Answer Addiction

Tag: Features

  • How Gigolos' Garren James Found Recovery and Success

    How Gigolos' Garren James Found Recovery and Success

    The client base is diverse, ranging from the ladies who want to go out and have a fun night on the town to those who are recovering from a traumatic experience or dealing with a terminal illness.

    Garren James is a man filled with surprises. The stunning former model is more than just a handsome hunk. He is the CEO, producer, and star of Cowboys 4 Angels, the male escort company featured on Showtime’s hit series, Gigolos, which is entering its seventh season. With a beautiful wife, kids, and successful career, James seems to have it all. But what many don’t realize is that the journey to this dream life was filled with obstacles that only he could overcome.

    The innovative businessman recently celebrated ten years of sobriety. Rather than continuing to keep his recovery quiet, James felt he might be able to provide some hope or inspiration by sharing his experience, strength, and hope with a wider audience. Here, James shares his story publicly for the first time.

    “I’m tired of hearing about people dying. Let’s equal it out, let’s talk about the successes,” he says when sharing his story with me. The Florida native had a slew of prior arrests. After numerous stints in various rehab centers that were not successful, James was finally ready to hit rock bottom. His addiction to crack, powder cocaine, and various other substances had completely taken over his life.

    “I was living in a garage and the girl who was letting me stay there told me if I got high one more time that she would kick me out. So, I went out and I got high.”

    To his surprise, she kept her word and he was out. James found himself with no place to go.

    In desperation he chose to break into her property, hoping to retrieve something that could be pawned for cash. At the time he was in the height of his addiction and thought that she would surely understand what he was doing. She did not. The police were called and he found himself leaving with handcuffs shackled to his wrists and nothing to pawn.

    “I was in a jail cell laying on the floor. I didn’t care.” Rather than looking back with regret, James speaks of his arrest with gratitude: “That was the day the Brown County Sheriff department saved my life,” he recalls. This was not his first experience with prison time, but he was hoping it would be his last.

    For the next ten months he contemplated his future while behind bars. His situation improved when he was offered a chance to go to a halfway house. After getting involved in a 12-step recovery program and attending meetings within the system, he began to discover that life was worth living.

    “I worked my ass off in recovery…I was loved back into being a person who had confidence.”

    It’s normal to be fearful of life beyond your comfort zone, especially when it’s one in which you’ve been thriving and learning a new way of life. When it came time for James to seek employment, he was hesitant and nervous. Acclimating to life clean and serene was as intimidating as it was wonderful.

    “I thought I should have been on disability. I was nervous about getting a job based on my past.” He was encouraged to try. Wearing a pair of slacks and an $8.00 shirt from The Salvation Army, he went in search of employment. Almost immediately, he was hired by an art gallery. From there, he began to rebuild his life.

    His business, Cowboys 4 Angels, started slowly. First, he developed a website. Straight male escorts were available to provide companionship to females. It was a service that would provide compassionate and handsome men to women in need. His big break came when he was featured on The Tyra Banks Show. Before Tyra he was receiving a few calls a month; after his appearance, his business began to boom. He started getting up to 50 bookings a month and the website stayed near the top of Google searches.

    The love that James received during his experience getting sober informs the way he runs his company, and especially when it comes to his interactions with the women who approach him. Cowboys 4 Angels’ client base is diverse, ranging from the ladies who want to go out and have a fun night on the town to those who are recovering from a traumatic experience or dealing with a terminal illness. It’s more than just a dinner date, it’s about having a connection with another human being.

    Ten years later, James’ life has exceeded his expectations. Now happily married with children, with a business and television series on Showtime, he is in a place he never imagined. And James is adamant he has achieved this all because he has never lost sight of his recovery. That is where the real work started.

    “With recovery, anything is possible,” he says with conviction.

    One of his most recent and proudest achievements was rallying for a meeting to be held in the very prison he once did time in. This was finally approved and every other Sunday he personally visits the facility and works with the inmates.

    All the while keeping his coffee commitment at his home group.

    “There are no big shots in recovery.” Garren James says smiling.

    Follow Garren James and Cowboys4Angels on Twitter and Instagram.


    View the original article at thefix.com

  • You Got Sober, but Are You Having Fun?

    You Got Sober, but Are You Having Fun?

    I love my job; I adore writing. But that doesn’t necessarily mean I’m having fun. If anything, it shows me how much of my life is work.

    I arrived at my therapist’s office earlier this year in a state of complete burnout. My adrenals weren’t producing sufficient cortisol to get me through the day, inflammation was rampant throughout my body, and my immune system had given up. As a writer who specializes in recovery and wellness, I couldn’t understand how this had happened to me. I worked out four days a week and ate well. I had also uprooted my life and moved to America, where I’d been working seven days a week for a year. My body had kept score. It was telling me it was time to rest, work through some stuff, and recalibrate. In many ways, this process mirrored the process of recovery.

    Six months ago, my therapist asked me if I knew how to have fun. Perplexed, I looked at her and wondered why she asked what appeared to be such a daft question. Of course I do, I rather flippantly replied. She asked me to expand upon my answer. I began to explain all the ways I have fun in my life, while simultaneously experiencing one of those moments where I recognized that the words coming out of my mouth were somehow communicating a distorted perception of reality.

    I love my job; I adore writing. I beamed. I also love interacting with others: digging into the heart of what makes people tick and how things work, challenging perspectives, and feeling like I’m contributing to the recovery community. I really enjoy yin yoga and exercising too, I tagged on to the end of my explanation, as if to somehow bolster my argument that of course I know how to have fun.

    I realized that few of these examples equate to fun. Instead, they provide a sense of fulfillment from my writing and my interactions with others. I may enjoy my job, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I’m having fun. If anything, it shows me how much of my life is work.

    Writing is such a complex process that elicits a range of feelings and emotions, from great joy to intense, cathartic pain. While writing has remained an enjoyable activity (most of the time), I have made it my career. Forcing a creative process to adhere to deadlines and other people’s requirements takes away a large chunk of joy and places it firmly in the realm of work, not play. And I used yoga and exercise more as activities of self-care that gave me a sense of relief rather than joy.

    I left therapy that day pondering the concept of fun, my understanding of it, what it looked like to me, and what real examples I could muster up. To be completely honest, it was really challenging. First, I had to consider what fun means to me.

    When I think of fun, I think of laughter, joy, pleasure and excitement. Breaking that down, I also realized that excitement is something I have also mistaken for fun. I felt excitement when I used drugs, because my life was so unfulfilling and lacking any sense of joy. Given my history, I realized I associated excitement with the danger of taking drugs.

    According to Merriam-Webster, fun is defined as:

    1 : what provides amusement or enjoyment; specifically : playful often boisterous action or speech full of fun
    2 : a mood for finding or making amusement. all in fun
    3 a : Amusement, enjoyment. Sickness takes all the fun out of life play games for fun
    b : derisive jest : sport, ridicule. a figure of fun. They made fun of the way he talked.
    4 : violent or excited activity or argument. Insults were exchanged and then the fun began.

    So really, I was looking for what kinds of play, or activities, gave me a sense of enjoyment in life. Academically, I understood the concept. Relationally, I still struggled to find examples.

    I could see from my earlier discussion with my therapist that interaction gives me a sense of joy — especially meaningful discussion. Dinner at a fancy restaurant where the food has unusual flavor combinations and the conversation is interesting and intense elicits a feeling of great joy. I feel inspired by eating out and often recreate, with my own twist, dishes I’ve enjoyed — that is pleasurable, especially if I’m listening to music. I also love playful activities, such as crafting and attending creative workshops, and learning how to make something, like a plant hanging or a macramé project. And I get great joy from riding my bike in Portland. Being outdoors in Portland and seeing its natural beauty has been incredibly pleasurable. I love exploring the Pacific Northwest.

    Confident in my new understanding that the construct of fun means enjoyment, pleasure, and play, I was keen to understand how others understand fun and how they engage with it. As I often do when considering a topic, I took my question to the recovery community and asked what my peers do for fun. It surprised me that many people were unable to answer, and some answered in the same way that I had with my therapist. Others listed dancing, music and concerts, creative activities, traveling, reading, playing with children in their family, and gaming, but there certainly weren’t a lot of responses. Some even asked what I meant by the word fun.

    When asked why we struggle to have fun, significantly more people commented. Recovery scientist Austin Brown said: “People with SUD [substance use disorder] are obsessed with themselves and how they ‘feel.’ I think this carries over into recovery. I think we struggle with obsessions with our own emotions for years into recovery. So it is natural that the question ‘How will I have fun (i.e., find instantaneous relief from negativity) in recovery?’ is brought up. It is an offshoot of this obsession with our feelings.”

    Lisa McLaughlin, a person in long-term recovery, says: “As the original party people, many of us in recovery struggle to have fun in the company of drinkers wearing our new killjoy hat. It adds insult to injury that most of us still burn our candles at both ends and have passionate dreams and interests, but find ourselves suddenly shy and isolated in the same rooms where we used to hold court and entertain. It helps to find new sober souls to convene and get rowdy with.”

    Arielle Ashford, who is also in long-term recovery, told me: “I think we take recovery far too seriously and therefore ourselves way too seriously. Having fun in the past equaled trouble.” Relearning how to have fun is a challenging task. “It takes imagination, creativity, and courage to get out and have a good time without alcohol and other drugs,” Arielle said.

    Recovery is such a huge learning process. Many of us didn’t know how to live before we entered recovery, much less how to have fun — or what that even means. Austin explained that we “have little training in the art of life. It takes a concerted effort to learn. Also, I think they have always mistaken excitement for happiness or joy. In recovery, we have to learn what those things mean and how they feel.”

