The Unfortunate One

From Chapter 5 of he Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous:

Rarely have we seen a person fail who has thoroughly followed our path. Those who do not recover are people who cannot or will not completely give themselves to the simple program, usually men and women who are constitutionally incapable of being honest with themselves. There are such unfortunates. They are not at fault; they seem to have been born that way. They are naturally incapable of grasping and developing a manner of living which demands rigorous honesty. Their chances are less than average. There are those, too, who suffer from grave emotional and mental disorders, but many of them do recovery if they have the capacity to be honest.

In 2012, I went through the 12 Steps. It was a year long, grueling period of my life with a lot of self-reflection, hard work, time and effort.  But as described above, I now see myself as one of the unfortunates that couldn't be honest with himself, or develop a manner of living that demands rigorous honesty.

As I'm going through the material a second time, I read in wonder how none of these texts on honesty ever jumped out at me or made me feel guilty the first time I went through it. I can't remember any of it -- and the books are filled with pages and pages about how foundational honesty is to sobriety. I was so wrapped up in staying sober by the other practical methods (boundaries, check-ins, habits) that I neglected where I feel now the real healing is.  You can't maintain any sort of happiness or joy if you aren't honest with yourself.  You also can't have or maintain any genuine friendships without being honest with those that care for you. And of course, as I'm learning these days, a marriage will not survive without honesty.

The true delusion is that I have always thought of myself as an overall honest person, except when I'm not.  I know of all my lies, omissions and half-truths - and there are a lot of them - but for some reason I still see myself more honest than the average person.

Upon reflecting on my entire life, I'm not so sure. I do recall a time in Jr. High (Middle School) where I did tell myself that I lie a lot. I boasted about a lot of things: things I could do that I really couldn't, events in my life that never happened, and virtues in my life that I never really had. I had an artificially inflated ego, and because I was already accomplished, likable and seemed trustworthy I feel like everybody accepted it.  I was never called out on a lie, because I was just so good at it. I did have a fear that I would be found out, and I sometimes did have trouble keeping all of my stories straight, but I managed and nobody knew me well enough to know for sure.

I have a person in my life that is a chronic liar. He lies about everything, even if there is no reason to.  I hate it. The fact that he thinks I'm stupid enough to try even attempt to lie to me about something as innocuous about how much he paid for the latest video game he bought drives me to anger. I don't even care in the first place how much you paid, guy - even if you claim it was 80% less than retail. But I'm pretty sure the reason I hate it so much, while my wife just lets it go, is that I see a lot of myself in him - and I have always been self-aware enough to see that.  We both lie to get validation, affirmation and to inflate our egos.  It takes one to know one. The difference is that his lies are easily debunked, and mine are easily hidden, hard to prove, convincing and damaging to those around me. 

While this liar in my life lies about dumb things like what great deals he gets at the store, tall tales where he stood up for his principles, and exaggerations about his popularity in his teenage years, I can at least read him like a book. He is still somehow genuine, even with his lies. He doesn't hide who he really is.  I know his passions, his faults, I know what bothers him and I know his convictions.

On the other hand, I lie about who I fundamentally am. I hide and lie about my passions, thinking that others will make fun of me. I hide and lie about my opinions, in case someone thinks differently than me. I hide and lie about what hurts me, because I don't want other people to know that I'm broken.  Nobody really knows me, and it's not because of my lies - but rather my lack of honesty.

It's strange to think that one can be a liar but still be a genuine, authentic and transparent person.  Maybe even honest.

This time around, I do know that the only path to my ongoing sobriety is rigorous honesty.  It will be hardest part for me.  Eight years ago, when I first worked the steps, the hardest part for me was disconnecting myself from screens and media for 90 days.  Yes, it was hard, but looking back it really wasn't any work and it was easy to see how it would be good for me to do so.  Honesty though? Being genuine? I've knitted my entire world around lies, and to undo the whole tapestry that has taken me 40 years to build will be painful for me, those around me, those I love, and even for future me.

I do hope that I'm not one of the Unfortunate Ones. Born incapable of honesty. Unable to ever find recovery. Right now I feel like it's a huge mountain to climb. I'll feel exposed.  Naked. And even I don't know what I look like under