Answer Addiction

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  • Support for President Trump is Not Sober

    Support for President Trump is Not Sober

    We would not accept from our sponsees things that President Trump does, without remorse, on a daily basis.

    If you go to 12-step meetings and you’re a MAGA person, here’s something fun to try. Pick a public statement of President Trump’s — one that isn’t explicitly political, as we wouldn’t want politics to sully the rooms — and share it with the group. Don’t cheat by picking something bland, choose a real Trumpian one. Call a woman “horseface,” maybe, or say of Mexicans, “They’re rapists.” Or if you want to bring up rape, raise your hand and tell your fellow addicts that women who don’t report rapes to the police are lying.

    Yes, yes, Alcoholics Anonymous is a non-partisan, non-political organization that, to quote the famous preamble, “does not wish to engage in any controversy, [and] neither endorses nor opposes any causes.” That’s great, for what it is — AA as an organization isn’t about to make grand proclamations about the issues. But nothing you shared with the group, hopefully not your home group, was really “political.” You just put forth your point of view, like the President does on Twitter every day. How do you feel? How is the room looking at you? Are you ashamed?

    it’s a cop-out to believe that the AA program has nothing to say about anything deemed “political.” Whatever your feelings on taxes or immigration, there’s no question that Trump doesn’t represent sober (in the 12-step sense) values. And it’s actually far worse: Trump, in his embrace and encouragement of resentment and ego, has made himself into a symbol of self-centeredness, a totem of negativity. His morals are about as far removed from sobriety as morals get, and he’s actively bringing down his followers with him. You cannot support this man and call yourself sober. Dry, maybe. Not sober.

    Calm down. This is not as limiting as it first sounds. Because Trump is unique, and support for his presidency is also a unique kind of support, there’s not much overlap with pure partisan issues when it comes to what is and isn’t “sober” as we 12-step adherents understand the word. I’m not here to tell people how to advocate for low taxes, reduce regulations, build a wall on the southern border, or that they need to repent and get right with the spirit of Bill W. I’m of the libertarian/anarchist bent, so if AA is a program for leftists, I better go check out LifeRing. I’m talking about Donald Trump as a man, what he stands for, and what emotional reactions he encourages (and in turn benefits from) in those who support him.

    If you get past the simplistic idea that AA is “non-partisan,” none of this should be too surprising. Trump’s whole life has been about his own gratification at the expense of the world, like mine was when I would guzzle vodka for days on end. In his 2005 book How to Get Rich, he explained: “Show me someone with no ego and I’ll show you a big loser.” (I can’t imagine he would think too highly of the idea that “Twelve Steps deflate ego.”) His supporters like this about Trump — that he is unabashedly self-seeking, proudly vain, constantly boastful, and in a way, I get that. It’s fun, and forbidden, but it certainly isn’t how we hope to model ourselves, or for that matter guide our sponsees; but as entertainment? There’s a certain magnetism.

    The bigger problem with President (no longer entertainer) Trump, for those of us who wish to live sober lives, is that he has embraced the role of playing on and promoting resentment, the thing the Big Book says “destroys more alcoholics than anything else.” His public persona, tweets, and political strategy have all become inseparable from his desire to inflame the ugliest sides of human emotion, the sides that we recovering alcoholics try to manage with grace and magnanimity. He tells his followers, both implicitly and outright: allow yourselves to be bitter; indulge your righteous anger; lash out and never apologize. If anything can conclusively be called “un-sober,” it is the celebration of resentment, and that is what the #MAGA movement stands for.

    Trump’s infamous and above-quoted take on Mexicans — “They’re rapists” — is nothing more or less than a naked appeal to the very sort of shit we sober folks try to avoid rolling around in — and this was in his campaign announcement speech! Since then, Trump has expanded this resentment narrative, directing the bitterness of his followers laser-like toward Muslims, immigrants, and women. He dubbed the midterms the “caravan election,” explicitly and unapologetically stoking fear and hate for a group of impoverished people who may or may not arrive at our border in 6 to 8 weeks.

    Look, you can feel any way you want about the legalistic issue of who should and shouldn’t be allowed in America. But sober people who give in to the caravan fear-mongering, or who play into the resentment culture Trump fosters, are trashing whatever spiritual development the 12 steps have helped them achieve. Is one president worth that?

    Maybe Trump does things like this for political expediency more than a desire to single out groups of people — I’m not the therapist he clearly needs — but the effect is to inflame and encourage resentment. This was certainly the result of his declaration that “very fine people” were part of the Charlottesville white supremacist march, and his prolonged foray into claiming that Barack Obama wasn’t born in America. Racism is resentment purified and focused. If we can’t call racist dog-whistling contrary to AA thinking, I’m not sure AA thinking is good for much of anything.

    We would not accept from our sponsees things that President Trump does, without remorse, on a daily basis. “Progress, not perfection,” goes the sobriety cliché. Trump luxuriates in his lack of progress. He infamously refuses to apologize — or even express some contrition — for his worst comments. With two years of the presidency under his belt, he took great joy in mocking (in public, at a massive rally) a woman who at the very least sincerely believed herself to be a sexual assault survivor. The day after an election he claimed to be happy about, he mocked members of his own party who lost — it’s hard to think of a less gracious way of behaving. As addicts we make mistakes, but we recognize that to live an honest life we need to evaluate those mistakes and learn from them. Trump just doesn’t give a shit about this, and in his role as the most powerful person in the world, he’s uniquely able to beam this way of thinking directly into the psyches of his followers. He is kryptonite to sobriety.

    There is a difference between making mistakes and acting selfishly and egotistically — something we all do, and something that George W. Bush and Barack Obama did often — and basing your entire public life around encouraging others to indulge in what Step Six calls “self-righteous anger,” of the sort that “brings a comfortable feeling of superiority.” The 12 steps take as a given that we have a higher nature that our addiction obscures. How can we then express admiration or support for someone who proudly parades his lack of that higher nature, and asks others to follow his lead?

    Some readers might be puzzled as to how Trump’s rhetoric could appeal to allegedly spiritually aware people, and while it seems odd, but it isn’t. All things considered, if Trump’s public persona is attractive to these AAs — or even if they fail to see the damage his verbal assaults inflict on the psyches of individuals and the nation as a whole — they are simply not sober. They have egocentrically taken back their will at a massive cost to those around them. They are dry, maybe, but they are not sober. And as we all know, the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous are filled with people of various levels of spiritual sobriety.

    I don’t think so-called “normies” like Trump (and yes, it is weird to think of him as normal) should be held to the standards we hold ourselves to as recovering addicts. But at the same time, we recovering addicts are supposed to recognize the problems with a celebration of ego, selfishness, and most importantly, proud and unapologetic resentment. We wallowed in that for years, and it landed us in the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous where we ostensibly hoped to redirect our energies to our better natures. Let’s practice what we preach in sobriety. Let’s earn the respect of our sober peers, our sponsors and sponsees, and the people who around us who remember us at our worst.

    There are members of the groups Trump singles out in AA rooms across the country. There are transgender people — the administration’s recent target — in the LGBT meetings I attend here in New York. There are Mexicans recovering from alcohol addiction, including undocumented ones. They don’t have the option of leaving their “politics” at the church basement door. Under this administration, neither do we.

    Trump himself has infamously never had a drink. Maybe that’s the biggest lesson here — we don’t need to be actively drunk to be spiritually wasted.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Promising New Treatments for Opioid-Dependent Babies

    Promising New Treatments for Opioid-Dependent Babies

    Compassionate care for the mothers was crucial to positive outcomes for opioid-dependent babies.

    I gave birth to my daughter in late January of 2014. It was the kind of birth you see in the movies—the contractions started hard and grew closer together within moments. By the time I realized I was in labor, I was already in too much pain to walk. I began needing to push while my husband was on the phone calling for an ambulance. The 911 operator had to walk him through the beginning of my daughter’s delivery. Luckily, paramedics showed up to take over while she was still crowning. The lieutenant who delivered her said it was her first completed childbirth. I will never forget holding my newborn daughter in the elevator while we rode down to the ambulance, or how the entire labor and delivery staff burst into applause when we wheeled into the hospital. But the joy and pride of my wild, badass childbirth was quickly replaced by a deep sense of guilt.

    Within hours, my daughter began showing symptoms of opioid withdrawal—symptoms like rigid limbs, sneezing, and a sharp, screeching cry that burrowed into my belly and filled me with self-loathing. The withdrawal was from methadone, which I was prescribed and taking under a doctor’s supervision. Methadone has been the gold standard of care for pregnant people with opioid dependencies since the 1960s. I did the right thing. Still, watching my newborn daughter go through withdrawal was excruciating. Unfortunately, the treatment she and I received at the hospital—after that initial congratulatory applause—did not make the experience easier.

