Tag: Features

  • An Addict’s Love Song to Her Son

    An Addict’s Love Song to Her Son

    He has seen me, his addicted mother, disappear into the night on wobbly ankles, drunken feet; he has seen me being calmed down by the police; he has seen me fall. “I love you” is my answer, my promise that I will not die.

    Our love for each other is overwhelming, addicting and addictive. The love starts as early as 5 a.m., when I sometimes wake up in pain from my body getting twisted into accommodating his— his long, impossibly thick, long hair and strong knees, and feet that keep on growing. He likes to sleep in my bed and I don’t mind—I know we’ve only a couple more years left before he stops coming to nest himself into that small space, with his dinosaur-printed pillow, and his dinosaur feet wrapping around my legs.

    Some mornings he’s holding me so tightly, I don’t move and lie there with my bladder full, smelling his head—I can still get a whiff of the baby that he was only a short time ago. Hello: We will now open our eyes—he always opens his eyes right after I open mine; we’re like a wound-up toy.

    The first thing we say when we wake up is “I love you.”

    We repeat it a dozen times before we get to school: at breakfast, walking to the bus, on the bus, getting off the bus.

    When I drop him off at school, he shouts it—“I love you”—so unabashedly, again, above the heads of boys his age—the cruel age that’s right on the brink of childhood and snarkiness.

    He repeats his declarations whenever we are together and he texts me like a stalker boyfriend when I drop him off at his dad’s: I love you. Why don’t you text back. Where are you. I love you mummy. What are you doing. I love you.

    In person, he is angry and superior if I don’t reply right away or just volley it back too blatantly absentminded, with my fingers dipped into my iPhone and its drama.

    “Mummy. I said I love you.”

    “I love you too. I love you so much,” I will often add if I realize that I need to make up for the iPhone.

    Does this strike you as excessive and crazy? It is not. It is necessary, it is life-saving, life-affirming. Our words to each other are a spell we cast. So often, when we confirm that we love each other, it feels as if we’ve staved off darkness for another few hours. It seems we are safe: not from having our love unconfirmed and spent, but from losing each other.

    We need this assurance.

    “I love you” is a question.

    “I love you” is my answer, my promise. I promise him me when I say I love him. I promise him a mom. I promise him that I will pick him up from school; that I will feed him; that I will not die.

    He has seen me stumbling arm-in-arm with death too many times and I have let him go as if I didn’t love him at all, and I’ve left him for a terrible thing—a monster that closes my heart and opens my mouth, and drinks.

    What he has seen was not actual death—I have never overdosed in front of him—but its possibilities: death proxies. He has seen me disappear into the night on wobbly ankles, drunken feet; he has seen me being calmed down by the police; he has seen me fall into the street. An ambulance has been called.

    And lately, every time he looks at my right shoulder, he sees the pink burn scar from the road rash. I wish I could just bite off that shoulder—instead, I say “I love you” when I catch him staring at it.

    “I will tattoo roses over it once it heals,” I say. Those are the only type of apology flowers I can offer my boy.

    Big Feelings and Addiction

    I look at my son for signs of addiction: his neediness and his possessiveness—I don’t know if those are signs but I recognize them from my childhood. I think of my old dog that I used to dress in doll clothing and squeeze and kiss and kiss (and kiss) while she’d try to squirm out, her golden-blonde body like too much sunshine trapped and exploding out of my girl arms. She hated being confined. She wanted to run. She was a dog, not a doll. She didn’t feel the same way about me. (They design dogs for people like me now—seemingly catatonic creatures that resemble small purposeless and curious furniture—that you can carry in your purse, dogs that have anxiety bred out of them when it comes to their owners’ affections but that react with fury to small things—small leaves.)

    I know that addiction is not about the substance—it is about feelings. It is about the inability to regulate emotions properly. My love song with my son is loud and intense; we are consumed by the bond between us and although it’s a beautiful bond, I know that maybe we should dial it down. But we can’t. What am I supposed to do? Tell him to feel less strongly, less urgently? When I myself cannot model that, when I cannot repress the beauty of that?

    My son has always had Big Feelings the way I did as a child. He has always been intense with his friends; he can play in groups but he is possessive of his closest friends, he is a little desperate. He creates deep bonds with his buddies the way I did, and as it was with me, his friendship is a gift of complete loyalty and an invitation to a mind that is creative and capable of creating universes that go beyond any video game. His friends follow him, his games and his rules and he dominates them, and he has a hard time letting them go—he is heartbroken when the play dates are over. I worry that once my son gets to the age when hormones take over, he too, will find the maladaptive kind of coping mechanism that almost destroyed me.

    As a first-generation immigrant who had to leave her country behind, unasked, I’m unfortunately familiar with having to let go when I don’t want to.

    I’m familiar with the internal destruction of an unexpected event, a strike my feelings go on, demanding explanation.

    But what is the point of explanation? There should only be adaptation. But I did not adapt easily. I drank easily.

    Any major change in my feelings still always sends a seismic shock through my sobriety—I might not react right away but by the time the shock registers, I’d better be ready to stabilize. In the past I have relapsed instead so I know how precarious the addict’s sanity is. Is my son as sane or as insane as me? Will my son be able to withstand the shocks?

    Maybe I shouldn’t be so negative. Exercise helps. Exercise is good way to release your anxiety and he loves soccer. He is obsessive about it. He plays it all the time and he knows all the stats. He has found an outlet for now.

    God, let him have his soccer, let him remain passionate about it, about the stats, the games, the intricacies of transfers of Neymar Jr or Ronaldo between different soccer clubs.

    Don’t let a girl or a boy break his heart in the way that he will have to reach for a drink or a drug. Don’t let the memory of the horror divorce, my horror drinking, or moving away make him want to numb his sadness in a way that’s not soccer, that’s not innocent.

    Don’t let him become like me.

    For now we deal the best we can. There is still so much sadness but we have come up with a new strategy: When our “I-love-yous’” are not enough and he feels a bad feeling coming on, he squeezes my hand tight. He reaches for my hand and he clasps it till it hurts both of us. Most of the squeezing has to do with flashbacks of my drinking. Some of it has to do with the divorce.

    I hold his hand and feel his grip, feel him not letting go. I squeeze back, unable to let go either.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Advent: Deepening Our Commitment to Recovery

    Advent: Deepening Our Commitment to Recovery

    Haven’t we struggled through the dark in our addictions and now live inside truth’s illumination? So why not spend these weeks in spiritual reflection and renewing our commitment to recovery?

    Advent, from the Latin, adventus — “a coming” — is, for Christians, the season celebrating Jesus Christ’s impending birth and his second coming after his death. The liturgical readings over the four weeks are centered on hope, preparation, joy, and love. It is also the season of the Advent wreath and its four candles, one lit successively each week, and of the Advent calendar and its 25 chocolates secreted behind twenty-five cardboard windows. Reflection and prayer, sweetness and light: the dark illuminated by remembrance and anticipation.

    When I was drinking? The season for wanton indulgence: cranberry cosmopolitans, eggnog, mulled wine, and Irish coffees. Parties and booze and blackouts and hangovers. Superficial, carnal pursuits superseded any spiritual meditative pleasures. How many Christmas Eves did my then-husband and I spend slogging wine into the wee hours while last-minute wrapping gifts, crankier with each downed glass? And then the wretched hangover on Christmas mornings when our kids, wiggly with Santa excitement, woke us at dawn — “Get up! Get up! Get up!”— and how we dragged ourselves from bed, desperate for ibuprofen and coffee? 

    The ritual of prayer and the ritual of drink. The lead-up to Christmas and then New Year’s celebrations can be difficult for those of us who are sober and trying to stay sober: we might be tempted by the fireside glass of wine or flute of effervescent champagne, or by friends gathering in the pub or our own loneliness when we stay home alone. Even now, eight years sober, I still can feel that pull: Join us! You’re missing out! A bottle of red, a bottle of white is the easy way to holiday cheer.

