could do for many weeks. For three weeks, I sat in that room every night. And I cried. I was so broken. I was so shattered. And I didn't think my life could get any better. But I just kept going. He picked me up every day and I just kept going. And eventually, my head started to clear a little bit. I was able to put full sentences together again. Because at the end, I couldn't even put a noun before a verb. That's how bad I'd gotten. And I realized that maybe there was a chance that I could get through this. Maybe there was some hope. Unfortunately for me, I got back involved with the medical school. A man in New Jersey had kindly asked me to leave his home. And I started making trips back and forth to New Jersey. Because I was in love again. And on one of these trips, I got a call from my sister that my father was very ill. And I needed to get back to Florida. And I did. I came back down here. And within a month, my father died. But the beautiful part of that is, when my father passed, I was sober. And I was able to make the amends to my father that I needed to make. But as soon as he passed away and we buried him. And, you know, I helped. My mother settled her life a little bit. I went back to New Jersey to be with this man. Because my trial was coming up in January. And it was now October. And, you know, I wanted to spend some time with him. Because I'm that self-centered, selfish alcoholic. And I don't think my feet were on the ground in New Jersey when I started to drink again. I just, there was just no hope for me. I couldn't see that there was any way out. I also realized, and I have trouble admitting this. But it's something I need to admit, that I was pregnant. I knew it in my soul that I was pregnant. But I never allowed the word. I never allowed the words to come out of my mouth. Because then it would be real. And there was so much on my plate. I couldn't take another thing. I couldn't take one more thing. So I pretended I wasn't. And I continued to drink. Eventually, this man caught on to me. He was a little bit slow, if you ask me. Because, you know, it was fairly obvious that I was drinking. And he said to me, Rose, if you pick up one more drink, I'm putting you on a plane. And I'm sending you back to Florida. So, of course, he went to work. I went to the liquor store. What, are you kidding me? I'm an alcoholic. I'm an alcoholic. I'm an alcoholic. I'm an alcoholic. I'm an alcoholic. I'm an alcoholic. He's not going to threaten me. So, sure enough, he came home from work. I was drunk the next morning. He paid $750 to send me one way to Florida. I think he wanted rid of me. So I landed in Florida. Of course, I was drunk when I got there. Because I drank everything that was alcoholic on the plane. And I remember sitting in the lounge in Tampa Airport. And my sister and my sponsor in AA walking up to me. I had two big drinks in front of me. And my sister said, how are you doing? And I said, I'm drunk. How are you? She goes, a little bit better than you. And I said, I think I'm pregnant. And that's the only time I ever uttered those words. I don't know why it came out of my mouth, but it did. She never brought them up to me again. And from that moment on, once I got back in Florida, I went to AA every single day. And I drank every single night. The duality of being in the program at Alcoholics Anonymous and continuing to drink is absolute terror. It's horror. To sit in a room every single night knowing that you are nothing more than a liar. And knowing that you can't share. Because you have nothing to share. To know that you are just a phony and a fake is horrible. But I did it every single day because I didn't know what else to do. Literally, I would go to a meeting and I'd go home and I'd get drunk. Eventually, it was time to go to New Jersey and face my trial. And the reason I decided to take my case to trial was really simple. It was never about being innocent. It was never about that. I mean, I knew I was guilty. I drank. I drove. I killed somebody. I'm guilty. It's really just that simple. But I thought that if I could go into a court of law and I could let this man's family see me, they could see that I'm not a monster. They didn't mean to hurt anybody. It wouldn't be so bad. I thought if a jury could see that I'm just a good woman who made a bad mistake, that it wouldn't be so bad. But I was so broken. I was so shattered. I was so empty that my attorney wouldn't even put me on the stand. My trial lasted about three weeks. And during the course of my trial, I had a miscarriage, which is a blessing. I know God continues to do for me what I can't do for myself. But then that old suicidal feeling set in deeply because not only have I killed a man now and destroyed lives, because I'm the alcoholic who never hurt anybody, but now I'm able to see some of the destruction that I've caused in my life. I've killed this man now. I've killed this innocent child. But my family knew how shattered and how delicate I was, and they stayed very, very close to me. At the end of three weeks, I was found guilty of three charges. I was found guilty of death by auto. I was found guilty of leaving a scene of the accident. And I was found guilty of possession of less than 50 milligrams of CDS. And I was immediately escorted to the county jail to await my sentencing. I remember calling my mom from the county jail and begging her, please, please come get me, please come get me, please come get me. If this was one of your sons, you'd get him out of jail. And repeatedly hanging up the phone on her because she didn't give me the answer I wanted to hear. And eventually she showed up at the county jail and she said, Rose Ellen, I love you, but I'm going to save your life. I'm not getting you out of jail. And that's the first time that my mother completely used that tough love thing on me and allowed me to feel the consequences of my choices. And I stayed there