Yesterday at the doctor’s office, the nurses had to ask me a long series of questions before the doctor came in, and one of these was, “have you ever had a drug or alcohol use problem?”

Awkward. How am I supposed to answer that? What do they mean, what do they want? “Well, kind of,” I said. “I used to drink too much, so I stopped. I haven’t had any in over five years.”

The nurse and her shadow (one of them was a trainee) were then like: “Okay, but were you ever really, like… you know… or was it just…were you, like…”

“No, I mean, it wasn’t, like…”

We both knew what we were talking about. Was I a real alcoholic, the kind with a serious problem, or just another self-obsessed millennial woman “in recovery” from her emotional “trauma?”

“I was never, like, in rehab or hospitalized or anything,” I elaborated, apologetically, embarrassed.

“Right, right,” said nurse #1.

“So, put no,” nurse #2 instructed nurse #1, who was typing up my chart on her laptop.

Why did this interaction leave me bristling? I can’t figure it out. It’s either because (a) I lied, concealing just how all-consuming and life-ruining and maddening my drinking problem was, OR (b) I feel invalidated by their hastiness to label me “Not a Real Alcoholic” because my suffering was not as outwardly extreme as that of someone with a “real” problem – an attitude which got under my skin all the time back in the days when I frequented AA meetings.

The thing is, though, I don’t remember ever encountering another AA who gave me this attitude. They were all always incredibly welcoming and accepting, always emphasizing that I was one of them, that I belonged there. The whole thing in AA is, in order to succeed, it’s absolutely crucial to “identify in:” to be convinced that you belong there. They say that the first step (“we admitted that we were powerless over alcohol, that our lives had become unmanageable” – i.e., sincere confession that you are a Real Alcoholic (capitalizations mine, not theirs)) is the only one that you have to do 100%. At the same time, though, in the 12 Traditions, it says “the only requirement for membership is a desire to stop drinking” – so, being a member, belonging there, does not necessarily mean you’re working the Steps (although you should be). So I guess you can be a true member without professing yourself to be a Real Alcoholic. But you won’t get very far. Everyone you talk to will say you need to get a sponsor and do the steps, otherwise what are you doing here?

I am not sure if I was ever sure that I was a Real Alcoholic. How do you even know? Believe me, I pored over this question and studied it in the literature and agonized over it in meetings and waffled back and forth for four years. I really wanted to be, because I wanted somewhere to belong – I so wanted to have found my niche, my kindred spirits, somewhere I was not an alien.

But I was an outsider even there. There’s this informal, unofficial dichotomy among AAs between the “high bottom” and the “rock bottom” folks, and those who hit a real material rock bottom (homelessness, rehabs, seizures, loss of family and jobs, etc.) are more respected, taken more seriously than the “high bottom” ones, the ones like me, who avoided treatment and were still, technically, “functional.” Now, let it be known that this dichotomy is not Program-sanctioned. The Big Book says over and over that anyone who wants to stop drinking is welcome. It even includes several personal accounts from high bottom drinkers, to show that all types are included here, that we are all the same. Still though: that doesn’t prevent certain types from looking down on the high bottom folks, and you might hear such lines as “I spilled more than you ever drank” tossed around.

Which is nasty and harmful, but still – don’t they have a point? Who am I to say that I’m “just like” someone who lived on the street, lost their spouse and kids, drank rubbing alcohol out of sheer desperation, or resorted to crime to find the next drink? I understand their mindset, and sympathize, but I guess I had enough rationality, or enough self-preservation instinct, remaining in me that I did not need to sink that low to stop.

So I always felt out of place when I was the sole “high bottom” drinker in a room full of former heroin addicts, ex-cons, and homeless folks. In theory, all are welcome, but, tell me that wouldn’t feel weird for you.

So, I was well aware that I had an irreparable problem with alcohol, that my brain was permanently incapable of a healthy relationship with it – but, I was never sure that was enough to make me a Real Alcoholic, the kind who deserves AA.

And the nurses’ comments yesterday just reaffirmed that. Reminded me that I am not actually a real alcoholic, despite those years of daily reciting “Hi, I’m Mith, I’m an Alcoholic” and diligently doing the steps with my sponsors. I think perhaps this is extra “triggering” because impostor syndrome is huge for me in general: I have rarely ever felt like a “real” anything. Despite converting ten years ago and receiving the Sacraments regularly, I still don’t feel like a “real” Catholic. Sometimes when I see women getting married or pregnant, I get this weird streak of jealousy piercing through me, because it’s like I’m not a real wife or mom – I’m just a poser who got lucky, and is trying to walk the walk. I never identified with the schools that I attended, never belonged to sports teams or clubs or a sorority. Obviously, I’m not a real writer, lol, despite having written about ten novel-length stories and having a BFA in Writing and writing being my #1 hobby and passion. Maybe my impostor syndrome would go away if I got something traditionally published, but, from what I’ve heard from published authors, the impostor syndrome doesn’t go away even then. Heck, I have never even felt like a real human for much of my life, thanks to the AvPD, haha I seriously had this whole elaborate mental game as early as age six where I was an alien from another planet, the only one of my kind, to try to make sense of this feeling. So perhaps the nurses’ comments just “twisted the knife” in that a little.

Or, was it actually option (a), and I was hiding the truth so the doctors wouldn’t judge me? This might be it too. I’ll change my story to please whoever’s in the room with me. Thus, in AA, I’m “an alcoholic,” but out among normies, nope, don’t worry, I’m just another normie! Insubstantial, like nothing is actually inside this here meat-tank, except for a tumultuous vapor storm of wants and fears; I’m just whatever I think someone wants me to be!

Either way, it’s annoying.

Maybe the fact that I was never sure that I was a Real Alcoholic, just proves that I never really worked Step One, which would prove why I never had success despite working all twelve steps twice through to the best of my ability. This is probably the advice that a seasoned AA would give me. But, I have already found that convincing myself of my own powerlessness and unmanageability was not enough to make me identify with those rock-bottom folks. I think the AvPD might be the problem here – I think that that condition throws a real wrench in the works when it comes to identifying with other humans at all. AvPD will always find a reason why you are not like the others. It will always convince you.

(So if anyone out there happens to also be AvPD and alcoholic, just know that I feel your pain – how are we supposed to actually recover when the recovery process fundamentally requires connecting with other humans? That being said, white knuckling it through life has still proved to be better than actively drinking, by a long shot. One of the most helpful pieces of advice a fellow AA ever gave me was, “you just get used to being uncomfortable.” You find other ways to get through the day.)

(Anyway, a seasoned AA would probably also tell me that the mere fact that I’m sitting here agonizing over whether I’m a Real Alcoholic or not, is a sign that I’m obviously one. They say that normies don’t sit around asking themselves this question – that if you’ve ever Googled “am I an alcoholic,” congratulations, you almost certainly are.)

But wait, wait, let’s back up. That whole interaction, what if it was all in my head? What if it wasn’t the nurses invalidating me, but me? If they had asked whether I had any history of alcohol abuse and I simply answered “Yes,” without apologizing for my answer, would they have just taken that at face value?! Probably, lol. Why are we like this.