Author: The Fix

Joe Biden’s Son Hunter Opens Up About Addiction Struggles

“There’s addiction in every family. I was in that darkness. I was in that tunnel—it’s a never-ending tunnel. You don’t get rid of it. You figure out how to deal with it.”

Hunter Biden, the 49-year-old-son of Democratic Presidential hopeful, Joe Biden, has given an extensive interview with The New Yorker magazine. In the piece, he discloses a history of drug and alcohol abuse dating back to his high school days.

The interview was instigated by a piece published in Breitbart News on Hunter Biden’s name as a possible narcotic suspect in Arizona, 2016. Biden decided that he wanted to get in front of the trickle of negative and possibly distorted news stories that would come out about his past in attempts to stall his father’s run for the presidency.

Hunter Sets The Record Straight

Biden told The New Yorker, “Look, everybody faces pain. Everybody has trauma. There’s addiction in every family. I was in that darkness. I was in that tunnel- it’s a never-ending tunnel. You don’t get rid of it. You figure out how to deal with it.”

Biden was barely three years old when he was in a horrific car accident with his family; his mother and baby sister were both killed. Biden and his brother, Beau, were both badly injured and hospitalized- their dad was sworn into the Senate in their hospital room.

Some addiction specialists such as Gabor Maté believe that trauma is at the heart of most addictions and the destructive behaviors that follow.

Washington Post reported that Biden recounted minimum five stays at both inpatient and outpatient rehabilitation centers over the years. He was discharged from the Navy after failing a drug test- he had been using cocaine.

Biden’s interview recounts his recent personal struggles with a painful divorce and then his relationship with his late brother, Beau’s, wife. That relationship did not work because according to Biden, all they got was “shit from everybody, all the time.”

Biden’s wife cited excessive spending on drugs, alcohol, prostitutes and strip clubs in her divorce filings, asking for Biden’s assets to be frozen. Biden disputed the charges but went directly to a strip club the night of the filing, saying “Fuck them.”

His Father Has Been Supportive

Biden recounts that throughout his long addiction, his father Joe Biden has been supportive and loving. After Hunter Biden remarried recently, his father said that he knew love would bring him back to the family.

Hunter Biden responded, “Dad, I always had love. And the only thing that allowed me to see that is the fact that you never gave up on me, you always believed in me.”

View the original article at thefix.com

3 July 2019
Rep For Ex-Guns N' Roses Drummer Steven Adler Clarifies Self-Injury Reports

Reports surfaced on June 28th that the ex-GnR drummer had been hospitalized for self-injury.

Steven Adler, former drummer of Guns N’ Roses, was hospitalized with what was initially described as a self-stabbing incident, which his management later clarified as an accident.

The 54-year-old Rock & Roll Hall of Famer—whose substance abuses issues were addressed in two seasons of Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew—was transported on Thursday (June 27) from his home in Los Angeles to an area hospital with what was described as a stab wound to the stomach.

It Was An Accident

The injury was described in several media reports as a suicide attempt, but Adler’s representatives told TMZ on June 28 that it was an accident.

Law enforcement officials arrived at Adler’s home in Studio City, California shortly after 6:30 p.m. on June 27 in response to a 911 call regarding a stabbing. Los Angeles Police Department (LAPD) Officer Jeff Lee told People magazine, “Upon arrival, LAPD officers determined that there was no crime and the incident was being treated as a medical emergency only. The subject was transported to a local hospital with a non-life threatening injury.”

Though initial media coverage treated the incident as a suspected suicide attempt, Adler’s representatives told TMZ that Adler had accidentally injured himself, which resulted in a “very minor, superficial wound.”

TMZ also reported that Adler was still planning to perform at the Golden Nugget in Las Vegas on July 12, which he had promoted via Instagram on the same day as the incident.

Adler’s representatives also confirmed that the drummer was sober, echoing recent statements by Adler himself, who told Blabbermouth in 2018 that he had abstained from alcohol for four years and from heroin and cocaine since 2008. “I’ve never been happier,” he said in the interview.

Adler’s substance abuse issues led to his dismissal from Guns N’ Roses in 1990, as well as his 2008 appearance on the second season of Celebrity Rehab. He later appeared on the first season of a spin-off series, Sober House, and returned to Celebrity Rehab for its fifth season in 2011 before his induction into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame as a member of the original Guns lineup the following year.

Back On The Road

Since then, Adler has performed with the band at several stops on its Not in This Lifetime… tour, as well as with his own group, Adler’s Appetite.

