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  • Post-Incarceration Syndrome: Adjusting to Reality After Spending 15 Years in Prison

    Post-Incarceration Syndrome: Adjusting to Reality After Spending 15 Years in Prison

    Life inside the penitentiary is extremely hard. The violence and deprivation warp your whole view; you see a total disregard for basic human life firsthand. But the after-effects can be even worse.

    The day you get out of prison, especially after serving almost two decades behind the walls of the most dangerous penitentiaries in the United States, you honestly believe that you’re free; the healing road from all the horrors endured throughout your stay in the belly of the beast is about to begin. But, as you step foot back into society — especially your government reintegration center — you quickly realize that a whole new level of institutional hell awaits.

    I was released July 31st, 2017 after serving 15 years behind the walls of four extremely violent federal penitentiaries. This sentence was incurred for a bank robbery I committed at a young age to feed my addiction to heroin. 

    Assaults, Riots, and “The Hole”

    The atrocities experienced and observed while inside are enough to break any man. My body is healed from the eight stab wounds I survived during a riot, and from the multiple assaults received not only from other inmates, but from the officers who were hired to oversee my “rehabilitation.” Physically my legs still work after “laying it down” for three years in administrative segregation (“the hole”). 

    But I’m still in pain as my brain tries to process the trauma of it all. 

    “You come to prison by yourself, and you leave prison by yourself,” says Ryan, a convict who just completed almost a decade of his life behind bars. These words of wisdom have been passed down for years from the old heads who have lived it to the young bucks who are just coming into an unforgiving system. But the fact that 95 percent of prisoners with multiple years in segregation come out suffering from some type of psychological disorder undermines the saying. PTSD, severe anxiety, and paranoia of law enforcement are just a few of the friends riding shotgun with you back into society.

    There isn’t really a class to prepare you for your release from incarceration. The Bureau of Prisons technically has “pre-release” programs, but these programs mostly consist of returning your linen, giving your DNA, and getting a physical to prove you’re healthy enough to walk out from under the gun towers that have been your babysitters for most of your life. Until the day you walk out of prison, psychologically and physically, it doesn’t seem like it’s really going to happen.

    When you walk out those gates, there’s so many things you want to do, places you’ve been dreaming about over the years of isolation; seeing your old house (or new house, for that matter, because you’re unlikely to return to the only place you knew before prison). You want to see your family, finally free after the years of phone calls and visits behind glass. You dream of walking through a park with your shoes off and getting to just…breathe. 

    Disbelief at Being Out of Prison

    After my release from Big Sandy Kentucky, I wanted to eat breakfast with my family. I wanted to see the fountain that welcomes you to downtown Pittsburgh, and I wanted to see my girlfriend for the first time in years, actually hold her in my arms and kiss her (something that will immediately send you to segregation while incarcerated).

    “My mother and cousin showed up at the prison when I was released. Luckily, the CO’s that released me let me ride with [my family] to the bus stop an hour away,” says Tim Tyler. Tim was granted clemency from president Obama after 26 years of incarceration.

    The bus ride from his prison in Jessup, Georgia to Las Vegas took over three days with multiple stops across the country. “When I got off at my first stop in Savannah, Georgia, Wes Bruer of CNN and NBC took me to the beach. I sat there and stared at the curve of the earth with the sand on my feet. I went swimming, and cried my eyes out. I was just in disbelief I made it out.”

    Tim was able to start healing in those few hours at the bus stop in Savannah. He got a chance to see there’s still beauty in this world. When you’re used to nothing but walls, gun towers, and extreme violence, something as simple as this is life changing. 

    The only problem was that Tim technically had broken the law as soon as he was released. The law states that an assigned inmate must drive you to the bus station. No one else is allowed to ride with you or take you anywhere once you’ve arrived.

    “The inmate was fighting with the COs that let me ride with my mother to the bus stop. He didn’t want to let them do it. I didn’t know what to do, I was just lucky I was well known in the prison and they all knew what was happening with me.” Most of us aren’t that lucky.

    Finally Free…Sort of

    The name of the halfway house that you’re heading to has been decided long before you leave prison. You’re aware of its location, the things you can and can’t have, and the amount of actual time that you’ll be spending in what is still considered Federal Bureau of Prisons (BOP) custody. Everything else is left for you to discover on your own. 

    A packet is issued the day you leave, or sometimes a few days ahead of your release. This file contains all the information about the life you’re about to embark upon in your new world.

    You receive a bus ticket, along with an itinerary which states the amount of stops and what time you’re expected to report to the halfway house that’s been assigned. If you’re lucky enough to have clothes sent and actually given to you, the unforgettable prison stench almost separates from your body. If you’re like me, released from administrative segregation, a fresh pair of state-issue skinny jeans, white t-shirt, and pair of leftover shoes are provided, and 50 dollars. This is the cash payment for the debt paid with your entire youth, and this will be the very first trip taken without the luxury of shackles and handcuffs for the better part of your life.

    Soul Murder

    Soul murder is a term that Dr. James Gilligan, professor of psychology and law at NYU, uses to describe long-term incarceration. This “destroying of someone’s personality, the sense of their own aliveness,” is a condition most of the 2.3 million people in prison will bring with them after their release as they attempt to reintegrate back into some semblance of a normal life. 

    But what all the previously incarcerated will find out is exactly how hard it will be to get those few hours towards your healing journey.

    “The day I got out of the penitentiary was like a dream,” Ryan said. “My family picked me up outside the prison in Virginia and I had three days to get back to Chicago for my probation. That was the best three days of my life after ten years in that hell hole.” Ryan had fulfilled his entire sentence and wasn’t going to a halfway house. He was no longer in the custody of the BOP.

    Unlike Ryan, the day I was released was more like a nightmare. The moment I was dropped off at the bus station in the middle of nowhere, I was greeted with the best and worst sight I could possibly see: my family.

    I was in sheer horror as they introduced themselves to the inmate driver who is 100 percent going to tell as soon as he gets back that your family was there at the station to meet you. Whether you get on the bus or not, you’re guilty. Just ask the formerly incarcerated rapper T.I. who was sent back to his prison after getting his own bus to meet him. 

    I gave my family hugs and bummed a cigarette from my father. Leaning back against the hood of my mother’s car, I lit up the most bittersweet cigarette of my life. I’d quit smoking for years on the inside but I needed something to simmer down the level of stress I felt at that exact moment. It was the first time I realized the obstacles that came with readjusting to civilization. 

    We went to the local IHOP where I sat down at a table for the first time in 15 years. Just looking at the menu and knowing I could order anything was completely mind bending. The feeling of having a real plate, real cup, real silverware after 15 years of sporks and plastic trays was insane. All the people around me, the fast movements — it became overwhelming. I kept scanning the room for trouble, all the while processing the fact that I was not going back to segregation after this, I wasn’t even going back to the penitentiary. This was my first “normal” life experience.

    While absorbing the whole life change around me, I’m also seeing a smartphone for the first time. I saw Facebook, YouTube, and texting for the first time, and truly saw how far life had gone ahead while I was buried deep inside the prison system.

    Instead of waiting for the bus in banjo country, which would then whisk me away to the ghetto of every major city between podunk Kentucky and the city that held so many beautifully heartbreaking memories, Pittsburgh PA, I rode with my family. Luckily, the inmate who drove me didn’t end up telling on me.

    Post-Incarcaration Syndrome

    Life inside the penitentiary is extremely hard. The violence and deprivation warp your whole view about having any hope in humanity. You see the total disregard for basic human life firsthand. The years spent literally staring at walls teach you to detach yourself from all the horrors, and you shut out “life on the street” as a survival mechanism. You dream of walking with your shoes off on the beach and listening to the ocean. You envision a meal that doesn’t include someone getting beaten to a pulp while shoveling down whatever garbage given that day. But no matter how difficult and degrading the 15 years was that I spent just trying to survive multiple warzones, the after-effects are the most lasting.

    Post-Incarceration Syndrome (PICS) is a mental condition that affects people who have recently been released from prison, and the longer someone is incarcerated, the worse it becomes. Institutionalized personality traits, social sensory deprivation syndrome, and reactive substance use disorders are just a few of the main symptoms of what a returning convict will suffer. Just riding a bus or subway can cause panic. Flashbacks of being herded across the country in chains then released into a new warzone with absolutely nothing race through your mind. The simple act of walking into a grocery store or shopping mall can be so overwhelming you immediately need to leave.

    I struggle greatly with the demons and horrors I experienced while incarcerated. I drink before going out in public to numb the hypervigilance that never leaves me. The fear of going back is crippling. Simple things like having a smart phone, contact with a convicted felon (which is basically everyone you know at this point in your life) on Facebook, or not making it on time for work can end your healing journey before it even begins.

    About 650,000 men and woman are released from incarceration each year with some form of PTSD. The U.S. represents 4.4 percent of the world’s population yet houses around 22 percent of the world’s prisoners, according to U.S. Bureau of Justice statistics. Nationwide, 45 percent of admissions to state prisons are the result of probation or parole violations at a cost of $9.3 billion each year. Close to a third of that, $2.8 billion, is spent reincarcerating people for technical violations.

    Those technical violations include offenses like going to the ocean for the first time in 26 years, or enjoying a family breakfast after almost two decades behind bars.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • How to Stay Sober Through a Parent's Illness

    How to Stay Sober Through a Parent's Illness

    I won’t lie, the urge to fix from the outside is constant. The helplessness is overwhelming, the grief indescribable.

    I think it was about a year a half ago when my mother became wheelchair-bound and was diagnosed with dementia. The two trips to visit her in Santa Fe were so stressful that my bestie, also a recovering addict, started vaping for the first time and she still hasn’t stopped. We had five days to clear out her apartment, find her a board and care, break her lease, put her stuff in storage, forward her mail, and much more. I cried most of that trip but it all got handled. 

