Page 89 of Sins of the Flesh
he morning after Alley came by to whip me into shape I was determined to get back on track.Two weeks later after searching, calling and getting rejected too many times to count I have finally lined up a therapist.I knew I wanted one that was LGBTQ+ friendly which of course is why I had to jump through so many hoops without saying too much.
I found a gentleman named Joseph Conning, a gay psychiatrist willing to see me remotely.Which is perfect because he practices in a city 3 hours away.I have my first session with him next week.
That complete and the day at work done, I hop into my car heading towards my first AA meeting.I don’t think I am an alcoholic, putting down the booze wasn’t a problem.But I can't deny with how dependent on it I became, sliding down that slippery slope wouldn’t have taken much.
I pull into the dirt parking lot of a plain one story brick building with a glass door and no windows.A small a-frame sign sits near the door advertising the meeting within.I am only 5 minutes late so I quietly sneak inside and find a seat towards the back.
The room is sparse but welcoming, folding chairs arranged in rows, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead.About fifteen people sit scattered around, some clutching styrofoam cups of what I assume is terrible coffee.A heavyset man with a salt-and-pepper beard stands at the front, mid-sentence.
"-and that's when I realized I couldn't keep lying to myself anymore."
Heads nod in understanding.I sink lower in my chair, feeling like an impostor.What am I doing here?I'm a priest seeking guidance in a room full of strangers.The irony isn't lost on me.
The meeting leader notices me and offers a gentle smile."We have a newcomer.Would you like to introduce yourself?"All eyes turn to me.My collar feels too tight suddenly, though I'm not wearing it today.I opted for a simple blue button-down and jeans, trying to blend in.So much for that plan.
"Hi, I'm Caleb," I say, my voice steadier than I expected.I debated whether to add "Father" but decided against it."This is my first time at one of these meetings."
"Welcome, Caleb," the group says in unison.The response feels oddly comforting.
"Would you like to share why you're here?"The leader asks, no pressure in his tone.
I clear my throat."I've been using alcohol to cope with...personal issues.I don't think I'm an alcoholic, but I didn't like where things were heading."
A few knowing smiles appear around the room.I've clearly said something they've all heard before, possibly from their own lips.
"That's how it starts for most of us," says a woman with tired eyes and a kind smile."Thinking we have control until suddenly we don't."
I nod, feeling exposed yet strangely unburdened."I guess I'm here to make sure it doesn't get to that point."
The meeting continues, and I listen to stories that range from heartbreaking to hopeful.A businessman who lost his family, a grandmother who hid bottles in her knitting basket, a college student who nearly flunked out.Each story contains echoes of my own struggles, the shame, the secrets, the bargaining with God and self.
The meeting wraps up with an oath of ‘keep coming back, it works’.I linger after, helping stack chairs while avoiding eye contact.The leader, Stan, I learned, approaches me with a Styrofoam cup in hand.
"Coffee?"He offers."Fair warning, it's terrible."
I accept it with a small laugh."Thanks for the honesty."
"That's what we're all about here."He studies me for a moment, and I fight the urge to squirm under his gaze."First time's always the hardest.You did good."
"I don't know about that," I admit, sipping the coffee and immediately regretting it.It tastes like it was brewed three days ago and left to contemplate its sins.Appropriate, somehow.
"You showed up.That's the hardest part."Stan leans against the wall."You religious?"
My hand instinctively touches where my collar would normally rest."Is it that obvious?"
"Nah.Just got a feeling."He smiles."We get all types here.Judges, doctors, teachers...even a few men of the cloth over the years."
I nod, not sure what to say.The room has mostly emptied now, just a few people lingering in conversations.
"You don't have to tell me your story," Stan continues, his eyes kind but knowing."But whatever brought you here, whatever you're running from or toward, you're not alone in it."
I swallow hard, the terrible coffee suddenly a welcome distraction."Thank you."
"Got a sponsor yet?"
"No, I-I'm not sure I need one.Like I said, I don't think I'm actually…"
Stan chuckles, cutting me off with a raised hand."Yeah, I've heard that song before.Sung it myself for years."He pulls a business card from his wallet."My number.Call me anytime, day or night.Even if it's just to talk."
