Serena's Journey: From Childhood Chaos to 29 Years Sober

Hello I'm Serena, I'm an alcoholic. Thanks for your lead. I need this out of the way so I don't get distracted.

My sobriety date is January 10th, 2001. My home group is The Rafters in Newhall and despite the math, I like to say I'm 29 years old, but I'm not.

I joke that I got sober by accident, but here's the truth. The truth is that, I'm trying to cut this down because I'm looking at the time. I could talk forever.

I come from an alcoholic household. My parents got divorced because of my dad's alcoholism. When my parents got pregnant, my mom stopped partying and my dad didn't.

And that was the downfall of their marriage and quickly after that my dad got sober when I was six.

At the time he was considered a young person at 28 years old getting sober and I watched him get sober and I was the kid in the meetings with a coloring book at three valley clubs ago, right?

It was a giant meeting hall with like pool tables and like rows of tables and chairs and everything and I quickly learned that I had to get my dad up early to go to those meetings because I wanted the apple fritter donut and I was really pissed at six years old when somebody took it before me.

And yeah, so I was that kid, you know. At that early age I learned fellowship, right? My dad quickly got in the mix and we did lots of things. We went hiking and camping and all these different things and I learned about that fellowship.

And back to my story. So I grew up in that household. To this day, like my dad, he doesn't anymore, but for a long time he was like, "Oh, do you remember when I did this to you?" I'm like, "No, I was four years old. I don't remember that." Like I don't remember anything that he claims was traumatic, right? Of just his general behavior. Like I don't remember. I don't remember. And I'm grateful for that, right?

My mom had moved to Moreno Valley and she met my stepdad there and even then, even then, like I have these memories of just my behavior. I'm an angry kid. I'm an angry person, right? I act out. I do things and never knew why. Similar to, where'd Bruce go? Where are you? Similar to what you were sharing, right? Like I just had these things, didn't know why. I just never fit in. I'm a natural, natural scrappy fighter. I don't like you. I'm going to fight you.

And I had that from a young age, right? And my parents had moved to Santa Clarita, right? So my dad always lived in Hollywood or the Valley and my mom and my stepdad moved to Santa Clarita because some of my family was there. And so I grew up in between Santa Clarita and the Valley in Hollywood. And I was the kid that, you know, in fourth grade I was so disruptive that I could no longer be in regular class with my fourth grade class. And so every day when I got to school, I had to be in the principal's office. Every day they'd bring me my work. So I sat in the principal's office.

Because of my behavior. That was the kind of kid I was. And I too don't know my first drink. I have no idea. My mom's Italian. There's lots of Italian things happening in the household with pasta and wine and liquor. And I do remember my grandmother thinking it was cute to give me the cherry out of her alcohol drink when she was done, right? And I'm not that person to like remember what that was like with the first drink.

But I can tell you that my mother and my stepfather being non alcoholics and my dad distanced away sober that to this. Now I know my parents are the best they could. But at the time it was like by the time I was 12 years old, I was bartending for her. Right. And it was it was a good time for me. But this is where I feel old. But like I would make like mudslides right with the mixers. And if you're younger, you might not know what that is.

But I make all these different drinks and any leftover liquor because they never they never drank unless they had like a party at the house. Right. And the leftover liquor would be left in the cabinet. And that was my time to take some and fill it back up with water. Right. Because that's normal. Right. Like you just do that. And the one memory that's really vivid for me that I have today is I remember one time so I'm making this drink and I'm passing around the mudslide cups on the counter. Right.

I'm like twelve and a half. And then like this one's mine. Right. Like so like then pouring it, putting off to the side and I take a sip and I put it down. And one of my one of my parents friends is like, oh, does your mom know that you're drinking that? Like, yeah, she said I can make myself a drink. Like, what do you mean? Like, it's normal. And my my my love for my ism quickly kicked in and I quickly made friends in junior high that were like me. And I learned marijuana was real quick. And by by the time I was 13, I was already smoking cigarettes because my mom had them.

And I just started smoking the gross Virginia Slim's Ultralight 100. Gross. Right. But I wanted to smoke. So she only smoked when she was drinking. So she didn't really notice they were gone. Or if she did because she's an enabler, she never, ever said a thing. I never got caught for drinking liquor in that house. I would I was raised with a mom that said, if you are going to party, do it here. So I know where you are. But things escalated. Right. Especially in school, like I've been kicked out of multiple schools, junior high, elementary, junior high and high school, which are three different high schools.