    My life is different now. My mother can’t hear well and she’s confused. She can’t walk or use the computer anymore. People bathe her. She calls me multiple times a day about the same thing. On top of that, I was suddenly given power of attorney and appointed Social Security payee. I was in charge of all her bills, speaking to her nurse, speaking to her chaplain, and speaking to her social worker.

    Role Reversal

    If there’s one thing addicts don’t seek out, it’s responsibility. As an only child, I alone had to handle all of it. Sure I was sober, but mature? Hardly. 

    I recently had to sign a form to approve the use of Narcan should my mother overdose on her Oxycontin. When the nursing staff assistant tried to explain opiates and Narcan to me, I stopped her.

    “I’m …um…well-versed in Narcan. I’m an ex-junkie.”

    I heard her mutter an “Oh” followed by an uncomfortable silence.

    I’ve never had children for a sundry of reasons: my genes, my fertility, my financial situation, my shitty relationships. Suddenly I had a child and it was my mother. The role reversal was sudden and jarring and I recall rocking and crying and whimpering, “I don’t want this.” But it was all mine, like it or not.

    My relationship with my mother was always difficult. I was resentful for her physical absence during my childhood and her emotional absence always. But suddenly all that resentment melted away. Resentment is a luxury, I realized, and as her caretaker, there was no room for it anymore.

    Almost 50, with Zero Life Skills

    Having spent 30 years of my life mentally ill and struggling with addiction, having to “adult” suddenly felt premature and impossible. It was like coming out of a time warp. I was almost 50 but I had zero life skills: No idea how to pay taxes or when to rotate your tires or how to hold down a “real” job, let alone handle all my mother’s shit. Sure I had other life skills: making a crack bong out of a Mountain Dew bottle or how to hit a rolling vein or manipulating people into taking care of me. But these weren’t so helpful now.

    I was a grown woman but I still felt and honestly acted like a child most of the time. I still needed my mom but now she wasn’t available. I’d never felt like she “heard” me and now she really couldn’t hear me. I never felt she “understood” me and now she really couldn’t grasp what I was saying. I hate to use the “t” word but yeah it was triggering.

    We had grown closer during this sobriety but now, suddenly, she wasn’t somebody I could bring things to. She became somebody who brought things to me and they were all “emergency” needs: Afrin, salted nuts, Nars concealer. My mother had always been particular, snobby, and demanding. That didn’t change. I quickly accepted all of these things and began to lean much more heavily on my father.

    Gutted

    Then, about a week ago, my father was diagnosed with cancer. I was gutted. He and I are impossibly close; he is my mentor, my hero, my best friend.

    “You can’t go. You’re my person,” I wept pathetically into the phone. Everything good about me comes from him: my humor, my intelligence, my writing ability. And now he’s ill. Really ill. My first reaction, and I’m not proud of this at 6.5 years sober, was to kill myself or get loaded. My brain screamed “GET OUT.”

    We all have those things: if “this” happens, I’ll get loaded. My dad’s death was always that: my hold out, my exemption. When I told him that a few years ago he said, “Too fucking bad, Ames. It’s in my will if you get loaded, you get nothing.” Fuck.

    It’s all so selfish. Fuck his cancer, I’m hurting and I need to attend to that. Suddenly I was making it about me. I try not to cry on every phone call but am rarely successful. I feel weak and small. 

    I started to spiral, lumping all the bad on top of each other as we do: I’m single, I’m broke, I’m getting old. My parents are dying. But if I know one thing, it’s that a relapse would kill both of them faster than the diseases they were battling. It just isn’t an option.

    Still, every day I have the urge to escape my body, numb the pain, check out. Not because I don’t have a strong program or I’m not connected to my higher power or any of that bullshit, but because I’m an addict and we don’t like feelings and we get high to avoid them. Six and a half years of sobriety doesn’t negate a lifetime of drugs and suicide attempts as my top and most successful coping mechanisms.

    But if I’ve finally learned anything, it’s that it doesn’t matter what I feel like doing, it matters what I do. I can’t control my feelings or thoughts but I can control my actions.

    When I’m Not Crying, I’m Angry

    When I’m not crying, I’m angry. I’m so fucking angry. Fuck you, God. God never gives you more than you can handle?! Well this feels like more than I can handle. And fuck me. Fuck me for having been a complete wreck for most of my adult life.

    And then in between the tears and the rage, there’s numbness, where I feel nothing because it’s all just too much. I catch myself just staring into space, zoning out on the multitude of Pyrex dishes at Target. Not lost in thought, lost in nothingness. 

    I don’t think anything prepares you for the death of your parents. I don’t care how old you are or spiritually fit (insert eye roll). Sure, they’re in their 80’s; it’s bound to happen, it’s part of life, blah, blah, blah.

    But you still never think it will happen. And when it does, you are suddenly faced with an aloneness that is inconceivable, an unending void that will never be filled.

    I look back now at me mourning a break-up for over two years. What a fucking joke. You can get a new boyfriend. You can’t get a new mother or father. 

    How I’m Staying Clean

    I won’t lie, the urge to fix from the outside is constant. The helplessness is overwhelming, the grief indescribable. So how am I staying clean? Well, I started vaping again (judge away, fuckers). I’m talking to my sponsor every single day, I’m talking to my friends, I’m working with my sponsees. I’m crying. I’m trying to be kind to myself. I’m trying to be of service to my parents and process my grief elsewhere. I’m calling friends and asking for support. Sure I don’t always answer the phone, but don’t take it personally. Sometimes I’m just too shut down to talk. I sleep and nap, a lot. Depression or escape? Does it really matter? It beats the alternatives.

    When I asked other people in recovery how they made it through a parent’s illness and death, almost all of them said the same thing: They didn’t. They drank and used during the whole process to escape the pain and it was the biggest regret of their lives. Whether the parent had known or not was immaterial. They were haunted by the guilt they felt and if they could do it all over again, they’d stay sober, give their parent the gift of being completely present, and not run from the feelings. I can and will do that, as ungraceful as it might be. 

    I said to one of my sponsees: “You are about to witness a magic trick. You are about to watch your sponsor go through one of the most painful times ever and not get loaded.” I think I was telling myself as much as her.

    Have you had to deal with a parent’s illness or death in sobriety? How did you cope? Tell us in the comments.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • I Don’t Always Feel Better After a 12-Step Meeting

    I Don’t Always Feel Better After a 12-Step Meeting

    Why would someone continue to go to something that they don’t always like and don’t feel immediate relief from? I’m playing the long game.

    I can’t seem to figure it out, the sinking feeling in my gut, the feeling that I am too visible, too likely to be ogled and leered at by some man old enough to be my father. What the actual hell is this feeling in my gut? I call it a homesick feeling. Maybe it is something else entirely, but it makes me want to cloak myself in a protective layer, strip myself of sexuality and erase the sexualized parts of myself. I feel a deep shame and am overcome with a sorrowful lonesomeness as if a hole has cracked into existence and swallowed me whole. I feel stripped naked: Too visible. Too human. Too vulnerable.

    It happens almost every time, at almost every 12-step meeting. I want to disappear. There is a black hole in my gut, a homesick longing that begs me to give in, and I would, if I knew what it wanted. I fear it wants to swallow me whole.

    An Emptiness Inside Me

    I don’t always feel better after attending a recovery group meeting; sometimes at the end I feel worse than I did before I got there. I don’t share the experience of always feeling supported and comfortable that seems to echo through the rooms. At nearly every 12-step meeting, someone invariably says, “When I walk into the rooms, I feel immediately at ease and at home.” 

    Well, I don’t.

    There are times when the entire affair goes swimmingly. I’ll laugh and relate and feel at ease. I will connect to other people’s shares and fully articulate my own. It will all be very nice and fun. It will feel really good, on all fronts. Then, as soon as I leave, a pit in my stomach opens and I can feel myself falling in. Other times the aching lonesomeness begins as soon as I step inside the room.

    Dangerous Adaptability

    I survived my life because I could change according to outside circumstances. It has always felt dangerous to do anything other than adapt. For much of my life, it was dangerous.

    From my adaptations have sprung multiple versions of me. Other people are privy to the Light-Hearted Jokester and the Loud and In Charge Diplomat. Being honest when sharing about my experience with addiction and recovery means another part of myself might become visible. I have spent a lot of time with Depressed Me and revealing her is scary. The Quiet One fears she makes people uncomfortable with her silence. She’s acutely aware that she is not the Jokester and doesn’t want to be noticed and doesn’t want to slip into Depression in public.

    My defenses are up in spaces where I’m allowing unvetted people to know something real about my life. I begin to feel unworthy and not good enough: proof that my worst enemy is my own mind. My instinct tells me: Don’t reach out for a while. Don’t be early for the meeting tonight, go late to avoid chitchat and leave early. My brain fills with excuses to avoid discussions and socializing.

    Getting to know me means you may grow to understand who I am in all my contradictions, which will make it harder for me to adapt. I know that facilitating communication between all of myself is necessary for healing. But the truth is, sometimes it’s really difficult. It’s difficult to be seen, to be open. Yet each time I attend a meeting, that is exactly what I’m doing. I’m expressing myself with complete honesty. I am trusting the process, despite my fear and discomfort.

    I can no longer neglect the parts I’ve long tried to keep hidden. Together we must heal. Together is the only way we can heal.

    Playing the Long Game in Recovery

    Why would someone continue to go to something that they don’t always like and don’t feel immediate relief from? I’m playing the long game. Seeking immediate relief is what I did in active alcoholism. In recovery, I’m learning to resist that behavior. 

