The Source of Anxiety in My Life -- AA

I lived in fear for a long time.

I was always looking over my shoulder, afraid of doing something, or something being done to me.

I never understood, until recently, that the AA cult creates a sense of self-centered pre-occupation, one in which a man is always looking over his own shoulder, preoccupied with his next drink, or with his next slip in anything.

I often distrusted my own thinking. I was always afraid that some "ulterior" or "wrong motive" would bring me into bondage, that I would make a terrible mistake, or misplace something, or do or say something that would get me into trouble.

The AA cult teaches people that they cannot trust their own thinking, that they are alcoholics with a sick mind, a disease of the body and an obsession of the mind, if you will, which precludes all rational and acpaable thiniking and decisions.

I never drank heavily, yet my mother was so indoctrinated, that every problem and every solution would find an outlet in AA and the Twelve Steps.

Man has a deeper problem than his thinking, or his feelings. He has a sin nature overrun with death, and no amount of psychology, no amount of therapy and self-help efforst will ever assist a man in overcoming himself.

All that anxiety within me traumatized me for so long. I was afraid to do anything, since I would do something wrong and slip, or someone would take advantage of me.

My mother, as I have shared in previous posts, was infused with AA. She was working her steps, taking her inventory even toward the end of her life, before she died, much of due to the terrible program which induces a monomania of perfectionism and self-assessment to insane depths.

How long can a man look at himself and try to make himself better, when all his self-regard makes him see how hopeless his condition has become? We cannot make ourselves better, no more than a cancer patient can operate on himself and live. We need more than power, we need life, and that more abundantly.

The source of anxiety in my life was a life of trying to look out for myself and look at myself at the same time, trying to live, and making sure that I lived right. No wonder I was worn out and filled with frustration and fear. What kind of life is that, where a man is constantly looking at something that can never be fixed, yet feels compelled to fix it?

"Acceptance is the answer to my problems" wrote the Doctor on Page 444. My ass! How can you accept something, anything if it's not true?

No one can be defined by their alcoholism. To define yourself by a failing is just a failure that will never fail to fail you. Does that thought in itself make you feel anxious? Now you understand the point that I have been making.