    My daughter’s level of discomfort was rated using the same system used by the majority of U.S. hospitals. It’s called the Finnegan Neonatal Abstinence Scoring Tool (though its inventor, Dr. Loretta Finnegan, notes with a laugh that her name was tacked onto it later without her knowledge). It consists of a comprehensive list of observable newborn withdrawal symptoms. Hospital staff, usually treating nurses, observe the babies every four hours and tally up the number of listed symptoms they observe. Each symptom is a point, and the overall score for that observation period is used to determine how to move forward with treatment. Usually a score above eight means the infant should begin an opiate wean, or have his dose raised if he has already been started on medication.

    The scoring system is the product of meticulous observations recorded by Finnegan in the early 1970s, when babies were dying from opioid withdrawal simply because nobody knew how to define and treat it. But in 2014, when my daughter was subject to it, and when her scores caused her to be sent to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) to be medicated with titrated doses of morphine for over a month by staff who were less than welcoming to me, I resented the Finnegan Score. Other methadone and buprenorphine-dependent mothers whom I have spoken with have related similar discontent with the system. Usually, the complaints center around variability between the way that different nurses score the babies, or at having their babies sent to the NICU. It turns out, the way some of these hospitals use the scoring system is not in keeping with best practice, according to its creator.

    Loretta Finnegan, who is now the Executive Officer of the College on Problems of Drug Dependence, says that inter-rater reliability is key to correct usage of the tool, and recommends that hospitals which use it conduct re-orientations “a minimum of every six months.” She also doesn’t believe that the modern NICU set-up is appropriate for babies who are experiencing NAS without other complications. In fact, she says that “the NICU is the worst place for these babies,” because of the overstimulation caused by the noise and bright lights. Finnegan puts out a training manual, and gives recommendations for the care of infants include swaddling, non-nutritive sucking, decreased stimulation, and plenty of access to mom. When she was doing her clinical work in Philadelphia, she says they “had [their] moms come in every day,” and that “compassionate care for the mothers” was crucial to positive outcomes for the babies. If I had received treatment more in line with Finnegan’s protocols, I probably would have resented the scoring system—and my daughter’s extended hospital stay—a lot less, and I suspect that other mothers would agree.

    But besides providing better training to staff who are using the current standard NAS protocol, there are a couple of promising new tools for NAS that could help decrease hospital stays for infants, and promote better trust between parents and hospital staff. One of these tools, developed by Matthew Grossman, M.D., an assistant professor of pediatrics at Yale School of Medicine, is called “Eat, Sleep, Console.”

    Renee Rushka gave birth to her daughter in July 2018, while taking methadone prescribed for opioid addiction. Her daughter was treated for NAS at Danbury Hospital in Connecticut. She says that they used the Finnegan NAS Scoring System to assess her baby, but they also performed another form of assessment. Although she says she never heard the term “Eat, Sleep, Console,” and she can’t remember the exact measures, she describes a protocol that sounds very much like the system first developed and researched by Grossman in 2014.

    Grossman’s system essentially measures exactly what the name implies—whether the baby is eating at least one ounce of milk, whether the baby can sleep for an hour straight, and whether she can be consoled within 10 minutes of becoming fussy. The protocol suggests maternal contact and non-pharmacological approaches whenever possible. Pharmacological intervention is indicated based on the infant’s level of functioning and comfort, rather than with the goal of reducing all withdrawal symptoms. According to Grossman’s trial conducted at Yale New Haven Children’s Hospital, only 12% of infants required morphine therapy, as opposed to 61% using the Finnegan system (though the study does not tell us whether they used it the way Finnegan herself recommends), and it significantly reduced the length of stay for many of the babies.

    Rushka reports that her experience with the combined Finnegan and ESC-like approach was extremely positive. She brought her baby home, healthy, after five days, having required zero medication intervention. She also notes that she did not feel judged by the staff, and even recalls receiving compliments and affirmations about her recovery—pointing toward the compassionate, inclusive approach that both Finnegan and Grossman deem crucial to the care of opioid-dependent infants. Finnegan expresses concerns that inter-rater reliability might also be an issue should ESC become more wide-spread, in part because of the design simplicity. But she’s definitely in favor of various treatments being designed for NAS. “In most diseases there are many ways to treat them,” she notes, adding, “I just need to see more proof [that ESC works.]”

    Another promising new tool for treating NAS takes a surprising form. It’s a crib called SNOO, whose designer was not initially thinking about NAS at all—his goal was to reduce Sudden Infant Death Syndrome (SIDS). Pediatrician Harvey Karp says that the crib can not only sense when a baby is in distress, but also what level of distress he’s experiencing—and will rock and emit soothing sounds to help calm the baby, similar to a human caregiver, but all while the real caregiver gets some much-needed rest. Karp says that “NAS babies are more skewed to the irritable side,” then, “the more sciencey way of saying it is that they have poor state control…basically you take a child with terrible state control and give them the rhythmic stimulation they need to get down to a calmer state…it’s so important to our neurology that even adults calm down this way; it’s not an accident we fall asleep in planes, trains, and cars. It’s an echo to this ancient, ancient response to the normal womb sensation.”

    Currently, Mark Waltzman, Chief of Pediatrics at South Shore Hospital in Boston, is conducting a study to test the efficacy of the SNOO in reducing distress in babies with NAS. He’s also using Grossman’s Eat, Sleep, Console tool to assess the babies’ level of discomfort. Waltzman’s study is still enrolling, so there’s no data available yet, but he is hopeful that SNOO will offer a relatively simple, non-pharmacological approach to treating the discomfort associated with NAS.

    It has been almost five years since my elder daughter was treated for NAS. Mothers across the country still report complaints similar to the ones I had then—but there are also moms like Rushka who are finding community and support in the hospitals where their babies are being treated. Regardless of the outcome of Waltzman’s SNOO trial, or further testing for Grossman’s Eat, Sleep, Console tool, the fact that this kind of diverse attention is being paid toward NAS—and alongside it a resurgence of the compassion toward the mothers that Finnegan first championed in the 70s—gives me a sense of much-needed hope. Maybe attitudes about addiction are making a positive shift within the medical community. Maybe, in the future, experiences like mine will be obsolete, and all opioid-dependent mothers and infants will have the compassionate care and affirmative respect enjoyed by Rushka and her daughter.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • The Character Without a Credit: Addiction in "Beautiful Boy"

    The Character Without a Credit: Addiction in "Beautiful Boy"

    David is desperate to fix Nic. He researches addiction and interviews doctors. He even takes crystal meth to try to better understand.

    Told largely from the perspective of David Sheff (Steve Carell), the father of 18-year-old Nic (Timothée Chalamet), who struggles with crystal meth addiction, Beautiful Boy is an agonizing film adaptation of memoirs written by the father-son duo: Beautiful Boy (2008) by David Sheff and Tweak: Growing Up on Methamphetamines (2009) by Nic Sheff. The crucial challenge for director Felix Van Groeningen is to distinguish his film from others in the addiction archives, capturing an elusive disease with uniqueness and poignancy without teetering into the realm of cliché. Groeningen does this by focusing on character relationships, not falling prey to plot prescriptiveness.

    New York Times film critic A.O. Scott writes that as “much as [Beautiful Boy] may want to illuminate the realities of addiction, it mystifies David and Nic’s experiences, leaving too many questions — how and what as well as why — swirling in the air.” Scott misses the point: the “how and what as well as why” is addiction. Films that do pretend to unlock answers to addiction often fall victim to over-sentimentality.

    For the sake of transparency, I bring a bias here: I’m in recovery. Addiction is “cunning, baffling, and powerful,” as the rooms of recovery reiterate. One of the most powerful scenes in the film comes after Nic relapses, and David and Karen (Nic’s step-mom, played by Maura Tierney) come to see him in rehab. Nic begins to cry because he doesn’t have any answers to how he’s ended up there again. Nic, like myself and virtually every addict I’ve ever met, feels better when he’s high: “I felt better than I ever had, so…I just kept on doing it.” And then it takes more drugs and booze to feel better until they simply don’t work anymore. It’s an unsatisfying answer, to say the least, and it’s one of the primary reasons why addiction is so hard for families to grapple with.

    The most engrossing addiction films—think Basketball Diaries or Requiem for a Dream or Trainspotting—depict the darkest moments of drug addiction. Groeningen doesn’t shy away from portraying the depths of Nic’s addiction, but shock value isn’t the primary method to propel the narrative either; the film isn’t about drugs, after all, it’s about the people who fall victim to them. The climax of the film is distressing, to say the least (spoiler alert)— Nic overdoses in a public bathroom—but the film never exploits drug usage as a default mechanism to drive the plot forward. The truth is that the swirling in the air of “how and what as well as why” is exactly what addiction does. This isn’t a copout; this is the truth.

