Answer Addiction

Tag: blogs

  • Curing Addiction with Ketamine, NAD+ and Aftercare

    Curing Addiction with Ketamine, NAD+ and Aftercare

    Because of the ketamine treatment, many people feel relief from symptoms of PTSD, depression and anxiety, all of which can be triggers for relapse.

    Justin Hoffman’s relief from post-traumatic stress disorder began with the hiccups. 

    Not the cute and happy kind, but chronic hiccups that had to be treated with morphine and Thorazine in the emergency room. When he mentioned this to a colleague in the treatment industry, that doctor suggested ketamine as a possible treatment. When Hoffman received a dose of ketamine not only did the hiccups stop, but he experienced something unexpected. 

    “I felt like the PTSD that I had been walking around with was gone,” said Hoffman. 

    The experience led to Hoffman partnering with board-certified anesthesiologist Henry Liang to found Klarity Life, a treatment program that will be opening in Las Vegas this fall. The program consists of two aspects. At The House at Klarity Life, Hoffman, the program director, utilizes holistic therapies to facilitate healing in a luxurious setting where clients have private rooms and meals prepared by a private chef. Dr. Liang, the medical director at The Clinic at Klarity Life, gives patients NAD+ and ketamine infusions, as well as supplements, which allows a virtually painless detox.

    Hoffman, nephew of the 1960’s counterculture icon Abbie Hoffman, was familiar with the benefits of nontraditional treatments. After spending 20 years hooked on opioids and trying over 30 rehab programs, he got sober with the help of plant-based medicine. That was six years ago, and since then he has worked to help other people achieve lasting sobriety by combining plant-based medicine with strict aftercare that includes nutrition, exercise and spiritual exploration. 

    “It made sense to open a safe, beautiful place, to teach other people the things that worked for me: like yoga, cryogenic therapy, nature, Qigong,” Hoffman said. “I started to watch the success rate for treating addiction rise from 30 percent with just plant-based medicine to 70 percent with aftercare.” 

    Hoffman had built a business and life around helping other people get sober using plant-based medicine, but when he tried ketamine for the first time he realized that it was an even more powerful tool for helping to treat addiction. 

    NAD+, a component of vitamin B3 (niacin), has long been used to treat withdrawal symptoms. Justin and Dr. Liang realized that the combination of NAD+ and ketamine, coupled with Hoffman’s rigorous aftercare program, would give people with substance use disorder the best chance of lasting sobriety. 

    “It clicked in my head that this is the best choice for addicts, even better than plant-based medicine,” he said.

    The program facilitates healing by pairing The Clinic’s NAD+ and ketamine infusions and supplements with The House’s holistic aftercare regimen of clean eating, therapy, exercise and spiritual restoration. The infusions offer virtually painless detox as well as alleviate depression and PTSD symptoms; the aftercare teaches people how to live a full life without relying on drugs or alcohol. 

    “With this place, I cover all the bases: nutrition, spirituality and recovery,” Hoffman said. “After 30 rehabs and their protocols, I realized how archaic they are. They’re giving meds to cover symptoms. It’s like putting a Band-Aid on a laceration of throat. We don’t want to put a Band-Aid on anything.”

    One of the most appealing parts of Klarity Life is that it offers clients nearly painless detox from almost any drug. Using infusions and supplement management in the first 24-72 hours, people who are dependent can detox without feeling severely ill. By day three to four of infusions, people are typically feeling great, Hoffman said. Infusions continue for eight to ten days, and for the rest of their stay clients focus on learning to live healthy, rewarding lives in recovery. 

    “We have you feeling good right away,” Hoffman said. “The rest of the time we’re working on healthy substitutes for what you’ve been doing in the past.”

    As part of this, Hoffman exposes clients to an array of treatment modalities, from 12 step programs to SMART recovery. By sampling an array of recovery resources, clients can connect with the resources that work best for them. 

    “We want to expose them to all different types of therapy,” Hoffman said. “I want to embrace anything that is saving someone’s life. I’ve lost too many people to say my way is the only way.”

    Because of the ketamine treatment, many people feel relief from symptoms of PTSD, depression and anxiety, all of which can be triggers for relapse. Healing this root cause of addiction, and then building the foundation for a life of healthy habits, is what sets Klarity Life apart, Hoffman said. 

    “We’ve been seeing miracles,” he said. 

    Klarity Life is a boutique rehab program opening this fall in Las Vegas, offering outpatient NAD+ and ketamine infusion therapy and a holistic approach to health and healing.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Recovery of a Real-Life "Nurse Jackie"

    Recovery of a Real-Life "Nurse Jackie"

    Before I ever stole a pill from work, before I was ever a daily drinker and habitual pill-popper, I was just a burned-out nurse, exhausted and in pain.

    Nurses are often referred to as “angels in scrubs.” It certainly fits. 

    Who else but an angelic being can provide unconditional comfort in the throes of tragedy, hold your hands through unspeakable heartbreak, and save your loved one’s life all while cleaning up an array of bodily fluids?

    Nurses do it with a smile.

    Florence Nightingale left her predecessors with big shoes to fill. Nurses must function as caregivers under extraordinary pressure, possess superhuman resilience, scrupulous morals, exceptional coping skills and be immune to afflictions that trouble the general population. Nurses need to be available to care, comfort and to cure. There’s no time to be ill or emotionally fragile. 

    By striving to live up to Nightingale’s standards, we’ve earned the #1 spot on Forbes list of trusted professionals, but we’re also the most susceptible to job burnout. We’re brimming with intelligence and compassion, but far from celestial beings. Nurses are 100% human and just as likely, if not more so, to employ unhealthy coping mechanisms. 

    A Registered Nurse for over 14 years, I can attest to this. I mismanaged work stress and job burnout in the worst way possible: by turning to drugs and alcohol. 

    It’s estimated that around one in 10 nurses struggle with substance use disorder. That’s no small statistic, considering there are around 3 million nurses in the US.

    Alcohol, opiates and benzodiazepines are an all-too-accessible source of fuel to get through the work day. They’re also excellent numbing agents to sleep off the stress of a shift. It’s not uncommon to hear a nurse exclaim “This shift calls for wine!” or to joke about the necessity of drugs to wash away the day.

    Nurses readily encourage drinking as a coping skill, use of anti-anxiety medicine is socially approved of and sleeping pills are shared between friends. But admitting one has lost control of one or more of these highly addictive substances is absolutely taboo. 

    It was eight years into my career at the hospital that I became physically and psychologically dependent on Vicodin. Migraines interfered with my ability to work and be a mother. My doctor prescribed an opiate, and I experienced blissful relief as the migraine melted away and euphoric energy filled the void. 

    The progression of my addiction was insidious but certain. Since graduation from nursing school, I could count on one hand how many hangovers I’d woken up with. Recreational drugs, including smoking pot, was out of the question. Yet when all the factors fell into place – a legit prescription, disengaged from my work, overwhelmed at home and sleep deprived working nights – my fate seemed inevitable.

    Slowly and steadily I transformed from a Florence Nightingale prodigy – working overtime, volunteering, climbing the ladder to nursing success – into a real-life Nurse Jackie. 

    Eventually I became tolerant and my personal prescription wasn’t enough. I engaged in behavior I’d previously considered appalling and unthinkable. I stole from my employer. Compulsion to use and desperation to avoid withdrawal won over any rational thought process. Opiates had become a cure-all for the physical and emotional exhaustion that consumed me.

    Like so many other nurses, when I realized the line had been crossed from medical and occasional recreational use to abuse and dependence, I felt trapped. I couldn’t just tell my manager. I couldn’t even tell a friend. Too much was at stake. Drowning in opiate addiction, (and drinking heavily to boost the effects or stave off withdrawal) I saw no safe shore to swim to. 

    Washington State, along with most states in the US, offers an “alternative to discipline” program due to the high incidence of substance abuse in healthcare professionals. But since the problem isn’t talked about, the solution isn’t either. The organizations are spoken of in whispers, as are the nurses who “ended up in the program.”

    I wasn’t ignorant to the existence of these resources, but I was completely misguided as to their intention and function. 

    I’d heard rumors of nurses who were caught “diverting” – the fancy term we use for stealing the leftover or extra amounts of drugs that are supposed to be “wasted” at work in the proper receptacle.

    According to gossip, they were escorted off campus by security or police as the state program was notified. At worst they were forced to relinquish their license. At best, job opportunities were limited to grueling shifts at nursing homes earning half the pay they deserved. 

