Tag: Features

  • New Data Show Disturbing Racial Disparities in Combined Opioid-Cocaine Overdose Rates

    The problem is not just increased use of stimulants and opioids, it is also a lack of recovery resources, substance use disorder treatment, and a historical mistrust of healthcare providers.

    An exclusive interview with researcher Tarlise Townsend, Ph.D., reveals a definitive need for harm reduction policies plus investment in treatment in marginalized communities. In these communities, particularly lower-income African American and Latino neighborhoods, the opioid epidemic has combined with stimulant abuse to create a sharp spike in overdoses. These findings, from a study funded by the National Institutes of Health that examined death certificate data in the dozen years before the start of the COVID-19 pandemic, were published last month in the American Journal of Epidemiology.

    Driven by the three-headed dragon of fentanyl, prescription painkillers, and heroin, drug overdoses kill over a hundred thousand people every year in the United States. However, from 2007 to 2019, drug overdose deaths involving more than one substance increased dramatically across the board nationwide. Additionally, these multi-drug overdoses had a more noticeable spike in traditionally marginalized communities that lack substance disorder education, prevention efforts, and treatment opportunities.

    The Fix is honored to interview Dr. Tarlise Townsend about the implications of her study.

    The Fix: Why is the combination of stimulant abuse like cocaine or methamphetamines and opioid use disorder like heroin or prescription painkiller misuse hitting marginalized racial and ethnic communities so hard? As opposed to one or the other, what do you think is the reason for the two-headed dragon?

    Dr. Tarlise Townsend: The overarching response to that question, unfortunately, is that we don’t have an answer. Although we have diagnosed and identified the problem, we still desperately need to understand what’s driving it: Why are marginalized communities, particularly Black Americans, being hit proportionately hard by these combined overdose deaths? At the same time, the reality is that structural racism shapes everything, including access to resources. There is a lack of harm reduction options in this community, a historical lack of trust in healthcare providers, and a profound lack of access to treatment for substance use disorder.

    Also, criminalization is a really big factor when it comes to the increased risk of overdose. It is so much less likely that authorities will be contacted in time to administer overdose antagonists like Naloxone. After all, Black Americans, particularly men, are so much more likely to be criminalized for just being in possession of these drugs.

    As a result, there are many factors contributing to these racial disparities. Also, these disparities may not be specific to just these two types of drugs; stimulants and opioids. It may be a more systemic problem that right now is just manifesting as increased overdose due to the combination of stimulants and opioids. When you put this issue into the context of fundamental cause theory, you realize that the fundamental causes of health issues like socioeconomic status or racism affect health outcomes in almost every context in these communities. These overarching causes fundamentally affect people in so many ways because they basically bleed into everything.

    Even if you try to address other causes of these health disparities, socioeconomic status and racism will find another way to generate other challenges. Indeed, socioeconomic status and racism have been and continue to be fundamental causes of adverse health outcomes in these marginalized communities. The problem is not just the increased use of stimulants and opioids leading to more overdoses. It also is a lack of recovery resources, educational opportunities, and substance use disorder treatment in these communities.

    What drug is playing the driving role in this overdose crisis? Is heroin or cocaine proving to be more destructive in these communities?

    Our study did not look specifically at the type of opioids contributing to these overdose deaths. However, other recent research looking at the problem of opioid-stimulant deaths has found that fentanyl is playing the driving role. The story of this rise in overdoses is due primarily to a surge in fentanyl exposure. There is a contamination of these street drugs that the person who is using does not realize. Despite the increase in combined opioid-stimulant use, the inclusion of fentanyl in that picture is the driving force. 

    In developing countries, particularly in Southeast Asia, methamphetamine use has been connected with working long hours. Is that happening in the U.S. as well?

    I don’t feel like I can answer that question with any expertise or confidence, but it does bring up another perspective. There is evidence of people who use opioids in homeless populations on the street intentionally using stimulants to stay alert. First, these people are more readily targeted and criminalized for using. Second, they cannot afford to be oblivious when living in such extreme conditions. It could be that the stimulants counteract the opioids, allowing these people to avoid what we would describe as loitering and remain aware of external threats.

    Thus, the co-use of these two drugs by homeless populations could be described as an effort to cope with really trying conditions. However, despite such hypotheses about what is going on, there is not a lot of proven research. Thus, we know very little about those specific dynamics. Still, the idea of homeless people addicted to opioids using stimulants as a survival mechanism is a notion that deserves greater investigation.

    Specifically, what kind of harm reduction and evidence-based SUD treatment services are needed in Black and Latino neighborhoods? For example, if you had a billion dollars in funding to fight this crisis, how would you spend it?

    We need to look at both the money is no object question, and money is an object, so what do we do question. For the first, we need all the things. There is no specific policy solution or harm reduction solution that is going to address everything. There is no quick and easy fix to eliminate rising disparities in opioid and stimulant overdose deaths. We would think that when we implement a societal health intervention, the population in our society that needs the most help will receive the most benefit from such an intervention. However, this is not the case because health disparities will often widen unless you specifically target the communities with the greatest needs. If you want to help those communities, you have to target the barriers preventing them from accessing the help they need, like resource barriers, stigma issues, socioeconomic gaps, and racial and ethnic challenges. Often, the people who benefit the most from societal health interventions are the people with the most resources. The lack of resources in marginalized communities results in such health interventions often proving ineffective.

    In general, when we are thinking about policies and programs designed to target disparities in substance use and overdose, we need to be intentional about tailoring those interventions to the communities that need them most. We need culturally informed and competent efforts tailored to address the needs of these specific communities that are being hit the hardest by opioid and stimulant overdose deaths. Highlighting such tailoring, we need education and outreach materials translated into the languages primarily spoken in these communities. Awareness of substance use disorder treatment and harm reduction programs need to be raised in contexts that people in these communities trust. A great example is the role that Black churches are playing in Black communities. Since that setting implies a greater trust, it leads to a greater uptake of these recovery options. There is a lot of distrust in these communities when it comes to traditional healthcare settings.

    Beyond these efforts, I also think we need to be thinking bigger. For example, the safe consumption sites that just opened in New York are encouraging, and initial evaluations are already underway. Researchers are looking at how effectively they reduce opioid mortality and increase the uptake of treatment for substance use disorder and other health intervention efforts. I’m also eager to see what effects decriminalization like we are seeing now in Oregon will have on overdose mortality trends. When it comes to spending money to combat these problems, whether it is the limited funds that are now accessible or an imaginary unlimited amount, researchers need in-depth cost-effectiveness analyses. No matter how much money is being spent, many health interventions that people thought would lead to major results did not give us the greatest bang for our buck. In reality, resources are limited and scarce. Thus, the money spent needs to be used in the best way possible. We need to study which of these programs and policies will prove cost-effective. 

    An example of such a cost-effective study is seen today in the use of Naloxone, the opioid antagonist that can reverse an overdose in an emergency. Distributing Naloxone to people who most likely will experience overdose is highly cost-effective and saves lives. It has proven to be one of the most cost-effective medications on the market. Our experience with Naloxone so far is a good model for figuring out how we can best use limited resources to address this crisis and reduce the health disparities in these marginalized communities.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Differences Between Illicit and Pharmaceutical Fentanyl: What You Need to Know

    Understanding the difference between these two types of drugs is essential, as they have very different purposes and implications.

    Fentanyl is a powerful opioid that has been making headlines lately because of its role in increasing overdose deaths across North America. There are two main types of fentanyl: illicit fentanyl and pharmaceutical fentanyl. Understanding the difference between these two types of drugs is essential, as they have very different purposes and implications. In this blog post, we will discuss the differences between illicit and pharmaceutical fentanyl, the dangers of both types, and tips to stay safe.

    What is Fentanyl?

    Fentanyl is a potent synthetic opioid that was introduced into the medical field as an intravenous anesthetic under the trade name of Sublimaze in the 1960s. It is a powerful, short-acting painkiller that’s about 100 times more potent than morphine. It has high lipid solubility and quickly crosses the blood-brain barrier to produce relief from pain.

    Pharmaceutical grade fentanyl is currently available as:

    • Actiq®– oral transmucosal lozenges, commonly referred to as the fentanyl “lollipops.” 
    • Fentora®– effervescent buccal tablets 
    • Abstral®– sublingual tablet 
    • Subsys®– sublingual spray 
    • Lazanda®– nasal spray 
    • Duragesic®– transdermal patches, and injectable formulations.

    In 2015 there were six million prescriptions dispensed per year, with two thirds going to patients with cancer or other painful medical conditions. Still, during peak times for the opioid crisis (2016-2017), this changed drastically when widespread abuse led many doctors to stop prescribing them altogether because they could not distinguish between legitimate patient needs and addiction, which caused many patients to feel abandoned and desperate.

    Illicit Fentanyl

    According to the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC), synthetic opioids — namely illicit fentanyl — remain the primary cause of fatal overdoses in the United States. 

    China is the main country of origin for illicit fentanyl, and its analogs are trafficked into the United States. In 2019, China fulfilled a pledge to U.S. authorities by placing all forms on a regulatory schedule designed primarily as drug substances or raw materials used in the manufacturing of fentanyl. While China’s shipment of these lethal materials directly into America has decreased, shipments coming in through Mexico have been increasing at record numbers. 

    The connection between China and Mexico has grown due to increased fentanyl precursor sales by Chinese traffickers. In March 2021, Matthew Donahue described this situation as “an unlimited supply” that would keep arriving at Mexican cartels’ doors without end — a description which perfectly fits the tasks currently facing law enforcement agencies throughout both countries today. 

    The waves of fentanyl coming into the United States from Mexico are not just reaching our shores, they’re crashing on top of us. In recent months, multiple busts with arrests and seizures link these pill mills in Juarez to make finished Chinese sourced precursors for trafficking across America’s US – Mexico border right here at home!