View the original article at thefix.com

3 July 2019
Religion, Secularism, and Spirituality – How Modern AA Gets It Wrong

AA’s founders did not intend for AA to be religious, and unlike many modern-day members, they embraced a broad view of a Higher Power.

The role of a Higher Power (hereinafter, HP) looms large in today’s recovery landscape. AA adopts it as the centerpiece of its program. Rehabs that adopt the 12 steps as a major part of their treatment protocol do, as well. Even secular groups such as SMART don’t discourage their members from prayer or spiritual belief.

AA’s Founders: Higher Power Should Transcend Religion

But to equate religion with HP would be disingenuous and simplistic. AA’s founders intentionally chose the term “HP” because it transcends religion, while encompassing some of its aspects such as spiritual beliefs, meditation and mindfulness.

In a 1961 letter to Bill Wilson, Carl Jung wrote Spiritus Contra Spiritum which, roughly translated, means: Alcohol addiction can be fought with spirituality. Further, in the same letter, Jung says: “You might be led to that goal by an act of grace or through a personal and honest contact with friends, or through a higher education of the mind beyond the confines of mere rationalism.” You can see that Jung clearly leaves room for a secular path to recovery (namely: fellowship of friends, knowledge).

What is really striking about Jung’s observation is that it clearly states that an addict is not limited to just a religious/spiritual HP. Not only does Jung allow for non-religious HP, he sees no need to pit the religious against the non-religious, offering the possibility of a symbiotic relationship between them. Bill Wilson seems to agree with Jung on this matter. And while people may point out that in later chapters of the Big Book, Bill speaks of God, it is clear that “God” is simply what Bill chooses to call his HP.

The Big Book overtly allows for secular approaches to recovery and never flat-out (unlike modern-day AA and its copycats) rejects alternative views. Again, the founders chose to call their HPs God, yet Wilson understood and shared Jung’s thoughts on the matter.

Many Modern Meetings Equate Higher Power with God

This is not, however, what modern-day AA is about. In many meetings the newcomer is taught that the 12 steps are Gospel and HP is God (hence, the incessant recitation of the Lord’s Prayer). Yet half of the original fellowship was cut from agnostic cloth, according to Wilson himself (and including himself). Had they all been religious zealots, there never would have been the need for AA in the first place. The Oxford groups would have soldiered on en masse. The authors go on to say that their understanding of the Spirit is all-inclusive and never exclusive, and this is exactly where modern-day AA went astray from the original meaning of the Big Book.

What is good for the goose is good for the gander, and if one adopts a broad view of HP (as envisioned by Wilson and supported by Jung), then the following belief should be a fair game.

The Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster (hereinafter, CFSM) although widely-known is not an officially recognized religion in the U.S. However, The First Amendment to the U.S. Constitution provides fertile ground for many quasi-religious views, however lighthearted or crazy (which religions are not?), and who is to say that this particular imaginary friend is somehow less credible than any other?

If someone believes strongly enough, they will tap into whatever force they believe in, whether they are Christians believing in the power of Christ, Wiccans believing in the power of nature and the Goddess (or Goddesses), Atheists believing in the power of their own mind or of science, or Pastafarians believing in the FSM. And let us not forget Jung’s trifecta.

Yes, some religions make it easier than others. The more developed a set of religious dogmas is, the handier it becomes when tangling with the unknown. Modern-day religions are nuanced clever hoaxes that provide a detailed roadmap to their particular Higher Power to all comers for a small fee (usually a tax-free, labor-free existence plus a little something for the priest).

AA and other fellowships are not that far behind. Any modern-day 12-step-based program has a religion-based Higher Power front and center. Passing the plate across the aisles is so familiar that it triggers a muscle memory when reaching for the wallet. The elders lead the chorus, the speaker preaches (excuse me, shares) and a religious-like unity bordering on trance ensues.

Founders Wanted AA to Be Accessible to Believers and Non-Believers

And while the CFSM is obviously intended to be tongue in cheek, there are some members who take it seriously. And even if others don’t, who is to say that the Pastafari faith is not capable of tapping into their Higher Power in order to heal? Why would it not be in the spiritual tool kit that AA (and by extension all other “A”s) so often references? Why can’t a Flying Spaghetti Monster be as believable as any other man-created deity? After all, they are all equally unprovable and some are even more far-fetched than the Carb-Laden Creator.