    It was a living nightmare. Imprisoned by addiction, paralyzed by fear. Terrified of being recognized, I refused to attend any type of peer-support group meeting. Finally, out of desperation I contacted a private counselor. She declined to treat me based on duty to report.

    “Oh, you’re a nurse? I can’t treat you. Too much liability. But good luck I’m sure you’ll find someone.” 

    Fortunately, I found rock bottom. Not in the form of an overdose, which I was dangerously close to many times, but in being caught by my employer. Someone had informed them of my suspicious behavior. I was required to give a urine sample, and when it came back glowing dirty with the truth of my drug use, I was given a choice according to my state’s department of health policy: Enter into treatment or face criminal charges and potential loss of my license.

    Both options felt like professional suicide. For the next two weeks as I contemplated the decision, I also contemplated actual suicide. With the support of one family member I felt I could confide in, I made my way to treatment; sick with shame and certain I’d destroyed my reputation, my dignity and life as I knew it. 

    Out of work as a nurse, but intentionally working on recovery, my outlook began to change. One month of sobriety turned into multiple, and the chemical fog began to clear. I made connections with nurses who had or were recovering. I began practicing mindfulness, cultivating resilience and digging deep to understand what had transpired. 

    As I researched, I discovered my story isn’t unique. Being an excellent nurse and having an addiction are not mutually exclusive. In fact, they often go hand-in-hand. The highest functioning, hardest working, most in-depth critical thinkers end up stealing and ingesting drugs from work. Numerous factors play into this, the most basic of which is drugs and alcohol offer instant relief from a mind that won’t shut off, and they are physically addictive. Nurses in particular feel invincible as the caregivers – “it’s others who are sick.”

    Our comprehensive knowledge of medications and how to ingest or inject “safely” gives us a false sense of security. And 75-80% of nurses are adult children of alcoholics, including me. We’re essentially predisposed and then enter into a pressure cooker of a career. 

    My research also uncovered that sober, recovering and/or “graduated” from an alternative to discipline program nurses still don’t disclose this part of their lives. This is a tragedy in itself. When nurses keep their recovery in their dark, still-suffering nurses keep their active addictions in the dark. 

    Healthcare as an occupation does a disservice to professionals who enter into it by neglecting to educate, advocate and adequately treat. 

    Nursing schools should provide courses in mindfulness and self-awareness, encouraging nurses to uncover the sometimes-hidden nature of addictive tendencies and teaching strategies to manage them. This should be done long before ever exposing them to the workforce and giving access to a plethora of pills and injectables. 

    Educational institutions and employers should offer free education, confidential counseling and allow time off work for treatment. Lunch breaks should be mandatory and enforced; employees should be trained in self-care. 

    Instead of shaming nurses who are under suspicion or undergoing treatment by posting names and license numbers on public lists, the department of health should be involved in the development of peer- support groups.

    Trauma-informed rehabilitation programs need to be implemented for nurses and first responders who have been repeatedly subject to high stress and high stakes patient care. 

    Asking for help shouldn’t be a trauma itself. We need to change the narrative from “being reported” to being “given an opportunity to receive treatment and protect your license.” Treatment providers need to change the verbiage from “You can’t tell me anything, I have a duty to report.” To “This is an opportunity for honesty, to find you the best treatment possible so you can achieve health and well-being again.”

    I never wanted to be known as a real-life Nurse Jackie. It would have been easier to quietly complete my time in treatment and live out my career with a well-kept secret. But I know that there are many more angels in scrubs still suffering. Neglecting themselves while striving to meet the needs of their patients, too afraid to ask for help and too sick to overcome addiction on their own. 

    Before I ever stole a pill from work, before I was ever a daily drinker and habitual pill-popper, I was just a burned-out nurse, exhausted and in pain. I needed a safe place to admit I was hurting and an outlet to vent the pressure. I needed somewhere to take off my scrubs, shed the angel wings, and become vulnerable without being made to feel inferior. I needed to know I wasn’t alone, and that treatment was not the end of my career; only the end of my addiction. My career would have a chance to flourish.

    Stigma must be eradicated for recovery to be possible. Prevention, early intervention, and treatment must be advocated for fiercely in order for nursing to be filled with thriving, healthy individuals. I live sober out loud because I believe this change is possible.

    Tiffany Swedeen, RN, BSN, CPC/CPRC is a certified life and recovery coach, She Recovers Designated Coach, and a registered nurse in recovery herself from opioids and alcohol. Tiffany lives “sober out loud,” proudly sharing her story through advocacy and blogging and is passionate about helping others do the same. Her goal is to eradicate shame and empower all to live a life of radical self-love.

    You can contact Tiffany through her website Recover and Rise, read her blog www.scrubbedcleanrn.com and follow her @scrubbedcleanrn. 

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • The Koran in the Synagogue: When Jews and Muslims Fight Together for Recovery

    The Koran in the Synagogue: When Jews and Muslims Fight Together for Recovery

    When people are hurting and struggling with addiction, the normal barriers that separate us fall away, and we are able to connect on a very deep, human level.

    The tension along the border of Israel and Gaza has almost become old news. Every day we hear about more rockets fired and ceasefires that never seem to last. The Israeli-Palestinian conflict has been an ongoing struggle with seemingly no end in sight. Each side has their own view that will not be altered. Palestinian and Israeli people fighting each other for more than one hundred years.

    But in Givat Shemesh, a small village in the hills of central Israel, we see a different battle going on. A very real struggle of life and death that has nothing to do with nationalism, religion, or land. A struggle in which people of differing backgrounds and faiths share and fight together, side by side.

    Retorno, an addiction prevention and rehab center based on Jewish values, is a strictly kosher facility with daily prayer services, Torah learning, and Shabbat (the Jewish Sabbath) observance. At the same time, the treatment center welcomes all nationalities and religions. Anyone dealing with addiction receives the help they need with openness and respect for all belief systems.

    Although Retorno’s goals have nothing to do with peaceful coexistence, the rehab center has become a place where Jews and Muslims can interact in a safe and accepting environment. When a person is struggling with a serious addiction, the struggle to hold onto life is very real. This camaraderie of struggle offers an opportunity for the opposing groups to get to know each other and interact on a human level. They understand that underneath everything, we are all essentially the same people with the same needs and fears. In order to heal, we all require connections with others. In order to grow, we all struggle with the same fears and weaknesses.

    A few years ago a judge called me and asked me if our center accepts religious youth. I said, “Of course!” So he told me he would send me a nice, religious youth. A few days later a 16-year-old Muslim boy arrived. We welcomed him as we would any other client.

    The boy did not have a Koran, so one of our counselors bought him one. The boy brought it into the synagogue; he prayed from his prayer book while everyone else prayed from their own. As his colleagues prayed the morning Shacharit prayer, he prayed the morning Fajr prayer. In the evening, the Islamic Maghrib prayer accompanied the Jewish Maariv prayer in our synagogue.

    The boy went through the full treatment program at Retorno. Three months after he left the facility, the boy called me and said, “Rabbi Eckstein, you will be happy to know that I am well and have started to go with my father on Fridays to the Mosque.”

    From Addict to Counselor

    There are many reasons why a person in recovery makes a good rehab counselor. They have firsthand experience of what it’s like to struggle with addiction and how hard it is to recover. Put simply, they can relate on a level that only one who has traveled the same path can. This type of empathy and understanding is extremely valuable in addiction treatment.

    This is how we met Yusef, an Israeli Arab who first came to us for treatment and then returned to work as a counselor. Yusef is an exceptional human being. He also holds special assets that are unique to his background. For example, Yusef had not been raised in a religious family and for this reason, many of our Jewish youth who grew up in strict religious homes felt comfortable opening up to him. They knew he would not intimidate or judge them. Over the years, Yusef has participated in the recovery of many young Israelis.

    A Dangerous Situation

    Just before Shabbat, I received a call from a panicked counselor. “It’s close to Shabbat and I want to let you know what’s going on. It’s Miriam, she’s sitting on the ground with a sharp piece of glass and she won’t listen to any of us. If anyone gets close, she threatens to cut herself, and has already cut herself. Each time she cuts deeper. It’s a very dangerous situation.”

    I told her I would send an expert. I sent Yusef.

    After Shabbat, the counselor called me to relate what had happened.

    “I’ve never seen anything like it,” she said. “Yusef got close to her, sat down, rolled up his sleeve, and said, ‘Listen, I know you have all the best reasons in the world to cut yourself. I’m sure you’ve gone through some terrible ordeals. I have, too. Listen to me. I’m not telling you not to cut. But every time you cut yourself, cut me as well.”