    I believe that we need to engage in as much joy, pleasure, and play as we can to bring levity to what can sometimes be a challenging life in recovery. How do you have fun in your recovery?

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Best Indie Films of 2018: The Fix Picks

    Best Indie Films of 2018: The Fix Picks

    In early recovery I had moments where I was sure I could not stay sober for one more minute. That’s when my friends offered sound advice: Don’t think, and go to movies.

    In early recovery I found myself inundated with obsessive worries scurrying around in my head. It was repetitive dark noise that I ached to shush with alcohol. At times I was sure that I could not stay sober for one more minute. That’s when my friends offered sound advice: “Don’t think, and go to movies.”

    So, as we head into fall with the looming Nov. 6 midterms, a real-life nail biter, let’s talk about the great escape—indies!

    This first film is an uplifting true story about an exceptional human being. He is a creative philanthropist with an unexpected approach to helping people with addiction and ex-cons who are way down on their luck.

    Skid Row Marathon is about a superior court judge in Los Angeles. Craig Mitchell is a one-man crusade helping addicts and ex-cons who live in tents and cardboard boxes on LA’s Skid Row. The worst part of his day job is sending criminals to prison. The compassionate judge came up with a way to have a positive impact. He gets the homeless back on their feet with a running club.

    Wife-and-husband team, Gabi and Mark Hayes, heard about the judge who trains the homeless to run marathons.

    Mark told The Fix. “Many of the homeless are on drugs—crack, heroin, crystal meth, alcohol, you name it. Gabi and I wanted to do something [to help]. My wife is the real runner. Me? I go kicking and screaming.”

    When the couple first approached Judge Mitchell about doing a documentary, Mark said Mitchell’s response was, “’You can’t just show up with a camera and start filming people at the lowest point of their lives.’”

    “The judge was right,” said Mark. “At first, some threw bottles at us. But we hung in there and put in the time to get to know them until they felt safe enough to speak to us. We were there to help, not exploit them.”

    The response to their film has been high praise and enthusiastic reviews.

    “I think [the film] resonates with so many audiences because people know everybody deserves a second chance,” said Gabi. “The homeless situation is heartbreaking and it keeps getting worse. More and more tents keep popping up and there are people lying in the streets. They just took a wrong turn in life.”

    Runners find purpose when they show up to run with the judge and are treated with respect. Their self-image improves which helps them to get off and stay off the drugs. Skid Row Marathon has raked in 21 awards at film festivals across America—including Best Director, Best Editing, and multiple audience awards. To find out how to see it, visit the website.

    For this next winner, it doesn’t matter if you weren’t born yet or if you can’t remember a thing about the 60s and 70s because you were too damn high. Any age is the right audience for this one.

    Nico, 1988 is about the last year in the life of German model-singer-actress Nico (neé Christa Päffgen). Her glory had faded long ago, as did her exquisite beauty. She looked ravaged beyond her years due to her 15-year heroin addiction. In one scene, Nico (Trine Dyrholm) is sharing a cigarette with a friend.

    “Am I ugly?” She asks. He jokingly replies: “Yeah. Really.”

    “Good,” she says. “I wasn’t happy when I was beautiful.”

    In her teens she was a model for Vogue and Elle which led to acting in a number of films. But Nico is best known as Andy Warhol’s muse and as a singer for the Velvet Underground. Lou Reed wrote the band’s revolutionary lyrics about heroin, prostitution, and sadism.

    In 2003, that first album ranked number 13 in Rolling Stone magazine’s “500 Greatest Albums of All Time.” If Nico had been alive to see that, she would not have been impressed.

    “I don’t need everybody to like me,” she says in the film. “I don’t care.”

    She says in the movie that Jim Morrison suggested that she form her own band. When asked if she’s disappointed that her band never had commercial success, she rasps “I hate the word commercial.”

    Smartly directed by Susanna Nicchiarelli, Nico, 1988 is a fiery and fascinating study of another rock and roll tragedy. Though there’s nothing glamorous about watching someone eaten away by drugs, it was a great reminder to stay sober. Don’t miss the explosive tour de force by Dryholm. It brings chills.

    After I gave up substances, I became aware of—and had to let go of—magical thinking. Ironically, my next pick is about two dreamers who built a fantastical world that sparkled like a disco ball:

    Studio 54

    In Manhattan, 254 West 54th Street was the place to be. Studio 54 opened in 1977 and it was a smash hit—a nightly revelry of drinking, drugging and disco dancing. We’re talking gobs of cocaine, mountains of Quaaludes, and A-listers. Everyone else had to wait outside hoping they would be allowed in.

    Owners Steve Rubell and Ian Schrager, two Jewish guys from Brooklyn, became great friends at Syracuse University. Rubell’s charisma was always on but Schrager avoided attention—until now. The 71-year-old finally told details from 40 years ago that nobody has ever heard. Director Matt Tyrnauer got his hands on loads of never-before-seen footage.

    The owners were not prepared for the club’s instant success. It became a haven for celebrating sex and drugs. You’ll see Rubell zipping around, spoiling his guests, flashing open a long coat to reveal a drugstore in pockets—a smorgasbord of chemical delights.

    Rubell paid steeply for his 24/7 bacchanal. So, although the flick triggered my euphoric recall—wild nights hoovering cocaine, glugging Bacardi and dancing all night—I also remember what it cost me. I’m lucky—I did survive, hey, hey.

    The following film is about an unusual triangle between a girl and a “good” mother (the only mom she’d known) and an alcoholic stranger that kicks off a psychodrama.

    Daughter of Mine (Figlia mia) is a fictional story set on the coast of Sardinia, Italy. Two women, adoptive-mom Tina (Valeria Golino) and alcoholic biological-mom Angelica (Alba Rohrwacher), compete for the love and attention of 10-year-old Vittoria (Sara Casu).

    The shy, fair-skinned, redheaded girl had no idea that she was adopted. Heavy drinker Angelica has a life that is totally unmanageable. She’s being kicked off a farm for not paying her bills, but before slinking out of town, this “bad” mom begs adoptive mom Tina to let her spend time with Vittoria. Tina, who is compassionate but wary, finally agrees. She thinks What’s the harm? Angelica will be gone soon.

    Vittoria, however, is enchanted by her wild birth mother that looks so much like her. As they bond, Tina’s anxiety skyrockets. The story is at times predictable but that doesn’t take away from its emotionality or the power of the acting.

    Italian director Laura Bispuri described it as “three characters who are all placed in a conflict that…breaks their heart.”

    The thoughtful, slower pace of a European indie is refreshing. The backdrop of rural Sardinia, with its cliffs, expansive sky and turquoise water, adds to the film’s richness. After the U.S. debut at Tribeca, Strand Releasing purchased this touching award-winner, which is now available on Netflix and DVD.

    This next indie won the top award at this year’s Tribeca Film Festival for Best Narrative Feature. It also won Best Screenplay and Best Cinematography. All prizes are well-deserved.

    Diane stars Mary Kay Place as a sad, retired widow (badly in need of Al-Anon, if you ask me) who exhausts herself by putting the needs of others first. Her mess-of-a-son Brian (Jake Lacy) is a man-child who’s in and out of rehabs and opiate stupors. It’s maddening to see what she puts up with. Both actors give industrial-super-strength performances, as does the rest of the cast which includes Estelle Parsons and Glynnis O’Connor. Diane is the first narrative feature for documentarian Kent Jones (Hitchcock/Truffaut) who wrote and directed. Jones is also Director of the New York Film Festival at Lincoln Center. Martin Scorsese is executive producer.

    Diane spends her days schlepping long distances, performing good deeds. She feeds the homeless at soup kitchens, visits sick friends, and tends to her dying cousin and the rest of the extended family. She meets her klatch of old friends for lunch, where she has angry outbursts (Oh, Diane! Get thee to Al-Anon). The actress is a master at comedic nuances. Her self-blame is a mystery until the satisfying reveal and her character’s profound spiritual arc. IFC bought the film. Theater release date to be announced.

     

    Mary Kay Place in Diane

    Next is an award-winning narrative feature from the UK. It’s got the right ingredients: excellent writing, directing, acting, and cinematography—all in the first sequence. Clever, subtle hints show the audience what they need to know about the year (2011), the place (London), and the protagonist.

    Obey is explosive. Nineteen-year-old Leon (Marcus Rutherford) has been gone for four years. He came home to care for his alcoholic mother (T’Nia Miller). But there is one condition: she has to stop drinking. The good news is that his father is gone. Bad news? His mother replaced Leon’s abusive dad with a creepy, scary boyfriend who enables her addiction.

    Leon likes to hang out with his friends, box at the gym, and inhale nitrous oxide from balloons. Things intensify when he meets the movie’s female lead, Twiggy (Sophie Kennedy Clark). She’s a blonde with big blue eyes and luscious full lips. Leon is transfixed but femme fatale Twiggy has a boyfriend. Leon’s tension builds. It’s all too much and he is going to blow. Leon hates his mother’s boyfriend and her alcoholism, and outside is the chaos of the 2011 London Riots. Director James Jones uses actual news footage seamlessly. To find out how to see it, visit the website.

    Blowin’ Up is a documentary about sex workers who are caught in the legal system. Many who end up in “the life” have substance use disorders. Director Stephanie Wang-Breal presents their gripping stories without judgment as the film zeroes in on an experimental program in a Queens court. The compassion in the film is its biggest strength. The heroes are an empathic team of women, including a judge and DA, who work diligently to help the workers find a new start. Counseling is used to help them fight their way off of drugs and out of the life-sucking cycle of turning tricks, getting arrested and seeing their lives circle the drain. This solution-oriented program offers a chance at redemption. The new approach toward an age-old problem appears to be working. It is inspiring and brings hope for America’s failing justice system where recidivism is commonplace.