When the founders settled on a Higher Power described as a “God of your understanding,” they were most likely not envisioning a flying spaghetti monster. They weren’t envisioning anything at all. They left that up to each of us to choose. And they intended to leave the door open to anyone with a desire to stop drinking. That includes believers and non-believers, alike.

View the original article at thefix.com

3 July 2019
High-Risk Counties For Opioid Deaths Identified By New Study

For a new study, researchers examined the most high-risk places for opioid overdose and overdose deaths.

As many as 13% of counties in the U.S. are classified as high risk for people with opioid use disorder, because they have high overdose rates and few treatment options, according to a new study that looked at overdose data from around the country.

The study, published in JAMA Network Open, aimed to understand overdoes rates by county in order to better distribute resources for recovery efforts.

“We hope policymakers can use this information to funnel additional money and resources to specific counties within their states,” said lead author Rebecca Haffajee, assistant professor of health management and policy at the University of Michigan School of Public Health.

Nearly 25% Of Counties Had A High-Rate Of Overdose Deaths

Around 24% of counties (751) had a high rate of overdose deaths. Researchers found that 46% of counties did not have a provider who prescribed medication-assisted treatment, while 71% of rural counties did not have a publicly available provider of opioid treatment.

“We need more strategies to augment and increase the primary care provider workforce in those high-risk counties, people who are willing and able to provide opioid use disorder treatments,” Haffajee said.

In addition to increasing the number of care providers, the researchers pointed out that better job opportunities were linked to lower overdose rates. Counties with more employment, more providers and younger residents had a lower risk of overdose deaths.

The balance between overdose rates and available providers played out differently in rural versus urban counties, Haffajee pointed out.

“In rural areas, the opioid crisis is often still a prescription opioid issue. But in metropolitan counties, highly potent illicit fentanyl and other synthetic opioids are more prevalent and are killing people,” she said. “That’s likely why we identified metropolitan areas as higher-risk, despite the fact that these counties typically have some (just not enough) treatment providers.”

Access To Medication-Assisted Treatment Is The Key

Information like that can help governments to more efficiently distribute money and resources.

“Understanding these differences at the sub-state level and coming up with strategies that target specific county needs can allow us to more efficiently channel the limited amount of resources we have to combat this crisis.”

The researchers wrote, “Although overall buprenorphine-waivered clinicians and funds for [opioid use disorder] treatment to states have increased in recent years, to have the largest effect on the opioid crisis these resources need to be funneled to local county areas with the greatest unmet need, together with new models of care to reach people with [opioid use disorder].”

For example, “prioritizing fund allocation and clinician workforce augmentation efforts around [medication-assisted treatment] in nonmicropolitan counties, including in many Appalachian and Mountain regions, could be particularly effective in reducing opioid-related risks,” they wrote.

View the original article at thefix.com

2 July 2019
California To Vote On Certifying Peer Support Specialists

There are more than 6,000 peer support specialists working in California but without certification, their services are not reimbursable by Medicaid.

Some consider peer support specialists to play a vital role in guiding people with mental health or substance use disorder toward recovery. According to advocates, only California and South Dakota lack a certification program for these peer support specialists—defined by SAMHSA as “people who have been successful in the recovery process who help others experiencing similar situations.”

Without Certification, Peer Support Services Aren’t Reimbursable By Medicaid

Currently there are more than 6,000 peer support specialists working in California, according to state Senator Jim Beall. But without being certified, their services are not reimbursable by Medicaid.

For many people who have overcome their own histories of mental illness or substance use disorder, helping peers achieve the same outcome is vital work. “For many people, having a connection to someone else who’s had this experience proves vital,” Dr. Thomas Insel, a key mental health adviser to Governor Gavin Newsom, told California Healthline.

Senator Jim Beall introduced legislation, SB-10, that would establish a certification process for peer support specialists in California—including required training, continued education and a code of ethics, according to Capital Public Radio.

“We need to have client and family driven practices. We need to have the state recognize these individuals as professionals, as part of an interdisciplinary team, bringing them up to the standards that other licensed professionals have in California,” said Adrienne Shilton, Government Affairs director of the Steinberg Institute.

SB-10 is headed to the California Assembly Health Committee after passing the State Senate with a unanimous vote in May.

Prop 63 Funding Would Go Towards Developing The Certification Program

Former Governor Jerry Brown vetoed similar legislation last year, citing the high financial cost of establishing a certification program. Under SB-10, the state would be able to use funding from Proposition 63 (the Mental Health Services Act) to develop and maintain the program, according to CPR.

