Holly the Great
Monday, February 15, 2010



Today I had a very good reason to skip out on work. I was asked to speak at a no cost rehab in Venice, on an AA panel at 1 PM. This particular foundation, funded solely on donations, is an adult rehab center for those with very little or no income. As I went to a pretty nice rehab (twice) I knew that it was going to be a crowd different than what I was used to.

Though honored to have been asked, I was very nervous to speak on the panel as the last time I spoke at a meeting I was just awful. I spoke in circles and hardly even breached the topic that was given to me. So this time, I would be much better. I would be eloquent, deep, and poignant. I imagined myself as some kind of sobriety Buddha, who would go before this crowd of addicts and alcoholics and spew forth my infinite wisdom. Those who normally slept through speakers would sit up and take notice, disbelievers would have an epiphany and suddenly believe, and people would both laugh and cry when they heard my story.

So I, The Great One, set out to share my invaluable insight, my life-changing message. I, The Great One, spent too much time in front of the mirror and thus left my house 15 minutes later than planned. I, The Great One, did not have an exact address and thus had trouble locating the center. I, The Great One, could not find any parking. And thus, I, The Great One, was 5 minutes late and walked in after the panel had already started.

Perhaps The Great One needs to work on her promptness.

I made a mental note of exactly what I would say to these people. I had plenty of drunk-a-log stories, but I know that my duty was to carry the message of sobriety. I remember very clearly how it was in my very early days of recovery, and the insanity centered in my mind, even though it had been physically cleared of alcohol and pot.
My last drink was a good story: I was kicked out of rehab after three weeks due to blatant fraternization (even modest fraternization with the opposite sex was not allowed) with a young man who had been court-ordered to this inpatient recovery program. Because our dalliances also had him booted from the rehab, he was en-route back to jail. In my desperate attempt to save this guy I hardly knew (but I thought I shared a deep connection with), I picked him up when he decided to run, and hid him at my house for three weeks. Did it occur to me that I could also face jail time for my actions? Of course it did, but I was too crazy to let it stop me. I was angry at the world— and so I clung to someone more fucked up than me, so that I could feel not so alone in my fucked-up-ness.

A week later, when I got in a car accident (I was sober at the time), I decided the best solution was to drink, and that this boy, now my “boyfriend” would have to join me. So after my second stint in rehab, after I swore to myself that this was it, that I would never drink again, I picked up a bottle of vodka. The first sip made me shiver with delight as the liquor burned through my veins. Forty minutes later I was in a blackout. Hours later I woke up covered in bruises, and with my boyfriend shaking his head over me. This heroin addict, this tough-guy felon who had lived on the streets, said that I scared him. Fortunately I can honestly say that was my last drink.

But when I arrived at the panel, my ex-boyfriend’s little sister was sitting in the front row. She had been in and out of rehabs ever since I’d known her. Well, there goes my I-dated-a-bad-guy story. Now what was I going to talk about that would impress these people? How would I speak to, and connect with people who had lived on the street? I have never smoked crack or even tried heroin, so how would I address those who were addicted to such drugs? How would I— a girl who has never known poverty, neglect, nor physical, mental, or sexual abuse— tell my story to people far worse off than I, and have them see the similarities rather than the differences between us?

If there is one thing I have learned in the past year, it is that alcoholism is the great equalizer: it affects people of all races, genders, and socio-economic statuses. No matter how different our pasts may be, the present for all of us is the same: we are addicts who have been given a second chance at life. I am not so great that I can “make” people listen to me, and thus be inspired to get sober. I can only hope that there is one person in that crowd who is ready to listen, and that there is one thing I say that they can relate to. If I can achieve that, I have succeeded.
So I told my story: what it was like, how I got sober, and what it is like now. And yes, some people slept through my story. Some people did not listen, and glanced at the clock frequently, hoping I would be shutting up soon. But there were a select few who did listen, people who never took their eyes off of me, who laughed at some of the things I said, and nodded their head in understanding at others. And though I know that most of the room did not pay attention, what mattered is that there were a few who did. It was the people who came up to me afterward to shake my hand and thank me, that gave me the hope that I was doing something truly good and unselfish. That I, a spoiled and self-absorbed pornographer could speak to a roomful of people off of the street, and bond with them. At that moment I was not “Holly Randall: Porn Personality”. I was reduced to simply being a garden-variety alcoholic, no better or worse than these people. And you know what? That made me feel pretty great.

http://hollyrandall.com