    I don’t. I don’t. I don’t.

    I don’t consider that pull for more than a millisecond because I know that drinking does not, in the end, make me cheerful; it makes me suicidal. The best gift I can give to myself and the best gift I can receive is my sobriety which is its own advent calendar: I go to sleep in anticipation of that sweet gift the next morning — waking up sober and without shame and with surety that I am alive and well. 

    But the advent season does not only have to be a Christian celebration but can guide us in deepening our commitment to sobriety. I am no longer a practicing Catholic, though I still feel a fierce keening toward sustaining rituals like Christmas carols and trees and midnight mass. Advent is a season of remembrance and anticipation of birth and rebirth, so why not spend these weeks in spiritual reflection: in remembrance of all that I lost to my addiction but also all that I have since gained in sobriety, and, in anticipation of the promises that are still waiting to be fulfilled tomorrow morning when I open my window for the day’s light.

    Because haven’t we, too, experienced our own second coming, our own rebirth? Haven’t we struggled through the dark in our addictions and don’t we now live inside truth’s illumination? Haven’t wise men and women given us the gifts of honesty, open-mindedness, and willingness so that we can say, in gratitude or prayer to our Higher Power, “Yes, I choose this day, this life, now and forever?”

    Last week, far from home in Ireland and with news of a friend’s death, I went for a very long run, miles and miles, trying to outrun grief’s hangover and Sunday loneliness and had every intention, upon my return, of climbing into bed and pulling the covers over my head and sleeping it off. And then my phone chimed its calendar alert and a little window opened: December 2nd, the first Sunday of Advent, the candlelight choral service at the cathedral.

    Immediately, that insistent voice in my head interrupted: Skip it! Skip it! Skip it! You’re tired and spent!

    That voice sounded exactly like the voice that used to say: Drink it! Drink it! Drink it! You’re tired and spent!

    Tired and spent, yes, and exactly why I needed to go to the service: song and ritual, darkness and light, what is coming and coming and coming for us all can be hope and love and community. I sang the hymns and prayed the prayers and cried the necessary tears of both grief and wonder as one candle after another illuminated all of us gathered in the cathedral, a reminder that we are not alone in the dark but surrounded by fellowship.

    We are here only to bring light in our own unique ways to those alone in the dark, to remember that light from above illuminates the unsteady ground under our feet, and that we can travel towards each other, meeting each other inside our light.

    Note: That cathedral, 850 years old, has survived Viking invasions, Norman sieges, Cromwell, Independence, and is still here, as are we, survivors all.

    How are you working on your recovery today? What are you grateful for?

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • The Other White Powder: My Addiction to Sugar

    The Other White Powder: My Addiction to Sugar

    In that first meeting I went to for my sugar addiction, I heard others admit to doing the same things I did. Sneaking. Lying. Throwing food in the bin to halt a binge only to come back later and fish it out to eat.

    It was right in front of my face but I couldn’t see it for what it was for years: Addiction is a wayward beast. Christ knows you can’t see much when you’re laid flat on your back, pinned down by invisible yet ferocious forces.

    The narrative was just so unfamiliar that I doubted it was real. Where were the used syringes, grubby spoons, and Ewan McGregor swimming in a lav to Brian Eno music? Where were the gin and tequila bottles strewn next to stained ashtrays?

    A glance into my dependence only revealed brightly colored plastic wrappers and packaging, crumbs strewn on the car floor, stomach pains, abominable flatulence, and soft velvety chocolate stains on the couch and seat of my pants. Far from Trainspotting or Leaving Las Vegas, this was more like Leaving Seven Eleven.

    It was almost laughable, only it wasn’t, it was excruciating. I ate the way an alcoholic drinks and an addict uses. The notion that food could derail a person the way hard drugs or booze can sounds extreme. And whilst the destruction is not as ostensibly violent and as speedily lethal, my spirit was decaying.

    When you’re enslaved by compulsion and obsession, no matter what the substance or behavior — you suffer. Your inner freedom withers away and you are caught in a most painful cycle.

    I could not stop binge eating. And for some reason I never equated my lawless benders on sweet things as a bona fide addiction. Denial is blinding but it wasn’t only mine. I was seeking the help of health professionals — psychologists and health counselors — who were also missing the reality of the problem. They would say “But it’s not that bad, right?” and minimize my behavior in an attempt to make me feel better. But it was  that  bad, and their diminishing comments made me feel worse.

    They were kind and well intentioned and approached the issue by trying to help me find moderation in my relationship with food, namely sugar: my white powdery blow. I’d find that balance for periods — sometimes days, weeks or even months — but I’d inevitably topple into blowout. And I’m not talking a couple of pieces of cake or a tub of ice cream.

    There is a cultural denial around the legitimacy of sugar and food addiction and treatment for disordered eating is usually centered around balance. And that is the ideal solution. But what if that doesn’t work? What if the notion of moderation is the very thing that keeps some of us monumentally stuck?

    My continual failure to eat “normally” left me bereft and berating myself for my inability to halt this self-abuse. I couldn’t implement what I was being advised to do. What in hell was wrong with me? I’ve never had a DUI for drunk driving, but I have shamefully dinged my car (and others) more than once as I scoffed food blindly from the passenger seat.

    I’d swear off bingeing; writing and typing up resolutions only to rip them up or delete them when I’d inevitably slide into another spree.

    Then one day the penny dropped when a health counselor I’d been working with for four years said, “I’ve got it…You’re addicted to sugar!” Well yeah…anyone could see that, but what was her point?

    She told me I needed to treat it like a legitimate addiction, find a support group, and face the fact I couldn’t eat processed sugar in moderation, which meant not eating it. At all.

    At all. The suggestion seemed not only cruel, but blatantly impossible. I didn’t know a single person who didn’t eat sugar. What a farcical idea. And yet I knew she spoke the truth so I went out and binged.

    I googled and found a 12-step group for overeaters. Begrudgingly and only because she kept hassling me, I went as I was desperate and had begun to experience the onset of chronic pain and digestive problems: the inescapable physical consequences of treating my body like a garbage bin.

    In that first meeting I listened to others talk about doing the same shameful things with food that I did. Sneaking. Lying. Throwing food in the bin to halt a binge only to come back later and fish it out to eat. Feeling as if your insides were going to erupt with fullness and being unable to stop stuffing your face.

    Shame released its chokehold on me as I saw I wasn’t alone. And I was okay. I wasn’t a bad person even if I continued to binge. I was doing something that was bad for me, but I wasn’t bad. Self-loathing gave way to…well, it must’ve been grace, and I felt an ache for the girl in me who’d strained for so long under the weight of something much bigger than her.

    For the first time in over 15 years, and at the age of 34 with three young children, I had the wherewithal to choose. Prior to that I hadn’t perceived the freedom of choice. I’d been ruled by compulsion. All I knew was I didn’t want to live out that painful cycle anymore.

    So I surrendered to reality. And I kept going to meetings, connecting with others who had been or were struggling like me. Doubt would creep in at times as to whether this was the right path, but I kept going along that bumpy path, and somehow, one day at a time, I let go of my sweet poison.

    And the inhumane fate of a life without sugar? It was revealed to be the very opposite and I began over time to experience a newfound freedom with food and in life.

    Having long struggled with bouts of suicidal depression and anxiety, the improvement in my mental health was indisputable. Not only to me, but to those around me including my husband and mum. I knew my sugar habit was unravelling my life, but I had no concept as to how much my life could blossom when I became unstuck.

    I’m not an advocate for demonizing sugar, or booze, or whatever substances or activities people indulge in for pleasure. The reality is many people can and do enjoy these things and I reckon that’s great.

    But for me, I crossed a tipping point somewhere along the line where a chocolate brownie was no longer a single chocolate brownie that could be eaten and left at that; it opened up an insatiable craving for more, and with that came far more pain than joy.

    I had given up all hope that I could ever find peace from this affliction. And ironically it was throwing in the towel in desperation that allowed me to succumb to the truth and seek the help I needed to change. Even when you think it doesn’t exist, there is always, always hope.