Advocates consider peer support specialists to play a vital role in the behavioral health care system. “Through shared understanding, respect, and mutual empowerment, peer support workers help people become and stay engaged in the recovery process and reduce the likelihood of relapse,” according to SAMHSA. “Peer support services can effectively extend the reach of treatment beyond the clinical setting into the everyday environment of those seeking a successful, sustained recovery process.”

“At the moment of being ready to discharge, I had zero idea what I was doing,” said Eric Bailey, referring to his hospitalization after a mental health crisis in 2013. He had lost everything. But a stranger guided him to peer support work.

“I was very grateful for that,” Bailey told CPR. “At that moment, I realized that there was something that I could do for myself as I was released from the hospital.”

View the original article at thefix.com

2 July 2019
Has New York's Mental Health Education Mandate For K-12 Made A Difference?

The overall goal of the initiative is to provide a “climate of support” around mental health, starting in school.

As of July 1st, it has been one year since New York began mandating mental health education in grades K-12 across the state. It was the first state to do so. Around the same time, Virginia also set a requirement to teach mental health education in the 9th and 10th grade.

Buffalo’s NPR News Station WBFO gave a brief picture of the state of mental health education in New York one year later.

One school district in particular, the Niagara Falls City School District in Western New York, has taken “a very enlightened and progressive view toward mental health education,” said Ken Houseknecht, executive director of Mental Health Advocates of Western New York.

Superintendent Mark Laurrie explained the thought behind his district’s approach to the state’s mental health education requirement—which he called “just a very low minimum bar that’s been set.”

“It’s our belief in Niagara Falls that opportunities like more drama, more theater, more dance, more athletics, more outside participation—from chess to karate to musicality—those are also mental health programs,” he told WBFO.

On the other hand, peer advocates say that the young people they work with aren’t seeing this level of change. “I would ask some of the youth, ‘What have you noticed in your school?’ and they’d be like, ‘Well, it was one class, in health class, out of the entire year. And that was it,” said Julianna Hill, a youth peer advocate with Mental Health Advocates of Western New York.

Schools Create Their Own Mental Health Curriculums

New York’s mandate—which came about amid rising anxiety, depression and suicide among youth—requires school districts to educate students about mental health as part of their health class. The state did not develop a “uniform curriculum” to implement in schools—which puts some students at a disadvantage, Houseknecht explained.

However, it was a deliberate decision to allow school districts to experiment with their own curriculums.

“Those schools out there who [are] developing their curriculum know their populations,” said Dr. Catherine Collins, New York State Regent for Western New York. “Sometimes, a district may have had many more suicides than others, and so of course their concentration will be on those areas that cause children to be so depressed that they take their life.”

Successful curriculums have the potential to be scaled up to reach more students.

The overall goal of the initiative is to provide a “climate of support” around mental health, starting in school, said NYS Commissioner of Education MaryEllen Elia. “It is creating a climate in a school of support,” she said. “And that should be supportive of students but also of the faculty that’s working with them, and the families.”

View the original article at thefix.com

2 July 2019
Lily Allen Talks Addiction, Mental Health Treatment

Allen recently revealed she spent time in a psychiatric ward.

British singer Lily Allen has been very open with the public about her struggles with addiction and mental health, and she’s now speaking out to The Guardian about her time in a psychiatric ward.

Allen acknowledged that the music industry isn’t the best environment to maintain your mental health. “I’m surprised I’m not dead,” she says today. “The music industry was a hedonistic place in the noughties. It was all about having fun and getting fucked up. People who indulge don’t generally come out the other side. Having children trigged responsibilities.”

Last year she told People, “I think it was age. Waking up on a tour bus, really hungover with makeup running—it’s not a good look when you’re 30. It’s okay when you’re 19!”

Allen also told The Guardian, “I chose sex over heroin. I didn’t realize [it] at the time. Addiction can manifest itself in all manners of ways. You use substances or sex to put a plaster over something else, like pain or fear. There are all manner of destructive things you can get up to.”

Allen Reveals That She’s Living With Bipolar Disorder, PTSD

In 2017, Allen went public about living with bipolar disorder and posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD) after she had a stillborn child.

Allen also revealed that she spent three months in a psychiatric ward, which she says “wasn’t a positive experience at the time, but I came out of it slightly healthier than when I went in. I’d been trying to harm myself so I was under close supervision. One thing I learned while there was about the formative years and attachment parenting. Both my parents were busy when I was young so I try to make myself less busy for my children now.”