    Hidden Fentanyl Deaths: How Drug Makers Are Killing Americans 

    Fentanyl is currently found in most counterfeit oxycodone pills and other medications. It is difficult to distinguish between the actual medications from the illicit ones because, as they can easily pass for legal drugs due to its near-identical appearance with many different manufacturers’ logos on each pill or capsule. When this lethal drug is found in other substances, like benzodiazepines, cocaine, and methamphetamines, users with no tolerance to opioids are at much higher risks of dying. Some advocates consider hidden fentanyl deaths as murder by poisoning.

    The Drug Enforcement Administration (DEA) data, shows that fentanyl is now widely encountered in powder form and as prescription drugs such as oxycodone or Xanax. The danger of illicit fentanyl comes from its potency. A tiny granule of this lethal substance can cause override the body’s natural reflexes to breathe, leading to respiratory depression and death.

    Border Crisis Continue to Fuel Fentanyl Deaths

    The United States Drug Enforcement Administration has seen a record number of seizures along the southwest border, with agents remarking that one reason for this uptick in drug trafficking is due to increased migration from Central America. 

    During last year’s surge in illegal immigration, Border Patrol agents were relocated to process the migrants. This surge led to the closing of inspection checkpoints, allowing drug traffickers to go undetected. The unprecedented upsurge of fentanyl coming into the USA has had disastrous consequences on our citizens and generations to come. Unfortunately, this tragic situation continues to evolve.

    Fentanyl Overdose and Narcan 

    Narcan (naloxone) is a life-saving drug that can reverse the effects of an opioid overdose. The issue is that not everyone who needs Narcan knows how to use it or where to get it. Many people believe that Narcan is only for police or first responders, which is not the case. Narcan can be administered by anyone – a friend, family member, or stranger.

    It is vital to let the public know about Narcan’s ability to reverse an overdose, where to get this life-saving medication, and how to use it. We need to make sure that people have access to this life-saving drug in case of an overdose.

    If you are using illicit drugs, be especially careful and take steps to reduce your risk of exposure to fentanyl. These steps include not using drugs alone, carrying naloxone (Narcan), and being aware of the signs of an overdose. If you think someone may be overdosing on fentanyl, the symptoms may include having trouble breathing or swallowing; extreme sleepiness with no response when called upon. The most common overdose responses are:

    • Lips turning blue
    • Gurgling sounds 
    • Body stiffness or seizure-like activity
    • Foaming at the mouth
    • Confusion or bizarre behavior before becoming unresponsive

    Getting Treatment

    If you are struggling with fentanyl dependence, please seek help. Many resources are available, including medically assisted detox treatment centers, drug rehabs, and support groups. Don’t let fentanyl take your life – there is hope for recovery.

    It is essential to clearly understand the differences between a medical detox program and substance abuse rehabilitation. At the same time, both help those struggling with drug addiction, medical detoxification monitors and manages the physical symptoms of withdrawal, while rehabs mainly offer psychological and peer support.

    Fentanyl addiction is frightening and, more than ever, a dangerous activity. Withdrawal from fentanyl can be challenging and intense; although opioid withdrawal is generally not considered life-threatening on its own; however, some of the medical and psychological symptoms may lead to complications that can be deadly. It is always good to get assistance from medical and mental health professionals through detoxification who can utilize multiple strategies for managing withdrawal effects while keeping patients safe.

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    View the original article at thefix.com

  • The First Drink Was Russian Roulette: An Interview with Leigh Steinberg

    Life will knock us all back, but the question is can we stay in the present moment? Can we summon up the strength and energy to perform with excellence in those trying moments?

    If you’ve ever seen Tom Cruise as a driven sports agent in the award-winning film Jerry Maguire (1996), then you know more about super-agent Leigh Steinberg than you realize. Based on his life experiences, the film’s storyline ended before Leigh Steinberg experienced the worst travails of his life. During his career, Steinberg has represented over 300 professional athletes in football, baseball, basketball, boxing, and Olympic sports, including the number one overall pick in the NFL draft a record eight times.

    Despite his success, Steinberg met his match when it came to alcohol. In 2015, he described his challenging journey into sobriety in his memoir. Today, Steinberg reveals his inspirational journey in an interview with The Fix.

    The Fix: As a young man, your first client Steve Bartkowski became the No. 1 overall pick in the 1975 NFL draft, catapulting you into the upper echelons. When you look back on the sudden rise of those early days, do you ever feel like it all happened way too fast? Was it challenging to deal with the mighty rush of early success?

    Leigh Steinberg: I had had the wonderful experience of being student body president at Cal (University of California, Berkeley) in the tumultuous days of the Sixties. At that point, Berkeley was the vortex of student life. From demonstrations and rock music to alternative lifestyles, the school was at the center of the national story. Such an experience really prepared me for the national profile that came with the Bartkowski signing. I never confused newspaper clippings, awards, or external praise for the substance of being a good person and being grounded.

    From Warren Moon to Oscar De La Hoya, you desired your top clients to be preeminent roles models in their sports. Do you perceive yourself as a role model? How did the process of recovery illuminate this perception?

    We are all role models to someone. Younger people look up to you, older people will mentor you, and you will find people who will be the models for your future behavior. I had a father who raised us with two core values: The first was to treasure relationships, especially family, and the second was to do your best to make a meaningful difference in the world. It is part of your responsibility to help people who cannot help themselves. The whole nexus of my practice was trying to stimulate the best in young men.

    When it comes to making a meaningful experience in the world, I learned a lot from my struggles with alcoholism. Being in my twelfth year of recovery, I feel like I have been given the opportunity to help people who are struggling with the same challenges that I faced. It is a real positive that comes out of the experience. If you are reading this right now and you feel hopeless and overwhelmed by your experiences with substance abuse and addictions, I want you to know that there is hope and a light at the end of the tunnel. I have been where you are now, and it does get better.

    What did you learn from the success of your clients? What did you learn from their failures?

    For me, the critical key has always been how someone responds to adversity. If we take a quarterback who has thrown a couple of interceptions so the game is getting out of hand and the crowd is starting to boo, what happens next? Can that person summon up the internal focus to tune out extraneous distractions and elevate their level of play in critical situations? Life will knock us all back, but the question is can we stay in the present moment? Can we summon up the strength and energy to perform with excellence in those trying moments? What I saw them do in success is stay grounded and stay hungry. As opposed to bragging about a past achievement or becoming self-absorbed, they were able to stay in process and do the things that created their success in the first place.

    An old Irish saying goes, “A man takes a drink, the drink takes a drink, the drink takes the man.” How would you say this saying applies to your life experience?

    When it comes to alcohol, it snuck up slowly on me. I didn’t drink for most of my life and most of my career. However, when I started drinking, it suddenly stopped becoming a decision and a matter of volition of whether or not to drink. With what seems like little or no warning, it becomes a craving and compulsion. I did not realize until later in my life that I am allergic to alcohol. At this point, the first drink would be a disaster. Knowing the metamorphosis in my brain when I take the first drink gives me no other choice but to stay vigilant.

    You write in your book, “Consuming alcohol became a form of Russian roulette for me.” It’s truly a powerful image. Can you explain it further?

    The first drink was Russian Roulette. After I took the first drink, it wasn’t clear what would be the eventual outcome. It could be anything from a blackout where I did not remember what had happened to just falling asleep to something unexpected. It was unclear how an evening would end, and it wasn’t going to be positive (laughing). After taking the first drink, I was no longer in control of my own life. It wasn’t positive. Depending on how my body was metabolizing alcohol and how much I was drinking, it could lead to many self-destructive behaviors, including drunk driving, hurting other people’s feelings, and complete self-absorption. It could lead to a place where I was no longer aware of the choices I was making.

    Can you describe your “moment of clarity”? What realization led to the start of what is now your long-term recovery?

    It was a sense of proportionality. I was sitting in my father’s room at our family house after closing my office and home. I am at my parent’s house in West Los Angeles, and all I have is the next drink. At that moment of despair, there was an epiphany where I gained a sense of proportion. I realized I wasn’t a starving peasant in Sudan, I didn’t have the last name Steinberg in Nazi Germany, and I didn’t have cancer or anything fundamentally wrong with my body. Thus, what excuse did I have not to live up to my dad’s admonitions and be a good father? How could I not follow his guidance and try to be helpful to other people? It was a moment of clarity that I needed to overcome the denial that I had a problem. I realized I had to turn my life over to a process that would hopefully lead to a better tomorrow.

    You believe the success of rookie prospects in the NFL is helped by being drafted by the right teams where successful cultures of strategy and support allow them to grow into professional players. You use the experience of Patrick Mahomes in Kansas City as the ideal example. Do you think that a person’s success in recovery might be similar as well?

    The key to winning in sports is the quality of the organization: Enlightened and stable ownership, a front office that excels at drafting and roster composition, and the quality of a coach who knows how to communicate with his players. All of that is important. Likewise, when it comes to recovery, having the right sponsor, being in the right sober living house, and surrounding yourself with other people who are serious about their recoveries and working the 12 steps is critical. I know it has been critical for me. Going to the right meetings helps you find the people with long-term sobriety who can become your role models. Overall, the concept of being in a healthy environment leading to success is critical in both environments.

    Can you talk about the role of steroids in professional sports? As an agent who cared about his clients, you write that you gained insight into the danger of steroids early on. Do you think performance-enhancing drugs will always be a part of professional sports?

    I don’t think they have to be, and I hope they won’t be. Steroids themselves are a real health danger on both a physical and a mental level. People taking steroids experience such emotional extremes, going from ‘roid rage to breaking down in tears in an instant. Steroids play havoc with a person’s emotional stability.

    Today, there are many promising therapies and techniques for training the human body, like nutrition, hyperbaric oxygen therapy, and stem cell therapies. There are so many breakthroughs about enhancing performance and stamina in a natural way. It really shouldn’t be necessary to use destructive substances to perform well. One of the major threats in professional sports has been opiates to deal with pain. In a football game, it’s like a traffic accident on every play. Since pain is ever-present, it’s essential to find alternatives to becoming dependent and ultimately addicted to opioids is critical.