    Have you faced food and/or sugar addiction? Tell us about it in the comments.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • American Overdose: An Interview with Chris McGreal

    American Overdose: An Interview with Chris McGreal

    In American Overdose, McGreal lays bare the shady behavior of greedy pharmaceutical executives, duplicitous lobbyists, and crooked doctors who helped to perpetuate the worst drug epidemic in American history.

    Shortly after I woke yesterday morning [on November 29, 2018] I went to the New York Times website, where I saw a report indicating that drug overdose deaths in the United States set a new record last year. There were over 70,000 of them, mostly due to opioids, especially strong synthetics like fentanyl (which often gets mixed with heroin to provide a more potent high). That is far more than the number of Americans who died from car accidents last year (40,200), or guns (38,440). Opioid abuse is also a big part of the reason that life expectancy in the United States has actually diminished over the past three years. This phenomenon, the Times says, is unprecedented since World War II.

    Later in the afternoon, I had the chance to discuss the crisis with the British-born journalist Chris McGreal, a Guardian reporter who is the author of American Overdose: The Opioid Tragedy in Three Acts (Public Affairs, 2018). It is a sharply-etched and tenaciously reported book that exposes the massive corruption that allowed the epidemic to reach such staggering proportions. He shows how Purdue Pharma continued to profit mightily from opioids, even after it became widely known that the narcotics they pushed were destroying lives and killing people. And he breaks new ground in showing the degree to which the FDA allowed that to happen. McGreal writes with admiration for those who recognized what was brewing – and who tried to ward off the crisis – but this is a story with far more villains than heroes. He lays bare the shady behavior of greedy pharmaceutical executives, duplicitous lobbyists, and crooked doctors who helped to perpetuate the worst drug epidemic in American history. We spoke at length; the following interview is significantly edited for brevity, and lightly edited for clarity.

    You and I both saw the same New York Times report this morning. If you look at the statistics, you see that most of the 70,000 overdose deaths last year are concentrated in a few regions. In American Overdose, you focus largely on southern West Virginia. Why are some places, and not others, having the hardest time with the addiction crisis?

    Well, if you look at those areas where the epidemic began, they became the crucible because they were targeted for the selling of opioids, and particularly high-strength opioids, like Oxycontin. And that is because these are regions where you have a lot of manual labor, a large number of people who work in jobs that take a real physical toll. And they’ve often used some form of “painkiller” (for lack of a better word), whether it was moonshine or marijuana, or different forms of pills, or lower levels of opioids. But when Oxycontin came along, and they looked where to market it, these were logical places. Drug companies simply buy up data from pharmacies about what drugs are being prescribed. So, they know where to go.

    By the late 1990s, it was becoming clear that the mass prescribing of opioids was causing tremendous harm. Oxycontin acquired significant value as a street drug, and people were getting addicted and dying. How did the drug industry respond?

    One of the reasons I wanted to write this book is because I was hit by the question: “Why has [the opioid epidemic] gone on so long?” You mentioned the 1990s, but it’s really only now that we’re having a proper national discussion about this epidemic. How did it drag on for twenty years? Where were the institutions that were supposed to protect Americans from this kind of thing?

    When you go back and look to the early 2000s, you learn that in fact there were warning signals, and they were made very loud and clear, particularly by some people who emerge as heroes in this story. One of them, for instance, is Dr. Jane Ballantyne. (She was the head of pain management at Harvard University and its associated hospital, Massachusetts General.) Initially, she buys into the idea that opiates are a magic bullet for pain treatment. But she starts to see, in her own patients, that this wasn’t true. She sees that in fact, once a person has been on opioids for a long time, their pain isn’t diminishing – it’s actually getting worse. Plus, they’re becoming dependent and addicted. So, she gathers data, and eventually in 2003 she publishes a paper in the New England Journal of Medicine saying, “We need to pause, we need to rethink this strategy of mass prescribing opioids.” And she said to me, “I thought that would be a wakeup call.”

    She thought the drug industry – and if not the industry, then at least federal institutions that regulate the drug industry, such as the FDA – would sit up and take notice and say, “Wait a minute, is this the right thing to do?”

    Instead, the industry decides it wants to change the conversation, and make people look in the other direction. So, they start a campaign that says the people who become addicted to these drugs are abusers. They are misusing the drugs, so they are to be blamed for their condition. They begin blaming the victim. And they say, “Meanwhile, look over here: There are tens of millions of Americans who live with chronic pain. They’re the real victims in all of this, and what we mustn’t allow is to let the abusers take [analgesic] drugs away from the people who really need them.”

    Of course, what that claim failed to recognize is that many of those that became addicted to those drugs – and who did go on to abuse them – began by following prescriptions for chronic pain! They were one and the same people. And where were the federal institutions that were supposed to protect Americans? Like the FDA, or the National Institute for Drug Abuse, or any one of a number of institutions? What happens is, they get coopted into that narrative. Instead of standing up and regulating as they’re supposed to do, they buy into it, and help perpetuate [the growing crisis].

    You also spoke to some ordinary people who have been affected by the crisis. One person who piqued my curiosity was Bre McUlty, who got hooked on drugs as a teenager. Will you tell us what she went through, and how she’s doing now?

    Bre’s an interesting character. There are lots of ways to be drawn into drug addiction, and Bre really got it through her family. Her father used a lot of drugs, and she grew up with her father (her mother wasn’t on the scene at that point). She lived at a house where drug dealers were coming by all the time, and people were doing drugs in front of her. (Actually, her first drug was alcohol. She was drinking as a teenager.) One day, somebody comes to her and says, “Hey, do you want to sell some drugs for us?” And she starts to sell drugs, makes a bit of money on the side. Eventually she ends up, by her late teens, dealing in heroin. And she was one of those people – there was an inevitability about it, I think. She grew up in that world, and she never saw anything outside of that world. She ends up pregnant as a teenager. She tries to break out from all of this, but can’t. And eventually she gets arrested. She winds up in prison, ironically, not for drug dealing but for threatening someone else who was dealing drugs and saying if she talks, she’ll burn her house down!

    I felt sympathetic to her, but when I got to that part in your book I thought, “Oh no. She should not have written those letters!”

    But she came out of prison. One of the things that’s really striking about Bre, is she’s a really a strong young woman. She has now settled elsewhere in the country. She left West Virginia, essentially because she felt there was no escaping drugs there. And she moved on to try and rebuild her life with her children. What is quite interesting about her is there’s a parallel story with a doctor in the same town [Rajan Masih] who also went to prison, only he went for mass prescribing opioids. Eventually he lost his license.

    They both came out of prison at about the same time, a couple of years ago, and I would say she is much more honest about her part in this crisis than he is. He’s still in denial. Although he’s got death on his hands – prosecutors said he prescribed to anybody and everybody – he blames that on his own addiction, rather than taking responsibility for his actions. (And this a man who had every chance; he’s a doctor, and quite a privileged person.) Bre – who never really had a chance in the beginning – is, I think, much more honest about taking responsibility for what she’s done in her life.

    You know, I’ve never taken heroin, mostly because I’ve always been so scared of it. And in light of what we now know about how pernicious opioid addiction is, I’m surprised that the crisis is still building. I agree with you about the culpability of companies and institutions. But is there any conceptual room for also talking about the behavior and responsibility of addicts who are keeping this crisis going?

    Yeah. “Do people have responsibility for the decisions they make?” Absolutely. What I would add is that while they have responsibility, once they get dragged into addiction – and not everybody does – but for those that do, it gets beyond their control. Addiction is a disease, and it’s a really, really hard thing to get out of. So, whatever the original causes of that, I don’t think it diminishes the need for some sincere understanding.