As Allen’s children get older, she’s concerned about how they will deal with social media, which is a psychological hazard many parents have to navigate today.

“I worry about Instagram for my daughters, because it makes young, impressionable girls feel their whole value is based on their looks. When the surefire way to increase your followers and likes is by taking your clothes off and piling on makeup, that’s what you’ll do because you want validation, just like every teenager.”

Lily In A Parallel Dimension

Acknowledging she’s had a messy life, the singer quipped, “I hope the other Lily Allen in a parallel dimension is doing well. I think she lives in Cornwall, works as a florist supplying flowers to boutique shops in London, and lives in a lovely house with her children.”

View the original article at thefix.com

2 July 2019
New Jersey EMTs Now Allowed To Offer Suboxone After Overdose

New Jersey’s health commissioner said that getting people Suboxone as soon as possible could change the course of treatment at a critical moment.

The rising prevalence of naloxone has contributed to the first decrease in overdose deaths in decades, and now health officials in New Jersey are hoping to use medications to take an even bigger chunk out of the overdose death rate, by administering buprenorphine to patients almost immediately after an overdose.

The Initiative Is The First Of Its Kind In The U.S.

The New Jersey initiative, announced in June, will allow EMTs to administer buprenorphine (brand name: Suboxone) to patients who have been treated for an overdose. This could reduce their feelings of withdrawal and give them more chance of connecting with long-term treatment.

“This comes out of left field, and it’s very interesting,” University of California professor Dr. Dan Ciccarone told STAT. “It’s a potentially brilliant idea.”

Doctors need a special waiver to prescribe buprenorphine, but under the New Jersey initiative EMTs would be able to give a dose with permission from the emergency room doctors that they work under, as long as those doctors hold the waiver.

EMTs Can Give A Dose Of Suboxone With Permission From ER Doctors

Then, a patient could be connected with a doctor who can prescribe the treatment long-term and help connect the patient with over recovery supports. Ciccarone said that removing the initial barrier to buprenorphine could become the standard of care.

“Here we are basically suggesting that we’re going to treat the person in as well-meaning and patient-centric a manner as possible,” he said. “And that means naloxone plus a softer landing with buprenorphine.”

Shereef Elnahal, New Jersey’s health commissioner, said that getting people buprenorphine as soon as possible could change the course of treatment at a critical moment.

“We had a lot of paramedics telling us that someone would be in an ambulance, knocked out, and then receive naloxone, and they would run out of the ambulance,” Elnahal told The Atlantic. Giving buprenorphine after naloxone could reduce withdrawal and make people more receptive to care.

“Buprenorphine is a critical medication that doesn’t just bring folks into recovery – it can also dampen the devastating effects of opioid withdrawal,” Elnahal said in a statement. “That’s why equipping our EMS professionals with this drug is so important.”

James Langabeer, a researcher at the University of Texas Health Science Center at Houston, said the program has promise, but will also require EMTs to integrate new decision-making protocols around medication-assisted treatment. He added that the initiative will only really make a difference if overdose victims are connected with long-term care.

“It’s a really positive first step — but the next step is the next day,” he said. “They’ve got to be linked to continuing treatment.”

View the original article at thefix.com

2 July 2019
Lil Xan Relapsed, Still Focused On Sobriety

“I’ve been feeling like death from withdrawals but I know once I’m sober I’ll feel amazing,” the rapper said in an Instagram post to fans.

Rapper Lil Xan recently relapsed, but he maintains focused on long-term sobriety, he told followers in an Instagram post.

“I love you guys so much, wanted to let you guys know I’m tapering off the last bit of norcos I’ve been addicted to, you can get better I promise, there’s no shame in relapsing it happens to anyone who goes through these issues,” he wrote. “I’ve been feeling like death from withdrawals but I know once I’m sober I’ll feel amazing, I love you guys to death and I’m forever grateful for my fans who have supported me through everything, and I thank my haters for teaching me that negativity on social media doesn’t matter at fucking all haha.”

The Soundcloud Rapper Went To Rehab Last December

In December, the rapper announced that he was going to rehab. The month before he had spoken with TMZ about how the deaths of other prominent music celebrities had frightened him and made him face his own addictions.

“As far as my sobriety goes right now, there was a long period of time where I was clean,” he said at the time. “But I relapsed. . . . Any other addict would understand that that s—t just happens. You just relapse — you don’t want to — and then you get clean again. It’s like a process. You need treatment and help and sometimes that doesn’t even help. It has to come from within. That’s what I’ve learned.”

