As kids, we’re often told that we’re unique and special; that there’s no one in the whole wide world that’s the same as us. While in many instances that might be true, when it comes to addiction, or more importantly sobriety… that couldn’t be farther from the truth. In fact, thinking we’re somehow different than the next person might just kill us. This idea that somehow, we’re a special case could land us in a precarious position known as being “terminally unique.”
It’s true, each person is unique, special even, in their own way. I’m not debating that fact. Every single person on the well-populated earth has something to offer, something that makes them special. However, I have found that it’s more important to focus on how we’re similar than all the many ways we’re different. I learned this neat little life hack in early sobriety.
The rooms of A.A. repeatedly emphasized the importance of identifying rather than comparing. This was a particularly difficult lesson for me to learn. See I was often trapped by what I like to call the “Vicious Venn-Diagram” of life. For those of you who know my story, I got sober at a young age.
When I walked into the rooms of 12-step programs there was a lot of graying hair, wrinkled skin, and fading memories. My journey through active addiction looked very different than what I got used to hearing in the rooms. Many of my home group’s members were cross-addicted, or had at the very least found themselves “experimenting” with other “non-liquid” forms of alcohol. That wasn’t the case for me.
I was different. I didn’t have any DUI’s, or any arrest record. In my story there were no lost jobs, foreclosed houses or divorced spouses that came as a result of my drunken escapades. On top of all that, as if to add insult to injury, there weren’t a lot of women in the rooms either. It seemed as though I was quite special in a rather unlucky way.
During my first several months in the rooms, like so many others I’ve heard about, I began questioning whether or not I was an alcoholic at all.
When I eventually came to terms with the fact that I was indeed an alcoholic, I thought perhaps my struggle with getting sober was due to the fact that I was “constitutionally incapable.” Maybe even, it was too early in life for me to find recovery. Surely, there was no one else who found themselves in the position of being “young and sober.”
It’s laughable really. So many times I’ve heard fellow AAs say that they always felt like the “black sheep of the family,” and my arrogant ass thought I was the black sheep of AA. Active addiction “me” really cracks “sober-me” up sometimes.
Anyways, where was I? Oh right, terminally unique. Yep, that was me alright, bound and determined to be different from everyone else just about killed me. It wasn’t until I had stuck around the rooms for a while that I heard something that quite literally saved my life.
It was late one evening, after a meeting, and many of us were standing around, smoking cigarettes and shooting the breeze. (That was a pretty common occurrence for my home group to do pre-Covid era.) One thing you learn pretty quickly about sober alcoholics is that they love to talk. Back in those days if you went to one meeting you could actually catch a 3-for-1 special if you showed up early before the meeting and stayed later after. We called them the “meetings before the meeting” or my personal favorite “porch meetings.”
Porch meetings played a vital role in early sobriety, and truth be told, they still do to this day. On one particular evening, we were having a porch meeting, and as they often tried in my first few months, a few old heads were trying to gently “suggest” that maybe I needed detox and a short stint in rehab to get me started on my journey. Of course, being the stubborn alcoholic that I was back then (I’m stubborn now, but I was back then too), I had a million reasons (ahem… excuses) that I just couldn’t go.
In no particular order:
- Rehab costs money (I was broke)
- I had a job & bills to pay
- I was in college and needed to finish the semester
- I was too young to go to rehab
- Christmas was around the corner
- I wasn’t “bad enough” to need treatment
- Literally any other reason that seemed semi-believable
I’ll give the old heads this, they remained quiet and listened for a good bit. They nodded their heads and gave the occasional grunt to acknowledge that they were still listening. I kept rambling for a bit, as any good drunk alcoholic does, and then I ran out of things to say. I swear that’s what they were waiting on…
“You’re pretty special, you know that?” someone said. Another chuckled in agreement, “Yeah she is!” Confused, I disagreed, a little too defensively, and then asked them what they meant by their statements. As if they had been waiting for this exact moment, they each took turns chiming in on the conversation.
“You’re probably right, I guess only old people can be alcoholics.” “Well sure you’ve got classes, and work, no alcoholic ever went to rehab unless it was a planned vacation.” “You’re right, you’re not a “bad enough alcoholic” to need to rehab yet, I would wait till I was a little closer to death’s door too if I were you.” “Christmas, yeah… you might live long enough to make it till then.”
Then, the final blow; “do you think you’re different from any other alcoholic that’s ever bothered to walk through these doors?” Stunned, I didn’t have an answer. I fumbled around for a bit, and then surrendered with a feeble “No, I guess not.” A smile crept across their tough-love faces and they spoke softly, “Good because it’s the “unique” alcoholics that wind up dead.” “They’re terminally unique,” another added.
Needless to say, the very next night the topic of choice for the actual meeting was the dangers of being “Terminally Unique.” I had a lot to learn, and oh boy did I learn a thing or two.
Essentially, being terminally unique is a lot like having terminal cancer. It’s the alcoholic’s version of having a highly-aggressive, largely-untreatable, late-stage cancer. I was right there on the brink of being terminally unique. I believed, to an extent, that I was special or at the very least, different from everyone else in the rooms of recovery. I was under the impression that my situation and the circumstances surrounding my addiction were the exceptions to the rules that everyone else was playing by.
The reality, however, is that I was just a garden-variety alcoholic. No better and no worse than anyone else in that room. I wasn’t special, or different, nor did I have any extra barriers to recovery than any other schmuck off the street.
I mean, sure, my situation, on paper, varied slightly from some folks in the room. Yes, it’s also true that we don’t all share the exact same story, life events, or consequences in active addiction. Alcoholics come from all different walks of life, different backgrounds, nationalities, ethnicities, and life experiences, you name it! There a myriad differences between each one of our life stories. Despite that fact though, when it comes down to our addictions, we’re all the same.
I thought I was different, thank god, I wasn’t.
As it turns out, thinking I’m somehow different than other alcoholics, almost caused me to be terminally unique. Instead, I traded being terminally unique, for a loving bunch of reformed drunks who are the same kind of different as me.
Thanks for reading!
Be sure to subscribe to our weekly newsletter and never miss a post again!
Like, Share, Comment, and Subscribe Below!
↓↓↓
I do enjoy the manner in which you have framed this specific situation plus it really does give us some fodder for thought. Nevertheless, because of just what I have experienced, I simply wish when other opinions pile on that individuals stay on point and in no way embark on a soap box associated with some other news du jour. Still, thank you for this fantastic piece and even though I do not really go along with it in totality, I value your perspective.