    David is desperate to fix Nic. He researches addiction and interviews doctors. He even takes crystal meth to try to better understand. He is a writer, after all. But this is a subject he will never quite understand and the film, ultimately, is about his journey to accept that there is nothing he can do to save Nic.

    While sitting in the theater, I couldn’t help but be hyper-aware of what active addiction did to my own friends and family, especially my parents—the thoughts that still haunt my father when the phone rings late at night or I’m not on time for a family gathering. What does it do to a father or a mother or a sister or a brother for their son or sibling to disappear for days at a time? This is the essence of Beautiful Boy. And it’s painful.

    The film is authentic because the emotional turmoil—the desperation—from Carell is genuine. It’s easy for a director to inject an addiction narrative with recovery jargon and AA meetings. But that is recovery, not addiction.

    As Anna Iovine writes for Vice: “Beautiful Boy doesn’t hide the ugliest parts of addiction…But all I could think of while watching Beautiful Boy is all the pain that I wasn’t seeing, and how we willfully turn away from the plight of addicts without privilege and resources…Watch it to remind yourself that there are millions of stories like Nic’s, but they won’t have the opportunity to be made into books or films.” While walking out of the theater with one of my oldest friends, I considered where I would be if it wasn’t for family, blood or otherwise. Getting sober, with love and support, is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Without that love and support, I wouldn’t be here, writing this. And so it’s important, to me at least, to consider what can be done for those who want help, but have no idea how to get it, or no ability to get it. I can understand, as well as anyone, the offscreen pain that Iovine writes about. That’s a character in Beautiful Boy that doesn’t have a byline.

    Official Trailer:

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Drug Policy and Criminal Justice Reform at the 2018 Midterm Elections

    Drug Policy and Criminal Justice Reform at the 2018 Midterm Elections

    In one of the most talked-about reform wins of the midterm elections, Floridians approved restoring voting rights to most of the state’s roughly 1.4 million felons

    Aside from boasting impressive voter turnout, the 2018 midterm elections ushered in a number of wins for criminal justice and drug policy reformers across the country. Florida felons stand to benefit from a ballot measure there, and a trio of successful marijuana initiatives will broaden legal access to cannabis in three states. Those were some of the most-touted changes approved last week, but there’s much more to celebrate (or mourn). Here’s our overview of how drug policy and criminal justice fared at the polls.

    A Win for the Felons of Florida

    In one of the most talked-about reform wins of the night, Floridians approved restoring voting rights to most of the state’s roughly 1.4 million felons. The ballot measure finally put to rest another piece of a regressive legacy from the days of Jim Crow, bringing the number of states with felony voting bans down to just two: Iowa and Kentucky.

    The decades-old dictum was pushed into the state’s constitution after the Civil War, creating a lifetime restriction that only the governor and his Cabinet could overturn on a case-by-case basis.

    During former Gov. Charlie Crist’s four-year tenure, more than 150,000 felons were granted access to the ballot box. But since Republican Gov. Rick Scott took over in 2011, just 3,000 formerly incarcerated Floridians have won back that right, according to NPR.

    It was a system that disproportionately impacted minority voters; more than a fifth of potential black voters are banned from the ballot box due to criminal records.

    But on Tuesday, 64 percent of the state’s voters decided to change that. Now, felons — except for those convicted of murder or sex offenses — regain the right to vote once they finish parole or probation.

    It’s a change that could cause ripples far beyond the Sunshine State. Florida is consistently seen as a swing state with narrow margins for its coveted share of electoral votes; a slight shift in the voting population could have national impact.

    In 2000, when the tight presidential race came down to Florida, roughly 500 votes separated the two candidates. It’s not clear which way a possible 1.4 million new voters might lean, but we’ll soon find out. The new law goes into effect in January.

    Looking Back on Drug Laws

    Aside from enfranchising felons, the Sunshine State also made waves with another ballot measure that could help cut the prison population by making new sentencing laws retroactive.

    Until now, any time that legislators approved new laws or repealed old ones, the changes didn’t apply to anyone already locked up. The state’s constitution specifically banned that sort of retroactivity under a so-called “savings clause” aimed at preserving convictions, according to the Jacksonville Times-Union.

    But now, if someone is sitting in prison on a strict mandatory minimum under a law that’s later repealed or if they’re locked up for something that later becomes legal — they might have a chance of getting out.

    Reformers framed the measure as a means of reducing mass incarceration in a state still boasting a record-high prison population. But the change isn’t so much a step ahead as it is a game of catch-up; Florida was the only state with a ban on retroactivity baked into its constitution.

    Speaking of Baked…

    Four different states voted on pot-related measures last week, with mixed results.

    Utah and Missouri both greenlit medical marijuana, joining more than 30 states that already allow it, according to the New York Times.

    And, on the recreational front, 56 percent of Michigan voters got behind Proposal 1 to legalize weed for adults. The Great Lake State is now the 10th in the nation to just say yes to pot, a change that will take effect ten days after the election results are officially certified.

    But despite three ballot successes and growing nationwide support behind legalizing weed, pot proponents lost out in North Dakota, where 59 percent rejected a measure that would have nixed most marijuana-related arrests. The state already allows medical marijuana, but cannabis advocates faced stiff opposition leading up to Election Day.

    “It would have been a disaster for the state,” former state attorney general Bob Wefald, who chairs North Dakotans Against the Legalization of Recreational Marijuana, told the Grand Forks Herald.

    Whatever the inclinations of North Dakota voters, the midterms as a whole seemed to cap a strong year for marijuana advocates – and NORML framed it as a sign of more to come.

    “In 2019, we anticipate unprecedented legislative activity at the state level in favor of marijuana law reform legislation,” the group wrote on its website, “and we expect to see several significant legislative victories before the year’s end.”

    A Blue Wave Sweeps Across the Biggest Incarcerator in Texas

    Harris County – which has traditionally sent more people to state prison, more kids to juvenile lock-ups and more inmates to the death chamber than any other county in Texas – was swept away by Democratic candidates in Tuesday’s elections.

    While the county – which is home to Houston, the nation’s fourth-largest city – already had Dems for mayor, sheriff and district attorney, many of the judges and some county commissioners were Republicans.

    Now, all 59 of the judicial benches that were up for grabs are in the hands of Democrats and at least one socialist. That could have huge implications for progressive system reforms in a county that was already beginning to lean left after years of lock-em-up justice.

    For one, the shift could help end the school-to-prison pipeline, as voters unseated the two juvenile court judges who accounted for more than one-fifth of all kids sent to state juvenile prisons. Now, all three of the juvenile benches will be held by Democrats, including a former teacher, a public defender and one of the 17 black women who won out in Houston on Tuesday.

    The Election Day shake-up could also have a huge impact on the county’s ongoing bail litigation. Last year, a federal judge deemed the county’s bail system unconstitutional because it amounted to “wealth-based detention” for minor crimes. But the county and 14 of its 16 misdemeanor judges have spent millions in taxpayer dollars fighting that ruling, which has become a contentious issue in Houston criminal justice.

    On top of all that, the new county judge — who is the county’s top executive and does not oversee a criminal court — is a 27-year-old Democrat who positioned herself as a justice reformer during the campaign. In a surprise election night upset after a close race, Lina Hidalgo — who came in with no experience in local politics — unseated the Republican who oversaw the county’s response to Harvey.

    The Drug War Wins in Ohio

    Voters in the Buckeye State rejected a progressive ballot measure that would have made drug possession a misdemeanor instead of a felony.

    The would-be constitutional amendment was projected to cut back on the state’s bloated prison population and net millions in savings for taxpayers. Currently, the state-run lock-ups are at 132 percent capacity and, according to Ohio Policy Matters predictions, the rejected measure could have cut the prison population by at least 10,000 inmates.

    Unlike in Florida, Ohio already had the ability to make new drug sentencing laws retroactive, so the new measure would have allowed already-convicted prisoners to petition the courts to apply the new law to them. And, aside from opening up the possibility of release for those already behind bars, the measure’s potential retroactivity would have meant that people who have already served their time could avoid some of the collateral consequences of a criminal conviction – like the loss of professional licenses – by having their old felonies turned into misdemeanors.

    Backed in part by robust campaigns funded by the likes of George Soros and Mark Zuckerberg, the issue sparked contentious debate, and some argued that it could gut participation in the state’s drug court programs as arrestees wouldn’t have the threat of felony charges hanging over their heads when considering treatment.

    But, amid an ongoing opioid crisis in the state, just over 63 percent of voters opposed the measure on Tuesday.

    No More Slave Labor in Colorado

    Coloradans amended their state constitution to get rid of a decades-old loophole that allowed slave labor in the state’s prisons. Now, the Centennial State can’t force its inmates to work for free.

    The constitutional language that allowed the state to use free, forced prison labor dated back to the years after the Civil War, when states – mainly former slave states – started using an abusive convict leasing system to punish crimes, thus effectively reviving slavery under the guise of law-and-order.