Mac Miller’s Death Changed His Perception On Drug Use

Lil Xan — whose rap name is short for Xanax — said that fentanyl and Mac Miller’s death had changed how he saw drug use.

“I was selling Xanax before I was a rapper, you know, when it was real,” he said last November. “And the minute it got to fentanyl, I was like, ‘I’m not going to sell this.’ My friends were taking it, they were puking. I was like, ‘I can’t… I’m out of the game.’”

Despite that, the rapper’s drug use and legal troubles seem to have continued. In June, Lil Xan reportedly pulled a gun on a man at a gas station in Los Angeles. The man had approached Lil Xan because the rapper previously called Tupac “boring,” and a “little bitch.” A video of the incident was posted on Instagram.

According to Complex, Lil Xan insisted that he pulled the gun in self-defense.

“I was about to be attacked and resorted to having to use self-defense,” he said. “Fuck all you old head ass bitches still talking bout that 2Pac shit. Live your own life and stop picking on a kid.”

However, the LA Police Department is investigating the incident and said that the rapper’s actions could constitute felony assault with a deadly weapon.

View the original article at thefix.com

2 July 2019
But I’m Depressed, Not Addicted

I was there to treat my depression. I couldn’t tell the truth. I couldn’t say I got smashed almost every night, whiskey whistling through my veins, thinning my blood and seeping into my brain.

“Why are you here today, Emma?”

Hungover and filled with self-loathing, I’d just revved my car onto a usually-busy street, hoping to get hit by a truck, but nothing happened. Not even a Smartcar in sight. Shakily, I’d walked back into my apartment and asked my boyfriend for a ride to the St. Vincent’s Stress Center. After I’d sat for an hour in a sunny lobby with green chairs and green carpet, a man in glasses and khakis called me into a lamp-lit room.

“I’m in crisis.”

“Are you going to harm yourself?”

“No. I mean, I don’t think so.” I couldn’t bring myself to mention the high-speed reverse onto one of northside Indianapolis’ main thoroughfares. This guy would have to work to get the truth. “I have a history of suicide attempts, though. And depression. I just can’t do it anymore. I’m so overwhelmed with school and work and my dogs and my boyfriend and my house and my…”

He cut me off and flipped to a new page on his clipboard. “Would you say you’re having suicidal ideation? Do you wish you could just ‘go away?’” Air quotes. Meaningful pause.

“Yeah. Sort of. I want things to get better, but I don’t know what that looks like. I’ve been through stuff like this before. Depression, I mean. If I have to be hospitalized, it’s okay.” I didn’t want to be responsible for myself anymore. Being in the hospital would mean I could blank out for a while and let someone else take care of me.

The intake assessor tilted his head at me. “We won’t hospitalize you unless we have to. Let’s talk about your day-to-day. What does that look like?”

I ticked off my work schedule, school schedule, social schedule; listing my life as if from a résumé. One boyfriend. One job. Two dogs. Fifteen credit hours. Good grades. Dad nearby, but we weren’t that tight. Close with my mom, but she lived far away. No clubs. No sports.

“Do you drink alcohol or use drugs?”

I looked up from my lap. “I drink. I mean, I’m a college student.” If there had been a window in the room, I would have glanced out of it. I needed something else to look at.

“How much?”

I couldn’t tell the truth. “It depends. Between one and six beers a night.”

He blinked and frowned for a millisecond. Oops. That was an underestimate. Is between one and six too much?

He didn’t say. Just returned to his neutral expression and kept moving down his clipboard. “How often do you drink between one and six beers a night?”

“Oh, maybe three times a week? I guess it depends.” Again, I couldn’t tell the truth. I couldn’t say I got smashed almost every night, whiskey whistling through my veins, thinning my blood and seeping into my brain.

He blinked again, made a note on his board, and kept questioning, reducing my depression to a list of symptoms. Suicidal ideation. Feelings of worthlessness. Guilt. Sleep disturbance. Headache. Was I missing work? Missing school? Maintaining good hygiene?

I just ran my car blindly into traffic, I thought, and this asshole wants to know if I brushed my teeth. Medicalizing depression sure was depressing.

In the end, Mr. Blinky decided that I didn’t need immediate hospitalization. Instead, I’d be admitted to IOP: intensive outpatient treatment. Three hours at the Stress Center, three days a week. “With all your commitments, this will be perfect for you,” he assured me.