    Over time I have seen the subtle and dramatic improvements in my mental wellbeing and quality of life. I can see the changes in my life outside of those meetings. The people around me notice my rediscovered joy, my grounded perspective, my newly formed boundaries. I go to the meetings because it’s part of a treatment plan that works for me. It’s a commitment I made to myself. A commitment to heal from trauma, because I deserve to experience a better life than I once lived. 

    I feel inspired by the possibility that if I keep trying, the healing work will be able to fill the hole that is always there; the emptiness which has eternally been ebbing and flowing in strength, making me happy and fearful in turn. I’m aiming for a stable emotional baseline. 

    It’s not going to happen overnight, but it is happening over time. The inspiration itself comforts the sorrow.

    Progress Not Perfection

    When I first got sober, I was in a very dark place. I was trapped in my own head and despite having survived everything, I couldn’t feel safe. I could only feel the pain from the past. I thought I was alone. I believed I was too broken, too sick, too lost. Finding anyone else who could truly understand what I was going through seemed out of the question. I didn’t think I was unique or special in my pain, I just believed I was hopeless. 

    Then I found a therapist, a psychiatrist, and 12-step meetings. All of which worked in tandem to lead me from the darkness.

    Today I’m not feeling that despair or sorrow. I feel content more often than I feel abject depression. I used to cry every single day and now I laugh every day. I used to swing from one overwhelming emotion to another, with no control over where my mind was taking me.

    Climbing out is an ongoing effort, but what kept me down—one of many things—was that I expected myself to be just be “better.” I thought I had to be different than I was. I now accept that this is hard work, but the results keep me doing it. It isn’t supposed to always be easy. I have to continually work on dismantling the defensive walls that have become maladaptive in their formations. 

    So, I let myself be, I take breaks to enjoy the view that is coming into perspective as the stones of my fortifications are disassembled. Sometimes I get scared, and put back a stone that was particularly heavy, afraid to lose such a significant tool of protection. That’s okay, too. I try not to judge myself. It’s a journey of progress, not perfection.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Meth 2.0: How Marijuana Legalization Set the Stage for a Newer, Stronger Methamphetamine

    Meth 2.0: How Marijuana Legalization Set the Stage for a Newer, Stronger Methamphetamine

    When people think of methamphetamine, they think of the old-fashioned meth lab and they’re not aware of the dangerous, highly addictive meth that we’re dealing with now.

    What’s known as methamphetamine, crystal meth, or meth has always been prevalent in America’s drug underworld, we just don’t hear about it as much in the mainstream media due to the opioid crisis being front and center on the nightly news. But in the 1990s, meth was public enemy number one. The rise of the Internet made recipes readily available for anyone who wanted to cook it up and reporters had a field day covering the resulting explosions in homes and mobile labs. Domestic production was especially prevalent in Missouri, which came to be known as the meth capital of the United States.

    Very Pure and Relatively Cheap

    But the meth scene that everyone had grown accustomed to slowly declined over the last 20 years, with explosions and arrests in Missouri dropping to almost none. At the same time, Mexican-based methamphetamine imports increased dramatically. Today, almost 90% of the methamphetamine in the United States comes from Mexican super labs and is primarily manufactured by the cartels. The biggest differences between domestic and foreign-made meth are the potency level, price point, and accessibility.

    “It’s a lot like Breaking Bad,” Tim Lohmar, the St. Charles County Prosecuting Attorney, tells The Fix. “And if you’re familiar with that show, you know that the purity of the methamphetamine and the ease of the mass production is what made it so addictive and relatively cheap. These Mexican labs are making a very pure methamphetamine. It’s almost night and day different than your old-fashioned basement meth lab sort of thing. They can mass produce the meth and distribute it at a reduced price, which consequently has led to a rise in local consumption.”

    William Callahan, Special Agent-in-Charge of the DEA St. Louis Division, says that according to the 2018 National Drug Threat Assessment, “Methamphetamine sampled through the DEA profiling program is almost 97% pure, while prices remain low and stable.” There are still some of the small shake-and-bake style labs across the state, but the vast majority of the methamphetamines coming into Missouri are from south of the border.

    Psychosis and Overdoses on the Rise

    The new improved drug contributed to almost 30 deaths last year, a jump from 7 the year before. Overdoses are on the rise.

    “It’s a lot stronger, so we’re seeing a lot more psychosis, but we’re also seeing it being tainted with fentanyl, which is leading to more deaths.” Brandon Costerison, project manager of the National Council on Alcoholism and Drug Abuse (NCADA) in St. Louis, tells The Fix. “They’re making speedballs, like people used to do with cocaine and heroin in the ‘80s.”

    Lohmar thinks that most of the overdoses, especially ones that result in death, occur when people combine meth with something else like fentanyl or heroin. “A lot of the local suppliers will try to break down the methamphetamine, the pure methamphetamine, and put a filler in there,” he says. “And the person who’s ingesting it doesn’t even know what they’re ingesting, and that’s how we get a lot of these overdose situations.”

    With opioids killing people at an unprecedented rate, meth has been viewed as less risky and lower priority… Until recently.

    “Methamphetamine takes years, typically, to kill someone, whereas opioids can kill you the first time.” Costerison says. “When we’re looking at death tolls, opioids by far are leading, but we do see a lot of people dying either directly from methamphetamines or from complications associated with methamphetamine use.”

    Lohmar says that while we still have an opioid crisis, he thinks “it’s starting to plateau a little bit. I don’t know that the overdoses are decreasing, but I don’t think they’re increasing at the same rate they have been over the last handful of years. Seven, eight years ago, very few people knew about the opioid crisis, and nowadays everybody knows about it. Meanwhile, I think, when people think of methamphetamine, they think of the old-fashioned meth lab and they’re not aware of the dangerous, highly addictive meth that we’re dealing with now.”

    Despite the opioid epidemic taking center stage, “Meth has never flown under the radar at DEA.” Callahan tells The Fix. “Our agents work relentlessly to identify those involved in meth distribution domestically and internationally. Meth may not kill as many people; however continuous meth use does result in significant health issues.”

    Obstacles in Treating Methamphetamine Addiction

    Adults are using more meth than young people. “Folks tend to get into [meth] after the age of 18, though some do start using earlier,” Costerison says. “The biggest struggle with methamphetamine is that there’s not really any medications that help with the treatment. With opioids, we have methadone, Suboxone, Vivitrol. But when it comes to treating methamphetamine addiction there’s really no medication to help with the withdrawals and cravings.” The lack of medication-assisted treatment is a major obstacle for Missouri health officials who try to get people into long-term recovery.

    “There’s a lot of different things that we see when somebody starts withdrawing.” Costerison says. “At first, there’s the itchiness, irritability, and cravings. [Then] there’s depression, hallucinations, paranoia, and anxiety. After that [initial] crash, the cravings really kick up. But in the third stage the cravings start to subside. That can last 30 weeks or longer, depending on how much somebody’s been using.”

    The meth market has also been impacted by the legalization of marijuana, which has meant less income for the cartels. “The cartels were the major suppliers and producers of marijuana, historically, over the last 30-40 years,” Lohmar says. “And now that a lot of states have legalized marijuana, whether it’s recreational or medicinal, that’s cut into their market. That’s when they turned to heroin first, and now they’re turning to crystal methamphetamine. They’re always trying to stay one step ahead of the game.”

    The cartels can get the precursor ingredients for meth easily in Mexico and set up big super labs, allowing them to make a very high-potency, pure methamphetamine à la Walter White. With meth flooding Missouri, local law enforcement has ramped up their efforts to stop the flow. But since the distributors typically reside out of state, a lot of local efforts to climb the food chain end up turning into federal investigations.

    “Identifying meth suppliers has always been a top priority for the Drug Enforcement Administration.” Callahan tells The Fix. “We work closely with local and state law enforcement to identify violators and interdict drugs before they hit the street for retail sales. [We conduct] a thorough investigation aimed at dismantling the entire organization, including everyone from the kingpin to the money launderers, transporters, and dealers. The DEA also investigates the diversion of chemicals intended for the use of producing meth.”

    At the state level, “the goal is to try and find a small-time user and get them to supply information to move up the food chain and get the big players in the distribution networks,” Lohmar says. “We’ve got our undercover drug task force. We’ve got our highway interdiction team to intercept the traffickers coming through the state via the interstate highways. We’ve got a really good working relationship not just with the DEA, but with the U.S. Attorney’s office. There’s been a much bigger emphasis on meth, just because there’s a lot more out there.”

    Treating Addiction as a Health Issue, Not a Crime

    But as the drug war has proved unwinnable, authorities are starting to look at the problems here in Missouri as more of a health issue instead of a criminal one, at least in the lower echelons of the drug trade. As methamphetamine has moved out of the trailer parks and into the suburbs and inner cities, there has been a substantial increase of meth users entering treatment facilities. Lohmar says that locally, most of St. Charles County’s attention is spent dealing with the consumers rather than the distributors.

    “Our position now, really, across the board, but especially with somebody who’s an addict, is that we want to give them every opportunity to stay out of jail,” Lohmar says. “And sometimes they don’t take advantage of those opportunities, but the ones who do, I think, those are some good success stories. I think that’s a positive breakthrough.”

    Lohman says that the drug war era of harsh mandatory sentences is being replaced with a more humane view of drug addiction.

    “I’ve been in office for seven years and ever since I’ve been here and probably even a little bit before that, we’re looking at it more as an addiction issue as opposed to a criminal problem. Now, obviously, it’s a crime, but we also know that a lot of these folks who are addicted wouldn’t be committing crimes had it not been for their addictions.

    “We’re trying to use things like the treatment courts as alternative sentences, or alternative programs,” he says. “We’re giving people the chance to complete the program, and if they do, in some cases their charges are dismissed, or in other cases they don’t spend a day in jail, or things like that. So, we try to incentivize the treatments to give them a chance to improve their lives, and it’s been pretty successful.”

