The good book is not good medicine

I was a very crook 16-year-old kid, lying in a cot in the detox ward of the Bridge Centre in Sydney, when a Captain of the Salvation army pulled a chair up to my bed and sat down. For the last three days I had been in the delirium tremens and I was sedated to stop me going into seizures. I was one sick puppy.

The fellow started light and bright, and I did my best to be obliging and polite. But he soon changed tack. Obviously wanting me to know that what he was about to say was serious and important, he stood and leant directly over me, adopting a formal sort of tone. Then he informed me in long and graphic terms about how alcoholism is a serious disease and that I was quite obviously a ‘primary alcoholic’. Moreover, he had never before encountered someone so young with such a severe and long-standing addiction.

Then, after a studied pause and a deep intake of breath, I was informed in climactic tones that if I kept on drinking in such a manner, I would be dead before the end of the year. These theatrics certainly did have the desired effect. I can still recall the flush of panic that welled up from within. I was instantly, utterly terrified. I had lost my family, all my friends. I had burnt every bridge. I was not in control. I was hopelessly and utterly addicted to the grog. The entire past month was just a sick blur. I believed him.

I could not remember arriving at the Bridge Centre but after several months of a very cold winter camping on the streets, the comfort of a warm bed and real sheets felt like ambrosia. I was as thin as a rake and had done myself so much damage that I could barely walk. My legs were strangely numb and did not seem to work properly (which I learnt many years later was likely a reaction to the sedatives I had been fed to stop me from ‘fitting’). I could viscerally feel the specter of death hovering by my side.

My religious visitor then finished his lecture in a manner I will never forget as it served to shape much of the next ten years of my life. He informed me gravely that ‘There is only one cure for alcoholism and that is God.’ Those who are grossly addicted must ‘hand their soul to Jesus’ and follow the Ten Step Program of AA. It is the only known cure. And those who fail to embrace the Lord invariably ‘die in the gutter’.

I believed him. I was terrified and grasped at this lifeline.

Yet unfortunately, it seems that I am pathologically unable to ‘believe’. I tried. Fervently and with an open heart. I explored Buddhism, Islam, the New Age, and a host of different flavours of Christianity.

For the next ten years, in between long periods of skid row alcoholism, I sought out a God that I could believe in. In my early twenties I spent eighteen months living in seclusion, studying the scriptures, and doing charity work for free. All before, once again, giving in to the realization that it was all hollow. I did not believe. It felt phantasmagorical and illusory. I knew with certitude, we are born, die, and we cease. I would then despair and drink. Only God could save me and I could not find God. Soon I was once again drinking in the long-grass with all the rest of the ungodly addicted who were dying in public every day.

I eventually gave up trying to find God and instead relied solely on my own devices. I began living one or two minutes at a time. I stacked hours upon minutes without drinking. I got a cold water flat and walked ten miles a day, for weeks, not drinking. I didn’t drink for every second of every day for months. I got a job. I didn’t drink at work and on the way home from work. I didn’t drink at home. I did not mix with those who were drinking. I did not even walk past a pub for a few years. I had early nights not drinking.

A year went past and I was still not drinking all the time. It was not easy but it was becoming tolerable. After five years I was no longer thinking about drinking, or God. I was building a reasonably full life. I went to Uni, met a girl, moved to the far North and built a life behind a white picket fence. I survived and thrived.

Nearly fifty years ago the Salvation Army was in proxy control of many parts of the health care system that were devoted to assisting those who are grossly addicted to alcohol. It almost killed me. I spent so many years blaming my drinking on spiritual failures. I did not have faith. I could not believe, so, I could not become well. The Salvation Army still control many detox centers. Children in distress continue to be offered salvation instead of health care. The AA program continues to be the primary mode of alcohol treatment in our land. Which ensures that those who are spiritually puddle-deep, like myself, will flounder.

I write this short essay to publicly refute the nonsense that was sold to that poor sick little fellow, lying in a cot, in a detox ward, so many years ago. He is one of the few lucky ones. He survived and went on to have a wonderful life, despite the damage caused by the bullshit ‘health care’ provided by the Salvation Army.

This week a sick child will be visited by a Salvation Army officer. He or she will sit on the side of their bed and tell them, in emphatic terms, that the only way they will ever recover is to find God.

I suggest that this is child abuse, not care. Our children deserve better. I deserved better.

Happy Easter
Dr JiMM

Keep Independent Journalism Alive – Support The AIMN

Dear Reader,

Since 2013, The Australian Independent Media Network has been a fearless voice for truth, giving public interest journalists a platform to hold power to account. From expert analysis on national and global events to uncovering issues that matter to you, we’re here because of your support.

Running an independent site isn’t cheap, and rising costs mean we need you now more than ever. Your donation – big or small – keeps our servers humming, our writers digging, and our stories free for all.

Join our community of truth-seekers. Please consider donating now via:

PayPal or credit card – just click on the Donate button below

Direct bank transfer: BSB: 062500; A/c no: 10495969

We’ve also set up a GoFundMe as a dedicated reserve fund to help secure the future of our site.
Your support will go directly toward covering essential costs like web hosting renewals and helping us bring new features to life. Every contribution, no matter the size, helps us keep improving and growing.

Thank you for standing with us – we truly couldn’t do this without you.

With gratitude, The AIMN Team