My Name Is Lillian And I’m An Alcoholic (And An Atheist): How I Got And Stayed Sober In AA Without All The God Stuff

By Lillian Sober-Atheist

My Name is Lillian and I’m an Alcoholic (and an Atheist) is one side of a conversation about sobriety from a secular perspective. In a series of short, fun, "warts and all" essays, Lillian describes how she uses the tools of Alcoholics Anonymous to build a better life without dependence on God or a Higher Power. Anyone looking for help, but uncomfortable with AA’s use of Judeo-Christian spirituality will find a refreshing take on sobriety and life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lillian Sober-Atheist
• Release date: Apr 29, 2011
• ISBN: 9781452413648

Lillian Sober-Atheist

I drank for twenty years. Sometimes it worked, but too many times, I drank past my tolerance level and woke up shivering on some bathroom floor. It's been 14 years since my last drink. I wrote the content of this book while participating in a recovery meeting. It's not remarkable that I got sober, but I couldn't have done it without help. I'm hoping that my experiences as a sober non-believer can be of help to anyone out there who is sick and tired of being sick and tired.

Book preview

Foreword

About Me

I come to in the half-light of morning, head pounding. My arms feel weak; hands shake as I reach for the half-filled glass on my nightstand. I roll the dusty water over my parched tongue. Behind my eyes, my pulse throbs. It’s like I’ve been poisoned. I crawl out of my narrow bed and crush a plastic cup.

A scene flashes, me sneaking away from a party into my friend’s kitchen while conversations buzz and music fills the lulls. I see a freezer and a bottle of vodka chilling next to the ice trays. No one catches me as I fill a plastic to-go cup and take a sip. The scene fades.

I toss the empty plastic cup onto the marble coffee table. After pressing the backs of my knuckles on the cool surface, I lift them to my forehead, hoping to sooth the burn.

I remember how cold I was last night. Late January wind whipped from Manhattan’s East River, smashing dust and snow against my skin. As the frigid air hit me, I tried to close my coat with only one hand. I couldn’t use both hands because I was holding the vodka and if I put down the cup, it might spill. Shivering, I lifted the alcohol to my lips and felt the burn slide down my throat, land in my stomach, and radiate warmth to my fingers and toes.

My stomach turns. Crossing to the bathroom, I notice that my clothes are scattered in unruly heaps — underwear, pants, shirt, jacket, overcoat — like the debris field of a tornado. Something about the way they look pulls me back to the party. I pawed through a pile of coats trying to find my hat. I see no hat on the floor of my apartment. Guess I never found it.

In the bathroom mirror, a blurry stranger stares. Hair juts at crazy angles. My face, white and puffy, features dark half-moon stains under my eyes and drooping jowls. Fat red veins that I never noticed before stain the sides of my nose. My lips crack and are crusty with spit. I look swollen, old, tired — disgusting.

While trying to pat down my raggedy hair, I spot a bandage on my finger. I remember the slice of a knife across a cucumber and the slip when I cut myself. I see Tony, the host, a long and lean cocoa-brown reporter, walk me to his bathroom, sit me on the toilet, wash the wound, and bandage my finger. Did I flirt with him? Did his wife, my friend, Mona see? I hope not.

I look at my reflection again. I’m only 36. But suddenly, it’s as if all the beer, all the whiskey chasers, all the goblets of wine, all the drugs, all the cigarettes, all the men, all the women, had carved every crease and fattened each blood vessel on my face. How did I get so old?

I sigh, walk back to bed and pull the blanket over my head. I draw my knees to my chest and stay in the fetal position for hours. So many people saw me drunk — again.

Why did I get so stupid drunk? Drinking is killing me. I can’t face another adventure like that. It was one night in a series of similar escapades. Why don’t I stop?

I had waited a long time for the answers and after that night, I was closer to knowing than ever before. I drank, drugged, and screwed my way through life. But in a few weeks everything will change and I’ll get a chance to figure out why it has all gone so wrong.

In a few weeks, I’ll drink my last drink.

About this Book

Well, my mornings aren’t like that anymore.

Welcome! Pull up a chair and join the circle. I’m glad you made it this far.

This book is one side of a conversation about sobriety. For three years, I participated in an email Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. That’s not particularly unique. There are probably thousands of discussions about staying sober going on right now. What made this group special is its orientation.

What I needed, what I still need, is a place to talk about drinking, staying sober, and the hills and valleys in life where belief in God or a Higher Power isn’t expected.

Many people have the basic requirement for membership in AA, a desire to stop drinking. But when they look at AA literature they immediately feel challenged by the reliance on God to get and stay sober. Or perhaps they get involved enough to pick up a copy of AA’s Big Book, the book entitled Alcoholics Anonymous. There they see a chapter called We Agnostics. They hope that AA really does have room for them, however, the chapter tells a dismal story that confirms their fears about AA. Supposedly, belief in God is not required to join AA, and one might even get sober, but according to the Big Book, finding belief in God as we understood Him is essential to staying off the bottle.