    Under federal law, that was still possible given the slippery wording of the 13th Amendment which ended slavery “except as a punishment for crime.” Constitutions in Colorado and at least 15 other states mirrored that language which meant that, even long after the end of convict leasing, prisons could force inmates to work for free.

    But thanks to Tuesday’s vote in Colorado, that’s now no longer the case. Amendment A nixed the language that permitted slavery, replacing it with a concise sentence banning the practice: “The shall never be in this state either slavery or involuntary servitude.”

    To an extent, the shift is only symbolic as the state’s prison labor programs were already considered voluntary, according to NPR.

    Roughly 65 percent of voters supported the amendment, according to the Denver Post. But — even though it is 2018 — some 765,000 Coloradans cast votes in support of slavery.

    A Loss and a Win for Reformers in Louisiana

    Despite the gains for felons’ right in Florida, nearby Louisiana took a step in the opposite direction, passing a ballot measure that explicitly bans felons — unless pardoned — from seeking public office until five years after finishing their sentence.

    Nearly three-quarters of voters supported the restriction. Before Tuesday’s decision, Louisiana was just one of three states that allowed felons to run for office as soon as they got out of jail or prison, according to Governing. Everywhere else, they have to wait till finishing parole or probation — if they can run at all.

    This isn’t the first time the southern state has sought to ban freshly released felons from bids for office; two decades ago voters greenlit a similar ballot measure, but it was later struck down by the courts.

    But the Bayou State offered some good news for reformers as well; Louisiana will now require unanimous verdicts for felony convictions, thanks to a different ballot measure. Previously, only 10 of 12 jurors needed to agree on guilt to put a defendant behind bars.

    Food for Inmates

    In another reform move from the Deep South, voters in two Alabama counties banned sheriffs from keeping for themselves leftover money intended for inmate food.

    More than 86 percent of voters in Cullman County and Morgan County approved nixing the controversial practice that sparked national media coverage. Famously, the sheriff in Etowah County pocketed $750,000 from inmate food funds and then bought a $740,000 beach house.

    Months after AL.com reported extensively on the sheriff’s surfside real estate purchase, the governor put out a memo clarifying that it’s not allowed. Now, the ballot measures reiterate that on a local level.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • 4 Important Reasons to "Keep Coming Back" to AA, Even When We Don't Need To

    4 Important Reasons to "Keep Coming Back" to AA, Even When We Don't Need To

    Don’t underestimate just how powerful your presence at a 12-step meeting can be for another person’s recovery.

    More than I care to admit, my usual 12-step meeting times will pop up on my calendar and I’ll think to myself, “Can I get away with skipping this one?”

    A lot of folks in the rooms will tell you that you shouldn’t skip meetings because relapse happens when we get lax in recovery. You get out of recovery what you invest into it, and the practice of consistently showing up makes your program stronger.

    I don’t disagree with that. But even so, when I’m having a good day, going to a meeting sounds like a drag — and one meeting, I figure, is not going to make or break my sobriety.

    Besides, I’ve earned a break, haven’t I?

    There are four simple words that snap me back into reality, though: It’s not about you.

    Put another way, we show up to these meetings because we’re building a community of support. But when we feel the temptation to not show up, it’s easy to forget the bigger picture.

    So why go to that meeting, even when your recovery doesn’t depend on it? It’s pretty simple: recovery is about so much more than not picking up a drink. The next time you’re thinking about missing out on a meeting, consider these four reasons why showing up still matters.

    1. Someone might need your presence or your story.

    You might be the one familiar face in the room that reminds someone that they’re in the right place. Something that you share might be exactly what someone else needs to hear. You never know what your presence is bringing to the table — and how valuable it might be to someone else.

    When I finally went back to AA after two years of relapses and denial, I can’t express just how comforting it was to see people I could remember. They were still there (and amazingly, still sober) and genuinely happy to see me again.

    Their presence was a reminder that AA wasn’t just a gathering place for sad drunks — it was a community. It was a place where warmth, compassion, and laughter could always be found. At times, it was really the only place where I could laugh.

    Many of us arrive at our first meetings unsure of what we’ll find and afraid to speak up. And often times it was hearing “our story” — seeing ourselves and our struggles in someone else’s share — that gave us the strength to keep coming back and truly commit to our recovery.

    Despite numerous therapists, social workers, and loved ones urging me to get help, the only thing that pulled me from my deep state of denial was listening to other alcoholics. As one old-timer explained to me, “This fellowship is the only mirror in which I can see myself clearly.”

    To this day, I can remember those people’s stories, even if they never noticed me hiding in the back of the room. They may have spoken casually without any thought of reaching anyone, but their words had an unforgettable impact on me.

    Tonight, someone might show up to the rooms, not sure if they belong or if they want to stay. Your smile, your energy, or your words could be the anchor that grounds them. Don’t underestimate just how powerful your presence can be for another person’s recovery.

    2. 12-step meetings can only thrive if everyone commits to showing up.

    Think about it: if we only showed up when we were feeling terrible, what would meetings look like, exactly? They’d be pretty dismal places. There’d be experiences to share — but where would the strength and hope come from?

    On chip nights, when I saw members getting their chips for five, ten, even twenty years, I used to wonder why they bothered to show up. “Do they really think they’re going to slip up at this point?” It’s true, they might, but when I listened to the responsibility statement, I realized that it wasn’t just for them. They showed up for the fellowship, and for the alcoholic who still suffers. Their presence was an act of gratitude.

    Members who show up consistently, even and especially when they don’t “need” to, are the heart and soul of 12-step meetings. The program only truly works when people are willing to build a lasting community together.

    AA isn’t just the couch you crash on when you’re down on your luck; these rooms represent a safe haven that should always be there, and will be — as long as we keep coming back.

    3. Sobriety is an ongoing practice — not a destination.

    I’ve often joked that alcoholism is a form of amnesia, but there’s some truth to that, too. Without a consistent practice — in which we repeatedly confront, accept, and reflect on our condition, while building up the coping skills needed to manage our lives — it’s all too easy to return to our old ways.

    I don’t know about you, but my old ways weren’t exactly charming.

    I could be resentful, self-centered, and impulsive. Like many alcoholics, I’ve fooled myself into thinking I had more power over situations than I actually did. I’ve been the bull in the china shop, barreling my way through life. I much prefer the acceptance, grace, and warmth that I work hard to embody today.

    Left to my own devices, though? I fall out of the routine that helps me sustain my recovery and keeps me accountable. The resentments start to pile up. My stubbornness comes to the surface. My sense of gratitude diminishes.

    Sobriety is not a point at which you arrive. Personal growth is a direction we move in — not a finish line we cross. Think of a fellowship, then, as your compass, helping to direct that growth.

    Sobriety is a practice, and when we regularly attend meetings, we flex the muscles needed to strengthen and maintain our coping skills. The more we flex those muscles, the more intuitive those skills become. And as the Ninth Step Promises state, we “intuitively know how to deal with situations that used to baffle us.”

    Developing that intuition means reinforcing it, and meetings are a consistent and reliable way of doing this, with a community that supports you unconditionally through that process.

    4. Joy is an incredible contribution.

    I’m an optimist and an extrovert by nature. When I first started attending meetings, I very seriously wondered if my personality would be “too much” for a space like AA. Was I too happy? Would my upbeat nature be grating in such an emotionally-vulnerable space?

    But each time I shared my experiences, there was a chorus of gratitude that followed — the energy that I brought to the rooms was appreciated and seen. That’s when I finally understood something: authentic joy is an amazing gift to bring to my community.

    So when I’m especially happy on any given day? I make an extra effort to show up to meetings. I let my smile signal to others that there is joy in sobriety. I let my laugh remind newcomers that there are better days ahead.

    And I let my excitement and enthusiasm lift up those around me, especially those who might be wondering if there is a place for them in AA. When I show up authentically, it allows others to do the same. It makes those rooms a more welcoming place.

    I may not feel motivated on a given day to show up to a meeting. But when I can’t show up for myself, I do it for my community.

    And inevitably, when I do, my joy only seems to multiply. It seems that — at least in 12-step programs — what you give to others always comes back to you in spades.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Evolution of a Beard: My Growth as Reflected Through Facial Hair

    Evolution of a Beard: My Growth as Reflected Through Facial Hair

    My hatred and rage grew alongside my father’s beard. Beards represented mental illness. Beards represented embarrassment. Beards represented my failed family.

    The last time I saw my father without a beard was the night he accused me of being an alien sent to harvest his testicles. It was the summer before I entered eighth grade.

    My father’s mustached face was otherwise smooth. Always had been as far as I knew. I remember kissing his cheeks as a child. Avoiding the scratchy upper lip hair.

    Now, my father’s cheeks were blushed with anger and fear. I lost myself staring into his terrified eyes.