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Lying, Manipulating, and Sleeping Around: Sex Addiction and Recovery

    Lying, Manipulating, and Sleeping Around: Sex Addiction and Recovery

    I was fine labeling myself a hedonist, a kinkster, or a playboy, but to actually admit that I couldn’t control my destructive behavior took years, even decades.

    With the exception of certain harm reduction models, when it comes to addiction, there isn’t much controversy around what constitutes sobriety. If you went to rehab 10 years ago because you couldn’t stop drinking alcohol or injecting heroin, you probably have a pretty solid idea of what sobriety looks like in your life. But if you went to treatment because of sexual addiction or sexual compulsion issues, recovery might feel a little different. 

    Almost all of us want some form of sexual satisfaction. When, if ever, does a sex addict move forward with their life and feel comfortable with themselves sexually again? Is that part of you gone forever? 

    Completely Out of Control

    Years ago my life was completely out of control, all due to my sexual behavior. To say that I was sexually compulsive was an understatement. I knew my life was a disaster, but even so, it took me a long time to get help and to come to understand that I had a real problem. I was fine labeling myself a hedonist, a kinkster, or a playboy, but to actually admit that I couldn’t control my destructive behavior took years, even decades. I kept lying, manipulating, and sleeping around, all to give my brain enormous shots of dopamine, which of course was designed to keep me from noticing how miserable and anxious I was. 

    I was having numerous affairs, but they were never enough to satisfy me. My whole goal was to cheat on the person I was cheating on, then cheat on that person too. My entire life’s purpose was to either get laid or indulge my kinks, and I put a ton of effort into accomplishing this. I lost jobs and two marriages and went into financial ruin because of my sexual behavior, but to get off that ride of adrenaline and anxiety seemed impossible. I lied constantly and was deeply ashamed of who I truly was. 

    Soul Searching

    Finally things got so incredibly awful that I went to rehab, twice in fact, because the first time didn’t quite take. The first time, I went to an outpatient clinic in Los Angeles for two weeks, where we hung out at night and ate sushi. Another time I spent a month in a gritty inpatient facility in Philadelphia.

    At the time, it seemed impossible that I would change my behaviors, but with a lot of soul searching and some hard work, I did. It took a while. In fact, it took years. Going to rehab was just the beginning of my journey. I’d walked a long way into the woods and it took a long time to walk back out.

    Now, I consider myself to be doing well. I rarely think of myself in terms of being an addict or sexually compulsive anymore. But what is long-term recovery for a long-term sex addict? 

    Dr. Rob Weiss is an expert at Seeking Integrity, which offers treatment for men struggling with sex addiction/intimacy disorders or co-occurring sex addiction and chemical dependency. He told me, “In early recovery, when it comes to sex addicts or people with intimacy disorders, the treatment is all focused on what negative things have happened in the addict’s life and how to avoid them happening again. But at a certain point, even if the addict struggles for a bit, many sex addicts get to a point where what has happened in the past isn’t ever going to occur again in their lives.”

    That certainly has been my experience; I still struggle at times, I still have to watch myself and am still more than a little outside of the norm sexually. 

    But now, 12 or so years post-rehab, I am in a long-term relationship. We have sex, much of which indulges the same sort of thoughts that I used to be ashamed of. I’ve made amends with people I care about. I am even really good friends with one of my exes and hang out with her all the time. 

    Lying or Compartmentalizing

    So am I cured? Not hardly, but I’m totally honest about who I am with pretty much all the people in my life, including those I am romantically involved with. More importantly, I’m actually honest with myself, and I like who I am.

    The honesty piece matters, perhaps more than anything else. Dr. Weiss said, “At some point recovery isn’t about sobriety; it is about integrity. How honest you are in your relationships, how meaningful are your relationships, how connected are you to the people in your life? How much are you being completely honest? Are you doing anything that takes you out of integrity? Are you lying or compartmentalizing?”

    If you’re sexually compulsive or an addict, you’re going to have to find a whole new way to look at and understand sex and all the things that surround it. This new outlook must exclude compulsive behavior and all your old destructive patterns. It isn’t the sex itself that’s the problem; it’s how the addict misuses it and turns it into something dangerous and compulsive. 

    Triggers and Compulsions

    Your bottom line behavior is probably going to stay the same over time and there are certain things you used to do that you might need to stay away from forever. No matter who you are, you’ll have triggers and compulsions that you need to avoid. But not all sex addicts are created equal. Your triggers are going to be different from mine.

    One of the biggest tools used in treatment for sex addiction is something called the three circles. You draw three circles: an inner circle, a middle circle, and an outer circle. Your inner circle is where you list everything you do when you’re acting out in your addiction—things you simply cannot do. For some, it might be porn or phone sex, but for others, those might not be problem issues. The base issues in my inner circle were lying, manipulating women, or having affairs. Those behaviors stay constant over time. If I do them, I am not being honest with myself or other people in my life, which is dangerous for me.

    Your middle circle is filled with the actions and behaviors that might lead you to engaging in your inner circle issues. Then you have your outer circle; these are activities that help you have a productive and healthy life. These activities and behaviors are likely to change. Something that might have caused you to act out sexually ten years ago might not even be a blip on the radar today.

    Practicing Honesty and Love 

    In my experience, the most important mindset for combating sexual addiction and compulsivity is honesty, loving yourself, and being okay with who you are. Once you stabilize your life and start being honest and true with yourself and those around you, you’re most of the way home.

    Dr. Weiss agrees: “If I were working a program of sexual recovery and I was spending time with a prostitute, that would mean I wasn’t living with integrity. My goal is to not have anything in my life happen that I would be embarrassed about, or be ashamed about, and that the actions in my life are things I would be glad to tell anyone about and feel good about. No matter what those are.”

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • 5 Movies That Will Make You Glad to Be Sober

    5 Movies That Will Make You Glad to Be Sober

    If I’m watching a movie that makes me glad I’m sober, it’s better than meds. Here are 5 recent favorites, all based on true stories about alcohol, drugs, crime, and consequences.

    When one sees 150 movies per year, only a few of them stick. My favorites are intensely dramatic indies based on true tales. When documentaries or features include substance abuse? Slam dunk! They stay in my head. Addiction, true crime, and fame—yes! I went gaga over music biopics Rocketman and Bohemian Rhapsody.

    My friend calls me an excitement junkie. True dat, but there’s another element: If I’m watching a movie that makes me glad I’m sober, it’s better than meds. After hitting rock bottom, and dragging my brokenness into recovery, I had many questions, doubts, and fears. People were incredibly patient. 

    “Don’t drink, and go to meetings,” they said. I liked this slogan even better: “Don’t think, and go to movies.” So, grab an ice-cold lemonade, crank your air-conditioner to high, then kick back and stream these top five flicks.

    1. Trial by Fire

    Trial by Fire is based on an article by David Grann for The New Yorker in 2009 about an unlikely friendship between former Texas teacher Elizabeth Gilbert (Laura Dern) and death row inmate Cameron Todd Willingham (Jack O’Connell). Willingham (“Todd”) was found guilty of an arson-related triple homicide in 1992. He was 23 at the time and told everyone that he’d been asleep when the house burst into flames and he couldn’t save his two-year-old and infant twins.

    Gilbert (no relation to the author of Eat, Pray, Love) told The Fix: “In 1999, when I wrote the first letter to Todd, my marriage was over and my kids were out of the house…so I had extra time on my hands.”

    Opposed to capital punishment, she volunteered to become a pen-pal with a death row inmate. 

    “I was randomly given Todd’s name,” Gilbert said.

    Willingham was a poor, uneducated, unemployed auto mechanic who guzzled Jack Daniels and beat his wife. He was home with the kids while his wife was supporting the family by working in a bar. In court, the prosecutors repeatedly referred to his serpent tattoo and heavy-metal posters as “death images.” Willingham also had a criminal record—a DUI and a couple of petty thefts in his teens.

    When Gilbert received Willingham’s first letter, it felt surprising, “It was very forthright. He thanked me for writing and asked me to let the public know how he and others were treated in the penitentiary. Willingham wrote that after there’d been a prison break, the men were no longer allowed to have art supplies or any activities they’d had before.”

    After more correspondence and in-person visits, Gilbert grew to believe Willingham was innocent. As she researched the case, she uncovered glaring problems with the investigation and witness statements. When she found out about suppressed evidence that could have cleared him, she contacted everyone involved in the case. Some people spoke to her, others wouldn’t.

    Trial By Fire’s director Edward Zwick told The Fix, “It’s one thing to sit in your own room for 10 minutes and not do anything, or even 10 hours. But a prisoner does it for 10 years…. There’s withdrawal; sense deprivation. With Todd, it wasn’t just alcohol. He was doing drugs too, certainly smoking a lot of pot. He was self-medicating. Then, in the midst of everything taken away, there’s no buffer for the pain in the reality of the situation.” 

    2. Woodstock: Three Days That Defined a Generation

    In 2019, many of us are exhausted, wondering What horrible news will I read today? In the 1960s our nation was in a similar mental state—still reeling from the assassinations of President John F. Kennedy, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., and presidential hopeful Robert F. Kennedy. An alarming number of Americans didn’t come back from the Vietnam War. Hordes of disgusted citizens marched for civil rights, women’s equality, and to protest war. In 1967, Hair opened off-Broadway in New York, 100,000 hippies descended on Haight-Ashbury, and Jimi Hendrix blew everyone’s mind at the Monterey Pop Festival. 