    Any last words? Any message you want to leave us with today?

    I have found that the most important life skill is listening. If you can cut below the surface with another human being and listen carefully to their greatest anxieties and fears and their greatest hopes and dreams, you can help them. If you can put yourself in their shoes and connect with their hearts and minds, then it’s possible to navigate yourself through life with grace and integrity. Indeed, from the beginning, it was at the heart of my father’s message to me.

    Lastly, I believe one of the keys is to try to live in this moment without being lost in the past or fearful of the future. We don’t always have to answer the cell phone that’s ringing. You can put focus and energy into the present to derive maximum satisfaction and be a happy person.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Alcoholics Anonymous Welcomes Queer Members – But Is It Enough?

    Addiction is inherently bound up in issues of class, race, sexuality, religion, and yes, gender – the exact “outside issues” that AA members are taught to check outside the meeting room doors.

    Every day, in thousands of church basements, community centers, and clubhouses across America, people who can boast anything from a few hours to many decades without alcohol gather to collect one more sober day. Nearly all these meetings of Alcoholics Anonymous begin with members collectively reciting something called the AA Preamble, a statement of purpose for the AA group and reminder that AA’s “primary purpose is to stay sober and help other alcoholics achieve sobriety.”

    I first heard the Preamble in 2009, during my earliest attempt at sobriety, and have heard it hundreds more times since. The Preamble is so ubiquitous in the AA program that almost all members can recite it by heart. The Preamble is short, just two paragraphs comprised of five sentences. Until last year, it was exactly 100 words. It is now 98. The loss of three words, and addition of one, might seem small, almost meaningless, to anyone outside of the AA program. But for an organization that has stubbornly resisted most edits to its doctrines and covenants since its genesis over 80 years ago, it is earthshaking. And for those of us who want AA to change – who hope the program that did so much to save our lives can adequately respond to new, more inclusive cultural norms – it is a sign that AA is not a relic or a curiosity but a living, evolving thing, still in search of the best way to carry the message.

    For 74 years, the Preamble told members that AA is “a fellowship of men and women who … help others to recover from alcoholism.” Here’s the big change: “men and women” has been dropped and replaced with “people.” There’s a poetic simplicity to this that shouldn’t undermine its significance. No longer does AA’s self-constructed statement of purpose reduce members to men or women, Box A or Box B, this or that. AA is full of queer, trans, and non-binary addicts who for decades were greeted at every meeting with a recitation that excluded them. That is no longer the case.

    To understand why the change to the Preamble is so important, you first must understand just how rooted in antiquity much of AA is. I’m a gay atheist, and my first few years in “the rooms” were spent largely trying to see how, or if, I could fit in. No easy task. The central text of Alcoholics Anonymous is the “Big Book,” originally written in 1939 by famed AA founder Bill Wilson with assistance from other founding members. The Big Book’s first 164 pages, the pages thought of as the “nuts and bolts” of the AA program and authored primarily by the near-mythic Bill W., have remained largely set in stone, subject only to grammatical and semantic edits. Wilson’s vision of a set of principles and practices to get and keep a drunk sober remains intact. And many of those principles read as outdated at best, and offensive at worst, to modern eyes.

    Consider the chapter that caused me the most distress. “We Agnostics” purports to be the AA welcome wagon for the irreligious, but it is deeply condescending to those who don’t believe in God. The chapter begins reasonably enough, with sympathies toward those who have found organized religion corrupt or otherwise distasteful. It then turns toward AA’s unique, somewhat incomprehensible notion of spirituality, a vague sense that there is a “God of our understanding” who is in some way “bigger” than us. This can all be read metaphorically, which most godless AA members do, as a call to get out of our own heads and kill our egos. But there is a hard religious turn toward the end, a nod to our “Creator,” and a parable of a drunk redeemed through faith that wouldn’t be out of place on a megachurch’s Instagram feed. The overall message of “We Agnostics” is: Perhaps you don’t believe in God now, but you will, if you want to get sober.

    Arguably worse is “To Wives,” chapter 8 of the Big Book. As the title might have tipped you off, “To Wives” is sexist, heteronormative nonsense. Written in a confessional style, “To Wives” purports to tell the story of the long-suffering wife of the alcoholic – “Oh, how she cried!,” that sort of thing. The unspoken assumption is that alcoholics are men, and AA membership is mostly men, and these members are straight and married to women. In that sense, the old Preamble – written eight years after the Big Book and when AA was becoming more established – sounds downright progressive in its inclusion of both “men and women.”

    None of this should be surprising. Wilson was the product of both his time and his spiritual biography. In 1939, women had only been voting for 20 years, and the teaching of evolution could still be outlawed by states. For his part, Wilson had put down the bottle with the help of the Oxford Group, an anti-hierarchical, but explicitly Christian, sect focused on adherence to high moral standards and surrender to God. He incorporated many of the Oxford Group’s teachings into the Big Book. The roots of AA are Christian ones, and as a result, there is a religious lean to much AA literature. Some members are happier about this than others. When I was first trying to stay clean, I told a longtime member I was an atheist. He responded, missing the point entirely, that this was fine: “All you need to believe is there is a God, and you ain’t Him!”

    Both “To Wives” and “We Agnostics” remain, unchanged, in the Big Book today, although there have been unsuccessful movements to remove or rewrite them. It is no exaggeration to say that the change to the Preamble is the biggest move toward modernity AA has taken in perhaps its entire history. How did it happen? Well, making a complex process simple: any AA meeting can propose changes through their elected representative, who then takes those proposals to an annual conference, where they are voted on by all the area delegates. (There are 93 “areas” in the US. Some states have one, bigger states have more – New York has four.) It is at these General Service Conferences where the big decisions about the most fundamental tenets of Alcoholics Anonymous are made.

    The Preamble vote took place at the 2020 Conference. One New York area delegate put together a charming PowerPoint presentation, appropriately titled “AA In A Time of Change,” laying out the broad procedural steps, and I am cribbing from that here. AA groups in New York, D.C., and Louisiana pushed to have the change debated at the Conference. One committee initially voted down the proposal, finding that they needed “more information.” And that could have been where the change died – smothered in committee and consigned to next year’s conference.

    It wasn’t to be. As per the delegate, “in rapid succession,” members brought four floor actions. A floor action is discouraged at a Conference – it is outside of the normal “process” by which change is made within AA, and can be voted down immediately. There is a radical bent to a floor action, and for a body that requires 2/3 majorities to pass anything, the Conference process is nothing if not deliberative. But “I guess we’re alcoholics,” notes the welcomingly wry delegate, and members pushed. And so, after a “spirited” debate, the floor actions passed, and on May 1, 2020, Alcoholics Anonymous formally voted to make the Preamble inclusive of non-binary recovering alcoholics. It was announced in Grapevine in 2021, and was introduced at AA groups throughout the summer and fall.

    I wanted to find out just how spirited the conference debate was. The voting debates at the General Service Conference are not public, even to other AA members. While writing this article, I reached out to six area delegates to hear their recollections of the Preamble debate and vote. Only one responded, and he declined to speak. I anticipated their hesitancy – one of the most religiously observed creeds of Alcoholics Anonymous as an organization is its refusal to engage in what it deems “politics.” This is so important that it is even part of the Preamble itself, which states, “AA…does not wish to engage in any controversy [and] neither endorses nor opposes any causes.” And so, AA takes no position on medication, health coverage, drug legalization, or any of the other myriad policy debates that directly touch on addiction.

    But this is a country that bans trans people from public restrooms, that mandates genital inspections for children to play sports. In that context, yes, making the Preamble queer-inclusive was “engaging in controversy,” and it is silly to pretend it isn’t. Certainly the opponents of the change, in private Facebook groups, attacked it in political terms. “Extraterrestrials are going to feel excluded now.” “More Cancel Culture, Politically Correct BULLSHIT.” One member’s post I saw bluntly stated that her group would refuse to read the new Preamble. And again and again, members expressed annoyance that AA would take up what they call an “outside issue.”

    The “outside issue” trope is an old one in the program, drawn from the language of the Tenth Tradition, which tells members that AA “has no opinion on outside issues,” and thus will “never be drawn into public controversy.” It is deeply connected to AA’s refusal to engage in “politics.” The justification here is that anything not explicitly related to sobriety can alienate addicts from the program, and thus keep them mired in active addiction. But there’s an equally salient point – by not engaging in the everyday realities of members’ lives, AA can seem distant, naïve, and unfeeling. Plus, as in the case of the Preamble change, the ban on outside issues can be weaponized by bigots.

    Addiction is inherently bound up in issues of class, race, sexuality, religion, and yes, gender – the exact “outside issues” that AA members are taught to check outside the meeting room doors. AA teachings discourage these discussions in any formal or public setting, and so, newcomers living in poverty are told that this is no barrier to a spiritual awakening, minorities are told to overcome their “victimhood,” and old timers – usually white men with decades sober – often spitefully attack any mention of drugs other than alcohol in meetings. Yes, even drug use is considered an “outside issue” by many AA members. As it has with the Preamble, the outside issues rule is vague enough to be targeted at any inter-group discussions some members don’t like.

    Try as I might, I could not get an AA representative to comment on the record for this story. I had a lengthy chat with a very nice employee at AA’s General Services Office who asked me to forward some questions and refused to be quoted. Those questions were not responded to. I wasn’t surprised – I’ve written about AA and politics in the past, and was castigated by some for even identifying myself as an AA member in public. There is an overarching fear of sunlight in AA that is at odds with our current cultural moment, where institutions both private and public are held accountable for their internal rules and processes.