    Within a few minutes, she handed him the glass, and the two went off to have a cup of tea together. “I’ve never seen anything like it!” she repeated.

    Touring Together

    I travel and lecture all over Israel about addiction and prevention. I always bring an alumnus with me to tell his own story of recovery. During one of these trips, I brought one of our Arab counselors, Amin, along. Since he has a driver’s license that allows access to the Arab territories, he drove and I dozed in the passenger seat.

    At some point, I felt Amin shaking my shoulder.

    “Rabbi, Rabbi, wake up!” I sat up to find us surrounded by several IDF soldiers, all pointing rifles at his head. It seems they thought an Arab had abducted a rabbi and was trying to take him to his village. It took some convincing, but they finally believed that Amin and I were working together and that he was helping me on a mission to give a prevention lecture in Beit-El.

    The Rebellion

    I remember we had an Arab youth counselor during the Intifada. During this time, even at Retorno, there were heightened levels of distrust and anger due to the increased violence in Israel. At some point, some of the youth in treatment held a rebellion. They insisted they would not tolerate working with an Arab. I will not have hostilities among my clients and counselors. Retorno is a place of healing and connection no matter what your background, religion, or national affiliation.

    I spoke to the youth in recovery and related a personal story to them.

    “Around 50 years ago when my parents were living in the U.S., my mother had a catheter placed in her foot. Subsequently, her vein collapsed and the doctor told her she needed to have an amputation. My father adamantly refused and sought additional help. He found another doctor, this one a world-renowned transplant surgeon from Israel. He agreed to treat my mother, and by inserting an artificial vein in her leg, saved her from amputation.

    “This is a nice story, but it gets better. When my father went to settle the bill, the doctor would not accept payment. He considered my father a colleague since he was also considered a doctor (not a medical doctor but a PhD) and what’s more, they were both Israeli. But the doctor was not Jewish, he was an Israeli Arab from Lebanon.”

    I looked at the faces of my rebelling youth.

    “It was an Arab that saved my mother. If any of you want to leave because we have Arabs at Retorno you are welcome to leave now, the door is open.”

    No one left.

    Our struggles as a nation do not impact our healing at Retorno. When people are hurting and struggling with addiction, the normal barriers that separate us fall away, and we are able to connect on a very deep, human level. In a center for addiction, it is essential that clients feel they are in a safe, welcoming space. When this happens, we all learn something about ourselves and each other. Any organization that accepts all equally is a force for good in this world. 


    Together at Retorno (PC: Shoshana)

    Rabbi Eitan Eckstein is the CEO and Founder of Retorno, the largest Jewish organization in the world for the prevention and treatment of addictions.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • How I Came To "Believe” In Safe Injection Sites

    How I Came To "Believe” In Safe Injection Sites

    The part of me that understands service is the backbone of my recovery, demands something other than pretending that there aren’t options available to people still suffering.  

    So last night I’m at a town hall event on drug addiction and someone mentions safe injection sites in the audience. My heart begins to pound from having my hand up and hoping to get called on, so I can ask about this, among other topics.  

    The panel looks around at each other trying to see who will bite first, as it’s clearly a controversial topic. Finally, the one “token recovery guy” speaks up, “You know, studies are positive, but people are very opposed to the idea, and the last time we had a discussion about it a fight nearly broke out.”

    And so, I wanted to get up. And I wanted to have that fight.  

    But I was taught to cease fighting anything and anyone. What about fighting substance use disorder? I thought my disease was doing pushups? Certainly, this disease is wreaking havoc across our country, especially with the younger generations, and what are we, as a community, prepared to do about it?  

    Who is fighting on the front lines? While communities claim “not in my backyard” absolution, so do the “anonymous people” who are in recovery in this country. They are told to have no opinion on outside issues. But, to me, this isn’t an outside issue, because the part of me that understands service is the backbone of my recovery, demands something other than pretending that there aren’t options available to people still suffering.  

    Thankfully, I have met many who are rank and file generals in this fight, however compared to the #’s we could have, it is disappointing, and makes creating change in our communities even more difficult.  

    Clearly, safe injection options are not a solution, but saying “he or she must not have wanted it enough” when they drop out of the only pathway we are offering, which for mainstream recovery is a 12-step program, is an even less valid answer.  

    12-step can be successful, alongside other treatment modalities, but it is often seen as “the” solution and not “a” solution.

    And what about statistics? Research shows that overdose rates decrease around the area of the safe injection site. If this statistic alone isn’t a good enough reason to support them how about that the rate of people who were entering treatment in those areas increased? 

    Look, don’t get me wrong, I was once on the other side of this conversation. I had a lot of misguided beliefs before I entered recovery. I once thought when I was 16 and my drinking career had just begun, that if I could get my dad to give me driving lessons while I was drinking, I wouldn’t have a drinking and driving problem!

    Clearly being open-minded that my own thinking could be wrong is an important aspect of recovery, and so while I was made to think I should be open-minded about the program, I was indoctrinated to believe recovery was a static black-and-white thing, and that I was a miracle because I didn’t use, and while this may be true, it also underlined another assumption, that those who didn’t make it were not entitled to these miracles.  

    The idea that there is a level of participation required for someone to enter recovery is not lost on me, but the fact of the matter is, more and more people, especially those from the younger generations, are struggling to find their way in recovery and our answer to the staggering overdose and relapse rates is “they must not have been ready.”  

    So now what? What do we do with people who aren’t ready? Tell them to go out and give their substances another try? Drugs which could easily kill them in one shot? In my mind, if someone is not ready for abstinence-based recovery it isn’t that they have failed, it’s that they may not have reached that point yet, they may never reach that point, and who are we to say what that should look like.  

    There are many people who reach a significant “bottom,” only to find themselves using again. Can anyone say, who is honest with themselves, that a “bottom” is what creates recovery? Surely it can help, but there are many who hit that point and beyond, and for those people, while their lives continue to crumble around them, what is available?

    To me, this is why we need to offer as many solutions to this problem as we can. Not offering alternative methods like safe injection sites, or medically assisted treatment, is like saying to someone who has diabetes they can’t go to the hospital for support, or shouldn’t have to take insulin, they should just use their higher power, and if they can’t clearly, they don’t want to be healthy enough.

    Change is possible without necessarily being at a point of relying on grace only. While I believe in grace and have my own stance on faith, I believe this “coveted” winners circle of recovery is an issue and is not saving lives, especially amongst young people.

    Do I believe willingness is an important key to recovery? Certainly, yet how many of us become willing along our path of using? So why would we not want to create opportunities for the people who are using, to not only stay alive, but be near recovery support services?  

    When someone has a reoccurrence of use, do we no longer consider them in recovery? Therefore, by that logic, anyone who is in active use has the potential to effect this same change in their lives. Hospitals, fire houses, police stations, med express, anywhere, anytime someone wants out of the cycle, it should be as easy as getting a flu shot. It is that easy to get high or drunk.

    Finding drugs is way easier than finding recovery, unfortunately, we don’t seem to be making much headway on that stat. It shouldn’t be so difficult to get help, and yet it is. Clearly, we have quite a way to go, and so while we stand at the frontlines arguing for much-needed treatment options, housing options, peer support options for people in early recovery, we need to also keep our eye on how we can affect those who haven’t gotten to that point yet.    

    So, I didn’t get up and fight at the town hall meeting, because I know that the only way change will be affected is if compassion and reason win over misunderstanding and hatred. The only way we can win, and by we, I mean the parents who lost children to overdoses, and by we, I mean the advocates who mentor peers who end up overdosed in alley ways, and never make it home to their families, is if we can convince society that shaming people is not working and giving them opportunities for change are the best ideas we have currently.   

    I understand clearly that this option is seen as enabling to some. That we are encouraging people to use by providing needles and a safe place to go. The concept is not lost on me, but current models are not working. Prevention talks often fall on deaf ears, and while it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t continue to try to reach people, it does mean we need to get real about whether we are doing all we can do to help prevent overdose deaths in this country. 

    If someone who is opposed has a better idea of how we can get the people in our communities, who are using illicit substances, out of the shadows and into the light where we can see them and help them, please by all means share it.  

    To me the big bad wolf in this situation is that we would have to admit as a community, that people in our community, have heroin problems. We don’t like to admit that, and unfortunately it’s killing people.  