    In August 1969, Woodstock, the iconic symbol of peace and love, almost didn’t happen. Event organizers estimated about 10,000 people showing up. Half a million came. It was three days of fantastic music but also dire conditions—rain storms, gobs of slippery mud, and not enough food or water. By the last day, only 200,000 remained. I’m guessing the other 300K have been kicking themselves ever since. 

    Jimi Hendrix, the headliner, played last. With his searing guitar and electric stage presence, he performed a medley of big hits and that unforgettable version of “The Star Spangled Banner.” A clip of it was included in Woodstock: Three Days That Defined a Generation. The doc had its world premiere at Tribeca Film Festival (TFF) and received raves. On August 6, PBS makes it available for streaming. 

    This hope-inspiring indie includes the voices of attendees. We asked one of them, Susie K. Kaufman, if she’d stayed until the last day for Jimi Hendrix.

    “Of course! I was there for the mu-uu-uu-sic.” Her emphasis made a two-syllable word sound like four. “My friends were all musicians too. We did not miss any of the performers. We were there to hear it all.”

    Kaufman and her friends drove up to the little New York town of Bethel from Morristown, New Jersey in a VW bus. 

    “We were all high but I was so intensely focused on the music. I’d been protesting all over the place. I was tired. I really needed a break. Woodstock was life-changing for me. I realized I didn’t need drugs anymore. We’d been with 500,000 people and experienced nothing but peace and kindness. It was exactly what I needed.”

    It’s a captivating documentary about what is possible despite overwhelming obstacles. Hopefully, America will get back to loving kindness. Love trumps hate.

    3. Charlie Says

    Fifty years ago, brainwashed and drugged up disciples killed for Charles Manson. Director Mary Harron (American Psycho) tells the story from a new angle, through the perspective of Leslie Van Houten (Hannah Murray). The next tier of central characters are killers Patricia Krenwinkel (Sosie Bacon) and Susan Atkins (Marianne Rendón). 

    Actor Murray (Game of Thrones) is superb as the vulnerable teen girl. She’s the awkward, shy type that predators often sniff out and seduce. Charlie Says doesn’t glorify anyone, although it is wrenching to watch three teen girls become so enamored with Manson that he’s able to warp their minds. Both Harron and Olivia Klaus, the director of the 2014 TFF doc about Krenwinkel, show what happened in a way that creates empathy for these manipulated girls, but neither film minimizes their heinous crimes. 

    “[T]he story is told from the women’s perspective—trying to understand why they were in the cult and why they did what they did,” Harron told The Fix.

    Today’s “Deep State” conspiracy theory is much the same as Manson’s “Helter Skelter.” When the madman listened to The Beatles’ White Album for the first time in November 1968, he heard imaginary coded messages about an impending race war. Manson believed that black people would defeat white people and it would be up to the Manson Family to save the world by taking over the black race and enslaving them. His disciples soaked in his ramblings and followed his directions to prepare for the apocalypse. He taught his cult to kill. 

    Watching Murray practice stabbing in one powerful scene is particularly disturbing; seeing three young women confined to an isolated cellblock in a California penitentiary and still devoted to Manson is sickening. 

    Merritt Wever (Nurse Jackie) is compelling and believable as a compassionate grad student who sees the tragedy of lives ruined by a master manipulator. Determined to break Manson’s spell, she helps the women come back to the real world. It’s painful to watch them realize that they’d viciously killed innocent people because they’d believed Manson’s irrational preachings of hate and violence. 

    I couldn’t help thinking about the 20-year-old Neo-Nazi who drove his car through a crowd of peaceful protestors in Charlottesville. He just received life in prison plus 419 years. I wonder whose unhinged rantings he’d been listening to.

    4. Tough Guy: The Bob Probert Story

    After 17 years as the National Hockey League’s toughest enforcer, Bob Probert was in chronic pain. He’d been prescribed OxyContin, three pills per day, but took eight instead—two in the morning, two after lunch, two at dinner, and two at bedtime. He’d dip the pills in cola to dissolve the time-release coating, then chop up what was left in a line and snort it. For a couple of hours his back wouldn’t hurt, his hip flexor wouldn’t bother him, and he could walk without the feeling of knives jabbing at his knees.

    Probert was a celebrity player for the Detroit Red Wings and the Chicago Blackhawks, so much of his life was recorded. During his career, he was suspended twice, jailed for carrying cocaine across the border, and admitted to rehab 10 times. Finally, at age 45, his body gave out. He had a fatal heart attack in the summer of 2010. At the time he was finishing up a memoir about drugs, alcohol, police, customs officials, court appearances, and his battles on ice.

    During Tough Guy, you’ll hear Probert read a letter. Have a tissue nearby. 

    “Dear Disease,” he reads aloud, “You have taken away valuable time from my wonderful wife Dani and my four kids… my self-respect and dignity. You have turned me into someone that I am not.” 

    Bob’s widow Dani spoke to The Fix. She described a three-day intensive program at one of her husband’s rehabs.

    “I didn’t want to go,” she said. “I was like ‘This addiction is his problem.’ But I went and [learned] I had my own baggage.”

    She said she found help at Al-Anon meetings and women’s groups. Once she developed some tools, and focused on herself, she had an Aha! moment.

    “There’s alcoholism in my family. And I had trauma. My parents were young…. and divorced early. I was raised by everybody but my parents. I thought I was okay when I wasn’t. I had to learn not to be codependent. Our last years together were healthy. I focus on that.”

    5. Framing John DeLorean

    Part-documentary, part-reenactment, this one tells a story that “has everything” according to DeLorean’s troubled son Zachary. “It’s got cocaine, hot chicks, sports cars, bombed-out buildings, Margaret Thatcher, Ronald Reagan, FBI agents and hard-core drug dealers.”

    DeLorean was a flashy marketing wizard who branded himself as much as the sexy cars he designed. When the carmaker decided his image required a stronger chin, he simply bought one and had it implanted.

    Alec Baldwin plays John DeLorean—a man driven by the delusion of his own importance. It was entertaining, and paradoxical, listening to Baldwin discuss DeLorean’s ego while he was made up to look like the celebrated narcissist—including thick black eyebrows, gray hair, and a prosthetic chin.

    Tribeca Film Festival’s red carpet for the premier featured three DeLorean cars gliding up to curb. It was exciting to be so close to the futuristic car I recognized from the Back to the Future franchise. When the iconic wings were raised, the cast and crew struggled, trying to contort themselves into positions that allowed them to climb out of the impractical car.

    In his heyday, DeLorean was a symbol of the American dream. When GM had enough of his arrogance, they fired him. With a “screw you” he did something unheard of—he created his own car company. Framing John DeLorean is a juicy story of a desperate man who lied to and took advantage of his friends, family, investors, collaborators, and employees. Then he got arrested for a $24 million cocaine deal.
     

    Honorable Mention

    Extremely Wicked, Shockingly Evil and Vile

    Directed by Academy Award nominee Joe Berlinger, Extremely Wicked tells the story of the double-life led by the vicious serial killer and necrophile, Ted Bundy (Zac Efron). This is the first time the Bundy story is told from the perspective of his long-term girlfriend Liz Kendall (Lily Collins). Alcohol played a big role in both of their lives. Bundy was executed and Liz Kendall (aka Elizabeth Kloepfer) got sober. It’s a great cast: John Malkovich is a scene stealer. Also featured are Haley Joel Osment, Dylan Baker, and Brian Geraghty.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Staying Sober Through a Cancer Diagnosis and Treatment: My Story

    Staying Sober Through a Cancer Diagnosis and Treatment: My Story

    Two incredibly painful paths have made my life better: a design for living from the program, and a new reverence for life from cancer. Both brought me closer to my higher power.

    Clean Sheets, Healthy Food, and a Loving Relationship

    A little over nine years ago, I was working on my 3rd step when my sponsor asked me to share what it would look like if my life were restored to sanity. I said I would have fresh clean sheets, clean clothes, plenty of socks and underwear, food in the fridge, and a loving relationship. She said to me (and I remember this so clearly):

    “You can have all that if you want it and God wants that for you.” Okay, the last part of the sentence is less clear, but it feels right — that God wants me to have clean sheets, clothes, healthy food, and a loving relationship. It seemed impossible to have any of that at the time, even being sober. I was a mess and still couldn’t shower regularly, wash my (small amount) of clothing consistently, and I was in no place to be in a relationship. I was barely six months sober and still detoxing. I certainly didn’t have any tools in place. 

    A Design for Living and a New Reverence for Life

    Today my life is so different and it happened just like the program says it will when people wish us a “long, slow recovery.” Slowly, as I worked the program, went to meetings, and did the steps, my life changed. The pain led me to surrender and then to a better life. And shockingly, as I make it to the other side of cancer and cancer treatment, I’m realizing that my life got better from cancer as well.

    Two incredibly painful paths have made my life better: a design for living from the program, and a new reverence for life from cancer. Both brought me closer to my higher power. 

    This morning I got up and did what I always do: I prayed and meditated, read from my books, and drank the coffee my sweet, patient partner makes for me every morning. I finished packing for my trip this weekend and took a shower, put on clean clothes, and got some healthy snacks together. I’m going to Iowa to be with my family for the funeral of my beautiful Aunt Jody, who passed away on Tuesday. She died from lung cancer after a short but courageous battle. She is at peace now, and I am grateful that I can be present and be of service to my family. 

    My aunt’s passing from cancer hit me hard because I just finished cancer treatment five months ago. It’s terrifying that cancer took someone’s life in my family so quickly. Jody was a beautiful, bright, passionate, loving woman. Hopefully I can help lighten the load on my family a little. My mother always appreciates me making her laugh. I can’t imagine the grief she’s feeling after losing her baby sister.