    [Allison: What do you think of these 2 quick mentions as blurbs with internal links as a Sidebar?]

    Pssst. Don’t miss these options:

    Roll Red Roll is a documentary directed by Nancy Schwartzman. It tells the horrifying story of a sexual assault case that took place in Steubenville, Ohio. Male high-schoolers, clearly intoxicated, were caught on cell phone videos, laughing about raping a teenage girl while she was in and out of consciousness. Much of the town mocked her on social media and sided with the local boys. She was ridiculed for being drunk. It’s a powerful film that shines the light on how vulnerable one is when intoxicated. Crime blogger Alexandria Goddard broke the case. The hacking group Anonymous became involved in order to fight for justice. If you ask me, not enough justice was served.

    Read more: Roll Red Roll

    Jellyfish is a fictional story about Sarah Taylor (Liv Hill), an overburdened teenage girl living in Margate, a dreary seaside town in England. Her mother, Karen (Sinéad Matthews), stays in bed all day while Sarah rushes her younger siblings, boy and girl twins (Henry Lile and Jemima Newman) to school. Sarah pedals madly on a bicycle with the youngsters seated in a makeshift wooden trailer that’s hooked to the back. It’s a sad rickety setup that instantly conveys how poverty stricken they are.

    Read more: Jellyfish Captures the Reality of Growing Up with a Mentally Ill Parent

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • A Practical and Comprehensive Guide to Finding a Suboxone Clinic

    A Practical and Comprehensive Guide to Finding a Suboxone Clinic

    It took me 10 hours of phone calls, 20 voicemails, 3 chewed fingernails, and many packs of cigarettes before I found a Suboxone provider in my new town. This is the list I wish I had then.

    When I pulled a “geographic” a few years ago, leaving Portland for my home state of North Dakota, I underestimated the stress of starting over. In fact, stress isn’t a strong enough word to describe driving 1,300 miles with my recent ex-boyfriend in the passenger seat and the fear of restarting life without heroin; not to mention I had no full-time job prospect, no health insurance, no apartment, and very few of my possessions. I also had a unique fear that loomed over me like an ominous storm cloud: trying to find a new Suboxone* provider in a rural state. 

    It took me almost ten hours of phone calls, twenty voicemails, ten games of phone tag, three chewed fingernails, and many packs of cigarettes to find a clinic that would dispense the medicine I take to maintain my recovery. 

    Unfortunately, my situation is a common one. Despite our nation being in the throes of an opioid epidemic, finding a Suboxone provider is a widespread problem; only about one-third of addiction rehabilitation programs offer long-term use of methadone or buprenorphine (the active ingredient in Suboxone). And according to the National Alliance of Advocates for Buprenorphine Treatment (NAABT), only about half of all Suboxone providers are accepting new patients.

    Finding this life-saving medication shouldn’t be so hard. When you are committed to getting better, you shouldn’t have to worry about whether or not you’ll be able to find a clinic to dispense your medicine. A person with diabetes wouldn’t have to search hard to find insulin. So I’ve compiled a round-up of tips and suggestions. 

    This is the list I wish I’d had in early recovery:

    1. Find friends and family who are supportive of your Suboxone journey.

    2. Remember that your form of treatment is just as valid as all other types of treatment and recovery.

    Although Suboxone is a widely stigmatized and divisive medication in the recovery community, it has been shown to reduce opioid overdose death rates by 40 percent.

    3. Join online support groups and forums for people on Suboxone.

    Since I lived in a rural area, I couldn’t find any in person groups. So I joined secret social media Suboxone support groups on Facebook, recovery Reddit threads, and peer-support forums such as the Addiction Survivors website and Suboxone Talk Zone.

    4. Allow Plenty of Time to Research, Call, and Locate Providers.

    This was the most daunting and lengthy part of finding a new provider. Dr. Bruce Seligsohn has been a board-certified internist in Southern California for 30 years and practicing addiction medicine for 10 years. Dr. Seligsohn advises: “Patients really need to be very careful selecting a doctor if they have a choice. I would suggest that a patient looking for a new doctor do their due diligence and see what comes up online about the doctor.”

    I have compiled the most current resources available as of August 2018. See the sidebar for a sample phone script for calling providers.  

    Pros: Convenience, ease of navigation. You will be able to easily search for a provider based upon zip code, state, and the distance that you’re able to travel for a clinic.

    Cons: Out of date, inaccurate, not comprehensive. Be prepared for hours of phone calls depending on your location and financial situation. Not all providers are listed on the site. I also found that some of the clinics listed were not accepting new patients, had been closed, or had their numbers disconnected.

    Pros: Ease of navigation, instant results. Similar to the Suboxone manufacturer’s website, this is a good launching point for starting your search based upon zip code, state, and the distance that you’re able to travel. 

    Cons:  Not comprehensive and despite being a government resource, it is not up-to-date.

    Pros: Easy to use, more accurate. Treatment Match only connects you with providers in your area who are accepting new patients, reducing dead ends and calls to providers who aren’t accepting new patients or insurance. 

    Cons: Wait time/ lack of timeliness, not as many provider connections. This is not a straightforward directory and while it’s easy to sign up, you have to wait for a provider to respond to your email. The site claims that doctors respond 24/7, including weekends and holidays, but I only heard from them during normal business hours.

    • Yelp Reviews of Clinics

    Pros: Hearing directly from other patients about their experiences, easy to use, instantaneous, accessible.

    Cons: Questionable trustworthiness. Dr Seligsohn said: “Patient reviews can sometimes be very misleading.”

    • Calling Your Insurance Company

    Note: Insurance companies vary widely, so I can only speak from my experience. For example, in Oregon I was easily able to locate a Suboxone provider through my insurance company, but my North Dakota insurance did not provide referrals. They stated that their preferred addiction treatment was therapy and 12-step based treatment programs rather than medication.  

    Pros: Possible thorough list of doctors certified to prescribe Suboxone. Those Suboxone providers who accept your insurance are required to keep their information listed and up-to-date.

    Cons: Time-consuming and you have to deal with the hurdles of bureaucracy. Plus, some studies have found that only about 50% of eligible Suboxone doctors accept insurance. Some insurance companies like mine will allow you to submit an appeal asking them to cover part of your Suboxone visit or prescription, especially in rural areas. I saved all of my receipts and had my psychiatrist and Suboxone doctors write letters of support. After months of appeals, the insurance company agreed to cover part of each appointment. Each month I sent in a claim and receipt, and then I received a reimbursement check about a month later. 

    • Asking for a referral from your primary care provider, psychiatrist, or hospital.

    Another note: This is also difficult to give specific advice on because they vary depending according to location and providers, among many other factors.

    Pros: In-person support and assistance, more direct medical guidance and advice. 

    Cons: Stigma, lack of education about Suboxone, judgement, lack of timeliness. 

    5. Be Persistent!  

    6. Moving? Set Up an Appointment Months in Advance.

    Dr. Seligsohn advises finding a doctor and setting up an appointment prior to moving. “Patients need to find out as much information about how their perspective new doctor runs his practice…They also need to find out what the doctor’s philosophy is about long-term vs short-term Suboxone. If I was a patient I’d be reluctant to move to an area where there’s a shortage of Suboxone doctors.”


    Sidebar: Sample Phone Script for Calling Suboxone Providers

    I remember being so nervous, overwhelmed, and frustrated while also dealing with the symptoms of opioid withdrawal. Make sure you set aside a few hours for making calls in a quiet, safe place. I know some of these tips might seem like common sense, but when you’re in crisis and everything feels overwhelming, it can be a relief to have a guide.

    1. Introduce yourself and tell them that you’re looking for a suboxone provider.

    2. Where are you located?

    3. Are you accepting new patients?

    • If yes- when is your earliest available appointment?
    • If no- don’t hang up just yet! Ask: do you have a waiting list? Can you give me an estimate for how long it would take me to get an appointment? 
    • Do you have a cancellation list and if so, can you please add me to it?

    4. How often do I need to come to the clinic or office? 

    • Most clinics and offices require monthly or bi-monthly visits, but some require daily visits and dispense suboxone in a similar manner to methadone.

    4. Do you accept my insurance? 

    5. If the clinic does not accept insurance, how much does each appointment cost?

    • How much does the intake appointment/ first visit cost? This is an important question to ask because initial intake appointments can cost anywhere from $100 – $200 more than a regular visit.
    • Some clinics require pre-payment to reserve your appointment and prevent cancellation. Do you require a down payment before the appointment?
    • What forms of payment do you accept? (cash, credit, check?) Note that most clinics do not accept checks.
    • Do you allow payment plans or is payment due on the day of the appointment? A majority of clinics will not allow patients to do a payment plan and payment is due on the day of the appointment.
    • Are there any additional costs or required fees? Some charge additional fees for mandatory counseling, drug screens, etc.

    6. What are the counseling requirements?

    • You may be required to do weekly or monthly therapy groups with others at the clinic, and/or meet with an addiction counselor. This varies depending on how long you’ve been clean and your insurance coverage. (For example, one of my previous clinics had no counseling requirement, but my new clinic requires me to meet with an addiction counselor for one hour each month. Other clinics require weekly or bi-monthly group support meetings.)

    Quick Resource List:

    The Substance Abuse and Mental Health Administration (SAMHSA)’s Buprenorphine Treatment Practitioner Locator

    Suboxone Website’s Treatment Provider Directory

    Buprenorphine Matching System on Treatment Match on The National Alliance of Advocates for Buprenorphine Treatment (NAABT)

    Addiction Survivors

    Suboxone Talk Zone

      

    *(Writer’s Note: Suboxone is the most common brand-name buprenorphine medication, but this article is also applicable for patients seeking any form of buprenorphine treatment including: Subutex, Zubsolv, Bunavail, and Probuphine).  