    The Preamble’s change is a sign that the tide is turning in Alcoholics Anonymous. As older addicts are replaced by younger ones, the wall AA has built around its teachings weakens a little more. As one Facebook commenter put it: “Stop debating queer and trans members because we’ve been here and stayed sober even when we weren’t included, don’t get it twisted nothing any of ya’ll have to say will change my sobriety date.” Exactly.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Experience, Strength and Hope Awards Honor Leigh Steinberg and Courtney Friel

    In a single ceremony, the ESH Awards honored two prime examples of celebrities who wrote memoirs that capture their fraught journeys into recovery and long-term sobriety.

    After a year trapped like the rest of us in the worried doldrums of quarantines and isolation, the Experience, Strength and Hope (ESH) Awards returned with a double slam dunk on December 15, 2021. Held at the Skirball Cultural Center in Los Angeles, the recovery community’s number one annual rewards gathering and celebration played catch-up. In a single ceremony, Leonard Buschel and Ahbra Kaye honored two prime examples of celebrities who wrote memoirs that capture their fraught journeys into recovery and long-term sobriety.

    The Gratitude Dinner paid tribute to two brave and inspirational sober human beings. First, legendary sports agent Leigh Steinberg was celebrated as the 2020 Honoree for his revealing memoir, The Agent: My 40-Year Career Making Deals and Changing the Game. A powerful tale of tremendous success followed by a precipitous downfall, Steinberg’s redemption through the lens of sobriety happens within and without.

    Second, effervescent KTLA news anchor Courtney Friel was celebrated as the 2021 Honoree for her unflinching memoir, Tonight at 10: Kicking Booze and Breaking News. Friel’s story is told with humor and love that overcomes the downward spiral of desperation and fear. Together, both ESH Honorees are prime examples of surviving an addictive downfall and thriving well beyond. Wanting to use the darkest of their experiences to help others recover, they both walk a path of courage in telling their harrowing stories without blinking in the spirit of self-esteem.

    Experience, Strength and Hope Awards Honor Leigh Steinberg and Courtney Friel

    Once again, Leonard Buschel and Ahbra Kaye of Writers in Treatment came together to create an entertaining Gratitude Dinner of laughter and love. As the founder of the Reel Recovery Film Festival and Chasing the News, Leonard Buschel made a smart choice when he appointed Ahbra Kaye as Director of Operations and Outreach for the ESH Awards. Even amid fears of the Omicron variant and the rise of public gatherings, the entire evening went swimmingly well. Overall, both the Networking Reception and the Gratitude Dinner flowed with a positive attitude as attendees from the recovery community came together to celebrate these two luminaries.

    While speaking with Leigh Steinberg before the meeting, I was struck by his dedication to the path of recovery. When asked what the reward meant to him, Steinberg said, “For anyone out there still struggling with addiction, I hope that reading my book shows them that help is available. It is possible in one’s darkest hours to be resilient. We all truly have a chance to live a happier life.”

    Reflecting on his life, Steinberg explained the similarities between excellence in sports and goodness in life: “The key to sports and life is performance in adversity and our response to adversity. Adversity is a part of being alive. Indeed, life will knock us back at times. Life will have reverses. I have learned that having optimism and having faith in the light at the end of a dark tunnel is essential. I had an epiphany about how lucky I was in life…Thus, I had to come through and realize the best in recovery. I had to live up to my core values of loving my family and friends while doing my best to help others in need.”

    The 2021 Honoree was just as inspired. As she explained from the podium, “For fifteen years of my life, all I cared about was partying, drinking, cocaine, and pills. It’s a very boring life to keep doing that over and over again. The essence of recovery is a shift into the experience of freedom from that cycle.”

    Experience, Strength and Hope Awards Honor Leigh Steinberg and Courtney FrielCommenting on why she wrote the book, Friel smiled and said, “I wasn’t writing the book to be famous, make money, or be a bestseller. I wrote it to help people. The reward is when I get people who unexpectedly get in touch with me. More people than I ever imagined have told me how my message was instrumental in saving their lives. Not that I saved their lives, but they told me I helped open their eyes to the choice of being sober. Such a loving response is a gift that goes well beyond what I ever expected. It is what giving back is all about.”

    The ESH Awards also showcased a diverse and talented roster of performers, starting with singer and spoken word performer Blu Nyle, who performed two poems at the podium that reflected the creative legacy of her ancestors. After Leigh and Friel received their awards, eight-time Grammy Award winner Philip Lawrence sang a fun tribute song that paid amusing homage to the two honorees. Written just for this occasion, it showed how inspiration and recovery, music and sobriety mix so well.

    Finally, the night came to a resounding end with an inspired comedy set by Alonzo Bodden. Taking down everyone from anti-vaxxers to political extremists, Bodden set fire to the stage with his combustible words. In truth, I have not heard a room laughing so hard and having so much fun together for a very long time. It was a perfect way to end a wonderful night.

    Photographs by Kathy Hutchins

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Gloria Harrison: True Recovery Is the Healing of the Human Spirit

    Although Gloria experienced trauma, violence, and institutionalized oppression, she never gave up hope. Now, in recovery, she is a counselor and staunch recovery advocate. 

    True recovery is the healing of the human spirit.
    It is a profound recognition that we not only have the right to live
    but the right to be happy, to experience the joy of life.
    Recovery is possible if only you believe in your own self-worth.

    -Gloria Harrison

    Although the dream of achieving recovery from substance use disorders is difficult today for people outside of the Caucasian, straight, male normative bubble, there is no question that progress has been made. If you want to know how difficult it was to get help and compassionate support in the past, you just have to ask Gloria Harrison. Her story is a stark reminder of how far we have come and how far we still must go.

    As a young gay African American girl growing up in a Queens household overrun with drug abuse and childhood trauma, it is not surprising that she ended up becoming an addict who spent years homeless on the streets of New York. However, when you hear Gloria’s story, what is shocking is the brutality of the reactions she received when she reached out for help. At every turn, as a girl and a young woman, she was knocked down, put behind bars in prisons, and sent to terribly oppressive institutions.

    Gloria’s story is heartbreaking while also being an inspiration. Although she spent so much time downtrodden and beaten, she never gave up hope; her dream of recovery allowed her to transcend the bars of historical oppression.

    Today, as an active member of Voices of Community Activists & Leaders (VOCAL-NY), she fights to help people who experience what she suffered in the past. She is also a Certified Recovery Specialist in New York, and despite four of her twenty clients dying from drug overdoses during the COVID-19 pandemic, she continues to show up and give back, working with the Harlem United Harm Reduction Coalition and, as a Hepatitis C survivor, with Frosted (the Foundation for Research on Sexually Transmitted Diseases).

    Before delving into Gloria’s powerful and heartbreaking story, I must admit that it was not easy for me to decide to write this article. As a white Jewish male in long-term recovery, I was not sure that I was the proper person to recount her story for The Fix. Gloria’s passion and driving desire to have her story told, however, shifted my perspective.

    From my years in recovery, where I have worked a spiritual program, I know that sometimes when doors open for you, it is your role to walk through them with courage and faith.

    A Cold Childhood of Rejection and Confusion

    Like any child, Gloria dreamed of being born into the loving arms of a healthy family. However, in the 1950s in Queens, when you were born into a broken family where heavy responsibilities and constant loss embittered her mother, the arms were more than a little overwhelmed. The landscape of Gloria’s birth was cold and bleak.

    She does not believe that her family was self-destructive by nature. As she tells me, “We didn’t come into this world with intentions of trying to kill ourselves.” However, addiction and alcoholism plagued so many people living in the projects. It was the dark secret of their lives that was kept hidden and never discussed. Over many decades, more family members succumbed to the disease than survived. Although some managed to struggle onward, addiction became the tenor of the shadows that were their lives.

    Gloria’s mother had a temper and a judgmental streak. However, she was not an alcoholic or an addict. Gloria does remember the stories her mother told her of a difficult childhood. Here was a woman who overcame a terrifying case of polio as a teenager to become a singer. Despite these victories, her life became shrouded in the darkness of disappointment and despair.

    Gloria Harrison: True Recovery Is the Healing of the Human Spirit

    In 1963, as a pre-teen, Gloria dreamed of going to the March on Washington with Martin Luther King, Jr., and the leaders of the Civil Rights Movement. Her mother even bought her a red beanie like the militant tam worn by the Black Panthers. Proudly wearing this sign of her awakening, Gloria went from house to house in Astoria, Queens, asking for donations to help her get to Washington, D.C. for the march. She raised $25 in change and proudly brought it home to show her mother.

    Excited, she did not realize it was the beginning of a long line of slaps in the face. Her mother refused to let her little girl go on her own to such an event. She was protective of her child. However, Gloria’s mom promised to open a bank account for her and deposit the money. Gloria could use it when she got older for the next march or a future demonstration. Gloria never got to turn this dream into a reality because her life quickly went from bad to worse.

    At thirteen, Gloria found herself in a mish-mash of confusing feelings and responsibilities. She knew she liked girls more than boys from a very early age, not just as friends. Awakening to her true self, Gloria felt worried and overwhelmed. If she was gay, how would anyone in her life ever love her or accept her?

    The pressure of this realization demanded an escape, mainly after her mother started to suspect that something was off with her daughter. At one point, she accused her daughter of being a “dirty lesbo” and threw a kitchen knife at her. Gloria didn’t know what to do. She tried to run away but realized she had nowhere to go. The only easy escape she could find was the common escape in her family: Drugs seemed the only option left on the table.

    The High Price of Addiction = The Shattering of Family Life

    In the mid-sixties, Gloria had nowhere to turn as a young gay African American teen. There were no counselors in her rundown public high school, and the usual suspects overwhelmed the teachers. Although the hippies were fighting the war in Vietnam on television, they did not reach out to troubled kids in the projects. Heck, most of them never left Manhattan, except for a day at the Brooklyn Zoo or Prospect Park. The Stonewall Riots of 1969 were far away, and Gay Rights was not part of almost anyone’s lexicon. Gloria had no options.

