Rarly Harley

Alternatives(?) to AA.

We have an organization here in Canada that is based on the supposition that alchoholics can learn to drink moderately, or "controlled". It is called the Addiction Research Foundation and is funded by the government. Their success rate is poor, but their mortality rate is excellent. Simply puy, it kills a lot of alchoholics. Rational Recovery sounds similar. I tried every method known to mankind, to moderate or control my drinking from 1985 to 1990. None worked. I joined AA in 1990 and I have been clean and sober every since. AA is the only thing that worked for me and continues to work, on a 24 hour basis. I post my story in the hopes that it may help someone....

Born in Sault Ste. Marie Ontario, Canada. From earliest recollection, I felt different, that I didn't fit in. Nothing to do with my parents, they were "normal". (Whatever that is). I was always looking for somewhere to belong and couldn't find it. I was 5' 0" and 95 lbs when I started high school. Used to get beat up on a regular basis, locked in my locker, that type of thing. No fun. In grade 10 I started hanging out in the pool hall with two guys that drank on weekends. On a dare, I chugged a mickey of whiskey (12 ozs) in one drink. Instant blackout. Sick for three days. Good start. Drank casually after that, for the rest of high school. Went to a community college in Toronto after that, my first time away from home. Really spread my wings there. I had found heaven. Younge Street, full of bars and college girls. I had grown to 6 feet and 175 lbs. by then. Couldn't get out of bed for morning classes though and failed my year. Really didn't care though, I had found my best friend, Alcohol.

This was 1970, and the Canadian mantra of the day was, "go west, young man). Took my best friend with me. In Calgary, he helped me to become an instant cowboy. One trip to the western clothing store and off to the country and western bars. Yee-haw! After that, we went to Vancouver. Vancouver was all about dope smoking and being laid back. Hippy stuff. Let my hair grow and tried to fit in. Too boring. It was there that I discovered speed in amphetamine form. Pop a few of those beauties, splash them down with whiskey and a fourth dimension of existence opened up. From Vancouver, we moved to the interior of British Columbia, to a little town called Williams Lake. By this time, my friend had helped me morph into a new persona, that of hippy/cowboy. I bought my first bike too. A 360 Honda. Badass biker. Got caught dealing drugs up there, hired the best lawyer available and got off with probation. I bounced around B.C. for a couple more years, with a side trip to Edmonton. By now, my friend was demanding that I devote more of my time to him. I had developed a "winning" strategy of combining amphetamines, MDA, acid, peyote, mushrooms, coke or whatever I could find, with whiskey. My favorite thing was to be the last man standing, laughing at all the wimps that were passed out or puking. That really gave me a sense of accomplishment. Lol.

In 1978, I moved to Thunder Bay and today I know that is where I crossed the "invisible line" with my friend. Drinking became my primary purpose. I had to drink more and more to get to the "magic" and I started becoming more and more antisocial. I hung out in the biker bars and strip clubs, cause that's where I felt comfortable. I began to get my jollies by being the center of attention, doing all kinds of dangerous, illegal things. I began to develop a certain foreboding of doom however and I made my first geographical move.

I arrived back home in Sault Ste. Marie in 1980, still looking for a place to fit in. I bought a 1972 750 Honda to blast around on. I was at the beach in July and I saw a string of bikes parked by a van. The van doors were open, music was pounding out and several young ladies in bikinis were prancing around. I recognized one guy and went over for a beer. My friend helped me to become an instant biker. Within a short period of time, I was in with these guys, I sold the 750 and got a 1972 Superglide basket. I gave myself the handle "Mad Dog", so I had to live up to it. I was 6' 2" and 190 lbs by then and had picked up some bar fightin’ experience. A lot on the receiving end at first. Lol. A little later, the two oldest guys were given 1% patches to start up a club in the Sault. They had been around awhile and the boys down south wanted a toe hold on the north. I was given a probationary patch. Things began to change quickly, and became hairier. I started developing internal warning signals (my HP stirring up my conscience), about some of the things I was doing. I didn't like those feelings too much, but my friend helped me to drown them. My guts became a battleground. Today, I know that my HP stepped in, when my girlfriend announced she was pregnant. I didn't even blink, before I said "let's get married then", and I told the boys I was quitting. Lucky for me I was only a striker and I had enough street cred that they let me out. The boys even brought a stripper to my stag.

I moved to White River and set up shop with my new bride, (the one I met in a biker bar). A baby boy soon followed. I really wanted to change, to be a good husband and father. My "friend" had other ideas. After a wild Halloween dance that involved a home made bomb, I got sent to treatment in Thunder Bay, of all places. I only went to keep my job and stay out of jail. I was able to admit I was an alcoholic, but I would not admit that I was unmanageable. I completed treatment and went right back to the hotel in White River, probation order from the judge or no. Now I began to fight with my "friend" for control. I lost every battle. My "friend" had become a very tough SOB.

In 1986 I moved to Manitouwadge on another geographical. My daughter was born there. I really wanted to get a grip on my drinking, but I couldn't. I lost every battle. I remember sitting in the back corner of the bar on the 3rd day of a coke and whisky run, feeling sorry for myself. By this time, I was no longer the "life of the party", nobody wanted anything to do with me. I was covered in puke and blood. Not the tough guy anymore. I picked up my double rye and looked at the whiskey in the glass, knowing that it was preventing me from being the husband and father I wanted to be. My “friend” was no longer my “friend”. I picked up my whiskey glass, looked at it and said “You SOB”, knowing that the whiskey had become my “enemy”, and ordered two more…

At around 03:00am on March 20, 1990, I was driving my truck around, drunk and stoned as usual, fooling with the stereo. When I looked up, I had run a cop car off the road. Lol. Today I know that the voice in my head telling me to surrender at that moment, was my Higher Power. I was arrested for the last time and charged with drunk driving and coke possession. Went to my first AA meeting the next day and been clean and sober since.
“Rarely have we seen a person fail, who has thoroughly followed our path”.