    The other thing I would say about some people who go down that path – and again, I don’t want to necessarily excuse – but if you come from certain backgrounds, if you live in certain communities, I think you’re far more likely to go down that path. There are some very interesting studies of this. One is by a pair of academics, Princeton professors Anne Case and Angus Deaton. And they look at who is most affected by this crisis. And by a long way, it is people who have no more than a high school education. And you can’t diminish those economic and social factors. Other studies that show that if your parents were using, or were addicted, then there’s a good chance that you are going to go down that path – like with Bre McUlty. And so, yes, perhaps younger people who do this – they [should know better]. But at the same time, if the drugs are widely available, and they’re living in difficult circumstances, I’m not without sympathy for them. People take up smoking in this day and age, and we all know what that does!

    Do you have a sense of where this is heading? Among the range of options that are being used to solve the problem, what do you think is most encouraging?

    Well I think there are different plusses and minuses. On the plus side, there’s been a huge change in attitudes, and a breakdown of stigma. A lot of that has got to do with people who have become addicted themselves, or are the relatives of people who died (particularly parents of children). They’ve gone out there, and they’ve tried to break down the stigma toward opioids and heroin addiction. I think that has had a huge impact, because it means people can talk about it, and go and seek help, without feeling judged. That is really important.

    There’s a view that access to medication-assisted treatment – which essentially involves low levels of opioids to help you stave off the worst effects of withdrawal – are probably the most effective for most people. Although the 12 steps work for some people, that involves total abstinence, which can be much harder. One of the things to recognize is that when most people try to end their addiction, they don’t do it on the first try. It takes repeated attempts. So, you need the resources, particularly in the poor parts of the country. When someone comes in and says “I want to do something [about my addiction],” you have to have the resources there for them. It’s no good saying, “Come back in six months.” So, there are more resources available, there is more awareness.

    But there are plenty of downsides. I think the rising death toll that you mentioned tells us something. I also think, when we look at how this began, with mass prescribing, [it’s troubling] that overall, prescribing hasn’t fallen like it needs to. At the height in 2012, there were 255 million prescriptions for opioids written that year. Last year, it was 192 million. That’s still incredibly high! And that mass prescribing, it puts the drugs out there. And so, if you’re not going to have a second wave [of addiction], you need to reduce the mass prescribing. Now there are people trying to do that, like the Centers for Disease Control. But there’s still a lot of resistance, particularly from the medical profession. Everybody I talk to about this, who has expert knowledge – they all say this has a very long tail. This is the worst drug epidemic in American history and it is not going to be over in five or possibly even ten years. It’s going to go on for quite a long time.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • 5 Helpful Tips for Staying Sober During the Holidays

    5 Helpful Tips for Staying Sober During the Holidays

    The truth is that sometimes, the holidays can just be tough. But you don’t have to go in blindly. Follow these basic tips and you can have a wonderful and happy sober holiday season.

    For some people, the holidays are a joyful time that is looked forward to all year long. For others, this isn’t the case. Sometimes the stress of traveling, gift-giving and time with extended family takes a toll and can be daunting – especially, perhaps, for those in recovery from substance use disorder.

    The truth is that sometimes, the holidays can just be tough. But you don’t have to go in blindly.

    This is my sixth holiday season in recovery, and I’ve learned a few things along the way. If you take some time to think through your holiday plans and prepare for possible obstacles you might face, then you are more likely to feel confident about managing your recovery and proud of where you are at the end of the day.

    Here are a few of my favorite tips for surviving the holidays sober.

    1. Be Realistic and Have a Plan.

    There’s nothing worse than heading into a situation with unrealistic expectations and then being disappointed. If you know time with family stresses you out, be prepared to feel that way and don’t let it catch you off guard. Before putting yourself in such a position, think through the possibilities and rehearse your own reactions. If a family member offers you a drink, how will you respond? If you are feeling overwhelmed and craving a drink, what will you do instead? If someone asks you why you aren’t drinking, are you comfortable telling them? If you think through these scenarios before they take place, you can have potential responses prepared and can use them should the scenario become a reality. This makes these situations more manageable and you won’t be blindsided if and when they actually occur.

    1. Take Ownership of the Word “No.”

    Want to know a secret? You’re not required to do anything during the holiday season, no matter what some people may think. If you feel like a certain party or celebration may put your recovery at risk, don’t agree to go. If a certain family member isn’t supportive of your decisions, don’t engage with them. If you know that being around certain people makes you more prone to drinking, don’t spend time with them. And guess what else? Even if you’ve already agreed to something but then after thinking about it you started to feel uncomfortable, you are allowed to change your mind! You have the freedom to make your own decisions when it comes to what is best for you and your recovery.

    1. Create a List of Alcohol-Free Things You Enjoy About the Holiday Season.

    I promise, there’s a lot! The trick is just making yourself remember that fact and then focusing on it. At the end of the day, the holiday season isn’t really about parties and drinking, is it? There’s much more to it. Some of my favorite things about the season are watching the snow fall, wrapping myself in a warm blanket, lighting a seasonal candle, baking cookies. Maybe you like the smell of Christmas trees, seeing the decorative lights in the neighborhood, or the songs of the season. Or maybe you get to see family or friends who you care about and who don’t stress you out. None of those favorite things require alcohol in order to be enjoyable. If you struggle to remember this, write out a physical list and keep it with you when you’re in situations where you feel uncomfortable. It gives you something concrete to refer back to; it’s a reminder that there’s more to the holidays than booze-soaked partying.

    1. Communicate with the People Around You.

    Often, we are so self-conscious and worried about what others will think about our recovery that we don’t give them the chance to respond positively and be supportive. More often than not, the people in your life will want you to do what is best for you and will support that choice. If you’re feeling alone and unsure as the holidays approach, take a risk and let someone close to you know what is going on in your life and why you are choosing not to drink. Doing so allows you to have someone to lean on and discuss your feelings with so you don’t feel quite so alone. It also gives you someone who can hold you accountable and remind you why you are doing what you’re doing. It can be hard, but opening up and allowing other people to help you is vital. It also has a positive result on the person you open up to. On the off chance the person does not respond in a helpful or loving way, thank them for their opinion and move on to someone else.

    1. Take Time for Yourself.

    Often, the holidays can feel like they’re go, go, go with no downtime. But you don’t have to be constantly rushing around. When you’re making plans, be sure to carve out some time for yourself. This could mean time to be at home with no plans, or time to do the things you love and that make you happy. Try to remember that when you’re constantly running from place to place and engaging with different people, it’s easy to begin to feel worn down and drained, which can lead to feelings that could put your recovery at risk. Like anything else in this world, your body needs the time to recharge and reenergize. This can be done by planning ahead and working that time into your holiday schedule. But if you suddenly find that you really need some down time, giver yourself permission to leave early or cancel. After taking that time for yourself, you’ll likely find that you feel as if you’re in a better mental state and ready to take on the holidays again.

    When it comes down to it, the most important part of the holidays isn’t the parties or the gifts. It’s about love, health, spirit, and whatever you choose to celebrate. But it’s okay to put yourself and your well-being first. As you head into this holiday season, remember that you are in the driver’s seat when it comes to your life and your decisions. Hold your head high and don’t let anyone sway you. It will be worth it in the end.

    We’re all feeling overwhelmed this time of year. Do you have any tips to add to this list? Let us know!

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Homeless in Sobriety

    Homeless in Sobriety

    One friend found my homeless sober alcoholic life fascinating. She wanted to know if I smelled, where I went to the bathroom, and what I did all day. Once she even asked if I had a Big Book.

    From approximately 1 p.m. on June 5th, 2018 until around 11 a.m. September 5th, 2018, my three pit bulls and I lived in my Ford Explorer. Not only was I homeless with three dogs, but I also had over eight years of sobriety.

    My car was packed. While most of my belongings were in a local storage unit, my dogs and I had to have the basic necessities. Inside my SUV were two doggy blankets, an ice cooler full of bottled water, ice, and hazelnut coffee creamer, along with a duffel bag crammed with clothing, doggy food and five gallons of water for my dogs.

