A.A. in Prison: Inmate to Inmate. Anonymous

      The sixth year, I decided to go to nursing school. I got very busy. I put school ahead of my sobriety. Then I got lost.

      A.A. became a part of my past.

      While in nursing school, I began suffering extreme pain in my pelvis. A doctor prescribed a painkiller. (Of course, I never told the doctor my true medical history.) I fell in love with this drug. There is no other way to describe it. It made me smart. It gave me energy. It turned me into Super Mom. I graduated at the top of my class: a nurse at last!

      My only focus was the drug: getting it, getting more of it, and making sure I had enough of it. In my first year as a nurse, I was arrested for forging prescriptions.

      To us in A.A., insanity means “doing the same thing over and over while expecting different results.” The first arrest got me probation. The second arrest got me boot camp prison with the New York State Department of Corrections. So did my third arrest. My fourth arrest was for felony DWI and parole violation. I was given a year at Albion Prison. All of this happened in less than three years. Talk about “self-will run riot.”

      During my years in prison, I lost my family. Both of my parents died, and my sisters and brother decided enough was enough. My sons were living their own lives. As a parolee, I was not allowed to live with them. That gave me another excuse to drink.

      You can’t scare an alcoholic--not this alcoholic. Getting “scared straight” was never an option. When I was released in 1999, I got drunk. I kept my appointment with my probation officer. When I got tested, I blew a .01, a violation. That could have sent me back to state prison. Instead, I received the grace of God and the help of A.A. I was in a treatment center the following morning.

      This time around, I kept the focus on myself. I took the incest issues off the back burner. With the help of a very good woman, I boiled the hell out of them.

      It was a walk through darkness and terror. I had stomach cramps. I vomited. I shook till my teeth hurt, but we kept going. The woman never let up. She would not give me a break. I cried and begged. I pleaded for a drink “just to get through the hard parts.” I was denied time and again. I told her she was killing me, but we continued. I was hateful, but my anger did not sway her. The other women in the program couldn’t deal with me. But I did not let their fear stop me.

      I was given a book called Strong in the Broken Places. Night after night, I read and read. After weeks of this, my counselor held me in her arms. She whispered, “Carol, it is not your fault. But it is your responsibility.” After that, I didn’t want to quit anymore. I had freed myself of the demons. I knew I could never go back.

      A mirror was pushed in front of my face. It held many images. But in the end, they all were good: I saw a woman of great strength and experience. It was a strength that delivered me from a childhood of the damned. I was a survivor of incest. A survivor of the New York State Department of Corrections. A woman ready and willing to face her life. To embrace it. A woman who could thank God for both the good and the bad things. They all had led to my awakening.

      It’s been nearly four years since my last prison term. AA’s Promises have come true, every single one of them. I recently got off parole and probation, but it was not a big deal. I know they were caused by my drinking.

      My twin sons are both third-year college students. We get together often, and talk pretty much every day. God continues to keep them. I have a solid relationship with one sister, and a shaky relationship with another. My brother has chosen to stay outside my life.

      My life’s partner turned out to be someone from the Fellowship. That was a pleasant surprise. It never could have happened if I hadn’t gotten sober. We do not take it upon ourselves to keep each other sober. We are responsible for our own sobriety, and ask others for help during hard times.

      I call my sponsor and meet with her often. I have stayed friends with women I met when I first came in the program. I have new friends as well. A.A. has been my salvation. Sometimes I pinch myself, because my wildest dreams come true daily. I know I stay clean and sober because of God’s grace, and the people in the program.

      I am in contact with a woman who will be released from jail in March. I can give her only my experience, my strength, and my hope.

      The hard times have not stopped. Difficulties, even tragedies, happen. Life on life’s terms still sucks a lot of the time. People in the rooms support me, teach me, and love me. I still am stubborn. I still resent authority. And I still allow fear to get in my way. But it’s okay. Help is in my heart and all around me. I simply have to reach out, and the hand of A.A. is there.

      I go to meetings and share when I’m asked. I always speak about the incest in my story. I want to help women who hold on to their nightmares of abuse and shame. I share with them what’s on the other side. I encourage them to face the pain, so they can let it go. I know they can find their strength and their goodness. I know they can share their hope.

      A whisper for help brings me closer to God. My heart is filled with thanks and love for people everywhere. Together we will keep the Promises coming true. We will slay the dragons, and come to terms with life. The journey is filled with delight, with joy, and so much laughter. It is a great gift to know that we never have to be alone.

      –Carol D., Homer, New York

      SOUL SEARCHING

      It was snowing very hard. The big snowflakes were all I could see through the bars at the Ossining Correctional Facility. I had been sentenced to 5 to 15 years. I was waiting to be sent up north to another maximum-security prison.

      All my life I had tried to act like a tough guy. It kept me alive. But being around hardcore inmates, I knew I did not belong. I knew I had to survive. It would take plenty of pushups and potatoes. Years of alcohol and homelessness had taken their toll on me.

      As I sat in my cell, I wondered what had gone wrong in my life. I did not know about alcoholism. But I knew deep in my heart that alcohol had caused most of my problems.

      A guard came to my cell. “You have a visitor,” he said. Impossible. No one would travel up here in this weather. Especially, to see me! I had no self-worth, no self-esteem. But I would do anything to get out of my cell. So I did not argue with him.

      I entered the visiting room. There I saw the look in my mother’s eyes. It was the same look I had seen hundreds, maybe thousands of times before. Yet, this time, I had no booze or drugs in me to ease the pain. I wanted to crawl underneath the nearest table. The only words I could say were, “Why did you have to travel in this blizzard? I can take care of myself!” I was still trying to prove how tough I was.

      “I wanted to make sure you had cigarettes and coffee,” she said with the love of a mother. There and then I knew something had to change. If I did not care about myself, I had to stop hurting those who still cared about me. But I didn’t know how.

      I was sent to Clinton Dannemora. There I got into more trouble trying to prove myself and survive. Eventually, I was transferred to a medium-security prison. A counselor named Bill L. took a liking to me. He was a friend of Bill W., and had been a member of Alcoholics Anonymous for 12 years. He read my rap sheet. He realized that I was an alcoholic who needed help. He did not inform me of my sickness. But he introduced me to A.A.’s program. He was very careful. I guess he did not want to scare me away.

      I started working for him at the substance abuse program. But to do that, I had to agree to study for a G.E.D. He later convinced me to get into college. I was able to earn an associate’s degree and a Juvenile Justice Certificate. I felt that was quite an accomplishment. I had dropped out of school in the sixth grade. But now I was beginning to feel good about myself.

      One day Bill L. called me into his office and asked me for a favor. He wanted to know if I could set up the meeting room for some outside A.A. speakers. They might include some female speakers. “Of course!” I said without a second thought.

      As it turned out,