Pubdate: Wed, 02 Aug 2006
Source: St. Paul Pioneer Press (MN)
Copyright: 2006 St. Paul Pioneer Press
Contact:  http://www.twincities.com/
Details: http://www.mapinc.org/media/379
Source: St. Paul Pioneer Press (MN)
Author: Jodi Mailander-Farrell, Public Access Journalism
Bookmark: http://www.mapinc.org/rehab.htm (Treatment)

LIFE IN RECOVERY

'There's Something About Being Out There Every Day, Getting Stronger 
In Front Of The World'

Angela Lee's sobriety date - Dec. 20, 2000 - is embedded in her 
memory, like a birthday or a wedding anniversary.

It's the day her body shut down from chronic alcohol poisoning, the 
diagnosis on her charts at the South Miami Hospital Addiction 
Treatment Program, where she spent the next 65 days.

It was the kind of rock-bottom moment many alcoholics describe as 
their wakeup call: convulsions, teeth gnashing, a near-death 
experience in which she says she felt God hold her in his palm and 
judge her. For Angela, 54, a well-educated woman from an upper-middle 
class Miami family whose ambition at one time was to become a state 
senator, it was the beginning of a difficult, dangerous journey she 
will be on until the day she dies. It's called recovery.

Now addicted to good health and exercise, Angela walks, skips and 
high kicks every day through Coconut Grove, Fla., a leafy 
neighborhood south of downtown Miami where the most visible sign of 
her recovery is her morning ritual of swinging on the hanging roots 
and vines of banyan trees, pulling her petite frame up for leg lifts 
and pull-ups.

Schoolchildren and commuters call her the "tree lady." A commercial 
real estate broker, she openly shares her story of alcoholism and 
recovery with everyone she meets. But for this story, Angela prefers 
using her first and middle name because she does not want to violate 
Alcoholics Anonymous' tradition of maintaining anonymity in the 
media. This is how she's made it this far:

The Morning Ritual

I get up at 4:30 every morning and I drink a whole pot of coffee. I 
never use an alarm or wakeup call. I have trouble sleeping. I wake up 
every two hours. I don't know if I was like that before because I was 
always drunk then. Wine, scotch, you name it. It was nothing for me 
to drink an entire bottle of white wine by myself. Four scotches in 
one evening was not unusual. Those last two months before I crashed, 
I had nothing else in my system but alcohol. I was in an abusive 
marriage, I was deeply in debt. I drank to calm myself ... now I just 
can't wait to get up. My time in the morning before work is so 
absolutely terrific. I light two candles on a coffee table next to 
the couch. I sit in my walled-in patio and drink coffee. I smoke. And 
I just talk to God.

I write in my journal for one to two hours on a company pad, 
longhand, every morning. I've been doing the journal for five years. 
It's a record of my recovery. I feel that it's my assignment. ...

I leave my home when the sun comes up, about 7 a.m. I walk over to 
Plymouth Congregational, the church I've belonged to since I was a 
child. I say prayers to the front door. It's usually just five 
minutes, but it's a really critical part of what I call my "survival 
routine." I dance around and do high kicks in front of the church. 
Then I go to the first vine hanging from what I call the Tree of 
Life. It's the main banyan near the church and it's the tree where I 
played as a kid. Then I move on to other vines and walk.

When I'm there, I don't feel so afraid and don't feel I need to drink 
.. I used to worry that people would think I'm a show-off. I would 
walk down Main Highway and wonder if people could see this big A 
emblazoned on my head: for Angela. Anonymous. Alcoholic. But now I 
just can't worry about it. I feel 12 years old now. I feel super. 
There's something about being out there every day, getting stronger 
in front of the world. Those commuters going by, many of them know 
me, and it's so important for me to have them see me sober. Sometimes 
I'll do it twice in one day. If I have nothing to do, that's what I 
go do because I don't like to be bored. It's dangerous.

A Bad Marriage

Leaving my second husband was part of my recovery. In the treatment 
center, they don't recommend ending a relationship while you're in 
your first year. They don't want you to make any big decisions 
because they might be the wrong one. I never told anybody I was being 
abused. I was afraid he was going to kill me and, because he is an 
alcoholic, too, I knew I would drink if I stayed. I had bruises all 
over my body. At final checkout at the residence program, the nurse 
asked me, "What caused all those?" It was mortifying. I was really 
embarrassed. In all the self-help groups I attend, I hear so many 
other women say how it's one of the hardest things for a woman to 
talk about. I'm so ashamed of it, even more than the drinking.

On Motherhood

I have one son from my first marriage. He's 30 now. As a mom, I am so 
mortified, so ashamed. I'm trying to give my son a lot of space. He's 
embarrassed, but he's unbelievably loyal. He's always treated me with 
respect. He is my one true, loyal love. He never rejected me or 
treated me wrong. I worry about him. I feel alcoholism is a genetic 
disease. He's so much like me. He's going to have to quit drinking 
some day. I try not to nag. I don't want him ending up like I did.

New Relationships

Since I left my husband I have never gone out on a date. Part of it 
is how good I feel. No one is going to get in my space. Nobody is 
going to interrupt my momentum. I stick to my routine. I rarely eat 
out at night. I feel sexy and I'm attracted to men, but I really want 
to be alone. I don't think I ever will have a relationship.

