THREE years ago an official prognosis for rehabilitation in my case would have read “hopeless.” An alcoholic who could not hold a job, divorced, estranged from my parents, I came and went through prison gates like an official–except that I remained behind the walls a longer period of time. After my fourth conviction I was hopelessly confused and could see nothing in my future but an endless cycle of prison years.
Today I have regained my confidence, my integrity, my maturity. Tomorrow holds a bright promise for the first time in twenty-three years. After electro-shock treatment, aversion “cures,” psychoanalysis, and delirium tremens had failed to straighten out my thinking, AA came to prison; and I came eagerly to AA. It’s wonderful! After forty-five years of trying to escape from life, I have just now begun to live!
In AA I have found friendship, sympathetic understanding, and experienced guidance along the road to sobriety. I have found myself; I have rediscovered my God.
The Twelve Steps have become to me not merely a means whereby I can control a twenty-three-year addiction to alcohol, but it is a philosophy of life that makes prison routine more bearable, and leads to new adventures in living. The Serenity Prayer is my bulwark against the many frustrations in prison life; and it is a sure cure for dry drunks.
Serenity to accept the things I cannot change. . . How one needs serenity in prison! Every minute, every hour, in the chaotic turmoil of argument and flaring anger that obtrudes in an eight-man cell; through the monotonous routine that nibbles at the edges of one’s mind until the strong man breaks forth in violence, and the weaker man becomes a mental patient.
Courage to change the things I can. . .means that I can change my old pessimistic outlook and become constructive and positive in my thinking. I can mould the old personality over into one that will face up to the realities and responsibilities of life rather than one that seeks refuge in a bottle. To a small extent I find I can even change my environment so that my small portion of the cell becomes a private classroom for study, or a place of quiet meditation when prayer is needful–as it often is.
Another of my bulwarks against the confused thinking that brought me to prison is the Tenth Step: “Continued to take personal inventory.” Each evening I review the happenings of the day. Whom have I hurt? Whom have I helped? Did I give my best to the job? What can I do tomorrow that will help me become more tolerant, more congenial?
The most difficult thing a man can do, I think, is to turn his eyes inward upon his real self. But I have learned through bitter experience that if I intend to grow into emotional stability and to enter into the maturity of adulthood, I must look upon my many shortcomings with an open, understanding mind, see them for what they are, and take immediate steps to correct them.
And because AA is a spiritual program, I have gained a new conception of God.
Most prisoners scoff at religion. But AA is not a religion; it has no dogma, creed nor doctrine. It offers simple suggestions that can lead to a new way of life. It gives one back faith. Not faith in man-made creeds or obscure metaphysical tenets, but simple faith in God and the conviction that as individuals we are important and have a place and a value in this world.
Faith cured my inner conflict. Where once I warred with myself, I am now at peace. I accept my problems as necessary to my growth and take pleasure in solving them. I make friends and keep them. I have learned that before I criticize another I had better first examine my own faults, I have gained through AA a peace of mind and serenity of soul that I would not exchange for anything in the world–not even for freedom. For I am free now; prison walls cannot confine my thoughts nor undermine my confidence, that a useful, productive life awaits me when this sentence is completed.
I have learned that no man walks alone. Not when he has faith and trust in a power greater than himself; not when he no longer doubts, but believes.