    Being homeless is expensive. I gave up on storing perishable food in the ice cooler because not only did I have to purchase ice every day, but the food spoiled because the ice melted rapidly in the 99 degree daytime heat.  Every day, I went to a local campsite and filled up the gallons of water for the dogs at a fish cleaning station, and every evening I bought a dollar burrito from Taco Bell or a veggie burger meal from Burger King. Somehow I was able to afford cigarettes and I smoked like a fiend. I felt insane.

    For the first month, we lived under three trees by a lake; by the second month, we’d found a campsite by the Kern River owned by the Bureau of Land Management. While most people camped by the river, I discovered an isolated site that had several trees, boulders, a few makeshift fire pits, and a picnic table. The catch was that we could only stay there for two weeks, leave for ten days, and then return for a final two weeks. But naturally, I stretched our stay. The rangers liked me: I had my dogs on tie outs and kept the campsite clean because I had a lot of time on my hands.

    While there was a porta-potty close by, there was nowhere to bathe. Luckily I found a bathroom at another campsite that had a shower. For $1.00 in quarters, I could shower for two minutes. For seven quarters, I could shower for four minutes.

    AA and Homelessness

    Despite the sheer lunacy that was my life, I did not drink nor did I want to drink, even though I was not attending 12-step meetings. What was my excuse? The temperature was about 82 degrees during the evenings and I could not leave my dogs in a hot car while I was inside a meeting hall. Besides that, I didn’t want to go to AA meetings; while I was homeless, I realized that AA was not my cup of tea.

    And to top it off, talking with several of my AA friends made me feel worse than I already did.

    “Life is hard. Look at me. Most of the time I struggle to pay my bills,” said Dorothy, with 25 years of sobriety. “I have to take it one day at a time or I will go crazy.”

    Before I could say a word, she said, “I could be homeless, too. We are all one step away from being homeless.”

    “Dorothy, you are not homeless,” I said.

    “I know,” she said.

    And then there was Stephanie who had almost 40 years of years of sobriety. While we used to be good friends, now I felt like I was an amoeba under a microscope, a fascinating specimen. She wanted to know if I smelled, where I went to the bathroom, and what I did all day. Once she even asked if I had a Big Book. I didn’t. Before we lost our home, one of my dogs chewed it up and I threw it in the trash. I started crying (and not because of the Big Book). She said: “I am at the 8 pm. Gotta go,” and hung up. Another time she called just as I was trying to light a citronella candle because there were bugs buzzing around the cheap lantern that I had bought from the dollar store.

    “So how was your day?” she asked brightly, as if I was on vacation.

    “I can’t remember,” I said. That was a lie. I remembered every single detail of a day that felt excruciatingly long. I remembered getting up at seven a.m. because the sun was blasting through my windshield. I remembered my dogs barking because there was some guy on a dune buggy driving in circles on the trails close by. I remembered charging up my Mac on an electric socket that was behind the post office. I remembered walking my dogs for an hour, which we did every day because it kept me sane, plus it was good exercise.

    “My house is a mess,” she said.

    “Okay,” I said, half listening. I could not light the damn candle because the wick was buried deep in the wax, and the flame from the butane lighter kept blowing out.

    “The rats chewed up the cord behind the stove,” she said.

    “I’m sorry,” I said.

    “I was so depressed today. But you know what? I have a roof over my head and you don’t. It’s all about perspective.”

    After I quickly hung up, I lit the candle.

    When I realized that my support system was a bunch of sober weirdos from AA whose noses were so buried in their Big Books that they could not see the world around them, I snapped out of my misery. One night when there was a full moon, I suddenly felt that there was a God and that He was watching over me.

    Why Do Homeless People Turn to Alcohol and Drugs?

    While I had no desire to drink, I understood why many homeless people use drugs and/or alcohol. According to my friend, Tony, who actively helps the homeless in Kern County, most of them use drugs or alcohol as coping mechanisms. Some smoke pot for anxiety. Others use meth. Homeless veterans often drink. “When you are homeless and have nothing to look forward to, you self-medicate. I would do something in a second to let the day go better,” he said.

    That’s the sad truth. And I learned firsthand how people judge you when you are homeless. When I was at the lake and wanted to believe that my dogs and I were invisible under those trees, people gaped at me. I encountered a woman on horseback who threatened to call animal control. Luckily, I also met some good people. Kathy, a woman who often walked her pit bull, talked to me on a frequent basis. Sometimes she would drive by and bring dog food, bottled water, and treats. We exchanged phone numbers.

    I instant messaged another old-timer friend, a fellow dog lover whom I had not talked to in years. Out of sheer desperation, I told him my situation. He told me that my life would get more comfortable if I went to meetings.

    One day, I got a call from Kathy. Apparently, her friend Faith wanted to meet my dogs and me. When Faith and I met, we hit it off, even though one of my pit bulls freaked her out because he would not stop barking. The homelessness had not only worn me out, but had also traumatized my dogs. After three months of living in my car, we moved into Faith’s large house. I have my own room here, along with a bathroom. My dogs are happy. While Faith takes medication for her sometimes debilitating seizure disorder, pot also helps her. Sometimes she drinks. The pot and alcohol do not bother me for a second. I am happy. I can plug my computer into an electric socket in a wall. I have a roof over my head. I pay rent. And finally, I have let go of my friends in AA. I suppose it doesn’t bother them because they are too busy going to meetings.

    And I am sober.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • My Experience with Gabapentin Withdrawal

    My Experience with Gabapentin Withdrawal

    My gabapentin withdrawal symptoms included vertigo from the moment I woke up until about midday, hot flashes that rivaled menopause, daily migraines, and what I prefer to just call intestinal distress.

    I started taking gabapentin (generic form of Neurontin) in September 2017, a couple of weeks after Hurricane Maria hit Puerto Rico (where I live). My husband Paul and I own an organic farm with tropical fruit trees and livestock. Well, we still have the animals, but Maria destroyed about 80 percent of our trees. She left behind felled trees, broken tree limbs and organic material from mudslides on our driveway and the road outside our gate.

    About two weeks after Maria hit, as Paul and I were cleaning the farm and the stretch of road that runs the length of our property, I noticed nerve pain in my pinky and half of the ring finger on my left hand. At first it was gradual but within a week it was keeping me up at night.

    I sat behind a desk for 30 years and I know about ergonomics and some of the causes of nerve problems—such as pinched nerves in necks and carpal tunnel. I adjusted the way I was holding the rake, shovel and machete but the neuropathy didn’t subside.

    I saw my doctor who ordered an MRI of my neck. She also gave me a prescription for gabapentin. She knows my family’s history and my fear of genetic predisposition to addiction.

    “I know you’re worried about addiction. This isn’t a controlled substance. Its primary indication is for epilepsy but it’s extremely effective on neuropathy. It’s well tolerated. Take 800 milligrams at bedtime.”

    Normally I won’t fill new prescriptions until after I’ve had a chance to research the medication, but without Internet or even cell service, I had to trust her.

    And it worked well, sort of. The constant pins and needles disappeared overnight, but my fingers had started curling and my hand was becoming weak. The MRI showed nothing abnormal, which made no sense to my doctor. She referred me to a neurosurgeon.

    After Hurricane Maria, many doctors’ offices and hospitals were either closed or running at a fraction of capacity because they too didn’t have electricity and were using generators. Since most doctors and clinics were only seeing gravely ill patients during this chaotic time, I had to wait until December to get an appointment—seven weeks away.

    By early November I could no longer straighten my pinky and ring finger and my entire left hand was weak. Not only was farm work out of the question, I couldn’t even hold a fork to feed myself. And then I noticed the muscle atrophy—especially between the thumb and index finger. What the hell was happening to me?

    Diagnosis: Cubital Tunnel Syndrome

    Eventually the neuropathy returned, and again, it kept me up at night. In the middle of November, my doctor increased the dose of gabapentin to twice a day. On December 1, I saw the neurosurgeon. By this point I had the signature claw hand associated with cubital tunnel syndrome (CuTS). The ulnar is the longest nerve in the arm, running from the neck through the pinky and half the ring finger and is normally protected by the “funny bone.”