    That night was the culmination of months of odd behavior. Standing outside at my sister’s Girl Scout summer camp, my father screamed accusations at everyone. His family had been replaced by testicle harvesting aliens. The other parents were FBI agents who’d been stalking him at work and recording his thoughts for months.

    I’d always known my dad was a little odd. He had disappeared a few times for no reason. Usually my sister and I would end up staying a few nights at my grandparents’ house. My mom would buy us new toys. My dad would eventually reappear. Things returned to our version of normal. Unknown to me was his diagnosis of schizophrenia.

    This time I knew exactly why my dad disappeared, he was going to the mental hospital; the loony bin. My dad was certifiably crazy and teenage me knew it. Worse, other people knew it. Other teens! Complete strangers. This last image of my father without a beard is seared into my memory.

    My father came home from the hospital with a beard. Well, he came home with three days of unshaven stubble. Still, it was thick, dark, and covered his face. This bearded man no longer looked like my dad. This bearded man no longer acted like my dad.

    The bearded stranger talked to himself out loud in private and public. He cursed and gestured wildly at random times, crossing himself with vigor as he watched Catholic Mass on TV three times a day. We weren’t Catholic. The bearded man spent evenings and weekends shopping for pornographic movies that sat unwatched and unopened in haystack shaped piles in our basement.

    My hatred and rage grew alongside his beard. I hated my father. I hated his beard. By extension, I hated everyone with a beard. Beards represented mental illness. Beards represented embarrassment. Beards represented my failed family. Beards were something crazy people used to hide behind.

    I daydreamed of shaving my father’s beard. Peeling off the stubble to reveal the man he had been prior to having a beard: the father I no longer had.

    At the time I wasn’t able to grow my own beard. That didn’t stop me from making a pact with myself – I would never grow a beard, damn it.

    As you can see in the image accompanying this article, I did not keep my pact.

    As an adult, I didn’t have a beard or a relationship with my father. I became a father myself and vowed to never put my children through what I had gone through: a childhood filled with an empty father.

    I didn’t prevent my father from having a relationship with my children. My mother and father would visit sporadically throughout the year and at holidays. My children were fine interacting with my father. Hell, sometimes I’d catch a glimpse in my children’s eyes of what looked like love toward their grandfather.

    I wasn’t doing so well, though. I treated lingering depression and anxiety with antidepressants, sporadic counseling, and another illness: alcohol use disorder.

    I was failing at life and I frequently drank until I blacked out. I was divorced and only seeing my kids every other weekend. I tried to wash away my bitterness and guilt but instead I found myself on an alcohol-fueled ride to my rock bottom.

    The last time I remember not having a beard was the last time I remember drinking alcohol. I had an appointment with a new counselor. He told me that nothing could improve if I kept drinking and that he wouldn’t work with me if I didn’t stop. Somehow, I heard him. I also heard what he wasn’t saying: things could improve if I stopped drinking.

    I went home and got drunk for the last time that evening.

    It wasn’t easy to stop drinking. At first, every minute of every day was hard. I didn’t have the energy to do anything other than attend AA meetings and counseling. Then, without thinking, I stopped shaving and grew a short beard. At first it brought me comfort in a tangible way: I’d rub on it and scratch it and twist the hairs. After a few weeks it started filling in. And so did my sobriety. My beard grew thicker along with my willpower. I kept the beard and I’ve kept my sobriety.

    At some point I made the first proactive phone call to my father I’d ever made. It wasn’t a magical conversation– we talked about sports and the weather, the same topics we’ve always been able to safely cover during face-to-face conversations over the years. When it was over, I hung up the phone, feeling sick to my stomach. I knew I’d never have the dad I wish I had. I know it’s on me to deal with it. But I wanted to have whatever relationship I could with him.

    I’m four years sober. In these four years I’ve searched my soul to forgive my father. My children love their grandfather. They don’t know the bearded stranger I knew when I was growing up. They’ve never known him without a beard. They only know him as Grandpa!

    I can’t regain my childhood. And I can’t undo what I’ve done to my children. But I can make sure I don’t go back to the dark place of alcohol abuse.

    I kiss my children with a beard. I cuddle my youngest daughter and tickle her with my whiskers. She’s never known me without a beard. My kids see beards differently than I did.

    Today I still have a beard. I keep this beard as a reminder of the importance of staying sober; a reminder of the importance of my family; a reminder of the forgiveness I’ve given others and that I’ve asked for from my loved ones.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Blackouts and Memory Gaps: How Alcohol and Trauma Affect the Brain

    Blackouts and Memory Gaps: How Alcohol and Trauma Affect the Brain

    Dissociation is most common in trauma that involves a betrayal of trust. This is a survival mechanism that protects our need for social support.

    Sober October has ended and now (hopefully sober) November begins. Fall brings the annual three-fold challenge: Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year’s. This year, the midterm elections have created a fourth stressor and some of us are barely muddling through. Recent events have been especially terrifying—mass shootings, pipe bombs, a new report of catastrophic climate change, and the ongoing nightmare that is the Justice Department’s current mandate.

    Recently, Senator Chuck Grassley (R-Iowa) called for an investigation into allegations made by Julie Swetnick—one of the brave women who accused Brett Kavanaugh of sexual misconduct. Unbelievably, Grassley ordered the FBI to open a criminal investigation—into Swetnick.

    Grassley said that Swetnick’s sworn affidavit was not true. Was this just his opinion? It wasn’t based on FBI reports because he and fellow Republicans would not allow the feds to thoroughly investigate her claims against Kavanaugh—nor anyone else’s.

    “During the years 1981–82,” Swetnick said in her sworn statement, “I became aware of efforts by Mark Judge, Brett Kavanaugh and others to spike the punch at house parties I attended.” She also stated, “In approximately 1982, I became the victim of one of these gang or train rapes where Mark Judge and Brett Kavanaugh were present.” Swetnick said she’d seen Kavanaugh drink excessively at these parties and described him as a mean drunk.

    CBS News video:

    The Brett Kavanaugh Hearing

    In late September, Kavanaugh accuser Dr. Christine Blasey Ford went before the U.S. Senate during Kavanaugh’s SCOTUS confirmation process. There were times during her testimony that I felt sick to my stomach. It was as if she were telling my story. Dr. Ford stated that some of her memories were seared into her mind. She also acknowledged that she wasn’t able to recall every detail from that day. But who remembers every detail of any event?

    It was reassuring when Senator Patrick Leahy (D-Vermont) acknowledged this:

    “Ford has at times been criticized for what she doesn’t remember from 36 years ago. But we have numerous experts, including a study by the U.S. Army Military Police School of Behavioral Sciences Education, that lapses of memory are wholly consistent with severe trauma and stressful assault.”

    But the Republicans were not interested in further investigation and, despite the #MeToo and #TimesUp movements and all of the highly publicized Harvey Weinstein and Bill Cosby survivors, much of the country remains obtuse when it comes to the shared traits of traumatized women: remembering some things but not others, and not telling anyone what happened to them for decades.

    Ford’s assault happened at a party when she was 15, in 1982. When I was 13 I was gang-raped by classmates at an outdoor gathering. Ford tried to forget what happened. So did I. She didn’t want to think about the worst night of her life. Neither did I. It took both of us decades to tell anyone. Ford said: “I convinced myself that because Brett did not rape me, I should just move on and just pretend that it didn’t happen.” Confused and freaked out, I, too, decided to pretend my rape didn’t happen and believed that would “erase” it.

    Ford told the committee: “I tried to yell for help. When I did, Brett [Kavanaugh] put his hand over my mouth to stop me from yelling. This is what terrified me the most, and has had the most lasting impact on my life. It was hard for me to breathe…. Both Brett and [his friend Mark Judge] were drunkenly laughing during the attack.”

    Through much of the hearing I was shaking and sobbing, wiping my eyes so I could see. The identification triggered the sensation that I was reliving my experiences. When she said her mouth was covered, it felt as if mine was, too. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. The laughter from the boys that hurt me is burned into my memory. When I went public with my story in January 2012, I wrote: “[My friend] grabbed me, clamped his hand over my mouth….I tried to scream but it came out muffled. They laughed. I gagged.”

    I became so upset watching the live video that I almost called a close friend. I stopped myself because I knew she’d say, “Stop watching it!” Inspired by Ford’s bravery, I felt a sisterhood during this historical moment. It felt like my duty to bear witness.

    During the hearing, Senator Feinstein addressed Ford: “You were very clear about the attack. Being pushed into the room, you say you don’t know quite by whom, but that it was Brett Kavanaugh that covered your mouth to prevent you from screaming, and then you escaped. How are you so sure that it was he?”

    Ford responded: “The same way that I’m sure that I’m talking to you right now. It’s just basic memory functions. And also just the level of norepinephrine and epinephrine in the brain that, sort of, as you know, encodes—that neurotransmitter encodes memories into the hippocampus. And so, the trauma-related experience, then, is kind of locked there, whereas other details kind of drift.”