I know that when I read the chapter, I wanted to toss the book into the nearest bonfire. There’s nothing quite like being patted on the head and sagely told Hang in there, you’ll get it, stupid. Okay, it doesn’t literally say that, but I took it that way.

I’m here to say that profound, lasting sobriety is within your grasp. No bait and switch. You can believe in God, but it’s not required. You can use the concept of a Higher Power or not bother. There is no wrong way to get sober and stay sober.

Doing this is a challenge, but as generations of hard-core alcoholics have shown, it can be done.

I am an atheist. You may not be. You may know an alcoholic who needs help but refuses to go to AA meetings. You may believe a thousand things, but I suspect you’re reading this book because you are uncomfortable with the way that AA is rooted in Judeo-Christian spirituality. Don’t get me wrong. I love AA and I’ve met people with decades of sobriety who never prayed, who tried to believe in God and failed, or who found that their view of religion and spirituality had nothing to do with whether they abstained from drinking. They are members of AA, not more or less important than any other member.

The chapters in this eBook are taken from my shares at an email meeting. They are in the moment, warts and all. They are only my view of the topics covered. I have removed the names of other people in this conversation to protect their anonymity. Hop around, cherry pick. Just like the fact that there is no wrong way to get sober, there’s no wrong way to read this book.

Besides participating in this on-line meeting, I go to AA meetings that are orientated towards agnostics, atheists, freethinkers, humanists, and anyone who doesn’t want to say prayers. There are more than 80 non-God meetings listed on the website www.AgnosticAANYC.org. You’ll read more about them in the book.

I don’t speak for AA or anyone but myself. AA does not endorse this book. These are simply my thoughts on some personal experiences.

These entries haven’t been sanitized, polished or buffed clean of my struggles and anxieties. But they do show how to navigate and succeed in recovery meetings without worrying about a higher power.

When I started writing these emails, I was nine years sober. I’m still sober and I want to continue to stay that way.

I hope these thoughts are helpful to you. Writing them was essential to staying away from alcohol, one day at a time. Through them and by attending face-to-face meetings, I learned how to not drink and enjoy this one life I have, free from alcohol, clean of drugs, and making progress on other obsessive behaviors.

Let’s join the meeting.

Chapter 1

I vant to beee ALONE or so I thought.

Monday, February 06, 2006

Hi. I’m Lillian, cross-addicted alcoholic.

This week’s topic is isolation.

I live in crowded New York City, yet when I was drinking, I managed to shut out the whole world. Toward the end, I just wanted to be alone with my handy single-serving — one bottle. Usually the bottle wasn’t hard liquor. I tried to control my drinking by not keeping heavy booze in the house. And, right up until the day I let it go, I still believed that I controlled my alcohol intake, not the other way around.

Back then, I longed for company, for love, for a drinking buddy. But I did everything I could to repel such a person. I growled. I grumbled. I got mean. I got fat. I stayed drunk or high or hung over. I stopped believing that I was worth anything. It was so much easier to be alone.

When I got sober the isolation didn’t stop. People I hung out with while drinking no longer wanted anything to do with me. One guy, a fairly heavy hitter, found out that I’d quit. The next time I saw him he literally turned around and ducked back into his office, shirttails flapping.

Loneliness is one of the reasons I ended up in AA. It took me almost 90 days to surrender to the idea of AA. It then took me another 90 days to find a home meeting that I liked.

I felt isolated in some of the AA rooms because of my lack of belief in God. Everyone seemed to be finding the strength they needed in a Higher Power and I didn’t even bother to try. I resolved at least to be honest about it and that’s when someone approached me about the agnostic meetings.

I still managed to isolate myself. Although I felt great relief to be there, after my first agnostic AA meeting, a friendly fellow asked me to go out with the group for dinner. I said no before I even thought about it. I was accustomed to being isolated. Only after I walked away and went home I realized I could have just said yes. The next week I did. And I’ve said yes most every week for the last nine years.

I still get isolated. But at least I have people in my life. I can always pick up the phone or drop an email or send a text.

Agnostic AA is real AA and it wouldn’t exist without AA. I am grateful for both. I have people in my life, not just people who tolerate me, but people who I can love and respect and who give me the support I need.

Thanks.

Chapter 2

Can it really be nine years since my last drink?

Monday, February 13, 2006

Hi. I’m Lillian, cross-addicted alcoholic.

It’s my anniversary month. On Feb 10th, I had nine years sobriety.

When I look back to the period of active alcoholism, ten years ago, I know that if the drinking wasn’t killing me it sure hurt like hell. At that time, my drinking

Reviews for My Name Is Lillian And I’m An Alcoholic (And An Atheist)

[Nd Esther · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

As a therapist myself, I struggle with this problem of bringing religion or spirituality into treatment… I’m super grateful to find this book and to know you’ve been able to find sobriety without the God-mix.

Keep up your good life… lots of love