for four and a half months while I waited to be sentenced. In June of 2001, I was sentenced to 12 years and 30 days in the state penitentiary. Eight days later, I was shipped off to the only female penitentiary in the state of New Jersey. So everybody's there. It doesn't matter what you do. It doesn't matter if you have a little bag of heroin or if you killed all four of your kids. You're there. And they just kind of dump you in a room. And I remember walking in there and thinking, I'll never get through this. I'll never make it. Well, I'm not like them. But I am like them. I broke the law. You know, I've never believed that I've been punished. I never believed that God's will or man's will has ever done anything to me. I believe I've only ever been asked to pay the consequences of the choices that I've made. And I remember being afraid. And when they did classify me, they put me in the maximum security part of the prison for the first three years because in New Jersey, death by auto is a violent crime. Your car becomes your weapon. And I stayed in the maximum security part of the prison for the first three years. And I stayed angry. And anybody who tells you there's not alcohol and drugs in prison is lying to you. They're there. You can get them. I chose not to participate in the use of alcohol and drugs for one reason and one reason only. It's not because I ever wanted to be sober. It's because they could never offer me enough. I didn't want a half pint of whiskey. I wanted a gallon. I didn't want one joint. I wanted a big bag. Because if I'm going to do this, I'm going to get caught. Because that's my life. And if I'm going to get caught, I better be in a coma for a couple of days when they throw me in the lockup. And so it was sheer gluttony. It's the fact that I'm a pig that kept me clean in prison. Because it wasn't a choice. I didn't want to be sober. I had planned many times in my head when I get out of here in 12 years and 30 days, this is what I'm going to do. I'm going to buy the bottle. I'm going to hide it here. I still thought like that same alcoholic. After three years, I was classified to the minimum security part of the prison. And I got involved in a program. It's called Puppies Behind Bars. It's where inmates raise dogs for law enforcement. I hadn't seen any kind of form of life other than inmates for the first three years. There was no flowers. There was no trees, really. It was dirt and barbed wire. And yet when I got to this other part of the prison, I saw things that I hadn't seen. I saw flowers. I saw the highway. I saw cars. I saw things that I hadn't seen. And the opportunity to work with dogs sounded very appealing to me. I thought maybe it would be good for me. Maybe it would get me out of my own way. And I did. I got involved with this program. And I started working with dogs. And I found out that I loved it. You know, I loved it. And for the first four and a half months, I worked with other dogs. And they handed me my first dog. It was a little eight-week-old black Labrador retriever named Sandy. And I loved her. They put this little puppy in my arms, and I loved her. And I hadn't allowed myself to feel anything for years. I build up these huge walls around me because I've got to protect myself. And inside those walls is all the fear, all the betrayal, all that ugly stuff that stays in there. And this dog penetrated those walls, and they started to come down. Because I realized she loved me. I hadn't felt love in years. I kept everybody at bay. Because that's the way I stay safe, is if I don't let you near me. And this dog broke down that wall. And I remember that moment, sitting in my cell, looking at her, and realizing that she didn't care who I was, what I did, who I slept with, who I hurt. She loved me. I thought, oh, my God. Oh, my God. It was that moment of clarity that they talk about, you know, where I thought, maybe there's a better way. Because if I'm not drinking, and I'm not drugging, and I still want to kill myself, then the problem isn't the booze. The problem's me. And a friend of mine from Florida, my only friend in Alcoholics Anonymous in Florida, had come to see me when I was in the maximum security part of the prison. And she had bought me a big book, and a 12 and 12, Living Sober. She bought me all this AA material, which I promptly shoved in my bin and under my bed because I didn't want anything to do with it. And I realized, oh, my God. And I realized in that moment that maybe this stuff could help me. Maybe if I was open-minded enough, I could live differently. And I also realized that for the first time in my life, as I sat in prison, that I was free. That obsession to drink had been lifted from me. That thing that I prayed my whole life for was gone. I hadn't realized that. Here I'm sitting in a prison, and I'm freer than I've ever been. I didn't wake up and have to worry about what I'd done the night before. I didn't have that feeling in my gut anymore of who did I do it to, what did I hurt. What did I say? I didn't have that. All of that had been taken from me, and I didn't realize that. And I started to go to meetings in prison, which is very different. They're not like meetings out here. It's kind of like a Bible-thumping revival thing. But I went. And I was able to grab hold of concepts that never made sense to me when I tried AA before and when I was unwilling and closed-minded. I was able to grab hold of the idea and the concept of one day at a time. That was huge. I couldn't get one day. It was my whole life. And I got that one day. And that's how I... I lived my life from that point forward. I tried to apply the principles of Alcoholics Anonymous to my life in prison. And it's challenging because you don't get a whole lot of support. And I did a lot of it on my own. But I just white-knuckled it through because that's how I lived my life. I white-knuckled through everything. And