And between the summer of junior high and high school, I had met someone. Right. And I'm going to high school. I'm 14. He's 18. So it's perfect. Right. Like that's that's what it is. Right. And he introduced me to a lot of different things. Coincidentally, he lived at the drug dealers house that was right across the street from the high school. So it was like perfect. Right.

My parents worked really hard so they would have to drop me off at high school at 715 because they had multiple jobs because we didn't I don't come from any lineage of money. And we lived in the ghetto and canny country and they worked multiple jobs.

So I got dropped off school early. I taught other kids how to party like me and like, hey, do you have an apple? We're cutting it up. We're smoking out of it like that's what you do. Right.

And the back of the school where I get dropped off is like the field of the high school. And then across the street, like just a little one lane street is the drug dealers house.

So like early morning hitting that up, going to get high and loaded and drink, go to school. Right. But like halfway through school, I'm like leaving during lunch to go to the drug dealers house.

And then I'm home alone because now school at that time gets out at 230 and I'm home alone until 630 at night because my parents work double jobs in our apartment complex.

There were I don't know what they did, but they probably didn't do much because they were in their 20s, early 20s and never worked. And so I'd get home, take the bus, get a ride, whatever I had to do, get home and party with them.

And they introduced me to a lot of other things that really escalated my drinking. Right. It helped me drink a lot longer. I'll tell you that.

And every day, you know, you know, like we're master manipulators and a lot of people in the world really don't care.

So I'd be getting off the bus with my backpack. And if I had a dollar, oh, like here's my game.

My mom would buy a pack of cigarettes every morning, enabler, and I would sell cigarettes at school for a dollar apiece. And so that was my money.

So when I got off the bus right with my backpack, little 14 year old kid, liquor stores on the corner, I would get my Mickey's 40s.

And I mean, I mean, seriously, like you look at these 14 year old kids today, they probably look like adults.

But back then I look at myself. I'm like, there's no way. Like, I look like a kid. I have a backpack. Right.

And I'm probably wearing pajamas to school. Like, I don't care. And that's what I would do.

And then I would drink those to my short walk to my ghetto apartment and meet up with the older kids. Right.

And from there, things escalated. I ran around Santa Clarita, Ventura and the Valley. Right.

I didn't too much go into Hollywood, but that's what I did. I was known for stealing my mom's car in the middle of the night so I could go get loaded, go get high, go get alcohol.

Don't know how I never got caught. I'm the one that never had legal consequences for any of my behavior.

I've been arrested, but I've always gotten out of it. I was also the kid that would leave the house whenever I wanted.

And the smart alcoholic that I am would come back on the third day because then the sheriff's like, I'm no longer a runaway.

And multiple times I would come home and I'd walk in the house and there's a sheriff on the couch and literally look at me and be like, well, Mrs. Smith, your daughter's home.

There's nothing we can do now. Have a great day. Right.

One time I left school because I was sick and I actually had some note. Right. That I signed myself.

And I'm at the bus stop and the sheriff's roll up and this is what I mean by no consequences. Right.

So he's like, oh, blah, blah, blah. Like, are you in school? This and that. And I'm like, yeah, I have a note.

They're like, OK, let me call your mom to make sure. I'm like, OK, go ahead. Call her. And she doesn't know, but she's enabling. So she's going to say yes.

They had gone to high school together at Hollywood High. So that sheriff gave me a ride home. OK, no consequences.

I never went to school on Fridays and I went to school on Mondays and the days that I did have to take the bus to school, I was throwing up green every single morning on the bus, throwing up green.

And I just needed more. So that way that could go away because I don't know why I'm sick, but like I just need more alcohol because it's going to go away.

And I've done a lot of crazy things. I've ran with a lot of crazy people and I don't know how I got caught.

But I can tell you that I think because I had no consequences and the escalation that I was done.

Right. And by some miracle, I had a friend.

We were writing letters to each other and she said, hey, you say this a lot and I know you're an alcoholic, but I'm going to go to this meeting on Friday night.

My dad's going to take us. Do you want to come? So I wrote her a letter back and I said, yeah, I'll go.

By the time I was 15, I knew for me to drink was to die. And that was my ultimate goal.

I never had that. I hear people share about there was this line I never wanted to cross.