    Recovery, Comedy, and Cancer

    As a breast cancer survivor, I had the opportunity recently to speak at The Pink Agendas 2019 Health & Wellness Educational Symposium at The Sheen Center for Culture & Thought in New York City. The organizers asked me to share my story and it was super challenging because of… me. It should have been a simple request: share my story. They said they knew I was a comedian and that they wanted to close the show with me to help lighten the mood of the evening. The event was a panel of doctors, nutritionists, and survivors; a fundraiser to help aid research for a breast cancer.

    But this is what I heard: “Hi, we want you to share your story at our fundraiser, please sound like a doctor, and by the way the entire possibility of finding a cure for breast cancer lies on your shoulders. Please don’t hurt anyone’s feelings about their cancer and, also, you must look very, VERY professional and have a PowerPoint presentation as well. Good luck, we’re all counting on you.” I drove myself and my poor guy crazy getting ready for this. My sweet brother who has a PhD helped me to edit my speech but I could not memorize it. I memorize stuff all the time, but I couldn’t get this in my head. Finally, my sponsor said that she was pretty sure they just wanted me to speak from my heart. Then my partner told me to add some of my jokes that I use in my standup act about my cancer. 

    So, I just got up there and did that. It was a little messy, but I spoke from my heart, told my story, and expressed my gratitude for the treatment I received and for fundraisers like this that help support the research to find the treatments. It was emotional, my aunt had just died from cancer and a dear friend was going in for breast cancer surgery the next morning.

    I feel I have a responsibility as a cancer survivor now, to share my story and my hope. Similar to what we do in the program.

    My aunt was a woman of grace and dignity and I aim to be half the woman she was. She always told me how proud she was of me for being sober (she also told me I needed to do sit-ups before I could find a husband!). Two hours after I landed in Iowa for her funeral, I went to a meeting. It was an open GBLT meeting and one of my sisters came with me. And they did what AA does all over the world, met me and my sister with open arms. They read The Promises at the end and I realized that the promises really are coming true for me. 

    Surrender and Gratitude

    I have a beautiful life. I am alive, and I made it through something that I never thought I could: cancer and cancer treatment, and I stayed sober. I have the program and all the people in it to thank for that. I was held up, I was loved, I didn’t have to do it alone. I surrendered to alcoholism and was finally able to get sober. I surrendered to cancer and was lucky enough to make it out alive. Hopefully I can remember each day that it is only one day at a time and that each day is a new opportunity to live well. 

    If you had told me ten years ago that I would get sober and that my life would change in completely unexpected ways I wouldn’t have believed it. If you told me that I would also get cancer and after 14 months of treatment my life would improve two-fold I wouldn’t have believed you and I probably would have gotten drunk over it. 

    I don’t share or talk about the program or my sobriety very much because it makes people uncomfortable and I try to honor the AA traditions. However, I can talk about breast cancer publicly and help raise awareness about the importance of early detection through screenings. So, I now have these two pillars helping to hold up my life now: sobriety and cancer. Here at The Fix I can express how much I need this program to survive and I don’t know how I could have gotten through cancer without it.

    Someone said to me from a different fellowship that it was no surprise that God got me sober before I found out I had cancer. I am so profoundly grateful that he did. I have learned to trust my higher power on a much, much deeper level. Now, one day at a time I will continue to practice that 3rd step, put on clean socks (and maybe do some sit-ups).

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Losing Nanny: The Collateral Damage of Addiction

    Losing Nanny: The Collateral Damage of Addiction

    I can’t help but wonder what could’ve been if my mom’s addiction didn’t suck up and spit out every relationship and person it touched. 

    The few pictures I have of my nanny are stowed away in a cardboard box buried in the back of my bedroom closet. And while I don’t want to throw them away, I feel no urge to dig them out and display them in a faux-wood frame from Target that has the word family written in cursive ribbons around the edges. Although my nanny wasn’t the alcoholic, at least in my life, my relationship with her was just as fraught as the one I had with my mom, the alcoholic. And sadly, it was because of my mom’s addiction that my relationship with my nanny became what it did, and ultimately what it didn’t. 

    Nanny was born Katherine, but the adults called her Kitty. She was thin and never without a cigarette in hand. Her hair was charcoal black and full of thick bulbous curls. She lived on Indian Queen Lane in East Falls, Philadelphia on the first floor of a house she rented and shared with my pop-pop. I don’t know if they were ever legally married, but they had five children: my uncles Tim, Mike, and Larry, and my mom. Dot, the oldest, had a different father, which may be why she never became a drug addict or alcoholic like the rest of them. 

    Nanny and Pop-pop Drank Heavily and Fought Frequently

    According to my mother, when Nanny and Pop-pop were young, they drank heavily and fought frequently, and their public displays of destruction eventually caught the attention of social services. In one fell swoop, my uncles, my mom, and aunt Dot became orphans and were parceled out to stable families. But Nanny fought and got her kids back, which I assume is when she put down the drink for good. Pop-pop, although he retired his fists, died an alcoholic, his tattooed body hijacked by cancer. 

    After my parents divorced when I was four, my mom and I moved back to East Falls. Initially, Mom planned to move in with Nanny until she could afford to rent an apartment for us, but my pop-pop objected because he didn’t want us, “those two bitches,” eating all of his food. Instead, we moved in with my uncle Mike, who lived in an apartment under the Roosevelt Expressway on Ridge Avenue, an eight-minute walk from Nanny’s. I recall my mom and I having to sleep on the floor because Uncle Mike didn’t have furniture. Instead, he had a refrigerator full of Budweiser.

    Eventually, my mom found work waiting tables and Nanny took care of me during the day, walking me to Mifflin Preschool in the morning and picking me up in the afternoon. For lunch, she made ham, orange cheese, and potato chip sandwiches on white bread with mustard. And dessert was a handful of Oreo cookies from the frog-shaped cookie jar she kept on the kitchen table along with a cold, tall glass of full-fat milk. Apparently, Pop-pop was okay with me eating processed cheese and ham; as long as I didn’t dare go near his fried steak and potatoes.

    By the time my mom pulled together the money to rent an apartment, my nanny had assumed the role of default caretaker. My mom’s schedule became an endless stream of barely making it to work during the day, getting plastered at the bar at night, and hanging out with my alcoholic soon-to-be stepfather. Instead of my mom picking me up after lunch, I stayed with Nanny and watched her favorite soap opera, General Hospital, while she sucked backed cigarettes and ironed Pop-pop’s work pants. I sat at the kitchen table at night while she prepared dinner and then examined her every move as she scrubbed and dried each pot and plate. After my bath, I’d sit with her on the edge of the bed and watch M*A*S*H, a show about an American medical unit during the Korean War. 

    Damn It, Why Do I Have to Take Care of You?

    One night she brought in a bowl of black licorice balls and insisted I try one. Never a kid to turn down candy, I popped a ball in my mouth and quickly discovered how much I hated the taste of black licorice. 

    “How’s it?” Nanny asked without taking her eyes off the T.V.

    As saliva filled my mouth, the taste of licorice coated my tongue and slipped between every tooth, reaching the flesh of my cheeks and the back of my lips. Afraid of what would happen if I opened my mouth, I nodded my head yes and walked down the hall to the bathroom. In there, I leaned over the trashcan next to the toilet and spat the ball out. In an attempt to hide what I’d done, I grabbed a wad of toilet paper from the roll and threw it in over the black goo in the can. I don’t know why I did it, but when I got back to Nanny’s room, I sat on her bed, reached into the bowl, and popped another licorice ball in my mouth. I waited a minute, went back to the bathroom, and spit the ball out, just as I did with the first, covering it with toilet paper. I did that at least twice more before Nanny noticed and screamed, “Are you spitting that licorice out?” Terrified, I nodded my head. 

    “Why you doing that?” She asked.

    Still terrified to speak, I answered with a timid shoulder shrug.

    “Damn it, Dawn!” She wailed. “If you don’t like the goddamn things then don’t eat them.”

    Oddly, this was the only kind of interaction I recall having with my nanny. I’d do something typical for a little kid such as trip on my shoelaces, cry when I had to get shots, or accidentally pee on the toilet seat, and she’d scream “Damn it, Dawn!” She’d always follow that up with something like “It doesn’t hurt,” or “Stop being so dramatic,” or “What’d you do now?” 

    I’ve always wondered if what she really wanted to say after “Damn it, Dawn!” was “Why do I have to take care of you?” Looking back, I can’t say I’d blame her if she did.

    Nanny didn’t balk when my mom and I moved in with my stepdad or when they eventually married, even though he was glaringly wrong for her. Under my stepdad’s roof, my mom didn’t have to work, which meant she should have had time to look after me. But her love for alcohol and my stepdad’s penchant for violence made that nearly impossible. 

    Chaos, Instability, and Abuse

    The three of us lived together for four long and terrifying years, marked by a level of chaos, instability, and abuse that I’m still working out in therapy. I can only imagine how much more screwed-up I’d be as an adult if I hadn’t distanced myself from my mom at a young age. And although estrangement has been good for my mental and emotional well-being, it didn’t come without a cost. Cutting off contact with my mom meant severing ties with aunts, uncles, and cousins on that side of my family, relatives whose faces and voices I wouldn’t recognize today. That collateral damage included my nanny. 

    I can’t help but wonder what could’ve been if my mom’s addiction didn’t suck up and spit out every relationship and person it touched. 

    Like Pop-pop, Nanny died of cancer a handful of years ago, but because I was estranged from my mom, I never learned what kind of cancer she had or how long she had it before she passed. I didn’t go to her funeral because I knew my mom would be there and likely not sober. Even as an adult, concern for my own safety was stronger than my desire to pay my respects. I don’t regret that decision. 

