Answer Addiction

Tag: hitting bottom

  • How I Learned to Show Up for Life Without Alcohol

    How I Learned to Show Up for Life Without Alcohol

    Sobriety means—or will come to mean—different things for different people. But I can attest to one thing: The path is beautiful, and the difficulties you may encounter along the way are worth it.

    You would think that being smart enough to get into an elite university would mean I’d be “smart enough” about recognizing the signs of my disease. It took me a nearly fifteen-year drinking career, a six-year engagement, at least five psychiatric hospital visits, and maybe fifty face-to-face run-ins with actual, imminent death before I knew something had to change. 

    Forced to Change

    This time, the change would have nothing to do with my intellectual rigor, the dynamic quality of my ideas, or really anything in terms of my personal pursuits. Neither was this about a spiritual makeover of sorts, or a renewed commitment to my health. I was forced to change or face the end. I hadn’t even turned 30 yet.

    My engagement—a union with an emotionally absent partner, the result of my desperate need to not be alone with my demons—was becoming more and more codependent, unhealthy, and financially dominating, and less and less loving, protecting, viable. Still, we smiled in all of our pics. 

    The hardest thing to admit was that I could no longer pursue “the life of the mind” when my own mind was lost—null—from an almost continuous state of being under the influence.

    The process of recovery has not been easy, even three years down this road. While I have since become comfortable not drinking, and with telling people that I don’t drink, it wasn’t always that way. There were times I felt not only uncomfortable but sad, and at times jealous or angry, wishing I could have a drink. There were times of full-body anxiety that made the sober life seem like another kind of death sentence. 

    But I am fiercer now. I defend my right to be well. 

    Recovery as Self-Love and Self-Preservation

    When Audre Lorde said that self-love is an act of political warfare, I think part of what she meant is that if I care about myself, then I have to defend my sole, autonomous house—my body. I take Lorde’s words to heart when I think about my own recovery—that I indeed have had to become defensive about my health. Being in active recovery is a lifelong process of sticking up for yourself—your best self and your worst self. It is also a way of being that demands you treat your body as a temple, rather than an outhouse. 

    Now that I haven’t touched a drink in three years, not only have the clouds lifted, but I know what to do when life gives me rain. 

    Today, I have to be diligent about my health and about the truth of my alcoholism. It is a disease with branches in the family tree(s). It is also a disease that can go from dormant to full-fledged before you’ve had time to give it a name.

    The myth of drinking as self-care (at least for some of us) was apparent in the ways I had been taught to “decompress” from the stressors of graduate studies, a place made all the more difficult to navigate as a black, mixed-race woman (who has struggled with anxiety, depression, disordered eating, and of course drinking—my favorite form of self-love and self-abuse). 

    The truth is that I loved drinking enough to have developed a habit of it. At the time, I loved what drinking did for me (despite the pain of what it was doing to me). It brought me a social life, it furnished me with (false) self-confidence. 

    It also stole time from me. So many years spent in various states of relative alarm—how to get my drinks for the day and morning after, if I had enough money (somehow I always did), would I be able to last through that 12-step meeting without a drink?

    Clearly, I wasn’t ready to heal yet. 

    I can’t tell you when I became ready, or precisely what day it was; I had been on and off the wagon so many times that I’d stopped believing in myself. 

    What I did want to believe in was the line of thinking that told me I could control my disease and drink like normal people. If I could control it, maybe I would be “cured.”

    Seizures, Psych Wards, and Liver Failure

    My thinking changed when I had my first withdrawal-induced seizure. 

    Or was it after my second major stint in a psych ward? When did I become ready to change? Was it when I resorted to hiding liquor in shampoo bottles? Oh, I know—it must have been when my eyes started to turn yellow (though I remember still drinking—at that point, having to drink—in the face of these obvious symptoms of liver failure).

    Eventually, the dreadful condition of being caught in the throes of all kinds of dependency caught up to me, as they do for the luckier alcoholics among us. 

    When you’re in the midst of active addiction, it’s the drug that keeps you “alive” and “well.” But when you’re in recovery, you see the drug for what it is—the thing that is killing you and keeping you unwell. To complicate matters, your drug was your best friend—the friend who was there when you were stressed, sad, or having suicidal thoughts… never mind that it was the same friend who implanted these thoughts in your mind to begin with. 