Like I didn't have that line. Like I always crossed it on purpose. I for me, I wanted to die.

That was that was my whole intention in life. I didn't feel like a person. I felt like this is my life.

And this was my this was my destiny. My destiny was to die an alcoholic death. Anyway, so I get I get to the rafter.

That picks us up. Whatever. My mom at this time is like not talking to me like I mean, what's she going to do?

She's like, oh, I'm going to I'm going to send you to boot camp. I was like, OK, all right.

Like none of her words ever matched up to her actions because she's enabling.

So I was like, go ahead. Like you're not going to do it. Like whatever. You know, I just didn't care.

I didn't care about anything, anybody, anyone. I just cared what you had, what you could do for me, how I could get loaded and drink more.

Right. So funny. So I know I was talking with somebody at a sober dinner like last week and her and I were talking about like stories.

I was like, I never use a shot glass in my life. Like ever like I never did that.

Like everybody would do that. And I'd go by and grab the bottle. Like, I don't what are you talking about shot glass?

Like I don't do those things. Like I grab the bottle. Sorry, I'm a tequila girl. That's what I do.

I don't need any of that stuff. I never played party games. One time I did. And I was like, this is stupid.

And I literally stood up from the table and I'm like the youngest. I'm 14.

These 18, 19, 21 year olds. I was like, this is dumb. You guys play your game. Like I was out like that was me.

Right. If you looked at me funny, like we're fighting. I don't care who you are or how big you are.

It doesn't matter. We're fighting. Like don't look at me like that. I'm drinking more. Like don't take my alcohol away from me.

I just thought that was funny. Anyway, so my mom's not talking to me. My dad really doesn't know.

Right. My mom never really told my dad, my sober father, a whole lot of what was happening.

Only the few times when she couldn't get out of work and she's like, oh, your daughter got caught stealing.

She's like at the mall security arrested. If you don't go, they're going to take her somewhere.

Right. That's how I got out of things. So my dad would come and I don't know. I don't know.

I would just get out of things. Right. And it's really sad.

But to this day, like my sober dad, he would pick me up and he he like I said, he he was raising the fellowship and doing things.

And he would pick me up to spend time with his daughter. And I couldn't. I was loaded all night and drunk.

So I would sleep on his couch all day until it was time to drive me home.

Right. And I I've never asked if he knew anything about what I was doing.

Like, I don't know. That's my parents. I don't know. That's on them. Right. I have no idea.

But I could tell you that he didn't know the severity of my behavior and my drinking and my ism.

OK, so my friend's dad picks us up. We go to the rafters. I get there and I walk up the steps and I see there's cups along the wall for the members.

And I go, oh, I've been here before. She's like, oh, you have my dad. Right.

And I felt OK. I felt like, all right, I could do this. I stayed for their three meetings at night.

I realized the amount of young people that were there. I had no idea.

I had no idea that there are people that were my age, maybe a little bit older, who had gotten sober at my age, who had been a year sober, two years sober, six months sober, 90 days, whatever it was.

But I will tell you that I did not say sober the first time I walked up those steps.

I'm young. I'm defiant. I know I'm an alcoholic. I know for me to drink is to die.

And I know I need to be here on some level. But I wasn't really that serious. Right.

So I just kept going every day. And, you know, I was also the kid 23 and a half years ago that had a cell phone.

And it was an Nokia. Right. It wasn't like the old school brick, but it was the Nokia.

And because I have the cell phone, because my parents wanted to keep me safe. Right.

Well, that was their mistake, because I was now the drug dealer girl. Right.

I was the one making the connections. I was this. But anyway, I had the cell phone.

And so multiple times I get a call and they'd be like, where are you? Pick me up a new hall at the rafters, leave, pile on a car full of people.

You know, go get drunk and wasted and come back to the meeting till it was time to go.

If you haven't been drunk or high in a meeting, I do not recommend it. I do not recommend it.

It's it's like you're sitting there and you're like, are my eyes open? Am I twitching? Am I shaking? Am I sweating?

Like, am I am I falling asleep? Like, am I am I looking at people looking at me? Who's talking about me?

What are they sharing about? I know it's all about me. Everybody knows. Nobody knows. I'm hiding it.

There's all those things happening at once. And then you still got to walk down the twenty four steps to get out of there.

Right. OK. So anyway, so that happened a couple of times. And January 9th, the day before my sobriety day, I get in a call from from a girl.