    What she did have was an aunt that shot heroin in her house with her drug-dealing boyfriend. She remembers when she first saw a bag of heroin, and she believed her cousin who told her the white powder was sugar. Sugar was expensive, and her mom seldom gave it to her brothers and sisters. Why was it in the living room in a little baggie?

    Later, she saw the white powder surrounded by used needles and cotton balls, and bloody rags. She quickly learned the truth, and she loved what the drug did to her aunt and the others. It was like it took all their cares away and made them super happy. Given such a recognition, Gloria’s initial interest sunk into a deeper fascination.

    At 14, she started shooting heroin with her aunt, and that first hit was like utter magic. It enveloped her in a warm bubble where nothing mattered, and everything was fine. Within weeks, Gloria was hanging out in shooting galleries with a devil may care attitude. As she told me, “I have always been a loner even when I was using drugs, and I always walked alone. I never associated with people who used drugs, except to get more for myself.”

    Consequences of the Escape = Institutions, Jails, and Homelessness

    Realizing that her daughter was doing drugs, Gloria’s mother decided to send her away. Gloria believes the drugs were a secondary cause. At her core, her mother could not understand Gloria’s sexuality. She hoped to find a program that would get her clean and turn her straight.

    It is essential to understand that nobody else in Gloria’s family was sent away to an institution for doing drugs. Nobody else’s addiction became a reason for institutionalization. Still, Gloria knows her mother loved her. After all, she has become her mother’s number one contact with life outside of her nursing home today.

    Also, Gloria sometimes wonders if the choice to send her away saved her life. Later, she still spent years homeless on the streets of Queens, Manhattan, the Bronx, and Brooklyn. Of the five boroughs of New York City, only Staten Island was spared her presence in the later depths of her addiction. However, being an addict as a teenager, the dangers are even more deadly.

    When her mother sent her away at fourteen, Gloria ended up in a string of the most hardcore institutions in the state of New York. She spent the first two years in the draconian cells of the Rockefeller Program. Referred to in a study in The Journal of Social History as “The Attila The Hun Law,” these ultra-punitive measures took freedom away from and punished even the youngest offenders. Gloria barely remembers the details of what happened.

    After two years in the Rockefeller Program, she was released and immediately relapsed. Quickly arrested, she was sent to Rikers Island long before her eighteenth birthday and put on Methadone. Although the year and a half at Rikers Island was bad, it was nothing compared to Albany, where they placed her in isolation for two months. The only time she saw another human face was when she was given her Methadone in the morning. During mealtimes, she was fed through a slot in her cell.

    Gloria says she went close to going insane. She cannot recall all the details of what happened next, but she does know that she spent an additional two in Raybrook. A state hospital built to house tuberculosis patients; it closed its doors in the early 1960s. In 1971, the state opened this dank facility as a “drug addiction treatment facility” for female inmates. Gloria does remember getting lots of Methadone, but she does not recall even a day of treatment.

    Losing Hope and Sinking into Homeless Drug Addiction in the Big Apple

    After Raybrook, she ended up in the Bedford Hills prison for a couple of years. By now, she was in her twenties, and her addiction kept her separate from her family. Gloria had lost hope of a reconciliation that would only came many years later.

    When she was released from Bedford Hills in 1982, nobody paid attention to her anymore. She became one more invisible homeless drug addict on the streets of the Big Apple. Being gay did not matter; being black did not matter, even being a woman did not matter; what mattered was that she was strung out with no money and no help and nothing to spare.

    Although she found a woman to love, and they protected each other when not scrambling to get high, she felt she had nothing. She bounced around from park bench to homeless shelter to street corners for ten years. There was trauma and violence, and extreme abuse. Although Gloria acknowledges that it happened, she will not talk about it.

    Later, after they found the path of recovery, her partner relapsed after being together for fifteen years. She went back to using, and Gloria stayed sober. It happens all the time. The question is, how did Gloria get sober in the first place?

    Embracing Education Led to Freedom from Addiction and Homelessness

    In the early 1990s, after a decade addicted on the streets, Gloria had had enough. Through the NEW (Non-traditional Employment for Women) Program in NYC, she discovered a way out. For the first time, it felt like people believed in her. Supported by the program, she took on a joint apprenticeship at the New York District College for Carpenters. Ever since she was a child, Gloria had been good with her hands.

    In the program, Gloria thrived, learning welding, sheet rocking, floor tiling, carpentry, and window installation. Later, she is proud to say that she helped repair some historical churches in Manhattan while also being part of a crew that built a skyscraper on Roosevelt Island and revamped La Guardia Airport. For a long time, work was the heart of this woman’s salvation.

    With a smile, Gloria says, “I loved that work. Those days were very exciting, and I realized that I could succeed in life at a higher level despite having a drug problem and once being a drug addict. Oh, how I wish I was out there now, working hard. There’s nothing better than tearing down old buildings and putting up something new.”

    Beyond dedicating herself to work, Gloria also focused on her recovery. She also managed to reconnect with her mother. Addiction was still commonplace in the projects, and too many family members had succumbed to the disease. She could not return to that world. Instead, Gloria chose to focus on her recovery, finding meaning in 12-Step meetings and a new family.

    Talking about her recovery without violating the traditions of the program, Gloria explains, “I didn’t want to take any chances, so I made sure I had two sponsors. Before making a choice, I studied each one. I saw how they carried themselves in the meetings and the people they chose to spend time with. I made sure they were walking the walk so that I could learn from them. Since I was very particular, I didn’t take chances. I knew the stakes were high. Thus, I often stayed to myself, keeping the focus on my recovery.”

    From Forging a Life to Embracing a Path of Recovery 24/7

    As she got older and the decades passed, Gloria embraced a 24/7 path of recovery. No longer able to do hard physical labor, she became a drug counselor. In that role, she advocates for harm reduction, needle exchange, prison reform, and decriminalization. Given her experience, she knew people would listen to her voice. Gloria did more than just get treatment after learning that she had caught Hepatitis C in the 1980s when she was sharing needles. She got certified in HCV and HIV counseling, helping others to learn how to help themselves.

    Today, Gloria Harrison is very active with VOCAL-NY. As highlighted on the organization’s website, “Since 1999, VOCAL-NY has been building power to end AIDS, the drug war, mass incarceration & homelessness.” Working hard for causes she believes in, Gloria constantly sends out petitions and pamphlets, educating people about how to vote against the stigma against addicts, injustices in the homeless population, and the horror of mass incarceration. One day at a time, she hopes to help change the country for the better.

    However, Gloria also knows that the path to recovery is easier today for facing all the “absurd barriers” that she faced as a young girl. Back in the day, being a woman and being gay, and being black were all barriers to recovery. Today, the tenor of the recovery industry has changed as the tenor of the country slowly changes as well. Every night, Gloria Harrison pictures young girls in trouble today like herself way back when. She prays for these troubled souls, hoping their path to recovery and healing will be easier than she experienced.

    A Final Word from Gloria

    (When Gloria communicates via text, she wants to make sure she is heard.)

    GOOD MORNING, FRIEND. I HOPE YOU ARE WELL-RESTED. I AM GRATEFUL. I LOVE THE STORY.

    I NEED TO MAKE SOMETHING CLEAR. MY MOTHER HAD A MENTAL AND PHYSICAL ILLNESS. SHE HAD POLIO AT THE AGE OF FOURTEEN BUT THAT DIDN’T STOP HER. SHE WENT THROUGH SO MUCH, AND I LOVE THE GROUND SHE WALKS ON. I BELIEVE THAT SHE WAS ASHAMED OF MY LIFESTYLE, BUT, AT THE SAME TIME, SHE LOVED ME. SHE GAVE ME HER STRENGTH & DETERMINATION. SHE GAVE ME HER NAME. SHE RAISED HER LIFE UP OVER HER DISABILITIES. SHE BECAME A STAR IN THE SKY FOR ALL AROUND HER.

    BEING THAT MY MOTHER WASN’T EDUCATED OR FINISHED SCHOOL, SHE DIDN’T KNOW ABOUT THE ROCKEFELLER PROGRAM. SHE ONLY WANTED TO SAVE HER TRUSTED SERVANT AND RESCUE HER BELOVED CHILD. SHE NEEDS ME NOW AND I AM ABLE TO HELP BECAUSE I WAS ABLE TO TURN MY LIFE AROUND COMPLETELY. SHE TRUSTS ME TODAY TO WATCH OVER HER WELLBEING, AND I FEEL BLESSED TO BE HER BELOVED CHILD AND TRUSTED SERVANT AGAIN. AS YOU HAVE MENTIONED TO ME, THE PATH OF RECOVERY IS THE PATH OF REDEMPTION.

    Postscript: A big thank from both Gloria and John to Ahbra Schiff for making this happen.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Everything Harder Than Everyone Else

    “Part of ultrarunning is a desire to be different. And for the drug addict, too, there is a deep need to separate ourselves from the crowd.”

    Where does hedonism end and endurance begin? That was the question that rose to the surface of the excitingly murky book I was writing, Everything Harder Than Everyone Else. A follow-up to my addiction memoir, Woman of Substances, this new book looked at some of the key drivers of addictive behavior—impulsivity, agitation, a death wish desire to drive the body into the ground—and the ways in which some people channeled them into extreme pursuits.

    I interviewed a bare-knuckle boxer, a deathmatch wrestler, a flesh-hook suspension artist, a porn star-turned-MMA fighter, and more; all of them what I came to term “natural-born leg-jigglers.” Some copped to having been diagnosed with ADHD, and many had a history of trauma, but I wasn’t interested in pathologizing people. I wanted to celebrate the extreme measures they’d gone to, to quiet what ultra-runner Charlie Engle called “squirrels in the brain.”