    Alcohol Blackouts

    The second half of the Senate hearing was shocking. Who but an alcoholic would mention beer nearly 30 times in a job interview? This was to determine if Kavanaugh was right for a lifetime position on the highest court. He whimpered, cried and lashed out. Did baby need his bottle? When Sen. Klobuchar asked if Kav ever had a blackout, he responded, “Have you?” Twice.

    Video clip of that part of the Kavanaugh Hearing:

    A few days after the Kavanaugh hearing, still feeling wrecked, I reached out to neuroscientist Apryl Pooley, PhD, an expert on the brain and memory and the author of Fortitude: A PTSD Memoir, which documents her road to healing from rape, child abuse, PTSD, and addiction.

    Both Dr. Pooley and I were blackout drinkers. We discussed how unpredictable alcohol is. In my teen years, I blacked out if I drank too much too quickly or hadn’t eaten. But in the last few years of rum and cocaine, I could go into a blackout after one gulp, or I could guzzle 5-6 drinks and feel totally sober. Pooley said her experiences were similar.

    But both of us found it difficult to believe that Kavanaugh was telling the truth at the hearing. It’s possible he didn’t know that he blacked out, but that is highly unlikely. After many of my drunken binges, friends would refer to things I’d said or done that I had no memory of. When I asked them if everybody knew I was that drunk, they’d say no. “You seemed normal, maybe a little high.”

    Pooley said, “I’d be walking around and having conversations. People wouldn’t know if I was blacked out. When someone is blacked out, it means their blood alcohol level is so high that it’s impairing that part of their hippocampus, that part of your brain that encodes those memories.”

    She said that everything you’re doing and seeing may or may not be getting stored in your brain. I asked her about being in and out of consciousness. Sometimes I could remember a snippet of an evening. Chatting with a friend at a bar, but then I had no idea how I got home.

    “That’s called a fragmentary blackout,” she said, “or a brownout. That happens when you are blacked out for a while and then come out of it. That can mean that you’d metabolized some of the alcohol, enough of it to regain that function.”

    She also said that some people might think a blackout means passed out or unconscious, which can also look like you’d just fallen asleep.

    Blackouts from Trauma

    According to Pooley, Ford was correct when she spoke about how the brain and memories work. Ford stated that a “neurotransmitter encodes memories into the hippocampus” which explains that trauma-related experience can be “locked in” whereas other details can “drift.”

    Pooley expanded on that: “When recalling memories of trauma, they can pop into your head if you’re triggered, or when asked about a detail.”

    That reminded me of every episode of Law & Order: SVU. Olivia Benson always asks a traumatized victim specific questions: What did they look like? What were they wearing? Can you remember anything unusual? A logo on a hat, shirt or vehicle? The sound of their voice? What they said?

    “Right!” said Pooley. “Those questions can trigger a flashback. The survivor may remember details about the event but not be able to verbalize them. To an outsider, this may look like they don’t remember or are lying. If the survivor was dissociated at the time of the assault, when they remember it later they may seem surprised or confused at their own memory.

    “If survivors feel unsafe when questioned, they may not be able to use their pre-frontal cortex to understand the questions and retrieve certain memories. That’s because their brain was focused on survival. If triggered, they may experience emotional and sensory memories that are as intense as the trauma itself.”

    Aha! That’s why I was shaking and crying while watching the Kavanaugh hearing. And for days afterward. The PTSD had caused my body to react by reliving what happened to me.

    Research backs up Ford and Pooley’s explanations. Memories may be fragmented and certain details missing.

    “But,” Pooley said, “what the survivor does recall is incredibly accurate. Sometimes you hear the term ‘repressed memories,’ which is probably more accurately referring to memories that were stored during dissociation. Dissociation is a survival reflex that can occur when escape is—or seems to be— impossible. A threat may be perceived by the brain as inescapable because of a physical barrier.”

    Ford was afraid she was going to die when she described Kavanaugh’s hand over her mouth. In my case, dissociation happened when I was pinned by five guys. I’d tried to break free. I floated up to the trees and watched. I could see what the boys were doing to me but it took on a surreal quality. It served as a buffer. I was literally scared out of my mind and my body.

    “A threat can also be perceived by a psychological barrier,” said Pooley. “Dissociation is most common in trauma that involves a betrayal of trust. This is a survival mechanism that protects our need for social support. When the trusted individual betrays you, this is a social threat and social threats are real threats.”

    Ford and I both experienced that. She’d gone to what she expected to be a friendly party with people she knew. I thought the guy who tricked me was my friend. He said he wanted my advice about his girlfriend. Flattered, I practically skipped over. That’s when he clamped his hand over my mouth and threw me to the ground and the other boys surrounded me and held me down.

    Pooley explained: “Many people believe that life-threatening trauma only refers to threats to physical safety—like the presence of a weapon—but humans need social support for survival. So, social threats like bullying, ostracization, or anything that threatens social standing can be interpreted by the brain as life-threatening. If abuse or assault is perpetrated by a trusted individual, not only is the event traumatic, but the social threat of losing the sense of safety from that person [or people] is traumatic as well.”

    If trauma leads to dissociation, Pooley said, that can lead to amnesia. Traumatic amnesia is so common that it’s even included in the diagnostic criteria for PTSD.

    “When all or part of the traumatic experience cannot be remembered,” said Pooley, “the risk for developing PTSD greatly increases.

    Throughout the hearing, and frankly, throughout these past few years, I’ve often felt an overwhelming temptation to get high. My mind and body are so wound up that I crave some kind of relief. Rum and cocaine still hover in my mind, pretending to offer salvation. Thankfully my years in recovery have taught me not to listen to my head when it’s trying to get me high, not to keep secrets, and to make time to meditate, keep a journal, draw, hug my dog, and most importantly, remember to breathe.

    If you are shaken by the Kavanaugh Hearing, and especially if it has kicked up flashbacks, there is help. The same is true for anyone who is scared about the midterm election or having panic attacks and high anxiety.

    You can reach out to RAINN, the nation’s largest sexual violence organization. Their website is RAINN.org or you can call their hotline 24/7 at 800-656-HOPE. For any kind of mental health help including addiction, PTSD, or thoughts of harming yourself please visit the National Alliance on Mental Health’s list of hotline resources.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • The Perilous Journey of a Tobacco Addict

    The Perilous Journey of a Tobacco Addict

    Smoking was like kicking myself down the stairs every day: There she goes again. You’re nothing. Remember that.

    I had no words to describe my obsession back then. I was 12 years old and I didn’t know what was happening. I would phone my friend across the street and abruptly ask her without apology, “how many did you get?” I wasn’t even that fond of her but her mother chain smoked cigarettes and didn’t keep track of them. That’s how we smoked.

    Often there were a couple burning in the ashtray at the same time. We got butts off the ground, but mostly we liked them fresh out of the pack. I felt so sick after we smoked. I would stagger across the street, dizzy, barely making my way to the couch and flopping in front of the TV until the nausea and spinning wore off. It was normal to feel awful. I felt like I had the flu every day.

    I’m not sure what came first, the tobacco or the addict; the addict or the tobacco. I was a preteen and tobacco had grabbed a hold of me and said “come on kid, you’re one of us now.” I couldn’t turn it around no matter how hard I tried. I wasted years and decades of my life doing the thing I hated the most in the world: smoking cigarettes.

    I viewed smoking as a sign of weakness which plummeted my self-esteem. I used weed and alcohol because I always felt so sick and kept thinking something else might perk me up. Turns out my mother was right about tobacco being a gateway drug, not that I ever listened to her. To top it off there was a lot of dysfunction going on in my family and no one seemed to notice the compromised state of my well-being and morbid self-loathing. Smoking was like kicking myself down the stairs every day: There she goes again. You’re nothing. Remember that.

    I wanted what I hated and hated what I wanted. I was down to 100 pounds and had to choke food down that I couldn’t taste. I could barely lift my head in the shower from all the poison and I was physically and mentally weak. I ruined my teenage years panicking and ruminating about how to get off them. Tobacco nearly destroyed my life.

    The moment of clarity came to me about five years ago when I stepped out onto the deck in the middle of winter at 3 a.m. in my husband’s robe and slippers. The barometer read -28 with a wind chill factor of -38. It would’ve been dangerous if I had slipped. This was my third night in a row: I needed a fix.

    How incredibly stupid it was for me to start smoking again after the 200th time quitting. I had quit once for nine years. We were opening our cottage after a long winter, taking the weekend off and hanging out by the campfire, raking and burning leaves. I felt good to be up there again and my husband and I were really enjoying our day. Then the trigger came out of nowhere and sat on my shoulder:

    “There you are. I’ve been waiting for you. It’s been a long time.”