eventually, after three years in the minimum security part of the prison, I came up for parole. And I was certain that I was never going to get parole because I'm the glasses-empty alcoholic. Nothing's good that's ever going to happen to me. And after ten weeks, the state of New Jersey not only decided to grant me parole, but they gave me... They gave me... Out-of-state parole via the Interstate Compact and allowed me to come to Florida. On February 5th of last year, I was released from prison after serving six years and three days. And you'd think it would be the happiest day of my life. I remember my brother picking me up at the prison and dropping me off at Newark Airport. And the only thing I had was a little packet of ID, you know, Department of Corrections ID, a birth certificate and some things, an airplane ticket. And I had sweatpants on, a T-shirt, and a khaki coat that said inmate. And I remember him dropping me off in front of Newark Airport. And it was ten below zero. And I got out of the car. I lit a cigarette. I took my coat off that said inmate. I shoved it in the garbage and I walked inside. And immediately, I was filled with fear. I didn't know what to do. It had been so long since I had been alone, not shackled, not handcuffed, not told what to do. I didn't know how to do... I didn't know how to check in. I didn't know how to check in for a flight. I couldn't remember. And I was just absolutely overwhelmed. And I went down through the security checkpoint and I'll never forget it. There was these two women in front of me and they're just complaining. You know, they've got to take their shoes off. They've got to walk through this thing. You know where I'm going. And I'm thinking to myself, well, I'm used to, you know, getting stark naked, bending over, coughing. And if I have to do that to get through that, I'll do that. You know? And I just want through. And they didn't really want me to do that, but I would have. And I got on a plane and I came to Florida. And I was reunited with my sister and my family. And it was a beautiful moment. But what I knew absolutely was I had to get to the room. I knew I had to do it. I knew if left to my own devices I would become that sick, suicidal alcoholic again and I will drink. I know that I can't be trusted. I know I can't do this on my own. I got that. I got that. And I did. I went to my first meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous. And as God would have it, when I opened the door to that first meeting, the very first person I saw was the woman who had visited me in prison and sent me the books of Alcoholics Anonymous. And that's God. That's my higher power. You know, and I didn't know a whole lot of how to live. But I knew that AA had to be a part of that. And I just kept going to meetings. meetings. I got a temporary sponsor. And eventually, I started looking for a permanent sponsor. But I knew it had to be somebody who loved AA. Because I can't do this halfway. Half measures availed mean nothing. And I'm an all or nothing kind of girl. I either got to do this, or I'm going to die. And it's really just that serious for me. Some people don't believe that this is a fatal disease. I do. I drank to die at the end. And I will drink to die again, if left to my own devices. So I knew I had to find somebody who loved AA. And I was petrified, petrified to ask this woman to be my sponsor. I watched her, you know. She's got good stuff, you know, and I'm listening. And I was so scared, because who would want to have anything to do with me? I'm a piece of garbage. I've hurt and destroyed everything I've ever laid my hands on. And eventually, I got the courage to ask her to be my sponsor. And she said, I was hoping you would ask. But see, I put all those crazy, sick, alcoholic thoughts in my head that nobody would want anything to do with me. And she started making suggestions. She started helping me work the steps. And, you know, I got one. I got two. I struggle with three still to this day. And then she made some other suggestions, like, I think you should go to women's meetings. When you spend six years and three days with 1,200 women, you don't want to go to a woman's meeting. I wasn't looking for women. I'll be perfectly honest with you. But I listened to her, because I don't know how to live one day at a time without a drink. And she does. So I'm going to listen to her, because obviously, if I want what she has, I've got to do what she does. And I went to women's meetings. And that's where I found most of the gifts of this program. You know, I love the program of Alcoholics Anonymous. And I'm grateful for so many gifts that this program has given me, gifts beyond anything that I could ever dreamed of. They never, you know, I love the promises. I've always held on to the promises, you know. You're going to know a new freedom and a new happiness. And I do. I do know a new freedom and a new happiness. I never thought I would be free the way I feel free today. Not drinking and not drugging and not have to depend on a substance to get through my life is a freedom that I could never have believed possible. For me, I wanted to die. I never believed I could go one day without a drink. And yet I do. I get up today. And for the most part, I rarely think about a drink. And if I do think about a drink, it's because I want to end the pain that I'm in. It's not about that drink. It's about ending the feeling that I'm feeling. It's an emotional thing for me. I've learned how to identify in the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous and not compare, because I was a big comparer. You know, I used to sit in meetings of AA, and I compared myself. And it was never that, I'm not that bad. It's, you're only drinking a couple of glasses of wine, and you can't function. You know, I'm drinking a gallon of whiskey and going to work. What's your problem? You know, I was just that sick alcoholic. You