    I would argue that whatever motives you have for being opposed to this option, check them against the idea that centralizing use as best as possible helps to a.) measure your community and its needs, b.) provide safety and support to a vulnerable part of the population c.) encourage the next step for people to move on with their lives and d.) minimize the risk to police and health care workers responding to overdoses.  

    One of these reasons alone in my mind is enough to at least give it a try. Saving just one life means so much, especially if it is your child, your brother, your sister or your parent. Sharing this pain with too many people in too short of a time period is how I came to believe in safe Injection sites. 

    Erik Beresnoy is a father, advocate, and a writer on topics that range from recovery, and spirituality to music and philosophy.  Erik has been an active member of the recovery movement since 2008, when he himself entered recovery, and began to not only repair his life but to also seek help repair his community by working to implement new strategies. His current projects include Empowerment Coaching for the Ammon Foundation, and implementing a transformational program in NYC called Dare to Dream for Synergy Education. He is a certified recovery coach as well as a board member for Rockland Recovery Homes. His other works can be viewed at soberspiritmeditation.com.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Twin Addictions And Parallel Recovery

    Twin Addictions And Parallel Recovery

    In hindsight, we both had tell-tale signs of the addict – irrational fear, feelings of inferiority, flights of fancy. But there was no room for two troubled twins in our divided, post-divorce household.

    I’d always been the golden twin by default. To quote the Radiohead song, I was “fitter, happier, more productive” than my twin brother BJ. I came out first, and he popped out seven minutes later.

    I was right-handed, and he was left-handed and had trouble writing and reading. He repeated kindergarten while I galloped on to first grade and was writing in my “Daily Log” in Mrs. Thornton’s first-grade class in no time.

    BJ was the needier one. Even though, as fraternal twins, we looked almost identical, I had a rounder face, a perkier smile, and a confident swagger that BJ lacked. He was literally always been behind me — at birth, in school, in life. I don’t know exactly what happened in the womb, but the evidence supports the notion that I drew the longer straw and got the better food and cozier reclining position.  

    BJ was also neurologically impaired. In our early teens, having already been tagged with Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD) and Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD), BJ was diagnosed with Tourette’s Syndrome.

    I was gay and suffered from acute anxiety starting around the same time, but I was an A-student and a blue-ribbon swimmer. I didn’t have any genuine self-confidence, but my steady accomplishments kept me trudging along while BJ treaded water.

    In hindsight, we both had tell-tale signs of the addict – irrational fear, feelings of inferiority, flights of fancy. But there was no room for two troubled twins in our divided, post-divorce household. So, I squashed my troubled side whether I was fully conscious of it or not.

    It wasn’t until 20 years later, when BJ and I both hit bottom and ended up in recovery, that our paths finally converged.

    I had plenty of childhood fears, but BJ’s, namely getting older and TV’s The Incredible Hulk, were more outwardly irrational. As a six-year-old, I didn’t rule out monsters living in our closet and didn’t love those scenes of Bruce Banner transforming into a hulking green monster. BJ showed it, though, by letting out a gut-wrenching scream and darting away from the TV set.

    One Sunday night, after an easy pill of The Dukes of Hazzard, my parents, still married at the time, decided to try to some conditioning and forced BJ to stay in the room during one of Banner’s transformations. My mother majored in child psychology in college, and I have no doubt it was her idea. She taught me to swim by pushing me in the deep end.

    BJ wailed and shook. It was unbearable to watch my twin writhing in terror. The intention was good I guess, but I think my mother saw A Clockwork Orange one too many times. My “happier” side was a mask, but the Hulk incident was an early indication that I needed to keep wearing it. 

    BJ’s Tourette’s started off as grunts and tics but progressed quickly into verbal outbursts. He started off by snarling at our younger sister Melanie. To be fair, she was a pain in the ass. But his actions felt involuntary. Even when she wasn’t provoking him with her brattiness, BJ would unleash his made-up epithet (“Bratface! Bratface!”) every time she entered the room sending her off in tears. I saw in his eyes and in his sunken body language that he didn’t mean it. But he had to say it. 

    Over the next few years, his disease became even more profane. During Family Day at the reputable all-boys Catholic high school my father forced me to attend without my twin, BJ yelled out during church, “Fuck God! Fuck Jesus!”

    I turned and shot him a piercing look. I hated this place and would have liked nothing more than to be sent to the nearby public high school with my middle school friends. But I was devastated. Why did he have to express this inside the church? Why couldn’t he wait until we got outside? I already felt like one of the awkward and unpopular students at the school. My anxiety caused by being an effeminate gay kid drowning in a sea of masculinity was no less emotionally crippling than BJ’s Tourette’s. It was just more manageable and easier to internalize.

    We were mirrors of each other, and my reflection had a seemingly incurable and publicly humiliating disease.

    By the time BJ’s Tourette’s was peaking, my parents, now divorced, agreed to take him to Washington DC to see an expert who wrote a popular book and specialized in the treatment of OCD, a regular companion to Tourette’s.

    But I don’t think the doctor knew enough about Tourette’s to justify the cost of treatment and regular travel from where we lived in New Jersey to DC. BJ started seeing a psychiatrist who prescribed meds, but nothing seemed to quiet his Tourette’s. If anything, it was getting worse.

    One night, dosed up on Prednisone, he huffed and paced our bedroom in a panic, repeating, “Why is this happening to me?”

    I felt like a witness to an exorcism gone awry and couldn’t understand why the doctors had prescribed a steroid to a kid who was already amped up. Unlike with the Hulk, there was no off switch. 

    By my late teens, I had grown ashamed of my other half and started to pull away from BJ. We were now technically in the same grade. He managed to skip a year with the help of a learning specialist, but we still weren’t like other twins.

    Unlike the Kean brothers, twins our age and equals academically and on the baseball diamond, BJ and I were in totally different orbits. I was on a college track, and he was still barely squeaking by in school. He was being home-schooled, because of the humiliation he experienced in the less competitive private high school he had been forced to attend.

    The sweat pouring from my palms left noticeable handprints on the black desktop in biology class, but I could quickly wipe them away with my shirt sleeve. BJ, on the other hand, couldn’t hide his nervous grunts and was being accused by his classmates of masturbating in the back of class. It always seemed worse for him. 

    In the last few months of my senior year, I was bullied by a homophobic wolfpack. I tried to get help from school counselors and my unambiguously queer gym teachers, but they were powerless to stop it. I had already been accepted to a top university in the Midwest, so I just needed to wait it out. Any guilt I felt over leaving BJ behind was replaced by the promise of a fresh start and the chance to operate as one person instead of an abler, less tortured half. 

    I tasted freedom in college, but halfway through school that freedom morphed into full-time partying. I was sexually active with boys and openly gay (or at least bisexual). But I had a river of shame and guilt coursing through my veins. Coupled with the trauma from high school and decades trying to keep up appearances against the weight of my disabled brother, I was suing my father and grandparents over a mishandled trust fund.

    I had left BJ behind to bear the brunt of my father’s rage. Alcohol, marijuana and cocaine offered a quick transfusion. 

    By senior year, I was skipping and failing classes. I was no longer the card-carrying A-student and golden child. Meanwhile, a few hundred miles away, BJ had started using too. Using the same cocktail of alcohol and drugs, he finally found the effective medication he’d been seeking all along to quiet his tics and offer some relief. Separately and for different reasons, we’d succumbed to identical, or more accurately, fraternal addictions.

    My addiction progressed into my early thirties when I had a psychotic break. Living in Los Angeles with a coke dealer on either side of the 405 freeway, I started experiencing panic attacks every morning for months. I went into therapy and started taking prescribed meds for the first time in my life. But BJ, now 3,000 miles away, became my genuine life-preserver. I called him begging the same question he had asked me decades before, “Why is this happening to me?”

    I didn’t expect an answer, but I finally understood his paralyzing terror from that night in our bedroom. Also, I knew BJ had been in and out of recovery for years but had never dared to ask about his experience. I had viewed his yoyoing as yet another failure and probably knew that I’d see my own addiction reflected back. Now, facing a dead end, I was finally willing to listen. The next year later, five days after our 33rd birthday, I walked into AA and didn’t turn back. 

    Ten years later, I’m still sober and working a program. BJ, who had a handful of relapses in my early sobriety, has almost eight years. Statistically, I don’t know what our chances were before we got sober, but I never would have predicted this outcome. We’ve achieved equilibrium together, and I’m no longer seeking anything outside of twin relationship to make me feel more unique. I turn to him to remind me what real courage looks like. I might have the fuller head of hair – BJ’s slightly more effective meds have thinned his – but today neither of us is the fitter, happier, more productive twin. 