She's like, hey, we're having my parents out of town. I'm having a party come over early.

I'm like, OK, so, you know, steal my parents car. Right. So I get around. They try to hide the keys and everything. This and that.

A couple of times I got some dings and scratches, but it never works. I found keys. Duh. I'm not going to not get somewhere.

So I steal a car. I go to her house and we're sitting on her dining room table and she passes me a beer and I crack it open and I take a sip and I put it down.

I look at her and I go, I can't be here right now. And I put it down and run out of the house, get in the car and drive home.

I don't know what happened. I have no idea what happened. The next day is January 10th, my sobriety day.

I walk up the steps and it happens to be a young people's meeting and I sit there in that chair.

And it was the first time I had emotions and I was crying and I didn't know what to do with myself when I was demoralized.

I was done. And I looked at the person who I called my sponsor for that short month and I said, where had my life gone at 15 years old?

I have no idea how I got here. I have no idea what happened. I don't know. And I just melted in my chair and I couldn't move.

And anyway, that's when the real like that's when the first time I admitted to myself out loud in front of somebody else.

But I was defeated. I had surrendered and I was done. And I quickly gained physical sobriety.

Right. So by this time I'm 15. It's I'm in high school and I'm in a class for students that are endangerment to others.

Right. Because I'm a fighter. Right. So that's what that's where I've been. I could no longer be at high school.

I couldn't stay sober. I made a commitment to myself. I signed myself out. That's what I did. Right.

Like anything I needed, I just signed my parents name. So I signed myself out, signed up for home school because I needed to stay sober.

And that's what I did. And so I took the bus every single day to the rafters. I smoked their cigarettes, drink their coffee.

I stayed in meetings all day, learned how to play pinochle in between the meetings in spades with the old timers that were retired.

And I learned how to mop floors and wash my face and do like 40 cleanups of the pill I fill on the windows and all those things.

So by the time I had three months, I had a sponsor. Right. But she gave me homework and I never really did anything.

So that didn't work out. But I'm now 16 and these old timers are watching me.

And I don't have experience, by the way, but I just happen to be there.

I remember that old timer telling me exactly how I felt in that moment, not knowing how he knew how I felt in that moment,

calling me out, saying, "Little girl, you're an alcoholic, right? If you share at a meeting, you're going to sit and wait for the answer from us.

You don't share and walk out. Quit with the parking lot meetings. Quit coming up here all day, smoking our cigarettes, drinking our coffee.

Try to be seen by everybody. It's not going to work. You need to do some real work.

If you want to live to see it's your 18th birthday, you're going to take your steps and you're going to do what we do.

Because that's what we do here. I am saying this in a nice way, but it really wasn't that nice.

I remember having a feeling and having some tears come down my face and they said, "You are going to take your steps this weekend.

You should be here at 8 a.m. Saturday and 8 a.m. Sunday. And as a matter of fact, we're going downstairs right now.

We're going to pray." And I said, "Okay." And I go down the parking lot and it's gravelly, it's full of asphalt, it's gross, it's disgusting.

It was dark. There were no street lights. And I was like, "Okay, I'm going to get on my knees and pray in this parking lot."

And they're like, "Yeah." And I did. So now I come home to tell my mother, "Mom, can you give me a ride across town to these people's house at 8 a.m. on Saturday?"

No questions asked. She did it, right? And first of all, let me just tell you, I have a daughter today.

If she came to me at 16 and said, "Drive me to these people's house. Here's the address. We're getting there.

I'm going to be there for 10 or 12 hours each day. I may or may not get a ride home, but that's where I'm going to be."

This is no cell phone era like today. She's like, "Okay." Like, "Okay. Great. Thanks, Mom."

Anyway, so I show up there, which again is a tall order at 16 years old, 8 a.m. I don't know about you, but that's not me.

And I get there, and there's tables this way and tables this way.

The tables this way are the sponsors and people taking their steps, and the tables this way are the people who are needing to take their steps.

And it's called an indoctrination, and it's in the big book, Alcoholics Anonymous.

And I was told that we're going to sit here. We're going to take your steps. This is how we do it.

We're going to go through the book, and you don't leave that seat. We're going to have times for break.

You're not leaving that seat, and it's pen to paper. And you do not lift that pen until everything's out. And that's what I did.

And so as we go through the steps in those two days, it's legal pad, legal pad. Like you're writing, legal pad.