    The doctor assumed, because of the rapid onset of symptoms, that I had subluxation (dislodged ulnar that was bouncing around), and therefor a very narrow window in which he could operate. He warned my husband and me that even with surgery, my hand could remain deformed and I also might never regain full use of it. He suggested I learn to use dictation software. “I don’t think you’ll ever have enough strength in your hand to write again. I recommend you do physical therapy after the surgery but I’m not overly optimistic.”

    The nerve pain was, at times, excruciating. The neurosurgeon increased my gabapentin dosage to 800 milligrams three times a day. Even with this increase to 2400 milligrams daily, it was within the recommended range of between 1200 and 3600 milligrams daily. Twelve days later I had the surgery.

    Following surgery, three months of intensive physical therapy and working really hard at home in between my thrice-weekly PT appointments, I regained most of the strength I’d lost. I saw the neurosurgeon at the end of March. Holding the physical therapist’s report that tracked my progress, he said he was very happy with my outcomes—even he was surprised how well I’d recovered. “I think you can start writing again by June. How’s the nerve pain?” He asked me.

    It never disappeared, I told him. He said that if I still had neuropathy by six months post-surgery, I was probably stuck with it for life. He recommended I stay on the gabapentin three times a day forever. At the time his recommendation made sense, so I kept taking the medicine, fully accepting that I’d be on it indefinitely.

    A Second Opinion I Didn’t Seek

    In August I started seeing a new chiropractor for chronic pain in my lower back stemming from an accident I had when I was 18. We covered my medical history and the medications I was taking. Despite my age (nearly 52), I only take vitamins and supplements. Then I got to the gabapentin. “I may be overstepping,” he said, “but if you have ataxia, you shouldn’t take gabapentin. Talk with your doctor but I recommend getting off it as soon as possible.” 

    I finally did the research I wished I’d been able to do nearly a year earlier. Unfortunately, he was right. I noticed I was losing my balance more often and that I had gained weight. I looked back on the last year and realized I had all the signs of an increased tolerance to and a dependence on gabapentin, but I was also conveniently ignoring some of the negative side effects.

    If I went longer than 10 hours without taking a dose, I’d get vertigo and start sweating excessively. With a half-life of five to seven hours, after 10 hours, my body was already going into withdrawal. And the worst part? The neuropathy was returning. These are all normal side effects of using gabapentin, but since there’s less risk of addiction and overdose, doctors routinely prescribe gabapentin in place of opioids.

    Never Quit Gabapentin Cold Turkey

    A funny thing happens when your eyes are wide open for the first time—it’s like a fog lifting. Horror stories abound about the dangers of quitting gabapentin cold turkey.

    I read an article by a woman who was having a hell of a time weaning herself off it. She’d been taking between 1800 and 3600 milligrams a day for 20 years, and her doctor suggested a six-day titration schedule. Then I read this from The Mayo Clinic: “Do not stop using Gabapentin without checking with your doctor. Stopping the medicine suddenly may cause seizures.” Seizures? How did I get here?

    I talked with my primary doctor, who suggested a 25 percent reduction every week. The taper was sensible, but it felt too drastic and as someone who is risk averse, I altered it so that the dose decreased in smaller increments and I stayed at each level for a longer period.

    My first three weeks were a bitch. I had vertigo from the moment I woke up until about midday. I had hot flashes that rivaled anything menopause could throw at me. I had daily migraines and what I prefer to just call intestinal distress. Nothing I ate agreed with me and I lived on ginger ale.

    It was so bad that four days in, I posted the following on my Facebook wall:

    At the time of this writing I am two days from being completely off gabapentin. Unless you saw my left hand before surgery, you’d never know it was deformed. I’ve regained close to 100 percent of the strength I lost. I am writing full time again. I’m obviously grateful to the neurosurgeon and physical therapist—who are nothing short of miracle workers.

    And you want to know the kicker? The neuropathy isn’t that bad these days. At moments it can be annoying, but it’s not interfering with sleep. I’ve started losing weight again and the fog is lifting.

    With hindsight being 20/20, I’m not sure if I would have started using gabapentin. Prior to having surgery to fix subluxation of my ulnar nerve, the neuropathy was unbearable. Gabapentin did what it was supposed to do but I should have started coming off it six to eight months ago, perhaps while I was still in physical therapy.

    If gabapentin has been recommended for you, please do your research and talking with your doctor about all the risks and alternatives. Only then can you make an informed decision.

    Note: The Fix does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment, nor does anything on this website create a physician/patient relationship. Please consult your physician before beginning or stopping any medication, or if you require medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment.

    Have you taken (or stopped taking) gabapentin? Tell us about your experience in the comments.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • 8 Essential Books on Addiction and Recovery

    8 Essential Books on Addiction and Recovery

    Addiction recovery books have been fundamental to my recovery from substance use disorder, codependency, mental illness, and complex PTSD.

    “Not every story has a happy ending … but the discoveries of science, the teachings of the heart, and the revelations of the soul all assure us that no human being is ever beyond redemption. The possibility of renewal exists so long as life exists. How to support that possibility in others and in ourselves is the ultimate question.” -Gabor Maté, In the Realm of Hungry Ghosts: Close Encounters with Addiction

    Books have been fundamental to my recovery from substance use disorder, codependency, mental illness, and complex PTSD. They’re more than just books: they contain the powerful stories of others who have walked my path, and they have given me a sense of hope that there is a fulfilling life beyond this condition. I love reading the words of expertise from physicians and clinicians who help us better understand the science of addiction. Perhaps most, though, I devour the work of journalists who have beautifully woven the words of science and experience to help us understand the relationship between trauma and addiction and how that impacts us physiologically and psychologically.

    These recovery-related books have given me the depth of insight into my illnesses that I would never have grasped in the rooms or the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous, or just with my physician’s intervention. It is with the knowledge I’ve gained from these books that I’ve empowered myself to self-direct a recovery and attain a life that I once felt was impossible.

    This is by no means an exhaustive resource. It’s a curated list of the most powerful books that have impacted my recovery and the recovery processes of fellow writers, activists, and others in long-term recovery. While some of these books may not be specific to addiction, they contain potent insights into related conditions and circumstances.

    1. Childhood Disrupted: How Your Biography Becomes Your Biology and How you Can Heal by Donna Jackson Nakazawa.

    This book has been the most insightful book that I’ve read throughout my nearly seven years in recovery. Nakazawa explains the groundbreaking Adverse Childhood Experiences Study, and the link between ACEs and chronic illness in later life, in a way that is powerful and easy to digest. Through storytelling, she shares the experiences of those who have overcome their adverse experiences and inspires the reader to reset their biology and heal.

    1. Nothing Good Can Come from This by Kristi Coulter.

    I loved this book. Kristi Coulter is witty and smart, and relates to the topic of addiction in a masterful collection of dry, heartbreaking, and hilariously human collection of essays. I’m not alone in my admiration of her work — NGCCFT has been wildly successful. Fellow writer and editor Irina Gonzalez agrees:

    “I’ve been waiting for Kristi’s book ever since I first read her essay ‘Enjoli’ early in my recovery and relating to it so much.” Gonzalez explains the appeal of Coulter’s narrative: “I loved her story because it’s very relatable — from her not having a huge ‘rock bottom’ to her writing about what happens after quitting drinking, two topics I don’t think are often talked about in other recovery/alcoholism memoirs. I actually loved the book SO much that I read it in two days! I found it very inspirational and very encouraging.”

    1. Unbroken Brain: A Revolutionary New Way of Understanding Addiction by Maia Szalavitz.

    Maia Szalavitz is one of the world’s leading neuroscience and addiction journalists. In this book, she challenges the concept of a “broken brain” and an “addictive personality,” offering a radical and groundbreaking new perspective. In her book, she argues that addictions are learning disorders; by considering them in the context of this new paradigm, we can untangle our conflicting ideas around addiction treatment, prevention, and policy.