    Not everyone thinks of alcohol abuse as an illness or disease, and that’s okay. What isn’t okay is the promotion of cute slogans like “wine not?”—in a world where more women are abusing alcohol than ever before. 

    Getting sober from alcohol coincided with my decision to withdraw from my studies abroad. Becoming dependent on alcohol had largely destroyed my independent spirit—the same one that had guided me to want to study abroad in the first place. 

    For years I had chosen alcohol as my drug of choice—what I “used” when things were going well, not well, and also when I was well, or unwell. My kind of drinking was pure self-destruction—mind you, I had continued to tell myself it was a feasible form of self-care. Plus, I deserved it. At the end of the day, if you worked hard, you deserved some kind of reward, didn’t you? That’s why they invented martinis, wasn’t it?

    I’ll spare you the details of my last hospital stint, but it was arduous, and at times left me hopeless, wanting to burn the wagon if possible. Now I had to learn to live and cope with life without that substance, and accept that in the end, the drug chose me.

    I Made It Out Alive… And I’m Thriving

    Fast forward three years, and what I really want to talk about is all the amazing things that can happen when you’re not drinking—being willing and able to forge authentic relationships with people, for example, and learning what it means to heal emotions through the body. Oh, and meeting people, whether romantically or as friends, does get weird, though in some ways more exciting. 

    The list is long, and I am learning new things about myself, but I think it imperative we put a new spin on recovery rhetoric—not all of it is a struggle, there is so much to take delight in. There are things that will pleasantly surprise you (like getting a real good night’s sleep). 

    I eventually accepted that my kind of sobriety from alcohol would have to be a total one.

    Because the severity of alcoholism lies on a spectrum, there are people who can drink alcohol and not become addicted (must be aliens), there are folks (total weirdos) who can just stick to one drink. But I know after many years of trying and lying to myself, that I am not one of them… and never will be. 

    Likewise, there are many ways to get sober and no one right path. Sobriety means—or will come to mean—different things for different people. But I can attest to one thing: The path is beautiful, and the difficulties you may encounter along the way are worth it.

    This summer I am celebrating three years (okurrrrrrr?!) of sobriety from alcohol. I do not define myself any longer by my disease. Of course, I work to ensure I never lose sight of the fact that my disease isn’t ever “going away,” but recovery sure beats bodily warfare, chronic sickness, and a fear of the future. 

    Today, I identify as an artist, a writer; and more specifically as a Catholic witch, poet, and intuitive. If you told me during my drinking years that I would one day not only make it out alive but drink-free for over 1,000 days, I’d say you were lying. But here I am, not just surviving but thriving. I have my sad days, but I let them be what they are. It’s good to cry sometimes. It’s good to feel your feelings. Now, I have an array of tools and ways for navigating those feelings, especially when I think of the darknesses of my past. But mostly, and most importantly, I feel excited for the future. Now, I show up to life. And as long as I can show up to life (and for life), my intuition tells me it is bound to be an amazing ride.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • In Praise of the Geographical Cure

    In Praise of the Geographical Cure

    For me, leaving was about survival and going back to supportive friends and family who had known me my whole life and who would give me a temporary place to stay.

    When I moved to the city of my dreams, I drove my Navy Subaru Impreza stuffed so full that I couldn’t see out of the rearview mirror the entire 1300-mile trek. My backseat was packed with my white cat Toby, my maple-bass guitar Helga, a vintage amp, a typewriter, a case of angsty journals, and a ridiculous amount of polka-dot and striped clothes. All things that I deemed too valuable for the moving truck. A month later, my serious boyfriend finished welding school back home and joined me. After finally leaving our sleepy home state of North Dakota, we were excited to start our new life together.

    Fast forward a few chaotic years to a plot that is achingly familiar for those of us who struggle with addiction; a plot almost sad and pathetic enough to make me a country song — if only I drove a pick-up truck and was a dog person rather than a cat lady. When the city of my dreams became the city of my nightmares, I decided to leave. My addiction counselor warned me that running away from my problems wouldn’t fix me, but I didn’t care. My drug hook-ups practically lived outside the Whole Foods across the street from my apartment, the same store that I had been kicked out of for stealing. My rent check bounced so I was on the verge of eviction. I needed to get the hell out.

    When I left the nightmare city, my cat Toby had died, my car had died, my identity had been stolen, and worst of all, I had broken up with that boyfriend who was supposed to be my forever mate. Then I fell in love again and that passionate, drug-fueled love also didn’t work out. Since I had sold or given away most of my possessions, pawned my bass and amp, there was no need for a moving truck this time around. I left, feeling broken.