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • A Dopeman's Grocery List

    A Dopeman's Grocery List

    The reality and gravity of the entire situation was this: if I don’t steal this shit, I’m not getting high. If I’m not getting high, I’m dying. That’s how bad I was strung out on opioids; that’s how much of a slave I was to the drugs.

    The following story is based on actual events. In an effort to protect anonymity as well as keep people out of potential legal trouble; names, places and identifying characteristics have been modified. I hope you enjoy these stories. Whatever you do. DO NOT try this at home.

    What happens when you run out of money and need a fix bad?

    What happens when you just don’t have it in you to stick someone up on that particular day?

    What happens when you run out of shit to pawn?

    What happens when there’s nothing left to post on OfferUp, LetGo and Craigslist?

    You can always go grocery shopping for your drug dealer like I did. I mean, I didn’t have any money at the time and I already traded my food stamps for dope that month but I knew there were a few items that “D” needed me to pick up from one of those big-box-retail-stores. If I could get the items he needed, he would trade me 50% of whatever it cost in cash or trade me 75% of what it cost in dope. This was a no brainer. Get the grocery list, steal the items, get the dope and get high.

    I’ve always been a fan of “heist” movies. Mission Impossible, Ocean’s Eleven and Catch Me If You Can come to mind when I think about the excitement I felt when the “bad guys” got away with whatever it was that they were taking. Sometimes rooting for the bad guy feels good. Every time I received one of these lists via text message from D, I felt like Ethan Hunt accepting some kind of grand mission that was of the utmost importance. The reality and gravity of the entire situation was this: if I don’t steal this shit, I’m not getting high. If I’m not getting high, I’m dying. That’s how bad I was strung out on opioids; that’s how much of a slave I was to the drugs. When opioids told me to jump, my response was always: how high?

    It’s been four and a half hours since I last shot up. My stomach is beginning to turn like that sensation you get when a roller coaster takes its first plunge, except it felt like it was my life that was diving into utter oblivion. My palms have begun to get clammy. I got the cold-sweats and it’s pissing me off. It’s 73 degrees in my room but I’m soaking wet like “Dollar Debbie” taking a stroll down MLK in the middle of August. Life sucks and I need to get “one” in me… like yesterday.

    BEEP! BEEP! A text comes in. God I hope it’s D. I unlock my phone and see the good news I’ve been waiting for:

    1 bottle of Pine-Sol
    2 boxes of Huggies
    Peanut Butter and Jelly – not that shit with the peanuts in it
    1 Mop
    1 Case of Ramen Noodles
    5-10 assorted girl’s tees
    1 pair of white sneakers, size 6 – I don’t care what the brand is

    Oh, I also need a new Bluetooth speaker, some crackhead stole mine last night. See if you can get one of those dope ass Dyson vacuums too.

    And hurry the fuck up, I’m trying to go to the casino. You got one hour!

    Finally! I got the grocery list! Now I have to find a ride. That means I have to cut somebody in on the payoff, which means fewer drugs for me. Fuck it, I’m hurting bad. At this point, I’m not going to argue over whose half of a dilaudid is bigger. It doesn’t matter anymore.

    I scroll through my contacts and find the guy I’m looking for. I just hope he’s awake. It’s three in the afternoon, a little early for Tony. He usually gets up around four or five because he’s been up all morning trying to come down from the “shards” he shot up the night before. I know an offer to score some dope to come down off the shit will lure him into my latest scheme.

    “But what color vacuum does he want?” Tony asked, dazed.

    “Does it fucking matter?!” I yelled back. Tony had a way of asking questions that didn’t matter. He was slow, he was sloppy, and he smelled like a piece of toasted Chore Boy. It’s mind boggling to me that this guy was ever successful at pickpocketing when he lived in New York. He had been down here in Florida for only six years and had already visited the local jail well over 12 times. Thing is, he always stayed high, had a car, and was just as sick as I was.

    “I’ll be there in five minutes.” he murmured. “Meet me two streets over by the bando,” he instructed before hanging up.

    Twenty-five minutes later, Tony pulls up in a hurry, looking annoyed like I’m the asshole who’s twenty minutes late. I’m livid. He always does that; he’s worse than a drug dealer and I hate waiting. I need a fix bad. My nose is beginning to run and I’m getting these random sensations in my stomach. Feels like someone is taking a blade and stabbing me erratically. My body is telling me that I’m supposed to eat but the appetite isn’t there. The worst symptom I get when withdrawing is when I smoke a cigarette: I gag every time I hit it and they don’t taste the way they normally do. It doesn’t help that the cigarettes I’m smoking are the ones I’ve collected from all the public ashtrays around town. They already taste bad. This life sucks. I need a pill, now.

    “Here’s the plan,” I say to Tony as I get in the passenger seat. “We have a half hour to grab the shit and meet D at his place before he leaves for the casino.” Tony is already driving to the store. Like me, he knows which one to go to at any particular time of day. We know when loss prevention does their shift change, we know which side of the store the greeters are on, we know which store we hit last time and that dictates which store we hit next.

    “Five minutes or less!” I say assertively. “If it takes longer than that, we’re going to the other store.” I know that if I have to come up with a story to buy more time with D, it shouldn’t be a problem.

    “Flip a coin to see who’s building the cart this time?” Tony asks.

    “Run it,” I reply.

    “Heads!” He yells as I flip the coin. “Yes!” He screams. He gets to build the cart. I’m getting excited. As we near the store, the symptoms of my withdrawal seem to lessen. I’m getting turned on over the idea of committing a crime. Sounds crazy, doesn’t it? Not only am I addicted to drugs, I’m in love with the crazy and dangerous lifestyle that comes along with it.

    Let me break down the lick for you.

    This is a two man job. Park near the front and keep the car running. Pop the trunk but leave it down so it looks shut. Leave all the doors unlocked. First man goes inside alone to “build the cart.” Building the cart is the easy part, that’s why we flipped a coin for it. You basically go in the store, acquire the items on the list, and place them inside a shopping cart. This must be done in five minutes or less. The other man, the one in the car, is on the phone with you, the cart builder, talking in your ear while he looks through the store window, informing you on what the employees are doing. Are they watching you? Is there an undercover loss prevention guy following you? These are things that must be known.

    General rule of thumb when building a cart: look like you belong there. Just go shopping. Smile; say hi to an employee; maybe ask them where you can find a particular item. You’re the customer, act like one.

    Tony gets everything on the list in less than five minutes. His slow ass must really need a pill as bad as I do. If he’s hurting, he’s not showing it. I think he’s as excited as I am.

    Once the cart is built, head to an aisle that runs along the cash register that’s nearest to the exit. Ditch the cart. Leave it in the aisle and get the fuck out. Once you get back in the car, look your partner in the eye, wish him luck, light a cigarette, sit back and relax. Your work is almost done.

    Here’s the dicey part. It’s the driver’s turn to enter the store. I exit the whip and walk to the entrance. Tony keeps his earpiece in and puts the car in drive while he keeps his foot on the brake. I almost forgot to mention, never pull into a parking space. Back in, so when it’s time to make the getaway, you just let off the brake and get the hell out. No one is trying to get into a little fender-bender while trying to elude potential law enforcement. I mean seriously, if my ass goes to jail over a fucking bottle of Pine-Sol, I’m killing somebody.

    I’m in the store. My heart is racing! Do I look like I belong? Do I look like a junkie? I know I showered. My shirt is wrinkled but my shoe game is on point. I don’t look homeless but I feel like shit. Do the employees notice? Keep walking. Eyes forward. Listen for Tony on the phone. It’s going to be okay.

    I find the cart. My palms are sweaty as I grab it and head towards the exit. I dig into my pocket and pull out an old receipt from the gas station. This is what I’m going to use as I walk out the door with my head down. I’m going to make it look like I’m going over the items I “just purchased” as I walk out; never mind the fact that nothing is bagged up.

    “How’s my back, T?” I ask nervously.

    “I don’t see anyone behind you, bro. Just keep coming. The trunk is already open.”

    We chose the correct side. As I near the exit, I notice there aren’t any greeters, AKA receipt checkers. This is expected but I still don’t get it. There are two entrances, spaced out on either end of this store, but they keep a greeter on only one side. Idiots. I’m about to walk out; just a few more steps.

    “Excuse me, Sir!” I hear behind me. I ignore it and keep on walking.

    “Sir! Excuse me, hey sir!” I hear again. She sounds cute. I stop and begin to turn around. I got to be honest, my heart is racing and I’m extremely turned on at this point. Why does crime excite me so much?! I can hear Tony screaming and yelling expletives in my ear.

    “What’s up?” I casually ask while making eye contact with this cute employee. She can’t be older than 22 and she looks perfect, like those black pants and blue vest were custom made to wrap around her beautiful figure. I wish I wasn’t a junkie. She seems like a good girl. If I wasn’t so concerned with getting high, maybe I’d ask a woman like her out. I don’t have time for women. They get in the way of my using. Just give me a crack-whore that wants to fuck before or after we get loaded. That’s all I have time for.

    Shit. I forgot what’s happening here. My ADHD gets the best of me sometimes. I’m supposed to be walking out of a store with a shopping cart full of stolen goods.

    “Sir, are you forgetting something?” She asks. I stare blankly back at her. I don’t have a response and I kind of just want to stare at her before she calls the authorities and I have to turn around and make a break for it. The only thing I can muster up to answer her question is “I don’t know, am I forgetting something?”

    She raises a fist and begins open to up her cute little hand. I quickly picture her cute fingers with the chipped nail polish dancing all over my body. Focus!