Meetings

In the beginning, after I got out, I went to 10 (Alcoholics 
Anonymous) meetings a week, all groups, everywhere. Now I go to about 
four a week. If a friend speaks across town, I go to that. On Tuesday 
nights, I'm active in the women's fellowship. They are all addiction 
support groups. I also go to Bible studies, meditation workshops. I 
go to listen and talk and to keep track of my other friends ... I 
wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for that group ... Everybody's story 
is different, but the one thing we have in common is our terminal 
disease. If we're not bound together, we're not going to make it. 
There's that bond of "you share your story with me and I share my 
story with you. Let's hang together and get better together." This 
sort of feeling happens the minute you go to the hospital. It's so beautiful.

Being Connected

A huge part of my recovery is how warm people are when I'm out on the 
street. We stop and talk to each other. "How are you?" "What's going 
on?" It makes me so glad I'm alive. It's so comforting for me to know 
so many people in this neighborhood are rooting for me. When I go to 
Milam's (grocery store), people will be looking in my cart to see if 
I have booze in there or cigarettes. I'll see people looking in my 
cart and we start laughing. It's like being in Weight Watchers and 
they're trying to catch you buying ice cream.

The Job

I'm very aware there are a lot of people who work in the commercial 
real estate business - bankers, buyers, sellers, other real estate 
brokers - who probably feel uncomfortable around me. Some (are) 
worried about themselves and don't want me to recruit them into the 
world of recovery, or they might be a recovering alcoholic and don't 
want me to know. Or they might suspect I'll relapse - because the 
odds are I will - and they don't want to work with me. My clients and 
friends know, but I can do that because I work for myself.

Some clients are still weird about it. I don't get invited to 
cocktail parties ... and I won't ever. Coming out about my recovery 
is not the smartest thing I've ever done in my life, but I have to, 
even if can't do another real estate transaction. I wouldn't be here 
otherwise. To me, it's a miracle I'm alive.

Old Friends

Some of my closest friends who I used to drink with were supportive 
for the first two years, some financially. Now, some of them don't 
want anything to do with me. If somebody drinks a lot, they don't 
want to be around somebody who is not drinking. All recovery books 
say you have to change pretty much everything. I don't remember 
cutting ties with people; they cut ties with me.

I had two girlfriends who really sustained me. One is single and in 
and out of recovery. She lives in a penthouse ... Right now she's in 
a treatment center in Malibu. I've known her since childhood. When I 
moved in, she had just gotten out of treatment. I was told to sever 
those ties. Friends in recovery, my therapist, everybody thought I 
ought not to live there. But she let me stay with her for free. I was 
so beholden and I was trying to help her. I couldn't afford rent, but 
here I was living in a beautiful penthouse. It gave me a little 
self-esteem. It was a survival thing. We're still really close 
friends and I pray for her.

Living In Fear

I could crash and burn. Fear of relapse, fear of dying is big. I'm 
more fearful of dying because I already did. I'm so allergic to 
alcohol, I can't make a mistake. For a lot of people in recovery, 
it's not unusual to go for a while and have a drink and find out you 
can't do that and start all over again. I can't do that. The doctors 
told me, "You can never have a drink again." My throat would just 
close up. I'm so scared of drinking by accident, of picking up 
somebody's drink or eating a dessert with liquor in it. Godiva 
chocolate liqueur would be like shooting me with heroin.

I love my life so much. I have so much to give. I think I can make a 
positive difference in people's lives. I can make a good example for 
my son and be proud of myself. My life could be so short because the 
chances of my drinking again are so strong.

Giving Back

The key to recovery is to get your own act together and then help 
someone else. It's the joy of service to someone else. If I relapse, 
it's going to let a lot of people down. When somebody comes to me and 
asks for help and I send them to a recovery group or counselor, I 
really try to stay in touch with them and let them know I'm rooting for them.

Finding Religion (Again)

The main thing that has sustained me is my relationship with God ... 
He never left me. I spend a lot of time talking to God, asking for 
him to forgive me. I feel like my prayers are answered all the time 
.. So many times I've thought about drinking and thought, "I miss 
it" or "Oh, I wish I could drink." But I instantly picture pouring 
chlorine down my throat. The minute I feel like drinking, I stop and 
ask God to make it go away.

The Five-Year Mark

Five years is a real turning point. It's a big deal to make it that 
long. After five years, people drift away, you get a comfort level, 
you don't go to meetings as much. I was scared to travel out of Miami 
in the beginning; I relied on my daily schedule and routine. It was a 
rigorous schedule wrapped around staying sober and being mentally and 
physically fit. Never in those first two years did I travel once or 
go into a restaurant and sit at the bar and look at the scotch 
bottles. After two years, I started to feel more secure.

Now, a little over five years into my recovery, I own my own company. 
My first two years in business have been incredibly successful. It's 
a miracle. I have my broker's license and a registered real estate 
brokerage company. My son just came to work for me. I have a credit 
card and good credit now.

I never traveled until this year. I just got back from a 30-day trip. 
I drove to California. I stayed in good hotels with in-room bars. I 
went to restaurants where I used to love drinking with friends. It 
was almost like a final exam. It was like getting my doctorate degree 
in recovery.

In AA, they give gold medals for each year of recovery. I carry my IV 
and my V. It's a big deal.
- ---
MAP posted-by: Beth Wehrman