Excerpt from “Chiseling the Stone”

By Sarah Wellington

The very word suggests love of country, for it was the intangible we sought in claiming independence from the tyrannical rule of the King. A pride swells in the hearts of men and women who have believed that the flag they bear is the optimism of freedom. The great American pastime does not throw a pitch until the fat lady sings. We stand in bleachers, at picnic tables before the colors that wave brilliant in the wind. Hands and hats over our hearts we sing the song of freedom.

Into the cars, into to our homes we live again to work another day. Punching the clocks, signing the papers, handing the paper back and forth in trade of goods. Toiling in sun, rain and snow we fight another day. The promised pot of gold that awaits at the end of the rainbow; security, retirement, and freedom to do what we wish. The planning, saving and perseverance of the family is to accomplish the dreams of youth. Climbing mountains, taking trips or fulfilling a goal we push each day knowing that soon we will be free from the responsibility of working.

The fateful day arrives, the golden watch in hand, a firm handshake and job well done see us through doors of our master. Standing the in the brilliant sun, our toils finished, we look at our laundry list of desires yet to be fulfilled. In that moment we find the truth, the sad realization that they will never be completed. Through our lives we past the opportunity to seek out those dreams for the promise of time. Now the time is here and we sit in front of another master: television. Weary the body grows and there is no motivation for doing anything. The illusion of happiness comes crashing down like the house of cards we built it from. The foundation we poured was mixed with fear, doubt and insecurity.

This is our bondage, enslaved by our own minds and hearts from what we truly desire. Our minds tell us, “I don’t have the time now with the grandkids. I have to conserve my money in case the world ends. I am not physically healthy. This is the life I wanted.” Some will reach for a bottle, others a pill, some escape into the fantasy of television. Alone in their chairs, laying on their couches while their grandchildren dream of flying. In anger for their lost youth, the wise grandparent will crush the dreams of their children’s children.

“Get good grades, do well in school. Then you can go to college and get a good government job with benefits. Then you can do whatever you want.” They already know that such time is wasted on the youthful dreams of freedom.

I was one of them, my TV. tray set near my couch. Dinner prepared by the dutiful partner. My dog at my side as another day at a thankless job brought me closer to the promised goal of freedom. The bottle no longer abated my reality for fantasy. My drive for love was diminished by a decaying body. My heart was broken for the promise of a star I didn’t know how to reach. Neighborhood children spend Saturdays painting on my porch. They tell me their dreams. The young one wants to be a general in the Army. The girl wants to be a doctor. They both want to fly to the moon. In a moment I was young again dreaming of my life. Now that I am a responsible adult I turn to the children and crush their dream.

“Study hard, get into college. That way after you retire you will be able to do all of those things you dream about.” I hated myself for the words of my parents. I swear I saw the light of discovery dim in their eyes. Monday came and I went back to work, my dreams heavy in my heart and the lives of the children I had given no hope weighed on my mind. Weeks turned into months and became years. Another milestone year came and found me wanting. Fear of breaking away from the home life, work, and friends drove me into the bottle again. This time oblivion didn’t answer my call.

In this pit of despair even anger could not lift me up, depression settled like a fog and I found death, my only option. Leaving the American dream looked to be the only door left unlocked. Whether is was courage or cowardice I cannot say, but I was unable to take my life. I could not find the courage to be free of the life I chose either. That moment of complete defeat found my heart reaching. A single thought permeated the insanity: God if you are there, help me.

Three and half years have passed since that fateful day. Recently sitting with a group of people I was asked for my experience in dealing with the third step.

“We made a decision to turn our lives and our will over to God, as we understand stood him.”

My mind took me back to that day. I smiled as I described the events.

The air was cold on the top of the mountain, my ragged breath blew out white clouds. My knees scraped into the hard earth of stone and dirt. My arms are tired from the strain, muscles pulled taunt against the chains. Every doubt another link in the chain. Each moment of grief welded the next. Jealousy , insecurity, anger, hatred bound my wrists into the manacles. Fear locked them tight around my body. The heavy burdens weighed me down as I struggled to rise. The clouds overhead were dark, I smelled electricity in the air. I felt the presence of death coming closer the paradox of willing him to take me and praying he wasn’t going to show.

I watched my life pass before me like a movie that played only the darkest moments of my despair. Each hurtful and demeaning action that left another hurt. I only wanted to run away and never face the jury I saw waiting to deal my sentence. I looked down and saw the blood that fused into the links of my fears. The chains I originally perceived as being strapped into were wrapped around my body and anchored to my wrists. There was nothing holding the weight but my own strength. I could not stand and hold the chains, my mind realized.

It was then I saw pieces of the chains falling away, immediately the weight became less. I lifted one knee up and pain erupted. In a moment I wanted to go back into the kneeling position, I knew the pain would stop. Then more pieces began to fall and weight was lifted again. I pushed off of one leg and rose to two feet, as lengths of rope and metal crusted in blood fell away. The pain erupted through my body as I stood for the first time in twenty-nine years. The tears that flooded my eyes were for relief. I looked up at the sky and saw the stars for the first time. I felt the presence of God and a strength flowed through me as I took a step forward, then another. With each step I walked the weight of my pain, frustrations, and fears fell away in pieces of metal rusted by own tears. I was grateful and more fell away, I looked ahead me and saw the edge of the mountain coming closer.

Behind me was a pile of chains that represented my terror, frustration, bewilderment, and despair. I saw them waiting as horsemen, their reins held in the hands my addiction. The face was ever changing; drugs, alcohol, women, men, and money. Now I saw them as masks that death himself wore to keep me close. Behind him were the black gates, my new eyes were wide with comprehension. I knew what waited for me there. Turning around I was standing at the edge of the cliff. Above me was a sky all encompassing, below me was a dark abyss. I turned around and walked toward death and his horsemen, he began laugh.

I looked straight into his eyes and smiled. He opened his arms to me and I said no, turning around I ran for the edge of the cliff. I did not slow or deviate from the path. I heard death scream as I launched myself off the cliff.

When I describe this picture to others suffering from addiction, their faces look just as mine did on that lonely mountain. I see the recognition in their eyes, the feelings of fear we share as a common bond. One of them will ask, “What happens next?” I smile and look each of them in the eye.

“The third step represents faith, the key to unlocking the door is willingness. I became willing to believe in something greater than myself. When I run off the edge of the cliff, launching into the unknown I have faith that one of two things will happen.” Their eyes look at me, and each I see a flicker of hope.

“I will either be; caught in the hands of my creator or be given wings and taught to fly.”