    I sobbed as I said goodbye to the stunning Pacific Northwest wonderland with its gleaming snow-topped mountains and volcanoes, waterfalls, rainforest. As I drove east, I felt as flattened and empty as the prairies of my home state.

    I knew that just because I was moving home, it didn’t mean that I’d be magically fixed. I tried not to fall under the spell of what folks in the program call the “geographical cure.” Kerry Neville recently wrote a beautiful, lyrical, and illuminating piece on the geographical cure in which she says: “a change in external position on the map doesn’t reset the compass and point us to true north, because we always meet up with the self we are, no matter where we are.”

    I agree with some of Neville’s points, namely that taking vacations to topical locales will not get rid of our problems and provide us with a healthy, extended recovery. Yes, I knew that changing my zip code wouldn’t necessarily change my soul. I knew that I’d have to really dig down and do the hard, gritty work of recovery. But for me, leaving wasn’t about a vacation. I couldn’t afford vacation, I couldn’t even afford my rent. For me, leaving was about survival and going back to supportive friends and family who had known me my whole life and who would give me a temporary place to stay.

    Now that I mention it, the geographical cure warning is ironic because it contradicts other 12-step platitudes. These platitudes are like currency in the rooms, exchanged as freely as the collection basket for money and meeting lists: If you go to the barbershop enough times, eventually you’re going to get a cut, and: The only thing you have to change is everything. Change people, places, and things.

    Why are those of us who do decide to change our location criticized? Why do certain meetings and rehabs keep using their one-size-fits-all mottos rather than listen and embrace the many winding paths that lead us to recovery? In the few meetings I attended and the online recovery groups I participated in, people reacted negatively when I told them what I was doing. The consensus was that I was making a mistake. Even my counselor was quick to remind me that I wasn’t “special and unique,” and if this plan didn’t work for others, then why should it work for me? But I chose to do the thing that I knew would help me and my recovery. It wasn’t a mistake; it saved my life.

    Surely I wasn’t the only one who felt that perhaps the geographical cure may have been successful, so I decided to research the power of environmental cues, aka triggers, for addiction, relapse, and recovery. It’s likely you’re familiar with Pavlov’s classic dog study and the mechanics of classical conditioning, but I want to review it because it’s the foundation of every study that I read on this topic. Russian physiologist Ivan Pavlov was studying salivation in dogs when he noticed that the dogs salivated every time a door was opened, even when researchers didn’t have food. This was because the dogs began associating a neutral stimulus like opening a door (or, later, ringing a bell or flashing a light), with food. Researchers later used this model to study people with addictions.

    Studies found that people who develop alcoholism and addictions develop strong associations with drug-associated cues and environmental stimuli like Pavlov’s dogs. In other words, after repeated experiences, drug users relate the rewarding effects of a drug (like euphoria and relaxation) with the people, places, and things that are present when we are using. For example, one study found that smokers who received IV nicotine still reported cravings, whereas smokers who received IV nicotine and nicotine-free cigarettes didn’t. Why? Because of the power of environmental cues, including the feeling of holding a cigarette in one’s hand, the smell of smoke, and even packaging of a cigarette box.

    I mention these study results not just because they confirm what I already knew in my heart to be true and I love being right, but because they are vital for understanding recovery and relapse prevention. We must acknowledge the power of our environment and triggers. Although most of us won’t take the extreme step of moving across the country, we all can minimize our exposure to triggers until we feel strong enough to deal with them. We can also bring a friend or family member to face triggers and create new associations, as the studies I read suggested.

    Above all, we should all learn to embrace our own unique path to find what works best for us, even if it goes against the current of AA axioms. I will always be grateful that I listened to the fluttering in my chest. Wisdom means knowing when to keep your feet firmly planted in place or when to take flight. Sometimes leaving is the thing that saves you after all.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • 5 Things I Wish I Knew When I Hit Rock Bottom

    5 Things I Wish I Knew When I Hit Rock Bottom

    When you’re at your lowest point, it’s easy to feel like there is no hope, like you are completely alone, like your life will never be full again.

    Rock bottom is such a common term in the world of recovery. And while everyone has a rock bottom, no one has the same one. When you’re at your lowest point, it’s easy to feel like there is no hope, like you are completely alone, like your life will never be full again. I certainly felt all those things and more a little over five years ago when I hit my bottom.