    Regrets and Puzzle Pieces

    But I do regret the things I’ll never know about my nanny. I regret not knowing her maiden name, or what county in Ireland her parents were from. I’ll never know if she finished high school, if she had any aspirations beyond motherhood or if she resented having to take care of me when my mom couldn’t. Maybe these questions sound trivial, but for someone whose family has been battered and divided by addiction, the answers become the missing pieces to a puzzle you want to finish but can’t. 

    I still have some pieces, though: memories of potato chip sandwiches on white bread, a fat ceramic frog full of Oreo cookies, and a cardboard box of faded pictures buried in the back of my closet that I can’t throw away. 

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • A Safe Place to Use Drugs: Lessons from Europe's Supervised Consumption Sites

    A Safe Place to Use Drugs: Lessons from Europe's Supervised Consumption Sites

    “People are always against harm reduction programs at first. But once they see the results, their views change.” – Frederick Bernard, Liege Chief Commissioner of Police

    My first visit to a safe consumption site (SCS), where people use illicit drugs under professional supervision, felt like a strange dream. On a tepid June day, I sat in a circular room decked with Star Wars posters in Liege, Belgium, drinking bitter coffee from a tiny plastic cup and listening to two Belgian police chiefs discuss the country’s first SCS, which had opened next to the police station nine months earlier. To my right, Liege Chief Commissioner Frederick Bernard praised the program for successfully removing illicit drug use from public spaces in Liege.

    When I asked in halting French if the city had experienced pushback from other police or citizens about the site—especially considering that SCSs are illegal in Belgium—the commissioner waved his hand, saying, “People are always against harm reduction programs at first. But once they see the results, their views change.”

    After our introductory meeting, Commissioner Bernard escorted a visiting police chief and me to the SCS, which was located on a pedestrian street near several restaurants and boutiques. Dominique Delhauteur, coordinator of TADAM, a private foundation that oversees the SCS, and a staff nurse met us at the door and welcomed us to a waiting area inside what looked like an old airplane hangar. 

    Using Illicit Drugs, with Supervision

    A bald man with a long, forked beard and suspenders, it was hard to imagine that Delhauteur was once Belgium’s defense secretary. During our tour he recounted his bizarre journey from Parliament to coordinator of an illegal drug consumption site. Called Saf ti (a play on the word ‘safety’), the site had opened in September 2018. 

    “The city wanted to open a safe consumption room and they designated [TADAM] to open it,” explained Delhauteur, adding that mayor of Liege had been under pressure to do something about the open drug markets in Liege. “We were not put off by the illegality,” he adds, because local police supported the project from the beginning.

    Currently, over 100 legal SCSs operate in 12 countries around the world, primarily Canada, Australia, and parts of Europe. Also called drug consumption rooms or supervised injection facilities, SCSs allow people to use drugs under the supervision of trained staff.

    In order to prevent the spread of HIV, hepatitis C and other infections, SCSs offer sterile equipment for smoking or injecting drugs and provide education around safer use techniques. To prevent deaths, staff responds to overdoses and other emergencies. Most programs also offer wraparound services such as referrals to housing, healthcare, employment, and drug treatment programs. SCSs do not provide illicit drugs and forbid users to sell or share them onsite.

    SCSs operate on a harm reduction model, which seeks to reduce the negative consequences of problematic drug use, such as death and disease, while at the same time recognizing that drug use is a part of our world. Harm reduction is a pragmatic approach to a complex problem, like providing condoms and safe sex education rather than pursuing the more elusive goal of abstinence for all people at all times.

    Do Supervised Consumption Facilities Encourage Drug Use?

    Opponents of SCSs argue that they encourage drug use—the same criticism often levied against other harm reduction programs such a syringe exchange or naloxone access. But although research on SCS outcomes is difficult (largely due to the ethical dilemma of creating a control group without access to SCSs and the difficulty of measuring illicit behaviors), existing reports point to positive outcomes for SCS users.

    A 2014 review of 75 studies on SCSs around the world reported that the programs reduce drug use in public spaces, lower overdose rates, increase access to safer injection conditions (which can decrease infection and disease) and link users to healthcare. Other studies have reported lower overdose mortality, fewer ambulance calls, and a decrease in HIV infections among SCS participants.

    A study published in Lancet on Insite, the first SCS in Vancouver, Canada, found a 35% decrease in overdose rates in the area immediately surrounding Insite (compared to a 9% decrease in the rest of the city). A study published in Addiction in 2007 reported that Insite users were 30% more likely to access drug treatment than non-participants. The study found no evidence that Insite increased or encouraged drug use. 

    How It Works

    Saf ti – Liege, Belgium

    During my tour of Saf ti in Liege, I was already aware of the benefits of SCSs (and their limitations, namely, that positive effects only extend to the site’s immediate area). But I wanted to see how the facilities actually worked. 

    Saf ti has only three rules: users must be 18 or older, they cannot sell or share drugs in the facility or surrounding area, and they must have a history of illicit drug use prior to their first visit. The program is open seven days a week at varying times and receives 50 or more visits per day, with some users returning several times a day. (To protect users’ privacy, our visit occurred outside operating hours.) Medical care for abscesses, burns (from smoking hot pipes), infections, or other complications is also available. 

    “We have a team of seven nurses, three social work educators, and two general practitioners who visit twice a week,” said Delhauter. “If someone asks for help, we listen and we help.”

    After showing us the checkup room, which looked like any doctor’s office, Delhauteur led our little crew to the actual consumption area. Here, staff provides users with a tray containing sterile supplies for injecting (a syringe, a spoon, sterile water, alcohol wipes, and a filter to separate solid drugs from liquid after heating) or smoking (a pipe and a smoking filter). Heroin and cocaine are the primary drugs consumed at this site, with most heroin smoked and most cocaine injected (the reverse of drug trends in the U.S. and many other parts of Europe).

    Supplies

    The injection room stands to the right of the supply counter. Several steel tables and chairs furnish the room, which is equipped with bright yellow biohazard containers to dispose of used injection materials.  

    Injection Room

    Along one wall of the room, rows of tiny plastic drawers house multi-colored tourniquets, which are used to tie off the arm before injecting. Each tourniquet is labeled with the name of its owner so that it can be reused.

    Tourniquets

    The smoking area stands to the left of the supply counter. The 12 steel smoking stalls resemble mini phone booths equipped with stools, tables for preparing drugs, and massive air vents to suck up smoke and sterilize the room. To facilitate cleaning and sterilization, every surface in the consumption area is metal.

    Smoking Stalls

    Saf ti is clean, sterile, and professional, though I would hardly describe it as comfortable or inviting. Its purpose, of course, is to reduce health harms associated with illicit drug use, but it is also designed to conceal drug use from the public. The facility is hidden in plain sight on a busy street where passersby on their way to nearby shops and cafes would never guess that inside that unmarked warehouse, dozens of people take illegal drugs each day.

    Quai 9 – Geneva, Switzerland

    The Liege SCS was the first that I visited during a six-week drug policy tour through central Europe. The second facility, Quai 9 in Geneva, Switzerland, had a whole different personality. 

    Outside of Quai 9 in Geneva

    If Saf ti hides in plain sight, Quai 9 makes no effort to hide at all. The building, a garish lime-green box, rises out of a concrete parking lot next to Geneva’s busiest train station. The setup to Quai 9 is similar to Saf ti. Before using the consumption rooms, participants enter a waiting area for intake. Quai 9’s waiting room resembles a coffee shop, except that in addition to espresso (served in tiny ceramic teacups), the shelves behind the expansive counter offer sterile drug use supplies, brochures on HIV and hepatitis C prevention, biohazard containers, and other resources. The room has tables and chairs and a medical office to the side where people can visit a nurse or doctor. 

    Waiting Room

    The Quai 9 consumption room is painted the same blinding green as the outside of the building. Several injection stations are equipped with biohazard containers for waste disposal and bottles of disinfectant for cleaning each station after use. In a smaller room cordoned off by a glass wall, users can sit at a metal table to smoke their drugs.

    Injection Room

    Quai 9 receives an average of 120 visits per day, 365 days a year. It opened in 2001 in response to a rash of infections and overdoses among Switzerland’s heroin user population. Like the rest of Europe and the United States, Switzerland experienced rapid growth in heroin use during the 1970s, accompanied by increases in overdose deaths and HIV transmission through needle sharing. 

    At first, Switzerland responded like the rest of the world, engaging law enforcement in harsh crackdowns on users and dealers. In the ensuing years, overdose deaths quadrupled from about 100 per year in the late 1970s to nearly 400 per year in the early 1990s. AIDS deaths related to injection drug use skyrocketed as well, from a handful per year in the early 1980s to a peak of 350 in 1994. 

    After Switzerland Implemented Harm Reduction Programs, Drug-Related Deaths Declined Sharply

    But beginning in the late 1980s, Switzerland adopted a different approach to drug use, seeking to manage the harms rather than attempt to eliminate drugs altogether, which was proving impossible. The first SCS opened in Berne, Switzerland in 1986. In 1994, the Swiss also pioneered heroin-assisted treatment clinics, where heavily dependent users could receive prescription heroin under medical supervision, therefore reducing the user’s contact with the underground economy and associated crime. Since the implementation of these programs and harm reduction techniques, Switzerland has seen a 64% decline in drug-related deaths. The percentage of new HIV cases originating from injection drug use also plummeted from 50.7% during the 1990s to 2% in 2014. 

    Switzerland’s results could serve as a blueprint for drug policy in other countries, including the United States. In fact, in 2017 the American Medical Association threw their weight behind SCS, issuing a statement announcing the group had “voted to support the development of pilot facilities where people who use intravenous drugs can inject self-provided drugs under medical supervision.”