    I agreed. It had been. I needed a bit of crazy. I’ll just have a few. I knew full well I was playing with fire yet in that moment, I forgot I was an addict. I said to myself what every addict says just before a relapse.

    “I got this.” 

    The next morning was the worst day of my life. Nine years down the drain. I’ll never forget that feeling of dread — I wanted to die and it scared me. It haunts me to this day; the nightmare of relapsing wasn’t a dream this time. I was paralyzed by defeat and self-loathing. 

    An hour later I was searching for keys and heading to the store. By the end of the weekend I had smoked two packs. 

    There I was on the deck in the middle of the night in my husband’s robe and slippers deeply inhaling the burning smoke into my lungs. As I stared down at the cigarette shivering between my gloved fingers, something hit me. What am I doing awake? I can’t even make it through the night. That need had never woken me up before. This insidious clutch was turning me into a robot and forcing me out of my warm bed. There was no rolling over and going back to sleep. I realized in that moment how much stronger and more potent they had become. 

    After I finished I would step back into the house, brush off all the snow and stagger to the fridge for a gulp of orange juice to equalize my body because the poison left me feeling like I was going to pass out. 

    I already felt like a cancer patient who was depleted and nauseated. Why did I go back? How am I going to get off them again? I would eventually drift off to sleep, not looking forward to ever waking up to face the failure in the mirror and the pair of hands around my neck saying “come with me.”

    I’m not a neuroscientist but I believe nicotine dependency changes the chemistry in your brain. I’m not surprised that there’s a link between early tobacco addiction and cocaine use. I see tobacco slaves under umbrellas; smokers out shivering alone in smoking areas; panicked travelers in airports trying to remain calm, looking for a miracle exit. I see the monkey on smokers’ backs as they come in with their forced smiles to purchase their fix. I see families choosing tobacco over bread and milk. I see grubby corner stores and brightly lit 24-hour gas stations selling tobacco, lottery and gum. I see desperate people wanting to quit and not being able to. I see discrimination and lack of understanding or commitment to do anything but collect the cash off the train that’s ruining people’s health. I see addiction and struggle and a system profiting from poisoning people to death. 

    There is absolutely no way I’m ever going to see the 12 smokers in my life quit. I will see chronic health issues, lung and breathing problems, heart problems and cancer. It’s already starting. Oh, the excuses. I can’t blame them, really. I was there. I lived it. 

    I remain vigilant because you never know when nicotine will show up in disguise, pretending to be your best friend again; how it will use any opportunity when you’re exposed and vulnerable to hijack your life again. The nicotine immediately grabs hold of me and forces me into submission. I ruined a $10,000 family vacation because I relapsed on tobacco. Tobacco addiction makes you weak and it depletes your energy. That was an expensive lesson. I can’t let that happen again. 

    If you lined up every smoker and said: “Here’s a pill. If you take this pill, you’ll never want another cigarette,” 99% of all smokers would take the pill. But there is never going to be a pill to cure tobacco addiction, because illness is more lucrative. 

    Instead, cigarettes will continue to be accessible 24-7 on every street corner for your convenient demise. The tobacco industry is powerful and the government protects them. It’s a legacy this generation shouldn’t be too proud of: “This product keeps killing people, but we’ll continue to make it anyway.”

    Smoking is hell. I was slowly poisoning myself to death and I couldn’t stop. 

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • How to Taper Off Suboxone: A Survival Guide

    How to Taper Off Suboxone: A Survival Guide

    “Fear is common and normal for a number of reasons, but the fear usually gives way to a sense of confidence and optimism when a taper is done correctly…Be patient.”

    Note: This article is not intended as a replacement for medical advice. This is merely the experience of 21 people interviewed by the author who have successfully tapered off buprenorphine-based medications (Suboxone, Zubsolv, Bunavail, Subutex, etc.) or significantly reduced their dose. Please consult your doctor before beginning a taper. 

    After two and a half years of taking Suboxone, I’ve decided that it’s time to start the tapering process. I don’t like having to rely on this little orange film strip each morning to get out of bed, the tidal wave of nausea, being constantly hot, the restless legs, and the constipation. This is an incredibly difficult decision because Suboxone has saved my life. Additionally, studies have demonstrated the effectiveness of Suboxone and found it’s reduced overdose death rates by 40 percent. 

    Some people decide that it is best for them to take Suboxone for life. Shannon has been taking 16 milligrams of Suboxone for 17 years and has no intention of tapering. She said: “I’m never getting off, why fix something that isn’t broken? I love life now. I’m a great mother, wife, daughter, sister, aunt, and trustworthy friend to all those that know and love me. I have absolutely no shame being a lifer. I’ve been to the depths of hell and now I’m in heaven. I believe without subs, I would be dead.”

    Like Shannon, fear of relapse and withdrawals makes me terrified of coming off Suboxone. I imagine waking up panicked and glazed in sweat, running to the bathroom to puke and worst of all, the black hole of depression and existential dread that is common with opioid withdrawal. These are common fears for people coming off opioid addiction treatment medications. In order to help others like me who are interested in tapering, I researched this topic and surveyed 21 people: 13 have successfully tapered off Suboxone and eight have significantly lowered their doses and are currently at or under six milligrams per day.

    Slow Taper

    Sixteen of 21 people I surveyed reported using a slow taper to come off or lower their dose. Dr. Jeffrey Junig of the Suboxone Talk Zone Blog suggests that the optimal dose to “jump” or quit taking Suboxone is .3 mg (about 1/3 of 1 mg).

    Junig writes: “I have had many patients taper successfully off buprenorphine. Fear is common and normal for a number of reasons, but the fear usually gives way to a sense of confidence and optimism when a taper is done correctly…Be patient. Tapering by too much, or too quickly, causes withdrawal symptoms that lead to ‘yo-yos’ in dose.”

    Amanda* agrees with Junig’s advice not to try to jump from too high of a dose. She said that when she jumped from 2 mg cold turkey it was “40 days of hell.”

    To avoid a hellish experience like Amanda’s, Junig advises reducing your dose by 5% or less every two weeks or 10% every month. Sound confusing? Junig simplifies: Use scissors to cut half of an 8 mg film. Then cut half of that, then half again. Put the doses in a pill organizer so they don’t get lost or accidentally consumed by children or pets.

    Holistic Remedies

    There are a handful of holistic remedies that can help with the tapering process. Folks I surveyed said that yoga, meditation, and healthy eating are pillars of their recovery. Studies have confirmed the benefit of yoga for improving quality of life in those withdrawing from opioids as it alleviates anxiety, restless legs, insomnia, and even nausea.

    Sarah said: “I tapered with a clean diet with digestible nutrient-dense food and smoothies and stayed hydrated. I got plenty of sun, used yoga and exercise too.”

    Others recommended vitamins and other supplements including: L-Tyrosine, DLPA, Vitamin C, Omega 3 Fish Oil, and ashwagandha. They used melatonin for sleep and Kava tea for relaxation. (Consult your physician before taking any supplements. Even benign substances may interact with other medications or have unintended side effects.)

    Marijuana

    Four out of 21 people polled used marijuana to deal with the difficult side effects of tapering off Suboxone. Barry said: “I know that some people may not see marijuana as a way that should be used to taper, but for me I was desperate to try anything that worked. I consider marijuana a lesser of evils. It helped with restless legs, nausea, pain, and anxiety.”

    Marijuana may now be a viable option for those who wish to try it, because it’s now legal for medical use in 29 states and for recreational use in nine states plus Washington DC. Unlike opioids, marijuana provides pain relief with a lower risk of addiction and nearly no risk of overdose. Plus, comprehensive studies like this one from the American Pain Society found that medical cannabis use is associated with a 64 percent decrease in opiate medication use.

    While studies have supported the use of marijuana to reduce opioid use, further research needs to be done as reported in the The Daily Beast. Dr. Junig also advises that patients should not start new mood-altering, addictive substances in order to taper off Suboxone.

    CBD Oil

    Three of the Suboxone patients polled were able to taper with the help of cannabidiol, also known as CBD oil. Experts emphasize the distinction between marijuana and CBD oil: CBD oil is not psychoactive, meaning that it doesn’t make patients feel “high” like the THC in marijuana. CBD oil may be a more viable option for people in states where marijuana has not been legalized and also for those who do not want mood altering affects, but strictly relief from physical symptoms. “I used CBD oil during the taper because pot isn’t legal in my state and it helped with restless legs, sleep, and anxiety,” Pablo said.

    A 2015 study in Neurotherapeutics examined the therapeutic benefits of cannabidiol as a treatment for opioid addiction. They found that CBD oil is effective in reducing the addictive properties of opioids, mitigating withdrawals, and lessening heroin-related cravings. Specifically, it relieved physical symptoms such as: nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, runny nose, sweating, cramping, muscle spasm. Additionally, it treats mental symptoms like anxiety, agitation, insomnia, and restlessness. The study states CBD oil is effective with minimal side effects and toxicity.

