I could count all the times that I thought I was going to die from a drinking- or drug-related issue on . . . two hands and one foot. My aunt had told me I had a problem, Colleen had told me I had a problem, a random stranger at a NIGHTCLUB (where presumably everyone was drinking) told me I had a problem. It was that obvious, guys, but who knew if I really needed to change? Honestly, I was twenty-three years old! Wasn’t I supposed to be going out every night and getting fucked up at this age? Wasn’t I supposed to be in my “party phase”? I thought I was fine. Even after starting to attend AA meetings, I still didn’t stop using. I would go and listen to other people’s stories, hearing some that were eerily similar to mine, but did I really have to change? I thought I was balancing everything well. I was booking jobs and auditioning every day. I was a working actor, able to support myself without a side hustle. I was dating and enjoying that sweet independence I got after being dumped. Things were going great.
I had a great group of friends, and I was hiding my addiction well from all of them. None of them knew I had a problem; they thought I knew how to have a good time!
But then I started to become more aware as the consequences crept up to me. I didn’t have a typical “come to Jesus” moment as many other sober people describe. It was as if I started watching myself from afar. Laura-from-afar started judging me. I would go to an AA meeting and then pick up a bottle of wine on the way home. What the fuck are you doing, Laura?
Then, I started buying cocaine during the day. This was a bad sign. You guys, picking up cocaine should not be on your to-do list. When you’re choosing your grocery store and dry cleaner because they’re on the way to your drug dealer’s spot, you have a problem.
I suddenly realized everything was escalating. I couldn’t drink without buying drugs, and I couldn’t do either of them without getting to the point where I didn’t care if I woke up the next day. I had no control over this. Any semblance of balance I had in my life was totally false. I was completely at the whim of my addiction. I still had the first three pages of that feature script back at home taunting me, because I was always too high to work on it. How did getting high become more important than my career?
Throughout my time in LA, I had still been keeping in touch with my old friends from home. Jack was still my best friend, even if we only talked over the phone and online. He was one of the only people who knew I had a problem and encouraged me to fix it. And just as I reached my breaking point with my addiction, Jack’s boyfriend committed suicide. He was devastated. We both needed each other.
During one of our phone calls I had an idea. “Move to LA with me. Let’s start over together.”
“Are you serious?”
“Why the fuck not, dude? There’s no snow here. People wear shorts in winter.”
There was a pause. I held my breath. I heard Jack sniffle. “I do have a lot of shorts that need wearing.”
And just like that, Jack moved to LA to start a new life. With him near me, I tried to do the same.
It’s weird—I had realized I had a problem over and over again in the past, but this was the first time that I felt truly strong enough to be sober. Maybe it was having Jack around and Colleen nearby. Maybe it was the impending auditions I had to go on. Maybe it was my independence. Maybe it was all the AA meetings I had attended, accumulating in the back of my mind—all the people I had watched become sober and successful. Whatever it was, I could really see that my addiction was getting in the way of my goals. I was finally ready to change.
I walked to the Log Cabin Community Center, where my AA meetings were held, and stood outside for a moment. I could still go back home and light up . . . literally anything. I’d smoke lawn clippings at this point if it could numb my dread. Unfortunately, California was in a drought and there were only succulents around.
There were, however, about fifty twentysomething, punk-looking kids covered in tattoos, sitting around outside, smoking cigarettes. I had seen them before when I had gone to meetings, but never really took notice of them. They were laughing . . . and bright eyed. They looked clear and happy. Is this what sobriety looks like? Nah, they must be high!
I must have been staring for too long, because this badass-looking, tattooed girl came over to me. She did a grand gesture with her arms.
“Welcome.”
“Thanks,” I muttered, but I didn’t move.
“Are you going in?” she continued.
I hesistated. I wanted to get sober, of course, but I had been to meetings before. I knew that when I went inside, they would ask us to turn ourselves over to God, and then I would immediately check out like I had always done.
I could still hear my dad’s voice in the back of my head: “FUCK ORGANIZED RELIGION! It’s bullshit. And eat another hot dog, Laura, you’re too skinny!”
There was no way I’d believe any of this. Okay, bye!!! Yet there was something about this tatted woman’s kind face. I told her everything on my mind. She just smiled at me.
“No, no, we’re not a religious program. God can be any higher power of your own understanding. It could be the sun or mother nature. It can be anything.”
“Penguins?”
“If you want.”
Okay, well, I am deeply fond of penguins.
I took a deep breath and walked inside. And from there . . . I just did it. I was ready and open. I got on my knees and turned myself over to the penguins or whoever the fuck was looking out for me.
I started to learn things that changed my life. I badly needed to find happiness, to let go of whatever horrible feelings about myself that I felt the urge to numb and ignore.
The first thing I learned was the Serenity Prayer:
God, grant me the serenity
To accept the things I cannot change;
Courage to change the things I can;
And wisdom to know the difference.
It sounds so simple, but it was huge for me. If I was unhappy with a situation, I either needed to truly accept it or—if possible—to work through my fear in order to change it. I started to apply this to my acting. If I was unhappy with the work I was getting or the lack thereof, I couldn’t drink and ignore it. I needed to have the courage to change the things I can by putting myself out there in a different way.
After acceptance, I took on forgiveness. A huge principle of AA is forgiving everything and everyone. Resentments are our number-one offender. If you hold on to your anger, it will take you out. It will eventually lead you back to drinking and using. At the cabin, they asked me to figure out my part in the resentment. Where had I been selfish, self-seeking, dishonest, or afraid?
You guys, I have a lot that I could look back and be angry about, such as what the “abortion money” guy did to me, or what Damon did to me, or what the producer at the W Hotel did to me. There was a lot that didn’t feel like my fault at all. But the only thing in life that I had control over is myself and my reactions. I can’t change my past. I’m allowed to be mad about these things, but I can also work to let them go. I can release the resentment and forgive. Because, honestly, my life depended on it—and I no longer wanted to die. I had purpose on this earth.
It was freeing.
I started to look at other people around me not as inherently bad or good, but rather as healthy or sick and doing the best they can. Everyone is doing their best. Sure, sometimes their best sucks, but that’s okay.