    Personally, I have a strong aversion to running. With combat sports—my preferred punishment—you smash through stray thoughts before they have time to take root. With running, there’s no escaping the infernal looping of your mind. Your circular breathing becomes a backing track for your horrible mantras, whether they are as blandly tedious as, you could stop, you could stop. you could stop, or something more castigating. No wonder runners’ bodies look like anxiety made flesh. No wonder their faces have the jittery eyes of whippets.

    So when Charlie, whose running feats have been made him an outlier in the sport, told me, “I myself don’t like it as much as you might think,” I was pretty intrigued.

    When we spoke for the book, Charlie was bustling around his kitchen in Raleigh, North Carolina, reheating his coffee. It’s a fair guess to say he’s the sort of guy who’d have to reheat his coffee a lot.

    As the story goes, he was eleven years old when he swung himself into a boxcar on a moving freight train, to experience escapism. So began a life of running that no destination could ever satisfy.

    Everything Harder Than Everyone Else

    Charlie, who’s now fifty-nine, said something about validation early in our conversation that I wound up repeating to everyone I interviewed after him, to watch them nod in recognition. We’d been talking about his crack years, before he pledged his life to endurance races—the six-day benders in which he’d wind up in strange motel rooms with well-appointed women from bad neighborhoods, and smoke until he came to with his wallet missing.

    “Part of ultrarunning is a desire to be different,” he told me. “And for the drug addict, too, there is a deep need to separate ourselves from the crowd. Street people would tell me, ‘You could smoke more crack than anybody I’ve ever seen,’ and there was a weird, ‘Yeah, that’s right!’ There’s still a part of me that wants to be validated through doing things that other people can’t.”

    Charlie has completed some of the world’s most inhospitable races. At 56, he ran 27 hours straight to celebrate his 27 years of sobriety. If his biggest fear is being “average, at best,” then he’s moving mountains to avoid it.

    It helps that he’s goal-oriented in the extreme. In fact, you might call him a high achiever. Even in his drug-bingeing years, which culminated in his car being shot at by dealers, Charlie was the top salesman at the fitness club where he worked.

    When he began using drugs—before he’d even hit his teens—they distracted him from his antsiness. He’s noticed a similar restlessness in endurance athletes that comes from a fear of missing out. If there’s a race he doesn’t take part in, he tortures himself that it was surely the best ever. He took control of this fear by starting to plan his own expeditions, which couldn’t be topped.

    “I need the physical release of running and the burning off of extra fuel,” he said. “I am that guy with a ball for every space on the roulette wheel. When I start running, all the balls are bouncing and making that chaotic clattering noise. Three or four miles into the run, they all find their slot.”

    Even before he quit drugs, Charlie ran. He ran to prove to himself he could. He ran to shake off the day. He ran as a punishment of sorts. He craved depletion. “Running was a convenient and reliable way to purge. I felt badly about my behavior, even if very often my behavior didn’t technically hurt anybody else.”

    A common hypothesis is that former drug users who hurl themselves into sport are trading one addiction for another. Maybe so—both pursuits activate the same reward pathways, and when a person gives up one dopaminergic behavior, such as taking drugs, they are likely to seek stimulation elsewhere. In the clinical field, it’s known as cross-addiction.

    Some people in my book with histories of addiction wound up doing combat sports or bodybuilding, but it’s long-distance running that seems to be the most prevalent lifestyle swap. High-wire memoirs about this switch include Charlie’s Running Man; Mishka Shubaly’s The Long Run; Rich Roll’s Finding Ultra; Catra Corbett’s Reborn on the Run; and Caleb Daniloff’s Running Ransom Road.

    Perhaps it’s the singularity of the experience: the solitary pursuit of a goal, the intoxicating feeling of being an outlier, the meditative quality of the rhythmic movement, the adrenaline rush of triumph; and on the flipside, the self-flagellation that might last as long as a three-day bender. The long-term effects of running can shorten the lifespan, and there have been fatalities mid-race, but they’re tempered by the “runner’s high.” As well as endorphins and serotonin, there’s a boost in anandamide, an endocannabinoid named for the Sanskrit word ananda, meaning “bliss.”

    Another commonality in endurance racing is hallucinating. This, combined with runners under stress being forced to drill down to the very essence of self, reminds me of the ego death that psychedelic pilgrims pursue, in order that the shell of our constructed identity might fall away.

    For Charlie, part of the attraction is the pursuit of novelty and the chasing of firsts, even though he knows by now that the intensity of that initial high can never be replicated. That explains why he takes such pleasure in the planning of his expeditions. “The absolute best I ever felt in relation to drugs was actually the acquisition of the drug … the idea of what it can be,” he told me. “Once the binge starts, it’s all downhill from there. In a way, running is the same because there’s this weird idea that you’re going to enter a hundred-miler and this time it’s not gonna hurt so much…”

    To run an ultra takes a real dedication to suffering. Races have names such as Triple Brutal Extreme Triathlon and Hurt 100. In his book The Rise of the Ultra Runners, Adharanand Finn writes about the hellscapes in race marketing materials that appear irresistible to this breed. “The runners look more like survivors of some near-apocalyptic disaster than sportsmen and women,” he wrote. “It is telling that these are the images they choose to advertise the race. People want to experience this despair, they want to get this close to their own self-destruction.”

    I think about a transcontinental US odyssey that Charlie planned, in which he would run 18 hours a day for six weeks. At one point, as he was icing his ankle and beating himself up for losing sensation in his toes, one of the film crew asked him, “Do you consider yourself a compassionate person?”

    Charlie looked up. “Yeah. I try to be.”

    “Do you feel any compassion at all for yourself?”

    Perhaps the psychology of ultrarunners is uncomplicated: they simply prioritize the goal above the body. The meat cage is a mule to be driven, and is viewed dispassionately, whether that be for practical purposes, or from lack of self-regard, or a bit of both.

    “Balance is overrated,” Charlie assured—and that’s something he says when giving keynotes to alpha types. “Very few people who’ve actually accomplished anything big, like writing a book or running a marathon or whatever it is, have balance in their lives. If you’re not obsessed with it, then why are you doing it? I don’t even understand how someone can do it just a little bit, whatever it is.”

    When he first quit drugs, Charlie felt like taking a knife and surgically removing the addict, so strong was his rejection of that part of his identity. It took three years to figure out that the “addict self” had plenty to offer: tenacity, ingenuity, problem-solving, and stamina. Perfect for the all-or-nothing world of endurance.

    Excerpted from Everything Harder Than Everyone Else: Why Some of Us Push Ourselves to Extremes by Jenny Valentish. Available from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Bookshop.org.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Chapter 6: The Thrush’s Song

    Shauna Shepard, who works as a receptionist in the local health clinic, visited with me on my back porch. She shared why she drifted into substance abuse, and how she struggled to get — and remain — sober.

    After a man in my small Vermont town who had a heroin addiction committed suicide, I began asking questions about addiction. Numerous people shared their experiences with me — from medical workers to the local police to people in recovery. Shauna Shepard, who works as a receptionist in the local health clinic, visited with me on my back porch. She shared why she drifted into substance abuse, and how she struggled to get — and remain — sober.

    “Drugs,” Shauna finally said after a long silence, tapping her cigarette on the ashtray. “Drugs are really good. That’s the problem. When you’re using, it’s hard to imagine a life without them. For a long time, I didn’t know how to deal with my feelings any other way. It’s still hard for me to understand that getting high isn’t an option anymore.”

    I nodded; I knew all too well how using could be a carapace, a place to tuck in and hide, where you could pretend your life wasn’t unraveling.

    “You can go weeks, months, even years without using, and then you smell something or hear a certain song on the radio, or you see somebody, and — bam! — the cravings come right back. If you don’t keep your eye on that shit, it’ll get you.”

    “It? You mean cravings for drugs? Or your past?”

    “Both,” she said emphatically. “I mean, fuck. Emotions don’t go away. If you bury them, everything comes crashing out when someone asks you for a fucking pen, and they get the last six months of shit because they walked in at the wrong time.”

    I laughed. “So much shit can happen in six months.”

    She nodded, but she wasn’t smiling.

    I rubbed a fingertip around the edge of the saucer, staring at the ashes sprinkled over its center. “What’s it like for you to be sober?”

    “It’s harder. But it’s better. My job is good, and I want to keep it. I have money the day after I get paid. I’ve got my therapist and my doctor on speed dial. I have Vivitrol. But I still crave drugs. I don’t talk to anyone who uses. It’s easy for that shit to happen. You gotta be on your game.”

    “At least to me, you seem impressively aware of your game.”

    With one hand, she waved away my words. “I have terrible days, too. Just awful days. But if my mom can bury two kids and not have a drug issue, I should be able to do it. When my brother shot himself, his girlfriend was right there. She’s now married and has two kids. That’s just freaking amazing. If she can stay clean, then I should be able to stay sober, too.”

    “Can I reiterate my admiration again? So many people are just talk.”

    Shauna laughed. “Sometimes I downplay my trauma, but it made me who I am. I change my own oil, take out the garbage. I run the Weedwacker and stack firewood. I’ve repaired both mufflers on my car, just because I could.” Her jaw tightened. “But I don’t want to be taken advantage of.” She told me how one night, she left her house key in the outside lock. “When I woke up next morning and realized what I had done, I was so relieved to have survived. I told myself, See, you’re not going to fucking die.”

    “You’re afraid here? In small town Vermont?”

    “I always lock up at night. Always have, always will.” Cupping her hands around the lighter to shield the flame from the wind, she bent her head sideways and lit another cigarette.

    “I lock up, too. I have a restraining order against my ex.”

    She tapped her lighter on the table. “So you know.”

    “I do. I get it.”

    *

    As the dusk drifted in and the warm afternoon gave way to a crisp fall evening, our conversation wound down.

    Shauna continued, “I still feel like I have a long way to go. But I feel lucky. I mean, in my addiction I never had sex for money or drugs. I never had to pick out of the dumpster. My rock bottom wasn’t as low as others. I’m thankful for that.”