You know, writing and flipping, flipping, flipping. And we did everything straight through the book.

And that's why today I'm a firm believer. I mean, the book doesn't tell me, "Oh, take a break after this step. You have this long to do this step."

It doesn't tell me that. I wasn't raised that way. I was raised that, "Okay, now here's the next part."

And I still take people through the steps that way today. Here's the next part.

There's no homework, right? There's writing, but there's no homework given.

I've never told anybody in my life, like, here's some homework to go take.

You know, do this four step like it says there and like go do it. Like, I don't know that. That's not me, right?

For me, I needed to live. I needed to get that stuff out, and I needed to sit there and do it.

And that gave me the biggest relief I've ever felt in my life.

And I remember during the seventh step, and I did a seven step prayer, and I looked up at one of the old timers at that meeting place.

And I said, "Hey." I was like, "What is that feeling?"

I was like, "I just feel like good." And they're like, "Oh, that's relief. Like, that's a spirit of relief. You're going to feel that. It doesn't last, but hold on to that right now."

I was like, "Okay." And I get thrown into fellowship, right?

Because I'm trying to make up high school, right, through this home studies program, and it afforded me the ability to stay sober.

It afforded me the ability to go to multiple meetings and be of service and learn what fellowship meant and get swooped up by old timers and young people.

And I'm grateful because we had a pay phone at the home group, and we'd get 12-step calls, and we'd be gone for hours. Hours, 12-step calls.

During the middle of the day, night meetings, whatever it was, that's what we did.

And when I had a year, I stepped off the podium, and I went to go sit down.

And as I'm sitting, they're like, "Hey, you're not done. Now that you have a year, you're going to help somebody else."

And I was like, "Okay, okay. Hold on."

And so in the mix of the fellowship, I had some really, really straight-up harsh old timers that told me I was an alcoholic.

They didn't pat me on the ass. They kicked me in the ass multiple times for whatever behavior I had.

Because growing up, I'm 16, 17, 18, I'm not perfect. I'm a teenager. I'm wild and defiant.

They would say, "Hey, little girl, we're going to go walk around the block right now because I've been seeing what you're doing, and it's not okay."

And I'm like, "Oh, okay." So we go walk around the block, or like, "Hey, you're doing too much service work, and you're doing it for everybody else.

So you need to go pick up cigarette butts outside of the meeting."

And I was like, "What? Me? What?"

And they're like, "Yeah." And I was like, "Okay." And I did it.

And I was told exactly what I needed to do, exactly who I was. I don't know. That's just how I was raised in the program.

I wasn't told, like, I wasn't given a hug, and I was like, "It'll be okay. You'll get through this."

Like, I was never told that. I was told, like, "Hey, yeah, it freaking sucks. You're going to be up and down your first year.

You're going to have feelings. Things are coming back. You're not going to be able to sleep sometimes.

Sometimes you're going to oversleep. Sometimes you're going to overeat. Sometimes you're not going to want to eat.

You're going to have all these feelings. You're going to have to get through life. You're going to have to feel these ups and downs.

That's the way it is. That's what sobriety is."

And I was like, "Okay." And they're like, "Eventually, it'll even out, but you have to get through it, okay?"

And I was told those things. And I was told, like, I don't want to cuss from the podium.

I was told, "Sit down. Shut up. You don't know anything. You're in your first five years."

Because that's old-school AA, right? "You're in your first five years. You could be of service and share when asked, but you don't really know anything."

I was like, "Okay." Anyway, my first five years of sobriety, I got involved with H&I.

That really helped a lot because I had to go to panels with teenagers my age who were there, some on their own accord, some not.

And the ones who were not, you could tell. And the first time I did that panel at Phoenix House, I walked out of there,

and another old time I was like, "You know what that means, right? Like, what we're doing right now?"

And I was like, "What? Yeah, we're leaving." They're like, "Yeah, we're leaving. They're there, and you're not.

You still have a home and a bed to go to." And I was like, "Oh, I guess you're right."

And so things got put into perspective for me.

I will say this, that I've had many ups and downs. Like, nothing's perfect.

If you stay around long enough, too, you get to know people for 20 plus years, and you see their ups and downs.

And I have friendships today and relationships with people in and out of these rooms that is an unbreakable bond.

There's something different about us who would normally not mix and how we have this common bond.

At 18, I found a sober the one, and I got pregnant.