    “Get the fuck out of there!” I hear Tony screaming in my ear.

    She opens her fist. “You dropped your lighter, Sir,” she says as she hands it back to me. Tony can hear her on his end and I hear him let out a sigh of relief.

    “Okay we’re good” I hear him say as I thank her and head out the door.

    I throw the items in the trunk and we head over to meet up with D. We’re in a hurry to get high; he’s in a hurry to get to the casino. Both parties are bitching at each other. We engage in the usual small talk that really is just a load of bullshit. D doesn’t care about me or my well-being, and I could give a shit about him and his family. I just want my dope and I want to go home. He just wants his shit and wants me to leave. We do the same shit every day. Act like we’re family. Like there’s some “street code” of honor or something. The truth is, nobody cares. Everyone is out to get theirs and theirs only.

    Tony and I head home and split the shit we scored. As soon as I get mine in me, all in the world is right again. For those brief ten seconds of numbness and euphoria, as the opioids flow into my bloodstream, I forget that I am a slave. I forget that just ten seconds ago, my body was writhing in pain. I forget that I was almost stopped inside of a store for shoplifting while on probation. I forget that if I violate, I’m going up-the-road for at least five years. I forget about that girl that broke my heart. I forget that I’m a lying piece of shit that steals from my mother every time she goes to sleep. For ten seconds, I’m free…

    And in four hours, I’m doing it all over again.

    If no one told you today that they love you, fuck it, there’s always tomorrow. 😉

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Anatomy of a Relapse

    Anatomy of a Relapse

    When my father died, I hadn’t been to a meeting in over a year. I had no active knowledge of how to apply healthy coping mechanisms to a devastating situation so I just went back to what I knew: opioids and numbness.

    Two years ago I wrote a controversial feature for The Fix, “I Take Psychedelic Drugs and I’m in Recovery.” It was controversial in the sense that the response from the publication’s readers — many of whom have an obviously vested interest in topics related to addiction recovery — ranged from sarcastic, hyperbolic criticism to open-minded consideration, with some even condoning the perspective I was sharing.

    The reason I chose to write this honest, albeit uncomfortable “Part 2” of sorts, is to do what folks in certain recovery circles do best (when at their best): share experience, strength, and hope, so that whoever may be listening, reading, or watching may, at the very least, relate and ideally, be helped by it.

    Full disclosure: My name is not James Renato. It’s a pseudonym, adopted out of respect for the principle of anonymity in a 12-step offshoot group I am a member of. It’s also, of course, meant to protect myself from facing unnecessary personal backlash merely for engaging in public discourse.

    Now that I’ve successfully buried the lede, in the spirit of qualifying in the style of an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting: “here’s what it was like, what happened, and what it’s like now.”

    Last April, I ended a full-blown relapse of what previously was an opioid use disorder in remission. In other words, I’d started injecting heroin again eight months earlier, for the first time in over six years.

    It was the culmination of a tripartite experiment involving: firstly, a noble attempt to actively practice a program I helped form (namely, Psychedelics in Recovery [PIR]). Secondly, a misguided lack of acknowledgement that I was inviting a serious risk to my life by no longer practicing abstinence (not just from psychedelics). And lastly, a gradual ceasing of the daily commitment to personal growth in the form of meeting attendance, regular contact with a sponsor, associating with peers in recovery, and just continuing to work on improving the overall quality of my life and relationships with others.

    People in recovery continue to regularly engage in their program of choice because life is unpredictable, and the myriad tools we learn are not always the same ones we rely on for every situation. One day a simple phone call can be all that’s necessary to get ourselves out of “a funk.” Another day it’s hitting four meetings, extensively praying and meditating, and taking a newcomer out for coffee because we were just laid off from a full-time job and needed to avoid the danger that can come from “feeding the poor me’s.”

    In my case, when I stopped participating in my ongoing recovery process, I made an inexplicably impulsive decision to reintroduce opioids to my system. When the DEA announced that they were planning to classify kratom as Schedule 1, I purchased a kilogram from an online vendor for literally no good reason. Several weeks after I received the package of high potency kratom leaf powder (of the “super green vein” variety), I conducted a dose-response self-experiment. I have a history of progressing down the road of “continued use [of opioids] despite negative consequences” (the current best definition of addiction), and within a few months I developed a dependency and went through the entire kilo, despite attempts to reassure my partner that the amount I purchased was intended to last for years, and would only be used when absolutely necessary.

    Right around the time my supply ran out, a friend who had no idea of the habitual relationship I had with kratom use told me about another mild opioid sold on the supplement market called tianeptine sulfate. Tianeptine had undergone clinical trials as an opioid-based antidepressant in the 1990s but did not progress past the second of three phases required by the Food and Drug Administration (for unknown reasons). With the drug’s unscheduled status, enterprising entrepreneurs in the unregulated supplement industry capitalized on tianeptine’s acute, short-acting antidepressive effects at low doses, but savvy opioid connoisseurs discovered the euphoric high it brought on (also short-acting) at much larger doses.

    My kratom habit switched to tianeptine, in large part because of how disgusting I found the taste of the tea I made from brewing the leaf powder, and the hassle of masking the taste by encapsulating the amount I needed to take to reach the effects I preferred. In addition to the perfect storm of things perpetuating my now very active addiction, I’d even stopped attending PIR meetings, was becoming increasingly disillusioned with my graduate studies, and was now too ashamed to admit to anyone that I was seriously struggling.

    Then, tragedy struck. My father, a seemingly healthy 64-year-old on the verge of retirement, suffered a sudden, fatal heart attack on a scuba diving trip in the Caribbean. I was already treading on thin ice, and this kind of event is something I’d long heard people in 12-step meetings share reservations over in their commitment to recovery. But I hadn’t been to a meeting in over a year at this point, so I had no active knowledge of how to apply healthy coping mechanisms to a devastating situation. It was a situation that countless people have gone through, relying on their recovery program to help them navigate as safely as possible, but I’d learned from the opioids I’d been relying on that if I could just figure out how to stay numb 24/7, that’s all I needed to do.

    After the standard bereavement rituals of a wake, funeral, and burial at the family cemetery plot, which was actually a very supportive and comforting assemblage of close friends, loved ones, and long-lost acquaintances paying their respects, I ended up alone in a dangerous situation. I called my old dealer, whose number I still had memorized after over six years of no contact, and one night drove out to meet him just like old times. No need to bother snorting or smoking whatever powder he claimed to be heroin; I had already been well reacquainted with the too-mild results of those routes of administration, so I went right back to the needle.

    I’ll spare you all the details of the familiar downward spiral and just hit on the highlights: I depleted all of my savings, misappropriated funds from an award I’d received, stole thousands of dollars from my father’s still active bank account, then my mother’s shared account, totaled my partner’s car from multiple accidents, couldn’t maintain my job, took a leave of absence from school, and wreaked a devastating emotional toll by shattering the trust of my friends and family.

    Miraculously, I was not arrested, did not overdose (though I came close), and was not robbed (although certainly ripped off repeatedly). About six weeks before I was confronted about the missing money, I obtained a 15-day supply of Suboxone from a chemical dependency clinic, but I shelved it, having no intention of taking it. Towards the end of the first week of April, my partner was preparing to go out of town for the weekend, and I had just been asked by my mom if I knew anything about the empty bank accounts.

    I woke up alone on April 5th, a Thursday, and began my morning ritual of taking stock of the heroin I had left, trying to negotiate with myself on how to titrate the remaining amount throughout the day. I always lost these negotiations and usually just did all of it, or the rest soon thereafter. But after I injected the last of it, I didn’t feel the slightest bit high. Instead, I wept. With only the company of my two cats (who avoided me as much as possible), I realized that I could no longer hide. I faced a crossroads: I could escalate my lies and attempt to find another hustle — knowing full well how inept I am when it comes to actual criminal behavior — or, surrender.

    I remembered the Suboxone sublingual film, and without really taking any time to talk myself out of it, I tore open the package and put the film under my tongue — realizing that if I kept it in long enough to absorb the full dose, I’d be inducing opioid withdrawal. I felt incredibly lonely and remorseful, so I begged my partner to come home from work, admitting to her what she had long known but felt powerless to help me with. Then I texted my mom, hinting to her that I was in a desperate state, and needed to spend the weekend at her home or I wouldn’t be able to “see things through.”

    Tears were pouring down my face in these moments, and I was wailing — one of the deepest emotional pits of despair I’ve ever found myself in. I’ve never found the concept of rock bottom useful. Instead of labeling that moment or attempting to explain it, I attribute my actions to grace.

    A New Perspective on an Old Idea

    I’m a wholehearted believer in the potential of psychedelics or plant medicines in recovery. I have heard first-hand tremendously powerful stories from people who have overcome their reluctance and the doubt instilled upon them by their peers, and are actively integrating the spiritual insights from their psychedelic journeys into their lives. PIR continues to meet regularly via an online meeting, twice a month, and our members gather from across whatever time zones they’re in to come together and share experience, strength, and hope with each other. We’ve formulated a list of guiding principles, meant to clarify the scope of our suggested program. I had strayed from those principles and met the predictable outcome we’re hoping to help others avoid.

    There are ongoing FDA-approved clinical trials for the use of psilocybin (the active pro-drug of psilocin, a psychedelic found in several species of mushrooms) for nicotine, cocaine, and alcohol use disorder, as well as a recently approved study in Europe looking at MDMA-assisted psychotherapy for treatment of alcohol use disorder. While these trials are aimed at treatment of an acutely manifesting substance use disorder, one of the primary guidelines for PIR is that our members should have a firmly established foundation of recovery in a primary qualifying recovery fellowship, and are actively working that program as it’s suggested.