    What I particularly like is her alternative perspective. I favor any outlook that stops us from believing that we are broken and instead focuses on an individualized approach and brings about healing.

    1. In the Realm of Hungry Ghosts: Close Encounters with Addiction by Gabor Maté, MD.

    What I love about Gabor Maté is his approach to those who suffer with substance use disorders — it is one of empathy and understanding of the trauma that we have suffered. He brings together the science of addiction and his decades of experience as a doctor specializing in this condition. He adds another realm to what has always been considered to be a spiritual condition: evidence of trauma and stress.

    “Not all addictions are rooted in abuse or trauma, but I do believe they can all be traced to painful experience. A hurt is at the centre of all addictive behaviors. It is present in the gambler, the Internet addict, the compulsive shopper and the workaholic. The wound may not be as deep and the ache not as excruciating, and it may even be entirely hidden — but it’s there. As we’ll see, the effects of early stress or adverse experiences directly shape both the psychology and the neurobiology of addiction in the brain.” – Gabor Maté

    1. The Body Keeps Score: Brain, Mind, and Body, In the Healing of Trauma by Bessel Van Der Kolk, MD.

    Until the past few years, most addiction treatment focused on either retraining the mind or finding a spiritual solution. Few considered the physical element of recovery. In this fascinating book, Van Der Kolk explores the relationship between traumatic stress and its impact on the body, reshaping our body and brain and compromising our capacity for pleasure, engagement, self-control, and trust. This book is a must-read for those who want to heal their relationship with their body and the trauma stored within it.

    1. Recovery Rising: A Retrospective of Addiction Treatment and Recovery Advocacy by Bill White.

    Renowned recovery advocate, visionary, and prolific author Bill White writes a professional memoir of the stories, reflection, and lessons learned throughout his journey. Many of those who work within the addiction treatment field have been reading the insightful words of White for the last five decades. His book has been touted as perceptive, revealing, and inspiring.

    1. The Recovering: Intoxication and Its Aftermath by Leslie Jamison.

    Praised by most book fiends in recovery, The Recovering is a must read. In this memoir, Leslie Jamison navigates her personal story and interweaves the fascinating stories we tell about addiction together with the history of the recovery movement and its relationship with race and class. Her book has been described as “a transformative work showing that sometimes the recovery is more gripping than the addiction.”

    1. I’m Just Happy to Be Here: A Memoir of Renegade Mothering by Janelle Hanchett.

    In 2011, Hanchett set up the website Renegade Mothering to find out if the rest of the mothering world is as crazy as she was. Having reached an audience of hundreds of thousands, she wrote about her experiences of seeking relief from motherhood in too much wine. Favored by many writers in recovery, her book has been described as wickedly funny and empowering, chronicling her journey through addiction into a recovery she didn’t know was possible.

    What books helped you in early recovery? Add your favorite titles in the comments and we’ll check them out for our next list.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • How to Recognize and Treat Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD)

    How to Recognize and Treat Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD)

    Seasonal Affective Disorder is much more than just the winter blues.

    Frank*, 55, has been living with bipolar disorder since he was 18. Over the decades he’s noticed that his condition is the most difficult to manage when fall gives way to winter.

    “As soon as it starts getting dark I feel it coming,” he said of his depressive symptoms.

    Erin, 57, is normally very active and productive, but as soon as the days become shorter she feels her mood slipping.

    “The first few days are great. You sit on the couch and read a book,” she said. “But then you end up sitting on the couch not doing anything but getting mad at yourself.”

    Frank and Erin both say they suffer from seasonal affective disorder (SAD), a type of depression that is linked to the change of seasons. Most often, seasonal affective disorder symptoms — which include typical depression symptoms like hopelessness, lack of energy or weight gain — strike during the winter months when short days and cold weather can leave even the healthiest people feeling a bit down.

    “As it becomes darker in the fall and winter and the weather starts becoming colder, it is common for individuals to have trouble with motivation, lack of energy and joy,” said Beth A. Burns, a therapist and clinical director at Fortitude Counseling & Wellness Services, Inc. in Lexington, North Carolina. “When we begin to consider SAD is when the individual is experiencing increasing distress throughout their day. It begins to impact their daily functioning, influencing their ability to maintain relationships, seek out social support, and have normal interpersonal and intrapersonal functioning.”

    Up to 6 percent of Americans experience depression during the winter, with as many as 20 percent experiencing a more mild form of SAD, according to The American Academy of Family Physicians. Luckily, the treatment for seasonal affective disorder is minimally invasive and can be very helpful for restoring optimal mental health during the winter months.

    How is SAD diagnosed?

    Although many people joke that they feel like hibernating during the winter, people who actually have seasonal affective disorder experience depressive symptoms that are severe enough to interfere with day-to-day life, just like the symptoms experienced by people with major depression.

    “Diagnosis of SAD lies on the spectrum of depression,” said Dr. Neeraj Gandotra, a psychiatrist who is on the faculty at Johns Hopkins University School of Medicine and is the chief medical officer at Delphi Behavioral Health Group. “It’s a form of depression.”

    Although all depression is cyclical, with periods where symptoms become better and worse, people with SAD find that their symptoms predictably flare up during the fall or winter and they experience remission during the spring and summer (although a rarer form of SAD can follow an opposite pattern, with flare-ups during the warmer months). In order to be diagnosed with SAD, a person must have this pattern for two years in a row.

    As with depression, SAD is diagnosed more often in men than women. And it is more common in areas that have darker, colder winters.

    “The incidence of this condition absolutely goes up further from the equator,” Gandotra said.

    What causes SAD?

    Doctors don’t fully understand why SAD occurs, but they are learning more about seasonal affective disorder symptoms and factors that can contribute to seasonal depression.

    “Like many mental illnesses, science has been unable to pinpoint a specific cause for Seasonal Affective Disorder,” said Dara Gasior, a psychologist and director of assessment and training at High Focus Centers, an addiction and mental health recovery center with locations throughout New Jersey. “However, research has been able to determine some of the biological clues which can help us to get a better understanding of why some people are more likely to get SAD, as well as ways to assist those suffering from it with getting some relief.”

    SAD is associated with three brain changes. People with the condition usually have lower levels of serotonin, the neurotransmitter that helps regulate mood, energy, sleep and digestion. Because these individuals have less serotonin, their brains are less effective at managing their mood, energy and sleep patterns. In addition, many people with SAD over-produce melatonin, a chemical that encourages sleep. This can make them feel more fatigued and disrupt their circadian rhythms. Finally, many people with seasonal affective disorder are deficient in vitamin D, which effects mood and energy and helps facilitate melatonin production. Because this vitamin is absorbed from sunlight, the short winter days can compound deficiency. Doctors also believe there is a genetic component to SAD.

    SAD and Substance Use Disorder

    Many people with SAD also struggle with substance issues, especially unhealthy drinking patterns. Gandotra said that the science in this area is speculative, but suggests that people who are depressed have higher levels of cortisol, the stress hormone.

    “That is a significant trigger for co-occurring substance use disorder,” he said. People may try to self-medicate with alcohol when they are stressed. In addition, SAD symptoms often peak during a time of year that is already stressful.

    “Seasonal affective disorder often impacts people during the holiday season in the U.S., a time which is often filled with increased family expectations, financial stressors and a corresponding increase in depression and substance abuse,” Gasior said.

    As with any co-occurring mental health condition and substance misuse, it’s wise to treat SAD and the substance use disorder at the same time, Gandotra said.

    “When one gets worse, the other gets worse; when one gets treated, the other gets better, too,” he said.

    Treatment for Seasonal Affective Disorder

    Treating seasonal affective disorder starts with low-level interventions that are often very effective in improving mood. One of the most well-known treatments for SAD is light therapy.

    “Light therapy is very beneficial,” Burns said. “The brain cannot distinguish the difference of a light box versus the outside light, so [this therapy] is geared towards providing the neurological stimulation that would be provided by natural light.”