    Brett Fenzel is a professional script reader for a New York-based film production company. In addition, he has had film reviews and essays published on HuffPost Blog and is currently working on his memoir tentatively titled “The Twenty-Year Divorce.” After 16 years in Los Angeles, Brett left the states in July 2017 and is now working remotely and living with his husband in the south of France. Brett can be found on Linkedin, and you can follow him on Twitter.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • The Myths & Methods of Mindfulness Meditation

    The Myths & Methods of Mindfulness Meditation

    I kept cravings at bay with 12-step meetings and counseling but continued to seek meaning and purpose that would lead to lasting sobriety. Then I found mindfulness meditation.

    I was raised to believe meditation was wicked. Along with yoga, Buddha, incense, and anything symbolizing or hinting of Eastern religion or ritual. The rationale? Meditation clears our minds of all thought, therefore leaving us susceptible to other-worldly suggestion and worse: evil energy.

    The caution filled me with dread. If my mind was “cleared,” I would become vulnerable to Satan’s control, and then anything was possible. I pictured myself a savage, meditating zombie, turning violent or psychotic, doomed to Hades.

    One too many chants of “om” and I’d transform into a freckle-faced, redhead Linda Blair. These fears were very real in the congregation of my childhood church. It would be decades before I’d be comfortable enough to engage in yoga for physical health, much less find spirituality and sobriety on a cushion, while flooding my nostrils with the heady smoke of palo santo. (A decadent alternative to smudging sage I highly recommend.)

    Despite the best intentions of my religiously conservative upbringing, by 30 I was tragically addicted to opiate painkillers and drinking IPA instead of orange juice alongside my oatmeal in the morning. I was in trouble. Desperate to quit.

    Limping along in 12-step meetings and counseling sessions, I kept cravings at bay but continued to seek meaning and purpose that would lead to lasting sobriety.

    Two events occurred that significantly impacted the direction of my recovery, leading to the life of sobriety and joy I’d been dreaming of. First, my counselor suggested I attend a course called “Mindfulness-Based Relapse Prevention.” (MBRP) Second, I heard Russell Brand in an interview share how he utilized transcendental meditation to help him kick heroin.

    “If Russell Brand can do it,” I thought, “surely I’m not hopeless!”

    I’d long since abandoned strict religion, expanded my worldview, and earned a Bachelor of Science. But I still had misconceptions to overcome. From a distance, meditation and mindfulness seemed foreign; a bit too “woo” for my nursing background in Western Medicine. But I wanted freedom from addiction more than anything. So I joined the eight-week course my counselor suggested and quickly learned mindfulness is backed by science, not voodoo.

    One session of MBRP and I was hooked in the best way. The gentle, individualized format reinforced compassion and welcomed curiosity. My heart felt as if it had come home.

    While presumably not as radical as my own youthful conditioning, limiting beliefs and inaccuracies are a common barrier to people trying out meditation. Whether you’re sober-curious, or the top coin-earning member of your local recovery program, meditation may boost your well-being to new heights. Don’t fall for the following myths.  

    Myth: Meditation means clearing the mind of thoughts.

    Method: Mindfulness Meditation consists of observing, training, and focusing thoughts; not eliminating them. The sign of a “good meditator” is not the capacity to make the mind go blank or think nothing. Many people fear they’re incapable of meditating because of incessant, restless, racing or overwhelmed thoughts.

    The truth is, all humans are continuously thinking; that’s just our minds doing what minds do best. Meditation improves our capacity to understand and even train the mind. No person’s brain is too chaotic to practice, it may just take some of us longer to discover successful techniques and cultivate these new skills.

    With time and perseverance, we can improve the quality of our thinking by bringing our awareness to the present moment. We detach from stressful, negative thought patterns, improving focus and concentration. Changing the relationship to our thoughts is an especially powerful tool in maintaining sobriety. And since cognitive function and personal control are fully intact, no need to panic; outside forces won’t hijack your brain for evil intent.

    Myth: Meditation is a religious ritual.

    Method: Meditation can be associated with religious ritual or tradition. So can most modern medicine, if you follow it back in time far enough. The history of medicine and healing intersects heavily with religion, and the earliest healers were shamans and apothecaries.

    Prior to scientific method and evidence-based practice, religion, magic and superstition formed the basis for treatments and remedies. With nearly 40 years of scientific research and present day MRI as a diagnostic tool, Western culture can appreciate what Yogis have known for centuries: Mindfulness works. And if mindfulness is the foundational concept, meditation is the practical tool. Meditation has roots in a multitude of religions, including Buddhism, Hinduism, Christianity, and Judaism. It’s prudent to understand and honor this, however, no doctrine or dogma is necessary.

    And one doesn’t need to feel they’ve betrayed their personal faith by practicing meditation; it’s a tool that spans the spectrum of spirituality from atheism to fundamentalism. Mindfulness-Based Stress Reduction is a secular mind-body intervention that has been shown to help relieve patient’s suffering and enhance coping skills for chronic pain, stress, and illness – including addiction and alcoholism.

    This program and others like it are becoming increasingly accessible and acceptable to the general population, as research enlightens us to the benefits. Mindful meditation is a powerful tool in sobriety, helping to manage cravings, foster resilience and better our relationship to ourselves and the world.

    Buddhist-inspired recovery like Refuge Recovery, while non-religious, explicitly promotes compassion, lovingkindness, generosity and forgiveness. And who doesn’t want a big heaping dose of that throughout their recovery journey?

    Myth: Meditation requires sitting in Lotus pose on a cushion.

    Method: There’s no perfect position to meditate. Formal practice is often accomplished while sitting upright, with eyes closed or a gentle gaze toward the floor. An upright posture keeps us relaxed but alert, diminishes distractions and prevents sleepiness. But the essence of mindfulness is compassionate awareness, not physical punishment.

    I’ve heard Dave Smith of Against The Stream, begin his meditation instructions with these words: “Find a posture that is good enough for you.” Personally, I can’t sit with my legs crossed – much less in proper Lotus Pose. My feet fall asleep, the pain disrupting my flow. Some may say that’s an aversion I need to work with….and maybe some day I will.

    For now, I find what’s good enough in the moment. If the physical position causes you to cringe, try sitting with your back supported in a chair and your feet flat on the floor. It may be comfortable to lie down with a small pillow under your head or knees. There are many different chairs, benches, seats and cushion choices these days, making meditation accessible and comfortable for nearly anyone, not just those who can achieve instagram worthy Lotus level. 

    Myth: Meditation is sitting in silence for hours.

    Method: Silence means being alone with our thoughts, a scary precedent for many of us, especially in early sobriety. With four years of consistent practice, I still feel anxious if the lesson calls for extended silence. If the quiet puts you off, experiment with guided meditations.

    YouTube has an array of 60-second mindful exercises. Free Apps such as Aura and Insight Timer offer a seemingly endless assortment, with many in as little as three minutes. In just this brief amount of time, you can reset your daily intentions and regain mental clarity. Don’t beat yourself up if you plateau at the 10-minute mark or flee from the room when silence becomes unbearable.

    Mindful recovery teaches us to tolerate the discomforts in life – perhaps that starts with the silence on the cushion. Or perhaps for you, guided is the way to go. Either way, it takes gentle patience and persistence. This is personal training for the brain, not a quick fix for enlightenment. 

    Myth: Meditation happens on a cushion in a monastery.

    Method: Mindfulness meditation can happen anytime, anywhere, and isn’t practiced with a goal of perfect meditation under perfect conditions. It’s meant to help us get better at life. To help us develop compassionate, wise responses to external and internal stimuli. Some mindfulness can and should be done in ordinary spaces.

    For example, you can try an everyday task such as hand-washing or brushing your teeth mindfully. Similarly, eating meditations (like this raisin meditation) are a great method for concentrating the mind, expanding perspective, and cultivating awareness of the present moment.

    Integrating mindfulness into your lifestyle is the ultimate desired outcome. Just don’t attempt meditation while driving your car or operating heavy machinery!

    Mindfulness meditation can be a vital tool for successful sobriety. It improves our ability to live in the present moment, nurture ourselves and others with compassion and tolerate discomfort without reaching for substances to numb the pain. Let go of myths and misconceptions and begin practice today to start experiencing the rewards of living mindfully.  