    Recently, now just five months out from ending my relapse, I considered having a ceremony with iboga (the alkaloid-containing root bark of a shrub indigenous to western equatorial Africa), as I wanted to commemorate the one-year anniversary of my father’s death. After soliciting the feedback of my support network, none of whom gave me any advice, but instead offered honest and open perspective to help guide me in making a decision, I decided against it. Ultimately, the decision to commemorate the anniversary unaided came during several of my morning sitting meditations, a practice that has become vital to my ongoing recovery.

    Instead, friends, family, and loved ones gathered at our house on the anniversary day, and shared memories, pictures, and videos of my father.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Comedian Jake Fogelnest: From Self-Loathing to a Life Beyond His Wildest Dreams

    Comedian Jake Fogelnest: From Self-Loathing to a Life Beyond His Wildest Dreams

    Notice they don’t call it the “9th Step Maybes.” It’s not the “9th Step Possibilities.” It’s the “9TH STEP PROMISES.” It’s very clear: we must be painstaking and take the suggestions. But if we DO…some amazing stuff will happen before we know it.

    Comedy Central, VH1, MTV, Netflix. Jake Fogelnest’s TV writing/producing credits are too long to list – and he wouldn’t want me to. I know Jake as a kind, funny, and humble man I met outside of the Hollywood Improv last summer, who treats everyone he meets with the same consideration. I was thrilled when he agreed to be part of this interview series.

    The Fix: What is your favorite thing about being sober in comedy?

    Jake Fogelnest: My favorite thing about being sober in comedy is that I’m ready to work WHENEVER. Whether it’s late nights or early mornings, I’m ready to show up. If I’m writing alone, there’s nothing better than going to bed at 10pm, waking up at 6:00am and just starting to write as the sun comes up. If I’m in a writers’ room, I love being able to come in fresh and ready to go until we need to stop (hopefully at a reasonable hour – usually we do). Or if I’m shooting something, I love that I can make a 4:30am call-time and be relatively alert. Adding a hangover into any of those situations? NO THANKS.

    I even have friends who can drink “normally.” Maybe they’ll overdo it once a year and then have to show up for work hungover and just suffer through it. I always feel SO bad for them! My sobriety ensures I never have a day like that! It’s such freedom! The worst thing I’ve had to endure in sobriety are days where I didn’t get enough sleep or if I have a minor (not contagious) cold. 

    This may sound really simple. I’m basically saying, “My favorite thing about being sober in comedy is that I can show up to work like every normal person on the planet does for their job every day.” I know there’s gotta be some Al-Anon people reading this right now going: “Oh, he’s all proud that shows up for work on time? Let’s throw this little asshole a parade.” Sorry. I know it’s small, but even after all these years of recovery, I’m grateful I can show up. I could be dead! 

    What is the most challenging thing?

    The most challenging thing is recognizing where alcoholism shows up in other areas of my life. Just because I stopped drinking and using drugs 12 years ago doesn’t mean that I don’t have the disease of alcoholism. I’m in recovery, but the alcoholic thinking is still there. It has been HUMBLING to recognize how my character defects can still show up. They find new creative ways to do so all the time!

    If there was an Emmy Award for “Outstanding Achievement in Holding onto Resentment,” I’m afraid I would be at least eligible for a nomination. I might not win, but I think I’d be a strong contender. I could list who I think some of the other nominees might be. It would give you a hell of a headline! Sadly, through recovery I’ve learned restraint of pen and tongue… which really fucks up clickbait! 

    Seriously, it’s all challenging, you know? It really depends on the day. You get some time under your belt and you think, “I got this.” And yeah, maybe I do “got this” in the sense that I’m probably not going to go out and drink tonight. However the underlying stuff that made me reach for a drink in the first place? That comes up all the time. Most people would never know. Or maybe everyone knows! Truth is, I don’t care anymore. As long as I’m taking the night right action and not being a jerk. 

    I can say I’ve been a LOT better this year about practicing self-care, reaching out for help and making sure I stay in touch with my higher power. It sneaks up on me, but I do get reminded: this journey is never done. I think I’ve only recently come into TRUE acceptance of that. I’ve gotten a lot more comfortable with the concept of uncertainty. I had to because I realized IT WAS NEVER GOING AWAY. They say this disease is cunning, baffling and powerful. What I have found challenging is how cunning, baffling and powerful it can be… and it has NOTHING to do with drinking. Now it’s just about living. 

    How has your career evolved since you committed to recovery?

    I wouldn’t have a career if I didn’t have recovery. Recovery has to come before everything else. There are times in my sobriety and my career where I didn’t put it first and WOW did that always come back to bite me in the ass. Recovery first, everything else second. Always. 

    I also think accepting that things don’t happen on MY timetable has been a huge blessing in making my way through career stuff. It’s show business. There are so many ups and downs. There is also so much waiting. You also need to self-motivate. All things that can totally activate an alcoholic. 

    Today I am grateful for a fantastic career. Is it exactly where I want it to be in this moment? NOPE! But I don’t think it ever will be. I think that has less to do with alcoholism and more about being any type of creative! Even for the most successful people in the world, there’s always going to be SOMETHING unfinished or unrealized. Some script you can’t quite crack, some project you can’t find financing for, some scheduling that doesn’t work out. Who’s a big successful person? Steven Spielberg? He’s big, right? I bet even Mr. Steven Spielberg himself has at least ONE thing he just can’t get made. Maybe it’s a sequel to E.T. where E.T. comes back to teach Elliott about SPACE JAZZ! I just made that up, if Steven likes the idea, he can call WME. But bringing it back to recovery (sorry I brought it to SPACE JAZZ), I truly believe that everything happens when it is supposed to. Some days do I get a LITTLE impatient with that stuff? FUCK YES. But that’s when I turn it over… or call a friend and complain. 

    No compare and despair shit though. Someone else’s success is NOT my failure. Others might be able to do that. For me, it’s bad for my brain and recovery. 

    I’m just incredibly grateful that nothing has come to me a SECOND before I was truly ready to handle it. If it were up to me and things were operating entirely on my timeline, I bet “my best thinking” would lead me straight into a brick wall. Having a spiritual connection and knowing that more will be revealed is essential to me. But yeah, at the same time, I really should have an overall deal somewhere. I mean, fucking come on. (It’s good to have a HEALTHY bit of ego.)

    In the Big Book of AA, the 9th step promises say: “If we are painstaking about this phase of our recovery, we will be amazed before we are halfway through.” Are you amazed?

    I love the promises so much. It’s probably my favorite thing in the big book. 

    Am I amazed? CONSTANTLY. Where my life was before sobriety and where it is today? They say “beyond your wildest dreams” and they aren’t kidding. I could sit here and rattle off all the ways the promises have come true in my life. I could even throw in some stuff about the “cash and prizes.” But I don’t want to speak from a place of ego. I think it’s more valuable to share about the promises and how important they are to show to newcomers! 

    Whenever I find myself talking with people early in their sobriety, I point them straight to the 9th step promises. I think it’s a BIG thing to make a promise. Think about how cruel it would be to promise all that stuff to someone and not deliver on it? Notice they don’t call it the “9th Step Maybes.” It’s not the “9th Step Possibilities.” It’s the “9TH STEP PROMISES.” It’s made very clear: we must be painstaking and take the suggestions. But if we DO… some amazing stuff will happen before we know it. 

    Here’s another way I’m amazed — and this one isn’t so cheery. Even though I have felt the promises first hand and I’ve seen them come true for others, as I continue to deepen my recovery— I still battle with willingness! I have a lot of fear of fear that holds me back. Not so much with career stuff anymore, but in other areas of my life. That being said, it feels really GOOD to talk about this knowing that I am back at being painstaking as I continue to look at this new stuff. For example (and this is a lame small one), after 12 years of sobriety, today is one month and 24 days without smoking a cigarette. It feels great. I hate it.

    How did you handle your first 30 days in relation to your comedy / writing career?

    For my first 30 days I didn’t worry about my comedy/writing career. I worried about getting sober. It’s not like anyone was knocking down my door at that time, but even if they were — I still had to put recovery first. There is no career if I’m sick. 

    I did what I had to do to make a living and that’s about it. I was VERY lucky that my employers at the time were actually directly responsible for getting me to a place of acceptance that I needed recovery. The “wildest dreams” took a backseat. I think there’s this misconception people have in early sobriety that they’re going to “miss out” on something, particularly “momentum in show business.” Guess what? Show business keeps moving without you. If you’re talented and you work your program, show business will be waiting for you when you’re healthy and ready. Whatever big opportunity you think you’re missing out on is NOTHING compared to what could come your way in sobriety. 

    What do you think it is about comedy and the entertainment industry in general that attracts so many addicts? Or the addicts that are attracted to comedy?

    Addicts are sensitive people. So are creatives. It makes sense that sensitive creatives would seek to self-medicate. That’s all creatives, not just comedians! But let’s talk about people who do comedy for a second. The job of a comic is to be hyper aware of the world and reflect it back to people in a funny way. That can be a painful process filled with sensory overload. You’re gonna want to numb out. Shut your brain off. In fact, it’s essential that you do so, otherwise you’re gonna go insane. There’s just a healthy way to do that and an unhealthy way to do it. Ugh, I remember sitting in a meeting early in sobriety listening to some asshole saying something like, “Just breathe” and I wanted to punch his fucking lights out. 

    The guy was right by the way. Breathing is good. Sorry.

    What advice would you give a comedian who struggles with chronic relapse?