    I thought of my own gratitude for how well things had worked out for me, despite my drinking problem; I had my daughters and house, my work and my health.

    Our tabby cat Acer pushed his small pink nose against the window screen and meowed for his dinner. My daughter Gabriela usually fed him and his brother around this time.

    “It’s getting cold,” Shauna said, zipping up her jacket.

    “Just one more question. What advice would you give someone struggling with addiction?”

    Shauna stared up at the porch ceiling painted the pale blue of forget-me-not blossoms, a New England tradition. She paused for so long that I was about to thank her and cut off our talk when she looked back at me.

    “Recovery,” she offered, “is possible. That’s all.”

    “Oh . . .” I shivered. “It’s warm in the house. Come in, please. I’ll make tea.”

    She shook her head. “Thanks, but I should go. I’ve got to feed the dogs.” She glanced at Acer sitting on the windowsill. “Looks like your cat is hungry, too.”

    “Thank you again.”

    We walked to the edge of the driveway. Then, after an awkward pause, we stepped forward and embraced. She was so much taller than me that I barely reached her shoulders.

    When Shauna left, I gathered my two balls of yarn and my half-knit sweater and went inside the kitchen. I fed the cats who rubbed against my ankles, mewling with hunger. From the refrigerator, I pulled out the red enamel pan of leftover lentil and carrot soup I’d made earlier that week and set it on the stove to warm.

    Then I stepped out on the front steps to watch for my daughters to return home. Last summer, I had painted these steps dandelion yellow, a hardware store deal for a can of paint mistakenly mixed. Standing there, my bare feet pressed together, I wrapped my cardigan around my torso. Shauna and I had much more in common than locking doors at night. Why had I revealed nothing about my own struggle with addiction?

    *

    I wandered into the garden and snapped a few cucumbers from the prickly vines. Finally, I saw my daughters running on the other side of the cemetery, racing each other home, ponytails bobbing. As they rushed up the path, I unlatched the garden gate and held up the cucumbers.

    “Cukes. Yum. Did you put the soup on?” Molly asked, panting.

    “Ten minutes ago.” Together we walked up the steps. The girls untied their shoes on the back porch.

    “We saw the bald eagles by the reservoir again,” Gabriela said.

    “What luck. I wonder if they’re nesting there.”

    Molly opened the kitchen door, and the girls walked into our house. Before I headed in, too, I lined up my family’s shoes beneath the overhang. Through the glass door, I saw Molly cradling Acer against her chest, his hind paws in Gabriela’s hands as the two of them cooed over their beloved cat.

    Hidden in the thicket behind our house, the hermit thrush — a plain brown bird, small enough to fit in the palm of my hand — trilled its rippling melody, those unseen pearls of sound.

    In the center of the table where Shauna and I had sat that afternoon, the saucer was empty, save for crumbles of common garden dirt and a scattering of ashes. When I wasn’t looking, Shauna must have gathered her crushed cigarette butts. I grasped the saucer to dump the ashes and dirt over the railing then abruptly paused, wondering: If I had lived Shauna’s life, would I have had the strength to get sober? And if I had, would I have risked that sobriety for a stranger?

    In the kitchen, my daughters joked with each other, setting the table, the bowls and spoons clattering. The refrigerator opened and closed; the faucet ran. I stood in the dusk, my breath stirring that dusty ash.

    Excerpted from Unstitched: My Journey to Understand Opioid Addiction and How People and Communities Can Heal, available at Amazon and elsewhere.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Havana syndrome fits the pattern of psychosomatic illness – but that doesn’t mean the symptoms aren’t real

    Mass psychogenic illness is a condition whereby people in a group feel sick because they think they have been exposed to something dangerous – even though there has been no actual exposure.

    In early September 2021, a CIA agent was evacuated from Serbia in the latest case of what the world now knows as “Havana syndrome.”

    Like most people, I first heard about Havana syndrome in the summer of 2017. Cuba was allegedly attacking employees of the U.S. Embassy in Havana in their homes and hotel rooms using a mysterious weapon. The victims reported a variety of symptoms, including headaches, dizziness, hearing loss, fatigue, mental fog and difficulty concentrating after hearing an eerie sound.

    Over the next year and a half, many theories were put forward regarding the symptoms and how a weapon may have caused them. Despite the lack of hard evidence, many experts suggested that a weapon of some sort was causing the symptoms.

    I am an emeritus professor of neurology who studies the inner ear, and my clinical focus is on dizziness and hearing loss. When news of these events broke, I was baffled. But after reading descriptions of the patients’ symptoms and test results, I began to doubt that some mysterious weapon was the cause.

    I have seen patients with the same symptoms as the embassy employees on a regular basis in my Dizziness Clinic at the University of California, Los Angeles. Most have psychosomatic symptoms – meaning the symptoms are real but arise from stress or emotional causes, not external ones. With a little reassurance and some treatments to lessen their symptoms, they get better.

    The available data on Havana syndrome matches closely with mass psychogenic illness – more commonly known as mass hysteria. So what is really happening with so–called Havana syndrome?

    A mysterious illness

    In late December 2016, an otherwise healthy undercover agent in his 30s arrived at the clinic of the U.S. Embassy in Cuba complaining of headaches, difficulty hearing and acute pain in his ear. The symptoms themselves were not alarming, but the agent reported that they developed after he heard “a beam of sound” that “seemed to have been directed at his home”.

    As word of the presumed attack spread, other people in the embassy community reported similar experiences. A former CIA officer who was in Cuba at the time later noted that the first patient “was lobbying, if not coercing, people to report symptoms and to connect the dots.”

    Patients from the U.S. Embassy were first sent to ear, nose and throat doctors at the University of Miami and then to brain specialists in Philadelphia. Physicians examined the embassy patients using a range of tests to measure hearing, balance and cognition. They also took MRIs of the patients’ brains. In the 21 patients examined, 15 to 18 experienced sleep disturbances and headaches as well as cognitive, auditory, balance and visual dysfunction. Despite these symptoms, brain MRIs and hearing tests were normal.

    A flurry of articles appeared in the media, many accepting the notion of an attack.

    From Cuba, Havana syndrome began to spread around the globe to embassies in China, Russia, Germany and Austria, and even to the streets of Washington.

    The Associated Press released a recording of the sound in Cuba, and biologists identified it as the call of a species of Cuban cricket.

    A sonic or microwave weapon?

    Initially, many experts and some of the physicians suggested that some sort of sonic weapon was to blame. The Miami team’s study in 2018 reported that 19 patients had dizziness caused by damage to the inner ear from some type of sonic weapon.

    This hypothesis has for the most part been discredited due to flaws in the studies, the fact there is no evidence that any sonic weapon could selectively damage the brain and nothing else, and because biologists identified the sounds in recordings of the supposed weapon to be a Cuban species of cricket.

    Some people have also proposed an alternative idea: a microwave radiation weapon.

    This hypothesis gained credibility when in December 2020, the National Academy of Science released a report concluding that “pulsed radiofrequency energy” was a likely cause for symptoms in at least some of the patients.

    If someone is exposed to high energy microwaves, they may sometimes briefly hear sounds. There is no actual sound, but in what is called the Frey effect, neurons in a person’s ear or brain are directly stimulated by microwaves and the person may “hear” a noise. These effects, though, are nothing like the sounds the victims described, and the simple fact that the sounds were recorded by several victims eliminates microwaves as the source. While directed energy weapons do exist, none that I know of could explain the symptoms or sounds reported by the embassy patients.

    Despite all these stories and theories, there is a problem: No physician has found a medical cause for the symptoms. And after five years of extensive searching, no evidence of a weapon has been found.

    Havana syndrome fits the pattern of psychosomatic illness – but that doesn’t mean the symptoms aren’t real
    Mass psychogenic illness – more commonly known as mass hysteria – is a well-documented phenomenon throughout history, as seen in this painting of an outbreak of dancing mania in the Middle Ages. Pieter Brueghel the Younger/WikimediaCommons

    Mass psychogenic illness

    Mass psychogenic illness is a condition whereby people in a group feel sick because they think they have been exposed to something dangerous – even though there has been no actual exposure. For example, as telephones became widely available at the turn of the 20th century, numerous telephone operators became sick with concussion-like symptoms attributed to “acoustic shock.” But despite decades of reports, no research has ever confirmed the existence of acoustic shock.

    I believe it is much more likely that mass psychogenic illness – not an energy weapon – is behind Havana syndrome.

    Mass psychogenic illness typically begins in a stressful environment. Sometimes it starts when an individual with an unrelated illness believes something mysterious caused their symptoms. This person then spreads the idea to the people around them and even to other groups, and it is often amplified by overzealous health workers and the mass media. Well-documented cases of mass psychogenic illness – like the dancing plagues of the Middle Ages – have occurred for centuries and continue to occur on a regular basis around the world. The symptoms are real, the result of changes in brain connections and chemistry. They can also last for years.

    The story of Havana syndrome looks to me like a textbook case of mass psychogenic illness. It started from a single undercover agent in Cuba – a person in what I imagine is a very stressful situation. This person had real symptoms, but blamed them on something mysterious – the strange sound he heard. He then told his colleagues at the embassy, and the idea spread. With the help of the media and medical community, the idea solidified and spread around the world. It checks all the boxes.

    Interestingly, the December 2020 National Academy of Science report concluded that mass psychogenic illness was a reasonable explanation for the patients’ symptoms, particularly the chronic symptoms, but that it lacked “patient-level data” to make such a diagnosis.

    The Cuban government itself has been investigating the supposed attacks over the years as well. The most detailed report, released on Sept. 13, 2021, concludes that there is no evidence of directed energy weapons and says that psychological causes are the only ones that cannot be dismissed.

