an hour of reprieve

Yesterday as I was still pissing and moaning about my hair and bathrooms and still on my quest for internal self-mutilation over my 8th Step, my unofficial online sponsor,dear Meg, told me, not quite in these words, to get out of my own head and go do some service work with people much less fortunate with myself. I had been telling everyone else to basically piss-off for the past couple days, so I am not sure why I took her suggestion, but I did.
I ended up at a meeting where there are many newcomers. I sat alone in the row reserved for "pissy members" and watched people come in late, as frickin' usual. But hey, they were a distraction from the readings I was whining in my head about having heard fourteen katrillion fricking times.
And then I saw her.
She walked in kind of slowly and hesitantly, her gait looking like she required an immediate chair. She sat in front of me, in the "not so pissy right now, but definitely uncomfortable and could get pissy if you bug me" row. Before she sat, we looked at each others eyes and I noticed the familiar blown pupil look of opiate withdrawal. After she took her chair, I clearly saw her story -- the back of her hair was wet with sweat, but she wore a heavy girlie sweater kind of crocheted thingie. Through the "holes" I saw goosebumps across her arms and back. It is 102F today. She was/is beautiful, even in her sickness, and she was hurting so very, very badly.
And then she spoke.
She said it was her second day of withdrawal. She desperately did not want to use, yet her head was screaming to her to help her body. She said her thoughts were wrapped with, "Just one little push, girl. Just one and you'll be all good again" -- almost word for word what my head would say to me in the pits of the hell of heroin withdrawal. She spoke of gratitude for a meeting where she could come and get out of her own head even for an hour. She said we gave her hope that she could continue down this path of recovery. She spoke with that sort of quiet desperation that only an addict who has truly surrendered knows.
And I FELT every single word she said.
To me, that is the beauty a Fellowship; any Fellowship really. To be moved by another person's quest for the new road you, too, are walking is something more than magical for me. And to know that simple, stupid hug I gave her before I left was a hug of knowing and a hug of faith and hope that she, too, can and is about to, walk this very, same path.
And I felt better for an hour today.