    Relapse is part of recovery. I’ve relapsed. I’m very grateful to have 12 years now, but it took a few rounds to get there. The biggest piece of advice I could give? That SHAME you have around relapsing? Yeah, that’s fucking useless. I’m not saying don’t take it seriously. I’m not saying there’s not consequences to your actions. I just find addicts and alcoholics put this tremendous extra layer of ULTRA-SHAME and SUPER-GUILT on top of everything that really serves us NO purpose. It’s bullshit self-loathing. Believe me, I’ve been sober a long time and I’m a fucking expert at doing it. I could teach a masterclass on that website. 

    Here’s the thing though: FUCK THAT SHAME. Just come back. No one gives a shit. No one is judging you harder than you are judging yourself. I guarantee, you’re your own worst critic when it comes to relapsing. Just fucking come back. 

    Anything I missed?

    No one’s life has ever gotten worse because they decided to stop drinking. No one. Ever.  

    Jake’s story shows that it’s possible to stay fully grounded despite achievements, never forgetting what recovery has always been about: one addict helping another.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Don't Blame Ariana Grande for Mac Miller's Death

    Don't Blame Ariana Grande for Mac Miller's Death

    The idea that someone holds another person’s very life in their hands and has the power to determine whether that person lives or dies is a painful and damaging misconception.

    I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t know very much about Mac Miller. I’ve never listened to his music or attended one of his concerts. My knowledge of him has mostly been in the headlines I’ve seen about his relationship with Ariana Grande and their subsequent breakup earlier this year.

    And yet, the second that news broke of Miller’s death Friday, I instinctively knew what was coming. I knew that following the shock over his untimely death, the shame and blame would begin.

    I knew because I’ve been there. I’ve lived it. And I’m here to tell you that casting blame is just about the most unhelpful thing you can do for someone following the death of a loved one.

    Sadly, I was right. Just a few hours after it was reported that Miller died of a suspected overdose, people began hurling blame on social media. Their target: Grande, who first fended off trolls after their May split when fans blamed her for her ex’s DUI. She even took to Twitter to explain their relationship.

    Now, four months later, Grande is battling trolls yet again. Trolls who are blaming her for Miller’s death and leaving hateful comments on her Instagram like “His spirit will forever haunt you,” “There’s a special place in hell for people like u [sic],” “You could’ve done something,” and “You should have helped him.”

    Grande has since disabled comments on her Instagram and fans quickly came to her defense on Twitter, but unfortunately, what happened to her is nothing new. It’s reflective of a pattern we’ve seen before, most notably with Asia Argento following Anthony Bourdain’s suicide in June. Argento was cyberbullied and blamed for the celebrity chef’s death, which prompted those in Hollywood to rally around the actress in the form of an open letter published in the Los Angeles Times.

    When someone dies suddenly and traumatically, it’s typically their loved ones who are caught in the crosshairs of other people’s grief and the struggle to understand the death. But what about those who don’t have an army of support like Grande or Argento? How are they supposed to traverse the minefield of grief following a traumatic death when they have so many questions and those around them are saying things that are more harmful than healing?

    It’s human nature to want to make sense of death because a part of us will always resist the idea that death is natural. And when the death is unexpected, like Miller’s, we rail against death even more, looking for any explanation we can find that will help us make sense of everything. Even if it’s misguided, sometimes those explanations come in the form of lashing out and assigning blame to those closest to the deceased.

    However, trying to place all the blame in the world isn’t going to magically bring the person back to life. Death isn’t something that we can wrap up neatly like a half-hour sitcom where everything is solved by the end. Just like life, death doesn’t work like that.

    When I was 21, my father suddenly and unexpectedly died from suicide. Although the day he died was the most traumatic day of my life, I wrestled with feelings of guilt and shame for years. I was the last one to see my father alive, and the questions swirled around my head in a never-ending loop. What if I’d woken up just 15 minutes earlier? What if I’d seen the signs that he was struggling? What if he said something on the last day of his life, something significant that I just casually brushed aside?

    What it? What if? What if?

    Those are the questions that plagued me, and I’m sure those are the types of questions on Grande’s mind as she mourns the loss of Miller. The best thing we can do for her — and everyone grieving the loss of a loved one — is to let the grieving process take place. Let people mourn in peace without hurling vindictive words at them. Those words are incredibly hurtful, not to mention cruel and damaging. The idea that someone holds another person’s very life in their hands and has the power to determine whether that person lives or dies is a misconception that has no place in the journey following someone’s death.

    As much as we’d like to think otherwise, we’re not superheroes who can swoop in and rescue someone. We can do everything to help them, of course, but we don’t have the all-knowing power to save them. And maybe even more importantly, it’s not our job to cure them. We can offer love, hope and compassion, but in the end, everyone on this planet is responsible for their own life.

    I can only hope that those trolls who are blaming Grande have never lost a loved one to a traumatic death like Miller’s. Trust me, people who lose someone to an overdose or suicide struggle enough with self-blame. They don’t need the world shaming and blaming them too. What they need is love and compassion. And space to grieve without shame.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Depression in Recovery: Do You Have Low Dopamine Tone?

    Depression in Recovery: Do You Have Low Dopamine Tone?

    I just felt like shit and slept as much as I could. I showed up to work. I kept my commitments. I spoke when asked to, but I felt more than unhappy. I felt like I just didn’t care.

    (The Fix does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment, nor does anything on this website create a physician/patient relationship.  If you require medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment, please consult your physician.)

    I just came out of a six-week depression. That might not sound very long, but when you’re in hell it feels like forever. Good news: I didn’t bone any 25-year-old strangers; I didn’t cut myself; I didn’t get loaded; I didn’t smoke or vape although I really, really wanted to. I didn’t even eat pints of Ben and Jerry’s while binge-watching I Am A Killer. I just felt like shit and slept as much as I could. I showed up to work. I kept my commitments. I spoke when asked to, but I felt more than unhappy. I felt like I just didn’t care. I didn’t return phone calls. I didn’t wash my hair. Suicidal thoughts bounced around my head, but I ignored them like I do those annoying dudes with clipboards outside Whole Foods.

    I’ve suffered from symptoms of depression since I was 19, so it’s an old, old friend. What really annoys me was that some (dare I say many?) people think at five and a half years of sobriety, you shouldn’t feel depressed. What I kept hearing from AA fundamentalists was:

    “It’s your untreated alcoholism.”

    “Listen to these tapes about prayer and meditation.”

    “You’re not connected enough to your Higher Power.”

    “You’re not going to enough meetings.”

    “You need to do more service.”

    Thankfully my sponsor, who has a foot in the medical world, did not say something along those lines.

    One of my big problems with AA is that it looks at every mental problem through the paradigm of your “alcoholism.” If you’re suffering, you should look to the program for relief. Nobody would tell you to “drive around newcomers!” more if you had diabetes or kidney failure, but if you’re feeling down, that’s what you’re told to do. As it turns out, AA is not completely off the mark: “Addiction is a not a spiritually caused malady but a chemically based malady with spiritual symptoms,” addictionologist and psychiatrist Dr. Howard Wetsman told me. “When some people start working a 12-step program, they perceive a spiritual event but their midbrain is experiencing an anatomical event. When they’re working a program, they’re no longer isolated and they no longer feel ‘less than,’ so their dopamine receptor density goes back up [and they experience contentment],” he explained.

    But what if your program hasn’t changed or feels sufficient and you still feel depressed? What if you’re working your ass off in your steps and helping others and you still feel like shit?

    “Well, low dopamine tone experienced as low mood can be brought on by fear and low self-esteem (the untreated spiritual malady part of alcoholism/addiction) but it can also be brought on by biochemical issues,” Wetsman added.

    Huh?

    So was I experiencing the chemical part of my “addiction” or was I having a depressive episode? Perhaps my whole life I’d been confusing the two. Of course, all I wanted, like a typical addict, was a pill to fix it. But as I’ve done the medication merry-go-round (and around and around) with mild to moderate success, I was hesitant to start messing with meds again. I didn’t have a terrific psychiatrist, and SSRI’s can really screw with my epilepsy. And Wetsman was talking about dopamine here, not serotonin. Hmmm…

    Dr. Wetsman has some interesting stuff about brain chemistry and addiction on his vlog. He mentions something called “dopamine tone” which is a combination of how much dopamine your VTA (Ventral Tegmental Area) releases, how many dopamine receptors you have on your NA (Nucleus Accumbens), and how long your dopamine is there and available to those receptors. Stress can cause you to have fewer dopamine receptors and fewer receptors equals lower dopamine tone. He’d explained to me in previous conversations how almost all of the people with addiction he’d treated had what he described as “low dopamine tone.” When you have low dopamine tone, you don’t care about anything, have no motivation, can’t feel pleasure, can’t connect to others. In addition, low dopamine tone can affect how much serotonin is being released in the cortex. Low midbrain dopamine tone can lead to low serotonin which means, in addition to not giving a shit about anything, you also have no sense of well-being. Well, that certainly sounded familiar.

    Dr. Wetsman has a very convincing but still somewhat controversial theory that addiction is completely a brain disease and that using drugs is the result, not the cause. I really suggest you get his book, Questions and Answers on Addiction. It’s 90 pages — you could read half of it on the john and half of it while waiting at the carwash. It explains in detail why most of us addicts felt weird and off before we picked up and why we finally felt normal when we used. Again, it’s all about dopamine, and it’s fucking fascinating. No joke.

    In his vlog, he explains that dopamine production requires folic acid which you can get from green leafy veggies (which I admittedly don’t eat enough of) but it also requires an enzyme (called methylenetetrahydrofolate reductase or MTHFR for short) to convert folate into l-methylfolate. Certain people have a mutation in the gene that makes MTHFR, so they can’t turn folate into l-methylfolate as effectively, and those people are kind of fucked no matter how many kale smoothies they drink.