    Kratom

    In our survey, the people who tried kratom claim that the herb is a controversial yet effective way for tapering from Suboxone. Some experts agree. According to the Mayo Clinic: “In Asia, people have used kratom in small amounts to reduce fatigue or treat opium addiction. In other parts of the world, people take kratom to ease withdrawal, feel more energetic, relieve pain, or reduce anxiety or depression.”

    Four of the individuals surveyed used kratom for tapering off Suboxone. Christine said, “I was very tired when coming off Suboxone, so kratom helped give me the energy to work, clean my house, and take care of my kids.”

    Cristopher R. McCurdy, PhD, a professor of medicinal chemistry at University of Florida’s College of Pharmacy in Gainesville, studies kratom. McCurdy told WebMD: “I definitely believe there is legitimacy to using kratom to self-treat an opiate addiction.”

    Despite these positive reviews, the Mayo Clinic and Web MD caution that kratom can also lead to addiction and withdrawal. According to an article on WebMD, “There’s little research on the herb’s effects on people, and some experts say it also can be addictive. The herb is illegal in six states and the District of Columbia, and the Drug Enforcement Administration is considering labeling it as a Schedule I drug…For now, the agency calls it a ‘drug of concern.’”

    Pharmaceutical Remedies

    Five of the people surveyed said that they tapered with the support of medications prescribed by their doctors to treat individual withdrawal symptoms. It is best that patients talk with their doctors and addiction professionals to see if a particular medication is right for their situation.

    Happy tapering! I plan on writing more in the future about my experience and progress tapering off Suboxone. If you’re embarking on this journey, I wish you luck!

    The names of some individuals have been changed to respect their privacy.

    Have you successfully tapered off Suboxone or methadone? Or are you a “lifer” like Shannon? We’d love to hear your thoughts, experiences, and tips in the comment section.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • 2018 Reel Recovery Film Festival Returns to New York

    2018 Reel Recovery Film Festival Returns to New York

    The fest is the brainchild of Leonard Buschel, founder of Writers in Treatment (WIT), a nonprofit organization that helps alcoholic and addicted writers get clean.

    Calling all cinephiles! The REEL Recovery Film Festival (RRFF), which is celebrating its 10th year, is back for its 6th Annual New York City Edition. The festival kicks off its public program at 8 p.m. Friday, Nov. 2, with a screening of the Eric Clapton documentary, Life in 12 Bars. Click here for a free ticket to the documentary (or any movie at the festival), courtesy of Clapton’s treatment center, Crossroads Centre Antigua. The CEO of Crossroads, Nicos Peraticos, will be in attendance to give a short talk and introduce the film.

    For the full Nov. 2–8 schedule, visit the RRFF website. Note: All tickets are General Admission so, word to the wise: arrive early in order to nab yourself a seat.

    Every year since RRFF sprouted up in New York, I’ve attended this awesome week-long festival and had a blast meeting sober people. The fest is the brainchild of Leonard Buschel, founder of Writers in Treatment (WIT), a nonprofit organization that helps alcoholic and addicted writers get clean. WIT also publishes the Addiction Recovery Bulletin newsletter, and created the annual Experience Strength and Hope Awards. This year’s big award winner was Jane Velez-Mitchell for her New York Times best-selling memoir, iWANT: My Journey from Addiction and Overconsumption to a Simpler, Honest Life.

    Buschel spoke to The Fix about how he got here and what makes this year’s RRFF so special.

    “After 26 years of abusing everything from Valium to vodka and cocaine to codeine, I crashed and burned. I smoked breakfast, drank lunch and snorted dinner.”

    Finally, beaten to his bottom, the depressed and close-to-hopeless Buschel schlepped himself into 12-step recovery at the Betty Ford Center.

    “I’d prayed at the Western Wall,” he said. “I’d sat in temples of Kyoto, cried my eyes out at the Anne Frank House, but it wasn’t until I went to Betty Ford that I decided to get clean. I was horrified at the time, thinking it was some Christian enclave. Thankfully, I learned that wasn’t the case.”

    “This year’s RRFF received generous support from the Addiction Policy Forum,” Buschel said. “So thanks to them we have some really special events that didn’t happen at the Los Angeles RRFF week in October that just ended. So, one movie that’s just for our New York crowd is the first theatrical screening of the Eric Clapton documentary, Life in 12 Bars.”

    Such a perfect title since Clapton loves the blues.

    Buschel continued: “We had to find a bigger venue this year because our audience has grown so much since we started. Judging by last year’s enthusiastic turnout, we are expecting an audience of around 2,000. So, this year, it will be at the 100-year-old Village East Cinema, which is a New York City landmark. Another special treat is on Monday afternoon at 3 o’clock when we’ll have another complimentary screening, the Bill W. documentary.”

    The documentary’s director, Kevin Hanlon, will be at the theater and will give a talk. The film, which was created using old archives, is a moving documentary about AA founders Bill W. and Dr. Bob. Seeing those two on the big screen when it first came out gave me such a thrill. In my humble opinion, it is definitely worth watching the movie a second, or third, or fourth time.

    Addiction specialist and psychodrama expert, Tian Dayton, PhD, who is the author of 15 books including Emotional Sobriety, will be presenting a 6 p.m. panel on the last night, Thurs., Nov. 8, which will include a few videos, followed by a conversation with the audience. Directly after that is Buschel’s talk at 7 p.m.

    “My panel, Recovery Is a Verb, will be a conversation about the state of addiction in America,” Buschel said. “Then we will close with a 21st anniversary screening called Gridlock’d. It’s a great film starring Tupac Shakur, Tim Roth and Thandie Newton, with Elizabeth Peña, Lucy Liu and John Sayles. It’s about two guys trying to get into a government detox program. Tupac plays Spoon and Tim Roth is Stretch. It was written and directed by Vondie Curtis-Hall.”

    “We get 150 submissions from filmmakers around the world,” said Bushel. “We watch every one of them. Our panel votes on which are the very best and it is never easy to narrow it down. [There are] so many great submissions.”

    Click here for your free ticket!

    More Festival Highlights

    Coach Jake (2017): At 70 years old, Martin “Coach Jake” Jacobson is the winningest high school coach in NYC history. But this year, both on and off the field, may be the most challenging yet. Directed by Ian Phillips. Special Appearance by Coach Jake and director Ian Phillips. 82 min.

    Peace, Love and Zoo (2018) This film explores the colorful world of artist and recovery guru, Zoo Cain, as he uses art to ease his journey into darkness through cancer and a difficult relationship. Directed by Reginald Groff. Special Appearance by Director Reginald Groff and star Zoo Cain. 68 min.

    When Love is Not Enough: The Lois Wilson Story (2010) Based on the true story of the enduring love story between Lois Wilson and Bill W. and the transformational social movements they founded. Directed by John Kent Harrison. Starring Winona Ryder. 92 min.

    That Way Madness Lies (2018) Filmmaker Sandra Luckow’s scary account of her brother’s dangerous and ever-escalating cycle of arrests, incarcerations and commitment to mental institutions, one of which included a stay in Oregon State Hospital (the setting of One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest). Directed by Sandra Luckow. NY Premiere. Personal Appearance by director Sandra Luckow. 101 min.

    WONDER WOMEN WEDNESDAY
    Films made by women, starring women, about women.

    These films are not just for women. Everyone is encouraged to come and to join in the discussion after each film.

    Recovering (2017) In this hour-long pilot, Cally Claremont, the adult child of an alcoholic (and so naturally, a recovering perfectionist), must seek help from her estranged sister and a famously sober rock star in order to save her unique treatment center from closing its doors. Directed by Carly Keyes. 46 min.

    Cleaner Daze (2018) is a dark comedy series about addiction, written by a recovering drug addict. The story follows a newbie drug counselor while she struggles with a crew of misfit teenage drug addicts and her own secret addiction. Starring Abigail Reno. Directed by Tess Sweet. 55 min.

    Ciao Manhattan (1972) Essential viewing for anyone intrigued by 60’s pop culture, the New York art scene and the Summer of Love. Ciao is a thinly disguised biopic of the last days of “tragic muse” and Andy Warhol superstar Edie Sedgwick, who died two weeks after the film was released. Directed by David Weisman and John Palmer. 84 min.

    Do No Harm: The Opioid Epidemic (2018) Today’s opioid epidemic is the worst man-made public health epidemic in American history. Every year we lose more people to opioid deaths than were killed in the entire Vietnam War. Narrated by Golden Globe winning actor Ed Harris. Directed by Harry Wiland. 90 min.

    I’m looking forward to RRFF and seeing Buschel again. This tireless innovator is now 24 years clean and sober. Man, I wish I had his energy.

    View the original article at thefix.com