And when I was 19, and he could not live life on life's terms and left,

I had 45 members of AA in Henry Mayo Hospital in Valencia with me.

And I had the support of the rooms. I was a single mom from the start.

And my daughter became the one raising the program.

Now, okay, three minutes. Here we go. All right, five minutes. Here we go.

My daughter's 20 today. 20. I had prayed for a long time.

Please, God, don't let her be like me. Don't let her be like me.

I never thought I was like my dad either.

I'm not the little white girl going to MacArthur Park to score crack.

Like, I'm not like my dad. I don't do those things, right?

That was my ism. And so I prayed, "God, please don't make her like me.

Just please make her an alcoholic."

Well, guess what? Guess what?

When she was 15 years old, my stepdad calls me and says, "Hey..."

Because she would stay the night there sometimes, right?

Because she had like late start high school. I don't know what that is. Late start, whatever.

And he would take her to school.

And he called me one morning and said, "Hey, your daughter left a note here

that she's leaving for a few days and needs some time herself."

And I'm like, "The hell she is!"

So I'm calling all her friends. I'm going to their houses. I leave work.

We're rolling around Santa Clarita.

I scare a little girl and say, "You're lucky your brother's here.

Otherwise, I'd be talking to your parents."

And I know all her friends, but I go, "Listen, you're going to tell me where my daughter is.

I know that you guys have been partying all night.

And if you don't want me to talk to your parents, you're lucky your brother's here,

you're going to help me find my daughter."

We find her in the drug dealer's house at 15.

Now I'm going to tell you right now, old behavior came out, right?

I'm not going to lie about it.

At 20 plus years, I'm Mama Bear.

My hooks are coming out. My hair's going up. My rings are coming off.

I'm ready to fight. I'm ready to fight.

The drug dealer comes out and something happened, right?

He's on his hands and knees begging.

And I was like, "Shh."

In my head, I'm like, "That's right. You better beg because Mama Bear will come out after you."

But I was like, "Look, she's 16 years old and I know she's not the only one."

I go, "But you're lucky today because I know your time is coming."

And his time came and the J-Team came.

My daughter chose not to testify, but I'll tell you this.

I had to put her into rehab.

It was a very harsh time in my life.

And her and I went through a lot of struggles.

And I will tell you today, we've gone through that.

We've gone through that.

It's not perfect.

This last week, she verbally vomited all her old resentments against me, but I let her.

I'm like, "Go ahead. Come at me. Get it out. Get it out."

But I will tell you that I got through it, right?

I've been through deaths in this program.

I've been through happy things in this program.

I've been through family members being murdered in this program.

I've been through other addictions and out of these rooms and in my family in this program.

Nothing's perfect.

I will tell you at 23 years, I am not perfect.

I worked really hard for everything I have.

I've earned my seat in here. I'm going to keep it.

Nobody's going to keep me out of it.

Nobody's going to tell me I can't be here.

Nobody's going to tell me anymore that I drank more than you spilled

or I spilled more than you drank or whatever.

Nobody's going to tell me those things anymore because I earned my seat.

I did.

I have a lot of yet's and sometimes that is scary.

If anybody comes up to me tonight and says, "Oh, you're lucky to get sober young,"

I'm going to tell you it's not always easy.

I've had multiple instances where I've had to call other people and be like,

"I'm 25 years old with a six-year-old daughter and I can't go out and party.

I can't go out and party without impunity.

I just want to drink.

Oh, all these new drugs are out here."

Sounds pretty great, right?

There are certain different struggles that I have,

and so I really envy people who have lived a different life

and come in here at a different age because sometimes they really know they're done.

I really know I'm done too, but I could have gone another 20 years.

I could have, but I'm also a firm believer today that I will never take that chance.

I'm a no-matter-what girl because I know I'm not coming back.

I'm not that lucky.

It's not a revolving door.

For me to drink is to die, and if I leave here and I drink or use, I'm never coming back.

I know that.

With my soul and my heart, I'm a true alcoholic,

and I really hope for anybody that's newer than me,

first of all, don't let anybody pat you on the back.

Ask them for the truth because you need to hear the truth about yourself,

that you're an alcoholic and do what we do.

Otherwise, you're never going to make it

because if you want to hear it's rainbows and sunshine and butterflies all the time, it's a lie.

You have to get through the hard to get through the good, right?

That's just the way it is, but thanks for letting me share it tonight.