    There are many types of meditation. This article discusses Mindfulness Meditation specifically, which is just one form of the practice. Resources for mindful/meditation recovery programs include but are not limited to: Refuge Recovery (Buddhist inspired, non-religious), Eight Step Recovery (Buddhist Path) and Mindfulness Based Relapse Prevention (science-based). Go here for other types of meetings in your area.

    Tiffany Swedeen, RN, BSN, CPC/CPRC is a certified life and recovery coach, She Recovers Designated Coach, and a registered nurse in recovery herself from opioids and alcohol. Tiffany lives “sober out loud,” proudly sharing her story through advocacy and blogging and is passionate about helping others do the same. Her goal is to eradicate shame and empower all to live a life of radical self-love. You can contact Tiffany through her website Recover and Rise, read her blog www.scrubbedcleanrn.com and follow her @scrubbedcleanrn. 

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Sober Dating: Overcoming Triggers & Temptations

    Sober Dating: Overcoming Triggers & Temptations

    The date turned out to be a boobytrap of triggers that I wasn’t totally prepared for. But mindfulness, resilience, accountability – recovery – kicked in when I needed it most.

    I startled as my phone buzzed a text against my thigh. It was my date.

    “I’m late, but I’ve got tacos!”

    Relax, I urged myself, taking a breath and taking in the surroundings. It’s going to be fine. It’s just tacos.

    This was my first date in well over six months. Unless you include a Saturday night in late August while I vacationed in Iceland. We ran all over Reykjavik searching for traditional lamb meat soup, to no avail. It was whimsical, it was carefree, but it was all the way in Iceland. And it didn’t even end with a kiss. This taco rendezvous felt like a legitimate return from a dating hiatus. 

    Dating is challenging. Sober dating can be truly precarious. First of all, I have very little courtship experience. My M.O. has always been meet, mate, marry. Eventually, I learned not to wed every guy who showed interest. Twenty years of consecutive long-term relationships meant that at 36 years old I became sober and legitimately single, for the first time in decades. SCARY.

    At the very least, it’s uncomfortable. And why do so many of us drink? To treat discomfort! “Meeting for drinks” is both neutral ground, and grants permission for each party to self-medicate throughout the ordeal. 

    It’s natural to want a strong drink (or in my case a strong drink and maybe a powerful pill) to relax. When I’m home getting ready, agonizing over my hair, outfit, and what to say, “just one” would go a long way towards numbing my nerves. But “just one” steers me down a dangerous path. Before I know it, I’d be back on stage at POP-Solo karaoke, blackout wasted, singing “Sexy Back” off key. (ALLEGEDLY! There’s no evidence.) It’s just not worth the risk. 

    Deciding when, or whether to “out myself” as sober to a guy is always a gamble. He had mentioned “wine” more than once as a suggestion for our first activity. (An early red flag I adeptly ignored). Refusing a glass in the moment can be difficult and awkward, so I casually commented prior to the date, “I actually don’t drink…but if you want wine, it’s cool.” When he didn’t respond with the all-too-common: “Really?? You don’t drink ever??!!??” my optimism was buoyed.

    So I waited for Taco Guy with zero alcoholic pre-lubrication, counting breaths as a healthy coping mechanism instead of throwing back shots at the bar. He arrived, tall and attractive. He had a large bag of local Mexican food in one hand, a spirited canine attached to a leash in the other. He even brought me a Fresca, remembering my preference for sparkling water. Fresca is no La Croix, but he got points for thoughtfulness. 

    The date started out smoother than expected. As dinner wrapped up, he clumsily remarked he wasn’t sure what to do next. “Normally I’d take you to a bar, go wine tasting…something revolving around drinks.” My teetotaling ways left him at a loss. 

    I remember those days, pre-sobriety. Alcohol: a necessary ingredient for every situation. I once turned down an otherwise solid, yet sober guy over this. “Sorry, beer is seriously that important to me. I practically live at breweries. We’ll have nothing in common!” 

    Taco Guy was stressed about what we wouldn’t get to do together in future meetings. “Wine tasting? BBQs and Beer? How do you have fun without drinking?” 

    In nearly two years of sobriety, I’ve hardly been bored. I secretly questioned his capability for booze-free entertainment, but stayed aloof. “Anything you can do with alcohol, you can do without. I promise. I’m super fun.“

    “Do you do anything bad?” he asked skeptically. I laughed out loud, thinking how he’d probably never know the truth about my former IV drug use and three years left in probation. 

    “Trust me,” I assured him. “I’m not all good.”

    He had a teasing smile. “Oh yeah?” Sweetly persistent and skilled at flattery, he convinced me to bring our dogs to his place. They could play in the backyard and we could watch Netflix. 

    What the hell, I thought. Prove you can be fun!

    Within 15 minutes, I was standing in his small, tidy apartment. He’d called me beautiful and made his interest in me obvious. Did this mean we were going to make out? Was I ready? Do I make the first move? What are the rules?

    In the past, this was easy. Drink, flirt, and use alcohol as an excuse for whatever indiscretion occurred. Sober dating is not easy. Sober sex is on a whole other level. 

    He spoke, blessedly interrupting my thoughts. “I’m going to have a whiskey, do you mind? I’m really nervous.” 

    “Go ahead, of course!” I answered bravely, but thought REALLY?!?! Not fair!! I’m stone cold sober, trying to navigate first date rules, and you get to wash away your worries with hard liquor while I sip water to tame my cottonmouth. UGH!

    He poured a hefty amount of Jack Daniels over ice, and I took the opportunity to use the bathroom. 

    Shutting the door behind me, I leaned against it, worrying. Is he going to kiss me? Or more? Is my deodorant still working? Should I wash under my arms? I should use his mouthwash!

    The mirror reflected back glossy color on my freshly styled hair, nervous rosy cheeks, and a trace of pink lipstick that had mostly wiped off on the Fresca. I looked decent. I’m not a bad catch, for a sober chick. Wait, what if he tastes like liquor? Is it weird if I ask him to use mouthwash? No that’s crazy. Or is it? 

    Leaning into the sink to wash my hands, a familiar sight stood out on the countertop: the bright, cunning orange of a medicine vial. Right there, in plain sight. No cupboard snooping necessary. 

    My vision went fuzzy on the edges. Drying my hands on a towel, I waited for the buzzing feeling to dissipate. I’ve been sober awhile, but I’m not immune to triggers. Medication bottles are not just benign bathroom articles. 

    I chewed on my bottom lip and thought over my next move. One of the labels was readily visible: “Metoprolol.” Phew, I thought. Heart medicine. No big deal. Without warning, my hand took over and snatched up another bottle, turning it label side up. 

    Hydrocodone-acetaminophen. Otherwise known as Vicodin.

    Fuck.

    I set it back down, but picked up another. 

    Oxycodone hydrochloride. Percocet.

    Double fuck. 

    Opiates were my drug of choice, my former best friend and the most seductive, manipulative, toxic lover I’ve ever tangled with. 

    Setting the menacing vial down, I stepped away from the sink, clenching my hands at my sides. 

    I could take a couple. 

    It only took a second for the thought to formulate. I envisioned the euphoric, care-free feeling. Pictured worrisome “first date rules” slipping away, letting go and enjoying the moment.  

    Picking up the bottle once more, I shook it lightly.  

    How many are in here? I bet he wouldn’t notice any missing. 

    The thought was brief. But it was charged with deadly potential. Lucky for me, mindful recovery teaches me I don’t have to believe my thoughts. I have a choice.

    I don’t want this. It isn’t me anymore.

    I extricated myself from the bathroom, delivered from temptation. 

    Taco Guy was on his second tumbler and had stepped outside to smoke. Menthols. Of course! My brand. At least they were, once upon a time. This date presented landmines everywhere I turned. 

    Against my better judgment, I stayed long enough to play with fire. Taco Guy is pretty hot, kind and gainfully employed. I wasn’t planning a future together, but I hadn’t yet ruled out seeing where the night would go. Holding a menthol between my fingertips, I said flirtatiously “It’s been awhile.” I took a drag, hoping I looked dangerous and sexy. Coughing, I just ended up likely looking like a silly girl who hadn’t inhaled in awhile. 

    I stayed long enough to smoke the cigarette and regret it. Long enough to sulk and wish things were different. It’s not fair. I don’t want to be an addict. I want to be normal – I want to be able to get drunk and make out. I wished, for a moment, that Taco Guy and I weren’t so incompatible.