Although I downplayed all my problems, part of me must have known I needed help—serious help. But I couldn’t admit it, not even to a person whose job description included “assessing mental health condition and recommending appropriate care.” I wanted the help forced on me, wanted to be figured out, fixed. Someone needed to see beyond my deception. That would take the burden of recovery off of me and place it on them. Secretly, I wanted to spend a few days in the psych ward, locked away from work, papers, dogs, and dishes. I couldn’t confess that, I thought. I’d sound crazy. I didn’t see the irony of worrying about sounding crazy when I sat in a mental health intake office.

Instead of screaming, I nodded. Blinky placed me in a “dual-diagnosis program,” a familiar phrase from my teen years that meant I’d qualified as both mentally ill and addicted.

“Most folks graduate in four-to-six weeks,” he said, handing me a pamphlet. “Good luck.”

***

On my first night of IOP, I entered the Stress Center’s lobby to find a sweater-vested receptionist behind the tall desk. “Walk straight down the hall to the first office on the right. I’ll tell Dave you’re here.”

Dave, a soft-spoken therapist with glasses, a mustache, and a lisp, met me at the door of his office. Instead of sitting behind his desk, he pulled his chair around to sit across from me.

“Bring this with you every night,” he instructed, passing me a maroon folder with the St. Vincent’s triple-dove logo stickered on the front. “It’s like your Bible for this group. It’s pretty empty now, but by the time you graduate, it’ll be full of handouts, worksheets, and journals.” He lowered his chin and raised his eyebrows. “Many of our patients hang on to these for years after they leave us because they find stuff they can use and reuse for the rest of their lives.” He closed his eyes, re-opened them. “That’s what we’re here to do. Help you get the skills you need to live.”

I nodded, arranging my expression into eager, pliant, and friendly, my eyes sparkling, my smile full. Already, I was trying to charm my way out, as I had in my psych ward trips years before. Had I forgotten that putting up a front back then had led me to this place, this office, with its commercial-grade chairs, fluorescent lights, and a non-ironic “Hang in There” kitten poster?

For the next 15 minutes, Dave explained what I could expect from my 12 weekly hours of IOP. Then he looked at me over his glasses. “You’ll also need to go to three meetings a week. Here’s a schedule of all the recovery groups in the area.”

I took the pamphlet, thick as a chapbook, and showed off my nod-and-smile routine again. Skepticism crept in. Couldn’t this guy see that my problem was depression, not drinking?

“We’re all set then. Let’s get you to your first group session. Don’t worry, we won’t expect you to speak up on your first night. Feel free to just sit and listen.”

Dave led me to another fluorescent-lit room at the end of the hall. In it, a circle of identical chairs with padded green vinyl seats and backrests. I took an empty seat and surveyed the six nametagged patients around me. Robin, a thickset, bowl-cutted, auburn-haired, lip-ringed woman. Jack, a soft middle-aged guy who looked like Dave, but with a weaker mustache, aviator glasses, and adult acne. Madison, a thin girl who couldn’t have been more than 18. Ryan, a young guy with sagging, wide-legged jeans and a backwards baseball cap. Jane, a twitchy blonde with scars skimming her forearms. And Gladys, an older black woman who looked like an elementary-school principal.

Dave walked in the room, smiling softly. “Everyone, meet Emma. This is her first night.”

They replied in unison. “Hi, Emma.”

Inside, I squirmed, but outwardly, I exuded alpha-dog confidence. Smile, lips closed. I told myself. Chin up. Relax in your chair, elbows hooked over the back. Cross your legs. Look at their foreheads when they talk. It’ll look like you’re making eye contact.

The first group session consisted mostly of Ryan, the baseball-cap boy, talking about his “Moral Inventory.” To me, it looked like a scribbled list, but Ryan blushed with pride when he held it up. The other patients clapped as though he’d found a cure for lymphoma.

“I finally did it,” he said. “I kept relapsing every time I got to this point, but now, I did it. I have my inventory.”

Dave beamed. “Ryan, we’re proud of you. We all knew you could do it. Now, what did you learn?”

Ryan’s gaze dropped to the floor. “It’s mostly fear. Fear is like this big demon, ready to eat me alive. It’s why I dropped out of school. Why I let my girl leave. Why I get in fights.”

Dave turned to the group. “What are our two responses to fear, folks?” His lisp swallowed the “s” sounds. Rethponthes. Folkth.