    But they say hindsight is 20/20, and in looking back, there are a few things I wish I had been able to reach out and grasp from my bottom. In hopes that they might help someone else, here they are:

    1. There Is Always a Light at the End of the Tunnel

    When I think back to the first few days and weeks following my rock bottom, I remember an all-encompassing feeling of utter hopelessness. I felt there was literally no way life would ever get better, that things would only get worse as time went on. I didn’t think there was any way out of the hole I had found myself in. I was really, truly incapable of envisioning a life in which I was happy without alcohol. I know I’m not alone in those feelings. Those emotions and struggles are true of many people when they hit their lowest of lows. It is called rock bottom for a reason — that reason being that you cannot go any lower. The only direction to go is up. But in the midst of it all, it’s so hard to see that. At rock bottom, I wish I had been able to reach out and grasp that little bit of hope that everything would be OK, rather than fixating on how my life was falling apart at the seams. Seeing that light at the end of the tunnel is something that would have been helpful. But what matters is that the light eventually made its way to me, and when it did, I kept walking toward it. Some days, I still am.

    2. Even in Your Loneliest Moments, You Are Not Alone

    In addition to feeling utterly hopeless early on, I also felt completely, wholly alone — more alone than I have ever felt in my life. I couldn’t imagine that anyone in the world was going through what I was going through. And maybe that’s true, to an extent. But it’s also true that there were people going through similar things; I just hadn’t crossed paths with them yet. I also felt alone in the sense that I was scared to talk to the people closest to me about what I was feeling and thinking. Instead, I kept it all bottled inside, isolating myself even more. It was only when I began to let my guard down that I realized I had had people beside me all along. I had never been alone, I had just convinced myself that was the case.

    3. The People Who Matter Will Remain by Your Side

    As my life was falling apart five and a half years ago, one of my main concerns was what would happen to my relationships. I was so scared of losing the people who I thought were important to me. And the truth is that not all of my relationships would survive the coming weeks and months. There were some friends who I came to find were really just drinking buddies. Those were the ones who slowly faded away. But at my lowest point, the people who really cared about me as a person came forward and made it known. So many of my relationships became stronger in the months following my rock bottom, to the point that I barely noticed the relationships that hadn’t pulled through. When everything is changing without your permission, it’s easy to feel as if it’s for the worst. But just remember that’s not always the case.

    4. People Won’t Judge You as Harshly as You Think They Will

    This was one of my biggest fears at my rock bottom and is what kept me from moving forward in my recovery for some time. I was so terrified that when people found out what had happened in my life, they would pass judgement and jump to conclusions. I was afraid that they would look at me differently or tell me I was overreacting. And sure, some people did. But the majority of people commended me for realizing that my life was spiraling out of control and for taking the steps to better it. Most people were and are beyond supportive of the decision I made five years ago, and I wish I’d known that would be the case when I made that decision. One thing I’ve learned is that people will always surprise you — you just have to give them the opportunity to do so.

    5. Rock Bottom Is an Opportunity to Recreate Your Life

    Before I hit my rock bottom, I thought the life I was living was pretty good. I didn’t realize that I was disappointed in my behavior, unhappy with my physical appearance, frustrated with the way I was becoming a person I didn’t respect. But rock bottom gave me the clarity to see all those things. And while that wasn’t fun at first, it eventually gave me the chance to start doing my life the right way. I got back on track, whether it was with my morals, my workout regimen, my diet, my relationships. Getting sober gave me the time to focus on what I really wanted my life to look like and figure out how to get to that point.

    As I said before, rock bottom is different for everyone. But the common factor is that it’s a point that is the lowest of lows and it can be difficult to image anything getting better. So if you remember one thing in the depths of your rock bottom, just hold onto the fact that it really can only get better — as long as that is what you truly want for yourself.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • The Blessings of Going Back

    The Blessings of Going Back

    “Pulling a geographic? Come to Jackson Hole! Great public transportation, decent jobs, and a beautiful environment to be miserable in.”

    It can be a scary thing to go back to the place you hit your “bottom.” It can also be extremely rewarding with unexpected miracles and blessings. I hit my bottom in Jackson Hole, Wyoming and I highly recommend it as a destination location as far as bottoms go. I don’t think that’s a “thing” but perhaps some travel site can advertise that: “Pulling a geographic? Come to Jackson Hole! Great public transportation, decent jobs, and a beautiful environment to be miserable in.”