    While not as sensational as the idea of a new secret weapon, mass psychogenic illness has historical precedents and can explain the wide variety of symptoms, lack of brain or ear damage and the subsequent spread around the world.

    [Understand new developments in science, health and technology, each week.Subscribe to The Conversation’s science newsletter.]The Conversation

    Robert Baloh, Professor of Neurology, University of California, Los Angeles

    This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

  • Dear William: A Father's Memoir of Addiction, Recovery, Love, and Loss

    The last time David Magee saw his son alive, William told him to write their family’s story in the hopes of helping others. Days later, David found William dead from an accidental drug overdose.

    The officer standing in the doorway raised his arm when I stepped forward, blocking my entrance to my son’s apartment. I tried to peer over his blue-uniformed shoulder to gaze around the corner to where the body of my son sat on the couch. My precious William—I saw him take his first breaths at birth, and I’d cried as I looked down at him and pledged to keep him safe forever. Now, within a day of his final breath, I wanted to see him again.

    “Please,” I said to the officer.

    “Listen,” he said, and I dragged my eyes from straining to see William to the officer’s face. His brown eyes were stern but not unkind. “You don’t want to see this.”

    “I do,” I said. “It’s my son.”

    He glanced over his shoulder, then back at me. “Death isn’t pretty,” he said. “He’s bloated. His bowels turned loose. That’s what happens when people die and are left alone for a day or more.”

    I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t.

    “And there’s something else,” he said.

    “What?”

    “He’s still got a $20 bill rolled up in his hand used for whatever he was snorting.”

    I felt the pavement beneath my feet seem to tilt. I reached to steady myself on the splintered doorjamb one of the officers had forced open with a crowbar just minutes before.

    At his hip, the officer’s radio squawked. I knew the ambulance would be here soon. “Your son—we found him with his iPad in his lap. It looks like he was checking his email to see what time he was due at work in the morning.”

    Yes, William was proud of holding down that job at the Apple Store. He was trying to turn things around.

    “It’s typical, really,” the officer continued. “That’s how addicts are. Snorting a fix while hoping to do right and get to work the next day. It’s always about the moment.”

    This past year, William had been the chief trainer at the Apple Store, and he’d been talking again about heading to law school, the old dream seeming possible once more now that he was sober. He seemed to have put the troubles of the previous year, with his fits and starts in treatment, behind him. They’d kicked William out of one center in Colorado because he drank a bottle of cough syrup. Another center tossed him out because he and a fellow rehabber successfully schemed over two weeks to purchase one fentanyl pill each from someone in the community with a dental appointment. They swallowed their pills in secret, but glassy eyes ratted them out to other patients, who alerted counselors. When asked, William confessed, hoping the admission might move the counselors to give him a second chance. But they sent him packing back to Nashville, where his rehab treatment had begun. One counselor advised us to let William go homeless. “We’ll drop him off at the Salvation Army with his clothing and $10,” he said. “Often, that’s what it takes.”

    We knew that kind of tough-love, hit-rock-bottom stance might be right, but our parental training couldn’t stomach abandoning our son to sleep at the Salvation Army. Instead, my wife and I drove five hours from our home in Mississippi to Nashville to pick him up. He was fidgety but he hugged us firmly, looking into our eyes. We took him to dinner at Ruth’s Chris Steak House, and, Lord, it felt good to see his broad smile, our twenty-two-year-old son adoring us with warm, brown eyes. We told stories and laughed and smiled and swore the bites of rib eye drenched in hot butter were the best we’d ever had.

    The next morning, after deep sleep at a Hampton Inn under a thick white comforter with the air conditioner turned down so low William chuckled that he could see his breath, we found a substance treatment program willing to give him another chance.

    “This dance from one treatment center to another isn’t unusual,” a counselor explained at intake. “Parents drop their child off for a thirty-day treatment and assume it’s going to be thirty days. But that’s just the tip of the iceberg.” My wife and I exchanged a look; that’s exactly what we’d thought the first time we got William treatment. Thirty days and we’d have our boy home, safe and healthy.

    The counselor continued, “If opiates and benzos are involved, it often takes eight or nine thirty-day stays before they find the rhythm of sobriety and self-assuredness. The hard part for them is staying alive that long.”

    When we left William in Nashville for that first thirty-day treatment, weeks before Thanksgiving, we imagined we’d have him home for Christmas. In early December, we bought presents that we expected to share, sitting around the tree with our family of five blissfully together. But William needed more treatment. Thanksgiving turned into Christmas, and Christmas turned into the new year, and the new year turned into spring. We missed William so much, but finally, the treatment was beginning to stick. We saw progress in William’s eyes during rare visits, the hollowness carved by substances slowly refilling with remnants of his soul.

    Now, when parents ask me how they can tell if their kid is on drugs, I say, “Look into their eyes.” Eyes reveal the truth, and eyes cannot hide lies and pain. In William’s eyes, we saw hopeful glimmers that matched improved posture and demeanor. Progress, however, can become the addict’s worst enemy since renewed strength signals opportunity. Addicts go to rehab because substances knocked them down, yet once they are out of treatment and are feeling more confident, they forget just how quickly they can be knocked down again.

    Yet we, too, were feeling confident about William’s prospects. He’d always been scrappy, a hard worker. In college, he ran the four-hundred-meter hurdles in the Southeastern Conference Outdoor Track and Field Championships, despite the fact that he had short legs for a college hurdler. He overcame that by being determined, confident, and quick. And all the time he was competing at the Division 1 level, he was an A student in the Honors College. He’d set his mind on law school and people had told us that with his resumé he could get into most any law school in America.

    During that year after his graduation, in 2012, when William was in and out of treatment, I decided to quit my job as a newspaper editor to spend more time with him. I wanted to keep an eye on his progress and be there if he started to slide, so I visited him in Nashville every other week. He worried I was throwing my career away, but I would throw away anything to help him. Also, I had a plan. Instead of the daily grind of editing a newspaper, I thought quitting might provide the opportunity to return to a book project I’d abandoned. The Greatest Fight Ever was my take on the John L. Sullivan versus Jake Kilrain bare-knuckle boxing match of the late 1800s. The Sullivan-Kilrain fight was an epic heavyweight championship held in South Mississippi, lasting seventy-five rounds in sultry July heat, part showmanship theater and part brute brawl. I had researched the story for years and was once excited about explaining its role in the playing—and hyping—of sports today. I enjoyed sharing anecdotes over the years, like how the mayor of New Orleans served as a referee. Or that the notorious Midwestern gunslinger Bat Masterson took bets ringside on the fight, which set the standard for sports’ bigger-than-life culture that continues today.

    I had written other books by then, including some that found commercial success, but looking back at them from a distance, I judged none to be as excellent and useful as they could have been. I wanted the Sullivan-Kilrain fight story to change that. But William noticed as we visited that my enthusiasm for the story had evaporated. I wasn’t spending time crafting the manuscript.

    “You need to finish your book,” William said that April when I visited him in Nashville. We were eating breakfast at a café known for pancakes, but I was devouring bacon and eggs as William wrestled with a waffle doused with jelly.

    “I’m trying,” I said between sips of coffee. “It’s easy to tell a story, but it’s more difficult to tell a good story. That’s what I’m working at.”

    “You are a good writer. You can do it if you get focused.”

    “It’s hard to immerse yourself in a championship boxing match from the 1800s when you and your family are in the fight of a lifetime,” I said.

    William looked at me over his jelly-slathered waffle. He knew I wasn’t just referring to his struggles. I was referring to my own as well. Two years earlier, I’d almost destroyed our family completely through a string of spectacularly bad decisions, and we, individually and collectively, were fragile.

    “William,” I said. “I’m worried about you. I’m worried about me. I’m worried about all of us.”

    We hadn’t talked so much about my own self-immolation. But now William turned to me. “I’m sorry if the mistakes I’ve made were what made it worse for you. I mean—” he looked off and took a breath. “For so long, I thought drugs were for fun, and I didn’t realize how deep I was in. And then it was too late. I needed them. I’m sorry for making it harder on you and Mom.”

    “No, William, don’t put that on yourself. I caused my own problems. And I want to apologize to you too. I’m sorry for when you struggled in college and I was so caught up in my own life or career that I wasn’t there when you needed me. I failed you.”

    We went on that way for a while, saying the things that had burdened us, the things we’d needed to say for a long time. That weekend was our best, most direct connection in years. I was glad to sit beside my son over coffee and a breakfast we could live without for conversation we’d been dying for, glad I’d quit a decent editing job, glad even to stop pretending I was writing a book that no longer held my interest.

    “Maybe there’s another book you should be writing, Dad,” he said.

    “About sports?”

    “About us.”

    I looked at his plate, the waffle barely eaten. I looked at his eyes, shining with encouragement.

    “Do you ever think maybe other people could learn something from hearing about our story? I mean, when we were growing up, no one would have looked at our family, this all-American family that pretty much lacked for nothing, and predict how bad we’d crash. But maybe hearing what happened to us could help people. Maybe that’s the story you should tell.”

    “Maybe we should tell it together,” I said after a bite.

    “I’m not ready yet,” he said. “But one day, we’ll do it.”

    “Yes,” I said, clutching his hand in mine. “One day, we’ll do it.”

    We said goodbye then and told each other we loved each other, and I walked to my car.

    “Dad,” William called out.

    “Yeah?” I turned over my shoulder.

    “Make sure you finish that book,” he said.

    I stopped. “What book? The Greatest Fight Ever?”

    He smiled and waved goodbye.

    I wiped tears away, then drove home.

    That was the last time I ever saw my firstborn child.

    Five sleeps later, William died. He didn’t plan on dying. But the early days of sobriety can be the loneliest days. And it’s never hard for an addict to find an excuse.
     

    Excerpted from Dear William: A Father’s Memoir of Addiction, Recovery, Love, and Loss by David Magee, available November 2, 2021 at Amazon and elsewhere.

    View the original article at thefix.com