Robin raised her hand. “Fuck Everything And Run.” Dave looked at her over his glasses. “Sorry, Dave. ‘F’ Everything And Run.”

“Or Face Everything And Rise.” Gladys, the school principal, finished the saying.

It all sounded like cheerleading to me. Acronyms. Group responses. And a moral inventory? How could that not make me want to kill myself? If Dave hadn’t released us for a break, I might have asked to slit my wrists then and there.

When we returned, I listened to the group members talk about hitting bottom. Four words bounced around my skull. I do not belong. Ryan had slugged his ex-girlfriend and blamed it on his dad, who had used him as a punching bag. Jack’s wife had left him after he got his third DUI and lost his license forever. He’d never been able to stand up to her, probably because he was raised by an overbearing mother. I do not belong. Jane smoked meth in the bathroom between double shifts at Burger King, her first job since she’d stopped prostituting. When she was eight, her dad had molested her. Gladys had gotten fired and had to move back in with her alcoholic mother. Church used to help her, but she couldn’t get herself out of bed before noon anymore. I. Do. Not. Belong. I was in college. I had a job. My driver’s license was intact, unsuspended. My parents loved me. I’d never been molested. I’d never stood on 38th Street in a miniskirt, hoping to snag a john. How could I be an addict?

The next Monday, Dave invited me to his office after group. He wanted to “check in.” Air quotes. Meaningful look. He must have gone to the same training as the intake coordinator who’d interviewed me when I first walked in.

“Have you found any meetings you like yet?”

I hadn’t gone to a single one. “Adding on three hours’ worth of meetings on top of the 12 hours a week I’m here, on top of my 15-credit hour school load, on top of my 20-hour work week—it’s too much. I came here because I felt stressed and overwhelmed. How can I add more to my schedule when the main source of stress is my schedule?” My voice had risen in volume. I looked away, toward the door, and hunched my shoulders.

Dave sighed. “If you want to get better, your sobriety should be a priority.”

“But I’m depressed, not addicted. Maybe I could cut back a bit on the drinking, but addiction isn’t ruining my life. I don’t belong here. I’m not a meth-head. I haven’t lost my job. I haven’t lost my kids — I don’t even have kids. I’ve never gotten a DUI. I don’t do heroin.”

Dave nodded and motioned for me to continue. He wasn’t going to let me off the hook.

I didn’t know what else to say. I looked at my feet. “I’ll try, okay?”

That night on my way out I threw my folder in the trash can, hoping the other patients would see it. I didn’t return. Instead of climbing the steps to IOP the following Wednesday, I slithered into a bar booth and ordered the usual, beer and a bourbon. Then a pitcher to split with my boyfriend. Fuck it, another shot. And another. Then—oblivion.

That summer, while walking my dogs in the evening, I stared at the lives inside the yellow squares of windows I passed. I defined these lives, these people, as “good.” Young couples unloading groceries. Families sitting around oaky tables, eating dinner. A girl my age doing yoga in her living room. Husbands and wives suiting up for an evening run. It looked like love, warmth, virtue, balance. When I walked the dogs in the morning, I gaped at the men and women jogging or biking past me while I sucked on a cigarette and squinted my hungover eyes against the sun. Every morning, every night, as I contemplated everyone else’s healthy normalcy, I felt like an ugly exoskeleton, wishing I could fill myself with whatever they had. I could see it, but I couldn’t access it. Instead, I stumped down the road with my unwashed body and my stringy short hair, pulled along by two ill-behaved dogs. In my mind, my body, I couldn’t find those families’ goodness and light. The closest I knew to it was liquor, so I filled myself with that instead.

***

That first round of IOP didn’t take, but maybe Dave and, more importantly, Ryan, Jack, Gladys, Robin, Jane, and Madison had planted a seed. A year later, I walked into my first meeting and said Hi, I’m Emma, and I’m an alcoholic. As soon as I said it, something cool and smooth moved to the center of my chest and clicked. That sentence was the most honest thing I’d said in years. It removed the barrier of I do not belong and replaced it with the doorway of Help me—I’m just like you.

Today, I’m ten years sober. When I give a lead, or speak at the psych ward, I try to remember the scared girl I was. Head thrown back, chin up, elbows wide; putting up a tough front to hide my fear. I look for her in every crowd, and when I find her, I make eye contact. She usually looks away, but that’s okay. Someday, she might be able to hold my gaze.

View the original article at thefix.com

2 July 2019