know, like, you're a whiner. Walk it out. It'll be all right. You know, and that's what I did, because that's the alcoholic of my type. I've learned how to stay sober one day at a time, and that's a concept I never thought I'd be able to get my arms around. And what that allows you to do, it allows you to build sober history. And it allows you to see that you can get through anything. Because you have something to say, well, you know what? Somebody went through this. I heard this in a meeting. I've been through this, and I know I can get through the next thing without a drink. You know, I never gave myself enough time. Had my life not gone the way it went, I don't think I ever would have found the gift of sobriety, because I never would have found the gift of desperation. I found the gift of desperation after not having a drink or a drug for three years, because I still wanted to die. It was never about the drink. Drinking is just the symptom of all the underlying issues, and it truly is. You know, I love this program. My sobriety absolutely is a gift from God. And like I said, I occasionally do think about a drink, but the thing I struggle with, I always thought getting sober would be the hardest thing I ever did. Staying sober is the hardest thing I ever did. It's the emotional sobriety that I struggle with, because that's what drove me to the drink at the first point. Every time I feel uncomfortable, I want to end that pain. I've spent most of my life anesthetized. I've numbed everything I've ever felt, because that's the only way I could deal with it. But AA gives me tools. They give me coping skills that show me that I can get through this by just doing the next right thing. There's nothing about this program that's natural for me. It is not natural for me not to drink, and that's the first thing he told me to try doing. Don't drink. It's not natural. I drink. That's what I do. It's not natural for me to get up and be honest with you about who I am, what I've done, and honestly, from a gut level, share with you the person that I am and the things that I've done. But AA teaches me to do that. I don't like drinking. I don't like drinking. I don't like drinking. I don't like drinking. I don't like to take the risk of being hurt, and I've never been hurt in the rooms of AA. You know, I never fit in. My skin never fit anywhere in life, only in the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous. And it's not, you know, Jennifer A. said it yesterday. I think it's really beautiful. She said even when she walks into the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous when she first came in, she didn't feel comfortable, and neither did I. Over time, I have felt more and more comfortable, because I'm still that insecure little girl that so desperately wants to fit in, and I do fit in. It's just the only place I've ever felt safe. This is the only place that I've ever felt like my skin fit, because I can honestly tell you who I am and what I've done, and you get it. You know, that's a common denominator that we all share. You know, I could tell my sister something, and she looks at me like I've got 12 heads. And I can tell my sponsor something, and she's like, oh, yeah, absolutely. You know, she gets it. We get each other. Normal people will never understand who we are. This program has taught me that I can do anything. I can go anywhere as long as I'm spiritually fit. And that is my struggle, is the spiritual fitness. You know, because the things that I'm supposed to do to keep spiritually fit are not necessarily natural for me, to get up and ask for help. I've done everything myself my whole life, because I can never count on anybody. And if I count on God, then I've got to get out of the way. And if I get out of the way, I don't get my own way. You know, step three is still a struggle for me. I don't do this program perfectly. I don't do it well, but I do it. I suit up and I show up, and the only thing I do some days that's right is I just don't pick up that first drink. And that's what's allowed me to get up and ask for help. From that point to this point. The thing I love most about Alcoholics Anonymous is that your heart speaks to my heart. And that's what works for me. That's the only thing that ever made sense. You know, a lot of people sit in meetings and they struggle, and I've been one of those people that I've sat in a meeting and I struggle. I'm looking for sobriety. Where's sobriety? I can't find it. You know, and if he tells that story one more time, I'm going to lose my mind. And then I realized I'm counting on you to give me what I need. Getting what I need from the places I know where it is. I get it from the strength from my higher power. And I have a responsibility to the Fellowship of Alcoholics Anonymous. I have a responsibility to share my experience, strength, and hope with you. And that's how it works. There's nothing that's ever made more sense to me in life than this program. And I love this program. And there's something right before I end that I'd like to read to you because this was something that one of the trainers in the puppy program that I was in gave to me. And it's written by Mother Teresa, and it kind of sums up to me what the program of Alcoholics Anonymous is truly about. People are often unreasonable and self-centered. Forgive them anyway. If you are kind, people may accuse you of ulterior motives. Be kind anyway. If you are honest, people may cheat you. Be honest anyway. If you find happiness, people may be jealous. Be happy anyway. The good you do today may be forgotten tomorrow. Do good anyway. Thank you. Give the world the best you have, and it may never be enough. Give your best anyway. For you see, in the end, it's between you and God. It was never about them anyway. I hope today I've managed to touch some of your hearts. And once again, thank you for the opportunity to let me share.