    I’m not trying to make light of it. It’s awful hitting a bottom but if I had to choose between Jackson and somewhere else, I’d probably choose Jackson. Not that I was miserable – at first. Geographics are great at first. The despair takes a nap. New places, new faces – no problems. I picked up some hobbies, some new friends and a couple guys. One of the guys was a ski instructor at the resort. He was maybe 10 or 20 years older than me which was fine because I was also “dating” someone 10 to 20 years younger than me. Age is just a construct, anyhow, and more is better and pass the bottle.

    We hit the slopes in the morning and then took a break for lunch at the Four Seasons where I ordered a glass of wine, of course. He paused, considered for a moment and then ordered one for himself. After lunch, we went back to skiing which is kind of amazing for an alcoholic but after a few hours, we celebrated a terrific day by returning to the Four Seasons for “Apres Ski” and had a few more glasses. That was the last I saw of him.

    Nine months later, I moved back to New York and ended up in “the rooms.” Then, when I was about a year sober, I had to go back to Jackson for some work. I was scared because I had drunk so much and that was how I did Jackson. That’s how Jackson worked. Could I do it differently? Most of my friendships were based around drinking and so were most of my activities. Why go river rafting, if you’re not going to party? It was all about the beer, the booze, the alcohol. 

    My sponsor and fellows in the program told me that it would be okay to go back and that what I would do is go to meetings, make phone calls, and take it one day at a time. So that’s what I did. There was a daily meeting in town square and, though nervous, I showed up and said I’m visiting. There were a lot of other people visiting, as well as locals, and it was a very welcoming environment. After the meeting, someone tapped my shoulder. It was the ski instructor. I was happy to see him, not because I was attracted to him or wanted to be with him, but because it was nice to see someone who had been out there with me now in the rooms taking the same journey. He told me he had been sober for a while and it was on our date at the Four Seasons that he’d slipped. He stayed out for a few months and came back about the same time that I started coming to meetings. It felt like such a blessing to run into him there. I was so glad he was healthy and sober. So glad that I was, as well, and that we didn’t get lost down that tragic highway.

    Another hidden blessing was that one of my coworkers was also trying to get sober. He didn’t have the gift of desperation, as they say, he had the gift of a DWI and a court mandating him to go. He was super talented and super likeable and had the common alcoholic tendency to turn into a total asshole and then go MIA when he drank which would be really bad for the project we were working on together. Selfishly, I needed him to stay sober. He was on the fence as to whether he was an alcoholic or not, but we went to a meeting together and when we had to go to Salt Lake City for work, I brought him to a meeting there too. He stayed sober through the job and guess what? So. Did. I. If I hadn’t been so focused on his sobriety, would I have stayed sober? Would I have searched out a meeting just for myself? Can’t say for sure. But what I can say is that he was another unexpected angel on that trip and from what I understand, he’s still sober.

    Seeing Jackson through newly sober eyes was like putting on a “new pair of glasses” as Chuck C. says in his book by the same name. When I was there before, it was all about me, me, me. What can I get? I need that! And what’s in it for me? For instance, whenever I went to the brew pub, I was not present with the people I was with; my focus was on drinking and looking for guys and male attention. It was all about trying to fill that “God-shaped hole.” But sober, I was a worker among workers drinking my Arnold Palmer, enjoying my colleagues’ company, enjoying the moment and enjoying just BEING SOBER. That was the biggest gift of all.

    It’s eight years later and I’m still sober and, as I write this, I realize that I miss that time in my life. I miss the humility and gratitude of early sobriety. I’m back to thinking a lot about myself and my plans. And what I can get. And I’m feeling kinda not awesome. I’ve also heard that around eight years is when people go out again, or slip. They get busy and stop going to meetings. I can definitely be too busy. Busy with I want, I want, I want. I think I get high on trying to make things happen. It’s my ego. But I know that when I have the gift of surrender and humility, IT FEELS SO GOOD. But I can’t seem to will the surrender. I can just be willing, and show up to meetings, do service, and deepen my understanding of my higher power regardless of how I feel. And as I reach out to the newcomer, I am re-acquainted with the early blessings, the blessings they give me and the ones I get to share in return. And for that I am grateful.

    View the original article at thefix.com