    Plans to open SCSs are underway in several U.S. cities, though numerous roadblocks remain. In 2017, the Seattle City Council committed $1.3 million to open a site, while surrounding King County pledged $1 million towards the project. But Seattle’s new U.S. Attorney, who took office in April 2019, has vowed to block efforts. 

    Jesse Rawlins, Project Manager for the Public Defender Association, which is leading the SCS campaign, says that the Association is “rolling supervised consumption work into a larger local campaign focused on engagement and care for drug users.”

    In 2018 New York City Mayor Bill DeBlasio put forth a pilot plan to open four SCSs, but the sites are still awaiting approval from the state Department of Health. 

    In May 2019, backed by a broad coalition of public and private sector stakeholders, a bill authorizing SCSs in San Francisco passed the California state Assembly. In January it will attempt to move through the Senate. 

    “We’ve done a lot of organizing and educating in San Francisco, and SCS has broad support here, but we continue to face frustrating delays, most recently the decision to hold the state legislation until next year,” says Laura Thomas of the San Francisco AIDS Foundation. “We know these delays are measured in lives lost and we’re looking for other ways to provide these services to keep people alive and get syringes off the streets.”

    Safe Consumption Sites in the U.S. Face Opposition

    In Philadelphia, a non-profit called Safehouse is suing the federal government for the right to open an SCS. The group enjoys support from local elected officials, including the mayor and the District Attorney, but federal prosecutors are gearing up for a court battle. Evidentiary hearings for U.S. v Safehouse are set for August 2019. The court’s decision may determine the future of SCS efforts across the nation. 

    “We have consistently maintained that overdose prevention, including supervised consumption, is a legal medical practice and not prohibited by federal law,” says Ronda Goldfein, Executive Director of the AIDS Law Project of Pennsylvania. “A win in Philadelphia will diminish the fear of criminal and civil liability and will encourage other communities to push forward with efforts to save lives.”

    U.S. resistance to SCS echoes the pushback from Europeans, Canadians and Australians when they first considered the programs. The fear that harm reduction will encourage drug use remains ingrained in the national psyche despite science that contradicts these claims. But during times of crisis, people often become willing to set fears aside and try new solutions. Europe implemented harm reduction programs at the peak of drug and HIV epidemics. The U.S. is currently facing a historic overdose crisis. Harm reduction programs once considered politically impossible are launching all over the country. If trends continue, legal safe consumption rooms might be in the U.S. sooner than we think.

    Peter Muyshondt, Dominique Delhauteur, Marylene Tommaso, and Tessie Castillo
    Peter Muyshondt, Dominique Delhauteur, Marylene Tommaso, and Tessie Castillo

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • 5 Ways That Methadone Maintenance Treatment Changed My Life

    5 Ways That Methadone Maintenance Treatment Changed My Life

    When you’re an IV drug addict, you risk overdose, HIV, endocarditis and other infections, amputations, abscesses, and more. When I was stable on methadone and stopped using, these risks just disappeared.

    Telling someone that you take methadone is a big deal. You’re not just telling them that you’re taking responsibility for your recovery and your health, you’re also telling them that in your pre-recovery life you probably stole, lied, and did some other terrible thing to support your addiction. You’re not just revealing you had an addiction, you’re saying that it got so bad that going to a clinic every morning to take medicine in front of someone is preferable to the life you were living.

    I am not here to argue about whether MMT (methadone maintenance treatment) is the solution to the opioid crisis because it’s not for everyone. But for me, it was a chance to have a normal happy life. Here’s why:

    1. It Gave Me Accountability

    When you start off as a new patient at any methadone clinic, you have to come every day. You also have to submit to drug testing and therapy, both individual and group sessions. These are all requirements if you want that little cup with your medicine that keeps you from getting sick. As an active drug user, I would have done absolutely anything to keep from getting sick. Show up someplace between 5 and 10 a.m.? No problem! Let someone watch me pee in a cup? Sure thing!

    I, like many people, started MMT as a way to keep myself from crippling heroin withdrawals. I wasn’t at all ready to get clean and stop using. But I had to make and keep appointments with the doctor at the clinic if I wanted to get more methadone, and I had to have bloodwork done if I wanted to keep being an active patient. 

    Slowly, after months of going to this clinic every day, the methadone built up in my body. My opioid receptors were full of methadone and the heroin that I was still putting in my body was no longer getting me high.

    Once I passed my first few drug tests, I was allowed to take a bottle home with me for the next day, which motivated me to keep attending my therapy sessions and to go to work so that I could afford transportation to the clinic. When I was using, the only accountability I had was to my drug dealer. I never would have gotten checked for diseases or spoken with a mental health professional.

    Without even realizing it, I was keeping commitments and getting the help that I desperately needed. Now, years after initially becoming a patient, I have other responsibilities like making sure my rent is paid and not forgetting that I need to renew my license plates next month. My priorities have shifted.

    2. My Health Improved

    I know that this one might sound like a contradiction to everything you think that you know about methadone. A lot of media still portrays people who go to methadone clinics as underweight, shaking, pale, and covered in track marks. This image accurately described me when I first started going, but over the years I’ve been able to change myself internally and externally. When I first started treatment, I was required to get bloodwork to check for the diseases that IV drug users expose themselves to. When I was injecting, I would occasionally get infections in my arms and sometimes end up in the hospital due to these or one of my many overdoses.

    Almost instantly after getting on a therapeutic dose of methadone, I started to care about my body and what I was putting into it. I started taking vitamins and eating food other than what I could steal from a gas station. I felt stable enough to look towards the future and start doing what was required for me to have a long and happy life.

    When you’re an IV drug addict, you risk overdose, HIV, endocarditis and other infections, amputations, abscesses, and more. When I was stable on methadone and stopped using, these risks just disappeared. I became lucid enough to take care of myself and to fix my body and the incredible damage that I had done to it. I’d had a terrible diet and had stopped caring about myself. Now, I take daily vitamins, get a flu shot, get an annual check up at an OBGYN, and try to eat healthy when I can. I also got extensive dental work to fix damage to my teeth from years of neglect.

    3. I Became a Wife and Mother

    This is a very specific and personal way that being on methadone has changed my life. In my addiction, I was in a toxic relationship that revolved around using together and endless dishonesty. We were together because it was easy. When I decided to stop getting high, he wasn’t ready to quit and the relationship ended abruptly. I met my husband shortly after and he took a chance on getting into a relationship with someone new in recovery. I wasn’t using anymore but I still had a lot of addict behaviors.

    I navigated through this new relationship, trying to be honest with my new partner. I wasn’t familiar with honesty in the beginning and he was aware of this and very patient with me. I learned what kindness and love really were for the first time without drugs involved. We also learned early into our relationship that we were expecting a baby boy. I stayed clean throughout my pregnancy, took my methadone as prescribed, and discussed my fears and worries with my therapist at the clinic.

    In two years, I went from living in a car, unable to feed myself, to a wife and mother. None of this would have had the chance to happen if I didn’t take the first step and start treatment.

    4. I Have a Relationship with My Parents

    It has taken years to earn back my parents’ trust. They’d stopped answering the phone when I called because I always asked for money. It became too painful for them to be an active part of my life. They were just waiting for that final phone call telling them they’d lost their daughter to her addiction.

    When I first started going to the methadone clinic, they were skeptical; they knew very little about how the medication worked. Then, after about six months, the begging for money stopped and the tone of our conversations changed. I called just to talk about my day and for the first time I didn’t ask for anything. They noticed that my living situation had changed – I’d gone from living in a car to staying in a cheap motel, then finally I moved into an apartment. I was awake during the holidays and not spending a half hour at a time in the bathroom trying to shoot up. I was gaining weight and smiling again.

    After I passed my first drug test, I wanted everything to go back to the way that it was before I started using. I had a hard time understanding why they didn’t trust me. Then I realized that it didn’t take a month for me to lose their trust, it was years of lies and heartbreak.

    I am now able to look back and see the hurt that I caused and ask for their forgiveness. I am a mother now and I couldn’t imagine watching my sweet happy child deteriorate the way that I did. I am grateful for this real second chance to have them be proud of me. But I didn’t get clean for them, I had to do it for myself. The great relationship that I have with them now is just an extra benefit.

    5. I Have Goals for My Future Self

    During my addiction, the only goal I had was to come up with enough money to stay high that day. I felt like queen of the world if I was able to have enough heroin for two days. That was my life for years: After finding money and drugs, I would work on shelter and then maybe food.

    Once I became stable on a therapeutic dose of methadone, I didn’t have to spend energy and time finding drugs because I wasn’t worried about withdrawal. I suddenly had all of this time to spend on making money and cleaning up all the messes I’d made.

    My primary goal for the first few months I was clean was to make sure I got to the clinic on time. It might sound like kind of a sad existence but without my medicine, I wasn’t going to be able to function. I know the term “liquid handcuffs” is used a lot in reference to methadone treatment and I understand the frustration of having to go to the clinic every day. But if you are completing all the requirements of your clinic, you get to work up to going biweekly or even monthly. The program is designed to give you a normal life.

    My next goal was to have a stable place to live and to be someone who others could count on. There were a ton of baby steps I had to take to get there and I was only able to do that initially because I started MMT. I did the rest of the work with my counselor, my church, and my husband.

    It’s been three years since I started treatment and I’m in the middle of my third term in college and my husband and I are looking into buying our first home this fall. My next goal will be to get off methadone completely, but I will not rush this process.

    I am so thankful that this form of treatment was available to me. Methadone should always be an option for those of us who have had a difficult time getting clean with other methods. There is still a huge stigma attached to MMT patients and clinics and I could say that another goal of mine is to help break that. It’s not a magical cure for opioid addiction, but it played a vital role in my recovery.

    What are your thoughts on methadone maintenance treatment? Share with us in the comments.

    View the original article at thefix.com