    While I pouted privately, I knew I was kidding myself. The truth is, we are incompatible and I was uncomfortable. I don’t really wish I could drink and have an excuse for my behavior. I definitely don’t wish I could take his pills or go back to using. What I guess I really wanted was just to be on a date where I could be my honest, open, sober-out-loud self. 

    I don’t want to date if I can’t be real. That probably means when I’m genuinely ready, I’ll date guys who are also in recovery. I’d questioned this when I first became single and sober. Who do I date? Can I date someone who drinks regularly? I got my answer this night.  

    Crushing the cigarette in a well-used ashtray, I reached for my keys. 

    He looked rejected. “You’re leaving? I promise to be a gentleman. We’ll just watch a movie.” 

    Within a couple hours in his presence, I’d given in to smoking. Next, I might ask for a sip of whiskey. Once the brown liquid passed my lips, burning the back of my throat, I’d slink into the bathroom. Tilting the bottle of Vicodin back and forth, contemplating the siren song as the pills clicked against one another. 

    Nope. Not gonna happen. I love myself too much to go back there. 

    Driving home, I felt a mix of relief, pride, and sorrow. And a touch of nausea from the cigarette. When was the last time I’d looked a bottle of pills in the face and walked away? 

    The date turned out to be a boobytrap of triggers that I wasn’t totally prepared for. But mindfulness, resilience, accountability – recovery – kicked in when I needed it most. I was tempted, but not overwhelmed. I won that battle.  

    A few days later, Taco Guy texted. I had to be firm and honest. “I can’t date someone who drinks. That’s become very clear. Thanks, and good luck.”

    To my surprise, he replied with a compromise:

    “I shouldn’t drink either. I’ll try to stop. You could be a huge support and help to me with this.”

    As if the triple threat – alcohol, cigarettes and pills – wasn’t enough, co-dependency alarms rang in my ears. The final red flag was flown. 

    Firmly informing him that his request was wildly inappropriate, I blocked his number. 

    Over the last 20+ years, I’ve made really disappointing, damaging relationships decisions. Looking back, all I manage is, “What the fuck were you thinking?” 

    Just for once, I’d like to look at my life and think, “Well done, girl. You’re doing your best. It’s not easy, it’s not painless, but you’re making smart choices.“

    I think that time might be now. I could be doing it right for once. Saying “yes” to a drama free, recovery-centric era of radical self-love. Saying “no” to drugs, alcohol, and self-destructive behavior one nerve-wracking date at a time. 

    Tiffany Swedeen, RN, BSN, CPC/CPRC is a certified life and recovery coach, She Recovers Designated Coach, and a registered nurse in recovery herself from opioids and alcohol. Tiffany lives “sober out loud,” proudly sharing her story through advocacy and blogging and is passionate about helping others do the same. Her goal is to eradicate shame and empower all to live a life of radical self-love. You can contact Tiffany through her website Recover and Rise, read her blog www.scrubbedcleanrn.com and follow her @scrubbedcleanrn. 

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Views From A Rehab Counselor

    Views From A Rehab Counselor

    No amount of comfort is enough when there is a look of terror on someone admitting to treatment for the first time.

    “I want to be that little girl!”  

    A woman in her late 40s is sitting in front of me in my office, sobbing as she stares at a black and white picture of my then four-year-old daughter being twirled on the dancefloor, her white crinoline dress slightly blurred by the movement of her swirl. She has a smile of joy that only a four-year-old can have.  

    The woman is a patient I’m admitting to the rehab facility where I’m a counselor. She is highly intoxicated and emotionally distraught. This is her first time in treatment.

    I immediately regret having the picture so visible, something I know a lot of counselors and therapists would never do and as I move to put the picture facedown on the window sill, she begs me not to. For some reason she is fixated on my daughter’s image.

    In the three years that I’ve been in the field there is something new happening—more and more older men and women—those in their 40s through late 60s—are entering treatment for the first time for their alcohol dependence.  

    It’s also happening with people in their 20s—young, suburban, college-educated, fresh-faced young people attempting to stop drinking.

    Prior to this job, I worked in an all-male halfway house for 30 men. In the year that I was there, maybe four of the 50 or so guys I had on my rotating caseload struggled with alcoholism. The rest were mostly 20 and 30-year-olds who were addicted to heroin.

    This carried over into my current job where initially most of the patients coming in were younger, a little rough around the edges, wanting to detox from opiates and benzos. Then suddenly, just a few months ago, something seems to have shifted.  

    I’m stunned by the amount of alcohol these patients have been drinking on a daily basis. I went into my local liquor store to ask the owner to show me what a “handle” is and what a “sleeve” of nips looks like.  

    For me, someone who is not in recovery and looks forward to a glass of wine at the end of the day, who stops the second I feel a little buzzed I can’t wrap my head around that desire, that need to completely obliterate oneself to the point of blackout. I can count on less than two hands the number of times I’ve been even slightly drunk and only one time when I actually got a touch of the bed spins. I’ve never thrown up from drinking, never passed out. 

    I know enough to realize that a good number of people with substance use disorders are self-medicating for one thing or another, for the pain and anguish, the unaddressed trauma and mental health issues that lurk beneath the surface.  

    If a family member accompanies the patient to our facility they will often take me aside and fill me in on some details that the patient wouldn’t necessarily reveal themselves during the intake process. It comes out eventually during the customary 28-day stay, with the gentle guidance of insightful therapists and peers.  

    Obviously the hard part, the seemingly impossible task, will be for them to find other ways to cope once treatment is complete.

    I have a special fondness for the men and women who arrive to the facility under the influence. I love the rollercoaster ride they take me on with them, the ups and downs, the loop-the-loops, the crying and yelling.  

    I’m okay with being told to “fuck off” and then only two minutes later being told that I’m their guardian angel. I was recently told that I was “hotter than a hand grenade” by a man whose blood alcohol level was off the charts.  

    I told him that when he sobered up how disappointed he’d be in my “hotness” level. And yes, when I DID see him the next day, he barely remembered me.   

    No amount of comfort is enough when there is a look of terror on someone admitting to treatment for the first time. I can only do so much by telling them that it’s going to be okay, that they’ve come to the right place, that they’re so brave for making this first step. I get to go home at the end of the day. I don’t have to be woken up every four hours to have my vital signs taken or worry about who my roommate might be.  

    Some time during my intake the woman sitting in front of me looked at the picture of my daughter, put her head down, still sobbing and defeated and filled with shame and said, “I’m NEVER going to be that little girl.”

    It was clear that she didn’t think she would ever achieve a moment of such complete joy and freedom, that she would ever be spun around on a dance floor in a twirly dress. It took a couple of hours to complete her paperwork and by the time we wrapped up, she had sobered up quite a bit.  

    As I stood up to escort her to the unit, she looked at the picture one more time, some strong and silent resolution having been made, the belief that joy could and would be achieved in her life and said, “I’m GOING to be that little girl.”

    I so hope that she has found many joyful and free moments since she left treatment, that she dances in her living room with a smile on her face.  

    Gayle Saks has written extensively about her work as a substance abuse counselor from the unique perspective of someone who is not in recovery herself. Her blog, My Life In The Middle Ages, was voted one of the Top 20 Recovery Blogs for 2016 by AfterParty Magazine. She has written on the subject for The Fix, HuffPost, mindbodygreen and Thought Catalog. She has also written about being the daughter of a Holocaust survivor and the eventual suicide of her mother. Her pieces on the subject have appeared in kveller where she is a regular contributor, The Jewish Journal, and MammaMia.

    In 2013 she was invited to be on a panel on HuffPost Live to talk about being middle-aged, where her 15 minutes of poignant and intelligent conversation turned into a soundbyte about her having a hot flash at a Justin Timberlake/Jay-Z concert. 

    Saks grew up on Long Island, New York, and lives in the Greater Boston area with her husband, daughter, two cats and two dogs or as her husband says, “Too many beating hearts.”

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Me, My Psych Meds & My 12-Step Recovery

    Me, My Psych Meds & My 12-Step Recovery

    Now that I have double-digit sobriety, I have no qualms about pulling aside people who disparage the use of psych meds in meetings.

    As I sat in my jail cell I had to question the admonition I got from an old-timer at a 12-step meeting I frequented.

    “If you trust your Higher Power enough, you don’t need psych meds.”

    Really? How well did that work for me? Prior to my psychotic break I wore my sobriety well. I had married the love of my life. My IT consulting practice was netting me a mid-six figure income. The custom house we bought and furnished was paid in full.