    Patients who do light therapy spend time in front of a special lamp that puts off at least 10,000 lux. This can be done while working or watching television, but Burns said that this therapy is most effective during the early part of the day.

    Gandotra recommends another morning intervention — dawn stimulation. Many people have to rise before the sun in the winter, so getting a light that is timed to gradually brighten the room before you wake — mimicking sunrise — can help regulate your body’s internal clock.

    Getting more Vitamin D can also help alleviate symptoms of SAD. One way to do this is by spending more time in the sun. But that can be tough for people in cold, dark climates, so taking a Vitamin D supplement is an effective option. The dosage needed can vary widely, so make sure to speak with your doctor to determine the right dose for you.

    Other treatments for depression — including exercise, mindfulness and psychotherapy — are also used to treat SAD.

    If these non-invasive options aren’t effective, doctors recommend an antidepressant medication, usually an SSRI like Zoloft or Prozac. These are usually prescribed year-round, although the dosage may be reduced or increased depending on the season.

    “Just like major depressive disorder, there is typically a chemical imbalance contributing to the symptoms of SAD that medication aids in correcting,” Burns said. “Some clients need medication to manage the symptoms and others are able to utilize coping skills with therapy to have similar results.”

    No matter what, people who have symptoms of seasonal affective disorder should not hesitate to reach out to their healthcare providers.

    “Seeking help from a professional is the best way to combat symptoms and start feeling better,” Burns said. “As a society we often think of mental health differently than physical health, thinking we should be able to handle it on our own. However, if you have appendicitis, you would not google it and try to fix it yourself. Seeking help shows you are strong and know yourself enough to recognize that you are not feeling well.”

    Have some advice for treating seasonal depression? Please share your tips in the comments.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Fighting the Drug War in Budget Motels and Prisons

    Fighting the Drug War in Budget Motels and Prisons

    On paper, Nicole’s job is to deliver opioid overdose prevention supplies and make referrals, but in reality, she is a health care worker, mental health counselor, legal advisor, social worker, confidant and more.

    Every morning Nicole Reynolds sits down at her kitchen table with a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and a phone in the other — she is looking at mugshots.

    Scrolling through bleary-eyed photos of last night’s arrestees, she pauses at familiar faces and jots down the names. She checks missed messages on her phone and sometimes combs through the obituaries.

    As an outreach worker with the North Carolina Harm Reduction Coalition (NCHRC), Nicole offers harm reduction services to people who use drugs problematically in Wake and Johnston counties. Through a grant from the Aetna Foundation, she provides free overdose prevention resources and referrals to social services such as housing, medical care, and drug detox.

    It is not easy keeping track of such a transient population; many of her regular participants hang out at budget motels, but frequent police raids scatter them, leaving Nicole to figure out where they landed. So each morning she makes a list:

    Who was arrested last night?
    Who became homeless?
    Who died?

    Rural Outreach: Hope and Risk

    One rainy November afternoon, I join Nicole as she visits her program participants in Johnston County. The 32-year-old is high energy today, exuding the caffeinated vigor of someone who didn’t sleep well and is trying to make up for it.

    “Last night the police raided the hotel where I was doing HIV and hepatitis C testing,” she explains. “I got home late.”

    She winds her long, red dreadlocks absently on her head before letting them fall back to her waist. I wonder, not for the first time, how her small frame holds up the weight of all that hair; she is tiny enough to disappear behind a telephone pole.

    We drive 30 minutes to Johnston County, a rural district rife with dichotomies — fast food chains loom next to empty crop fields and strip club advertisements glitter beside “Jesus Saves” billboards. I ask Nicole to name the towns we pass through, but even she isn’t certain since identical Bojangle’s frame the outskirts of each one. Even the budget motels where we drop off naloxone look alike. Whatever their original colors, each moldy building is now stained with highway exhaust.

    As we drive up to homes and motels, Nicole’s phone rings incessantly. People call for supplies. They call for referrals to drug detox and treatment. They call to ask how to bail a friend out of jail. They call to give updates on their abscess wounds. They call in a panic because someone has nodded off after taking drugs and everyone is afraid to call 911. They call for advice on leaving a violent boyfriend. They call to be tested for HIV. They call to report they just lost their homes. They call because they are lonely and just want to talk…

    On paper, Nicole’s job is to deliver overdose prevention supplies and make referrals to social services. But in reality, she is a health care worker, a mental health counselor, a legal advisor, a social worker, a confidant, and a thousand other job descriptions whose collective weight threatens to crush her.

    “I can’t be everything to everybody,” she tells me, sighing.

    She tries to set boundaries: she doesn’t carry cash, since she is frequently asked for money; she turns off her work phone during non-work hours to avoid the onslaught of calls; she reminds participants that she cannot offer legal advice or perform medical procedures. (But still they ask.)

    As we drive, Nicole frets over her latest dilemma. One of her participants, who recently gave birth, was beaten so badly by her boyfriend that her jawbone shattered. She has asked Nicole to watch her newborn while she gets her jaw wired shut at the hospital.

    “I know I should say no,” Nicole says. She lapses into a rare silence. “But she has no one else.”

    Nicole knows all too well how the stigma of problematic drug use can make someone feel alone. Years ago, she used and sold illicit drugs, even living at some of the hotels we visited. Today, she wears new life on her head—literally. She hasn’t cut her hair since she entered long-term recovery and now the scarlet dreadlocks are long enough to sit on.

    The ability to find and relate to people struggling with chaotic drug use is one of the blessings and curses of hiring current or former drug users as outreach workers. Nicole is uniquely qualified for this job. But she is also uniquely vulnerable to burn-out. It’s hard to say no when you remember how badly you once needed help. And in addition to shouldering heavy workloads and emotional burden, outreach workers are often the most underpaid staff at any organization.

    I marvel at how Nicole remains upbeat amidst the flood of crisis calls from her participants. Even as we visit homes and hotels, the same questions roil her mind:

    Who was arrested last night?
    Who became homeless?
    Who died?

    These questions are heavily intertwined. For opioid users in particular, any period of abstinence drastically increases the risk of overdose death. In fact, every time an opioid user spends a few days in jail without drugs, their risk of overdose spikes to 40 times that of the general population once they get out.

    The War on Drugs: Overdose and Desperation

    Nicole spends her mornings looking at mugshots for a reason. It is difficult for her to know when participants will be released from jail, but once they are, the race is on to find them before the Grim Reaper does.

    The arrest of a high-level drug seller can usher in even bigger problems. When one dealer is taken off the street, users who rely on a steady supply of drugs to ward off withdrawal symptoms are driven to desperation: some will buy drugs from riskier, unknown sources; some will engage in more sex work or petty crime than usual to pay the higher prices caused by reduced supply; some will fall prey to contaminated batches of drugs (as existing supplies are mixed with other substances to spread them over a larger customer base). Overdose deaths usually rise — at least for a few days — until a new dealer takes over, supply normalizes, and business as usual resumes.

    Truly, a single day spent learning supply and demand from Nicole Reynolds can expose the madness of the war on drugs.

    * * *

    Our last stop of the day is the bus station in Raleigh, North Carolina. As we exit the car, Nicole greets a tall, bearded man in a red shirt who has recently been let out of jail. Nicole is pleased that he contacted her during this risky post-release period. She gives him some supplies and advises him to take it slow if he uses drugs again.

    But the next day, the man in the red shirt is dead.

    After reading the news in a text from Nicole, I call to ask how she is doing.

    “I don’t know,” she says. “Maybe if I had followed-up with him this morning he wouldn’t have overdosed…” She catches herself. “No. It’s not my fault,” she adds.

    “Of course not,” I tell her. “We try to help, but most of this is out of our hands.”

    As we hang up, I sigh. Forty times more likely to die after leaving jail. Who can beat those odds?

    I picture Nicole at her kitchen the table this morning, coffee mug in one hand, scrolling through mugshots.

    Who was arrested last night?
    Who became homeless?
    Who died?

    View the original article at thefix.com