    But it’s not hopeless. If people with this genetic mutation take a supplement of l-methylfolate, their brain can make enough dopamine naturally. Of course once you have enough dopamine, you’ve got to make sure you release enough (but there’s medication for that) and that you have enough receptors and that it sits in the receptors long enough (and there’s meds for that too).

    So this all got me wondering if maybe my MTHFR enzyme was wonky or completely AWOL. Dr. Wetsman urged me to find a good psychiatrist (since I’m on Prozac and two epileptic medications) or a local addictionologist in addition to taking a genetic test for this mutation. In his experience, patients who had a strong reaction to taking the l-methylfolate supplement were frequently also on SSRIs. They either felt much better right away or really really shitty. But if they felt even shittier (because the higher serotonin levels work on a receptor on the VTA which then lowers dopamine), he would just lower their SSRI or sometimes even titrate them off it completely. And voila. Success.

    It’s all very complicated, and this whole brain reward system is a feedback loop and interconnected with all kinds of stuff like Gaba and Enkephalins (the brain’s opioids) and Glutamate. But you guys don’t read me for a neuroscience lesson so I’m trying to keep it simple. The basics: how do you know if you have too little dopamine? You have urges to use whatever you can to spike your dopamine: sex, food, gambling, drugs, smoking, and so on. What about too much dopamine? OCD, tics, stuttering, mental obsession and eventually psychosis. Too little serotonin? Anxiety and the symptoms of too high dopamine tone. Too much serotonin? The same thing as too little dopamine tone. Everything is intricately connected, not to mention confusing as all hell.

    Being broke and lazy and having had decades of shitty psychiatrists, I decided to go rogue on this whole mission (not recommended). I mean I used to shoot stuff into my arm that some stranger would hand me through the window of their 87 Honda Accord so why be uber careful now? This l-methylfolate supplement didn’t require a prescription anymore anyway. What did I have to lose? I did however run it by my sponsor whose response was: “I’m no doctor, honey, but it sounds benign. Go ahead.”

    I ordered a bottle. A few days later I heard the UPS guy drop the packet into my mail slot. I got out of bed, tore open the envelope and popped one of these bad boys. A few hours later I started to feel that dark cloud lift a little. Gotta be a placebo effect, right? The next day I felt even better. And the next day better still. I didn’t feel high or manic. I just felt “normal.” Whoa. It’s been weeks now and the change has been noticeable to friends and family.

    Normal. That’s all I ever really wanted to feel. And the first time I felt normal was when I tried methamphetamine at 24. It did what I wanted all those anti-depressants to do. It made me feel like I knew other people felt: not starting every day already 20 feet underwater. I found out later that my mother and uncle were also addicted to amphetamines which further corroborates my belief that there is some genetic anomaly in my inherited reward system.

    When I emailed Dr. Wetsman to tell him how miraculously better I felt, his first response was “Great. I’m glad. The key thing is to take the energy and put it into recovery. People go two ways when they feel amazingly better. One: ‘Oh, this is all I ever needed. I can stop all this recovery stuff.’ Or two: ‘Wow, I feel better. Who can I help?’ Helping others in recovery will actually increase your dopamine receptors and make this last. Not helping people will lead to shame, lowered dopamine receptors and it stops being so great.”

    So no, I’m not going to stop going to meetings or doing my steps or working with my sponsor and sponsees. Being part of a group, feeling included and accepted, even those things can create more dopamine receptors. But sadly I’m still an addict at heart and I want all the dopamine and dopamine receptors I can get. However, I also know that enough dopamine alone isn’t going to keep me from being a selfish asshole…. But maybe, just maybe, having sufficient dopamine tone and working a program will.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • All My Friends Are Junkies

    All My Friends Are Junkies

    Once we switched our attention away from getting high and learned how to stay sober, we quickly realized that if we put at least one percent of the same effort it took to get trashed into other areas of our lives, the results were astronomical.

    All of my friends—each and every last one of them—are junkies. I’m not talking about your run-of-the-mill junkie. You know the one: steals your purse and helps you look for it. No not that kind. Not even the one that bangs four bags of boy then tells you five minutes later that they’re dopesick so you help them out by splitting your shit. Not that type of junkie. I mean yeah, they meet that criteria, but I’m talking about the other type, the been-there-done-that kind of junkie.

    All of my friends have been to hell and back. They’re the type of junkie that society labels as hopeless. But for whatever reason, they’ve found a way out of their living hell and have begun living and pursuing a life worthwhile, a life greater than anything imaginable. Any goal they set, anything they dream of, it comes to fruition and then some! It’s unbelievable, very encouraging, and, from my experience, it’s very contagious. Words like: seductive, attractive, inviting, enticing, alluring and captivating come to mind.

    They’ve entered into a lifestyle that appears to be nothing but hope to any outsider looking in. So much so, even “normies” wonder what the fuck my friends are on. It’s next-level type shit.

    I bet you’re wondering why I still refer to my friends as junkies if they no longer get fucked up. It’s a valid question. Why would someone call their friend a junkie when they have years sober? Why would someone use a word that carries such a bad connotation when describing another individual that they themselves currently see as the opposite of that word? Why the hell does Walmart only keep two check-out aisles open on a Saturday afternoon?!

    To answer that first question, let’s break down the word “junkie.”

    According to Webster:

    Junkie

    noun |  junk·ie | \ ˈjəŋ-kē \

    1. a narcotics peddler or addict
    2. a person who gets an unusual amount of pleasure from or has an unusual amount of interest in something

    Okay, that first definition sounds about right. My friends sure as hell qualify as addicts/alcoholics. They also know how to acquire and distribute their drug-of-choice quite successfully until that dreaded day comes where they break the cardinal rule, “don’t get high on your own supply.” If you’re a junkie like me, then you know we have another term for that rule: “mission impossible.”

    Now, let’s take a look at what good ol’ Webby had to say in that second definition: A person who gets an unusual amount of pleasure from or has an unusual amount of interest in something. Sexy, right? Did you hear it? Did you relate when the word “unusual” appeared twice in that definition? Did something deep inside you begin to stir when the words “pleasure” and “interest” hit your shot-out way of thinking?

    I hope so. If you’re fucked up the way I am, then you felt something. I also know from a personal collective experience that once my friends and I got sober, the world became our oyster. What I mean by that is, once we switched our attention away from getting high and learned how to stay sober, we quickly realized that if we put at least one percent of the same effort it took to get trashed into other areas of our lives, the results were astronomical. It’s like a one thousand percent return on our investment. Crazy, right? Sure. Sounds like bullshit? Fuck yeah it does. It took me a while to grasp it, understand it, appreciate it and then cultivate it.

    When I see the word “unusual” appear in that definition I can’t help but laugh. I know that my friends and I—or any junkie I know, for that matter—are far from normal. When I think about “pleasure” and “interest,” I think about all the dreams that I had shit on in the past as a result of the bridges I burned. Now, those dreams have come back, I have goals that appear to be attainable, relationships that bring my life an overwhelming amount of joy, and opportunities to take part in unimaginable endeavors. Sound good? Sign me up!

    I geek out over music. Since my money ain’t going to the dope man anymore, I’ve been able to create some really dope recovery-based music. I’m a music junkie. And I got friends that have turned their attention to their physical health and wellness, and they’re seeing amazing results. They’re fitness junkies. I got this one friend who’s got the “lick” on all the best spots to eat around town. I mean you can pick an ethnicity, voice your preference and he’s got a spot for you. My little, hipster, foodie junkie. He’s adorable.

    Do you get it now? My friends and I are still junkies. We find ridiculous amounts of pleasure doing the things we love and pursuing the things that interest us. We enjoy it so much that you might call it unusual. Crazy ass ex-dopefiends turned into super-cool people. 

    I know we all have a million stories of where we’ve been and what we’ve done to get high and stay high. I know what it’s like to be in rehab and exchange “war stories” with the guy next to me. After a while it gets old. If you’re a repeat offender like me, then you know it gets old really fast when you check back in and hear the same shit again. It’s the same story with a different face. I get it.

    Having said all that, I want to let you in on a little secret: I’ve solved my existential crisis that I’ve always run into when trying to stay sober. I never found my purpose before, that “something” that brings me an unusual amount of pleasure… until now.

    It’s in these stories. It’s in the telling you, the reader, what my junkie friends and I have done, where we’ve been, what we’ve seen, what we’ve felt, how we’ve died, how we’ve lived, how we’ve found relief, how we’ve recovered, how we’ve relapsed, how we’ve come back and how we’ve survived one day at a time. If The Fix allows it, I’d love to share with you some of these “ghost stories,” as I lovingly refer to them these days. It would bring me an unusual amount of pleasure to get some of this shit off my chest and outta my head.

    I want to let you into my world, tell you why “All My Friends Are Junkies” (and I’m pretty sure all your friends are, too). I want to take you through drug court, through my first time in “the rooms,” through my first love in recovery, through that heartbreak, through that first relapse after believing I’d be a one-chip-wonder. I want to take you through that probation violation, that geographical change I thought would help, and holy shit, I want to bring you to that six-month inpatient rehab I went to that turned into a 13 month stay, the place I “loved so much” that I went back for another six months. I want to tell you about the relationships I made in these places, the fun we had, the crazy cool road trips we took. I want to tell you about all the musical gigs and the junkies I met there. I feel like recovery has brought me around the world while my lifestyle of addiction brought me to the deepest darkest areas of Satan’s ass crack. I want to tell you about that too.

    So for now, I’ll leave you with this: If no one told you today that they love you, fuck it, there’s always tomorrow.

    Check back next week for the first Ghost Story, “A Dopeman’s Grocery List.”

    View the original article at thefix.com