    Funny thing about alcoholics. When things are going well we want to fiddle with the recipe that got us there. Why do I need meds? After all, I have been symptom-free for years. I have never been manic in sobriety.

    For some reason the under-utilized abacus in my head couldn’t (or wouldn’t) do the math that me plus meds equaled sanity. That old-timer’s advice started to resonate. After all, I was a Higher-Power-trusting kind of guy. Never did it occur to me that maybe there was power and inspiration behind the development of the medications that kept me sane.

    A salesman at heart, I broached the subject of discontinuing meds with my wife—my wife who had never known me symptomatic.

    “I’m doing fine,” I said. “Just look at all these articles I found on the web about managing symptoms with vitamins and exercise.”

    I closed the deal and by August of 2009 I was med-free.

    All was well until it wasn’t. In November of that year my wife was hospitalized with COPD exacerbation. Talk about the need for a lung transplant and end-of-life-planning marked many of our conversations with physicians. Up went the anxiety level.

    As the stress level began to rise, the amount of sleep I was getting decreased proportionally. Funny thing about bipolar I disorder, nothing triggers mania like lack of sleep. Or so I learned later.

    Around January or February of 2010—the timeline gets a little distorted… a little racy—my response to my wife’s health condition was to pick up more clients, sleep less and work more. One of my clients, a large county government, went under investigation by the state’s Attorney General.

    The subject of the investigation? The contents of a database I maintained.

    The state wanted the unvarnished data. The county wanted it “scrubbed.” Stress bombs were being lobbed at my increasingly fragile state of mind.

    Somewhere in the spring of 2010 there was an audible snap. Distinguishing the seemingly real from the false got a little tricky. Paranoia replaced anxiety. Clients began pulling me into meetings to explain why I was sending late-night emails about Russian cell-phone hackers and suspicious activities on the part of my co-workers.

    Apparently, my explanations were none too satisfying. First there was a mandated two- week “vacation.” A week after I returned I guess no improvement was noted as the County Manager’s personal security detail escorted me from the premises. My monthly billing dropped by 75% at a time I was spending and gambling like, well, like someone in the midst of a full manic break. The bank accounts were drained and the credit cards began to max out.

    My wife reminded me of a promise to resume medication if she ever deemed it necessary… and she was definitely in a deeming-it-necessary mode. Funny thing about psych meds, the maintenance dose that had worked so well for years really wasn’t up to snuffing out full blown mania. I resumed my meds, but it was like trying to battle a raging forest fire with a squirt bottle.

    By May, loved ones were more than a little concerned. That came to a head in the aftermath of a pool party/cookout gone awry. For some reason I thought our guests needed to be greeted by the entire content of my garage spread across the front yard and folding tables piled high with $3,500 dollars’ worth of random magazines, toys, household goods, and an inordinate amount of Febreze from a 2 a.m. Walmart shopping spree.

    Twenty-four hours later there was a late-night visit from the local police to take me to a 72-hour psych hold my wife and daughters had arranged.

    Agnosognosia. A Greek term for lack of insight. The medical profession has reserved it to describe the phenomenon of people in the throes of mania denying that they are manic. I had it, but good. Four hours into my psych hold I pretended to be asleep and then put on a very calm front for the psychiatrist who had just come on shift to make the rounds.

    By hour six I was released, and my wife and daughter got a tongue-lashing from the doctor for wasting her time. I delighted in that, but not once did it occur to me that if I had to consciously act calm, maybe things weren’t quite right. Life at home got a little more strained.

    Five days later I agreed to be hospitalized. Then I reneged on my promise and decided to storm out of the house to underscore how healthy-minded I was.

    As I packed, among other things, a two-and-a-half-foot tall Buzz Lightyear action figure, a cloth “green screen” for shooting videos and manipulating the background, and a folded American flag. I also decided to pack an unloaded .22 pistol that was going to be the centerpiece of a yet unscripted cellphone video masterpiece.

    As I turned from my dresser to the duffle bag I was packing on my bed, my wife entered the room. The gun was pointed in her direction. She didn’t see a budding videographer; to her it was a little more “assaulty-ish.”

    A half hour later, I was cleaning the pool at an unoccupied rental house of ours where I had decided to camp out. Not five minutes into it, I noticed a helicopter directly overhead. In my paranoid and delusional state, I assumed the helicopter was there to film me in all my glory.

    Turns out, a very real S.W.A.T. team had encircled me and I wasn’t so delusional after all. My mugshot made the front page of our major online newspaper… in all my glory.

    Over the next six weeks in jail my symptoms subsided, my marriage was repaired, and I got a felony assault charge reduced to disorderly conduct. (I really couldn’t argue that I had been a little disorderly.)

    Still, I had one full year to learn how difficult it is to stay employable until that felony disorderly conduct was reduced to a misdemeanor. I am now very sympathetic towards sponsees who are trying to get back on track following incarceration.

    You guessed it. If I am still sponsoring, I am still active in 12-step recovery. It may not be for everyone, but it works very well for me.

    Now that I have double-digit sobriety, however, one thing has changed. I have no qualms about pulling aside people who disparage the use of psych meds in meetings. I share my story and explain rather firmly why they might want to reconsider that position.

    I am also not shy about sharing in meetings about an article from AA’s Grapevine magazine published in the 1970s when groups were first wrestling with the subject of psych meds. The home group in that story? Well, it arrived at a position that still holds true to this day: If advised to take psychiatric medication by a physician, you should not take one more, nor one less, than prescribed.

    Rick Bell, a bipolar alcoholic in recovery, holds a M.S.in Addiction Science and is completing a PhD in Psychology. He blogs at recoveryrules.com/blog.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • No More Attendance Sheets In AA

    No More Attendance Sheets In AA

    Having court-ordered people at our meetings is like being, “a little bit pregnant.” We are either anonymous or we are not anonymous.

    Our Traditions are important to Alcoholics Anonymous. We also want to see AA continue to provide a way out for alcoholics.

    The responsibility statement located on so many meeting walls says it all. AA is an all-inclusive organization, too. We offer aid to anyone who needs help in their drinking life. However, that comfort and aid are meant to be given in an anonymous way.

    My question is, how anonymous is a court-ordered person who leaves our meetings with a signed attendance sheet? Surely everyone can remember hearing someone at an AA meeting state, “You can say that you were at this meeting but you cannot tell them I was here.”

    What good is that statement when we then turn around and sign attendance sheets? Having court-ordered people at our meetings is something like being, “a little bit pregnant.” We are either anonymous or we are not anonymous. Let’s look at some of the results of our current practice.

    In order to clear out overcrowded prisons, criminals have been released if they agree, in part, to getting attendance vouchers signed at AA meetings. One of those parolees killed an AA member in 2011 and a lawsuit against AA was filed.

    We didn’t hear about that from the General Service Organization or their Public Information Coordinator, and that is where the legal papers were delivered.

    Instead, the news broke at some later time on television. While the suit was eventually dismissed, that AA member surely would not have been murdered and that lawsuit filed if we did not sign attendance sheets.

    Greg Hardy, a former NFL player banned from the league after being charged with beating his girlfriend, has been sentenced to three AA meetings per week rather than going to jail. Look at pages 155 and 156 of the Twelve and Twelve. It states that judges would gather derelicts from society and, “parole them into our custody. We’d spill AA into the dark regions of dope addiction and criminality.”

    Look, too, at page 190 where it states that we are not to, “lend the AA name in either a direct or indirect manner to anyone.”

    Our founders predicted back in the 1950s this very situation happening today.

    The Second, Seventh and Ninth Circuit Courts of Appeal have all ruled that sending criminals to AA meetings is illegal. It’s in violation of the First Amendment. That public controversy would not have happened had we kept our meetings anonymous.

    What if AA decided to stop signing attendance sheets? What could the courts do? Are they able to set up their own classes to teach lessons about alcoholism and addiction? Could the courts take their own attendance?

    The Traditions allow AA members to go to those classes and talk about alcoholism. We could still offer aid and support to alcoholics without signing attendance sheets.

    After the above-mentioned murder, the GSO has felt compelled to hand out the Safety Card for AA Groups statement to clean up this situation. They did so without fully explaining to the public the issues noted here. Perhaps this is the time to reevaluate things more closely.

    Maybe this is an opportunity to gather the insight and courage to see if we are compromising our Traditions as well as our Alcoholics Anonymous name when signing attendance sheets.

    The author is a member of AA and chooses to remain anonymous.

    View the original article at thefix.com