One of the hardest parties to leave as an alcoholic was the pity party. The party where we were the center of our own attention. Justifying all the drinking and destruction since we had been so wronged by all those around us. The power and control we would receive from it was our last-ditch attempt to save ourselves from a world hell-bent on destroying us. Each time I raised a glass to my mouth, a voice called out, “Pity party, table for one”.
As my world spun out of control, I craved the pity party more and more. It was the only time that the reality of admitting I was an alcoholic did not echo in my mind. Why were people around me treating me so badly? Why was there always one more bill to pay, bills that I could not afford? Why was I being held responsible for my children when I was the fantasized victim? Why could I not find love? Was not I the fun-loving life of the party who everyone always held in such high regard? Why was life doing this to me? Even more, why was God doing this to me?
It’s My Party, I’ll Cry If I Want To
As I approached rock bottom, the thing I needed most was pity. It was a barrier to the fact that I had become an alcoholic. I searched for a way to blame someone or something else for my constant pickled condition. Surely, someone like me could not end up like this on his own accord. I preyed upon people willing to listen, willing to watch me cry tears like someone gunning for a Best Actor award. Really, it was just an attempt to have them pay my bar tab or an overdue bill. I even began to believe my sad, thoroughly disgusting, story myself. I had to, after all; I was way too good to have become “one of those people.”
Who Was Responsible?
Then I was rudely introduced to the real me: the person that I drank myself into. The party had ended, the chairs had been put up on the tables, it was closing time. I was standing face to face with the alcoholic who was Kip Shubert. No more pity, no more party. There were no more excuses to find, no other people I could point the finger of blame at. The only recourse I had left was to blame God. If He was the all-powerful one, the one in control of everything, why had He just left me all alone to die inside a bottle of booze?
God Loved Me In Spite of Myself
I was lucky: my God is merciful and full of love and forgiveness. The way I was living, acting, speaking, I would have been far from deserving of any of God’s grace. But that is the light inside my delusional darkness. God did not let me become an alcoholic. I did that all on my own. Regardless of the horrible pains and struggles I had faced, I was fully responsible for the choices that led me down a highway to hell. But in spite of me, God loved me. No matter what I had done or said, no matter how bad I had been, He loved me. He did not want me to die a drunken dead soul. He wanted me to live a life of purpose. A life of peace, prosperity, and freedom.
Always on the VIP List
Today I walk in recovery, free from the urge to drink, and I am reminded often of the dangers of the pity party. How do I behave when things do not go according to my expectations? Sometimes, I forget my tool of acceptance. The pity party still sends me alluring invitations. In those times, I call upon my faith. I call upon my experience, strength, and hope. I know that no matter how the day is going, no matter what I am growing through, God is only using it to develop me into the Warrior On Purpose. Then, I can turn my back on the pity party and elevate myself into a party of purpose.
I chose to be an alcoholic. God chose to use me in spite of myself. I believe that my purpose is to share my story and inspire you to be a true warrior. Today, I can use the blessings hidden in my curse so that others may experience the same victory that God has given to me. Get out of your pity party, join me in a party of purpose.