Over an 18-year period, U.S. poison control centers reported more than 1.5 million self-poisoning suicide attempts by people 10-25 years old.
Young people are increasingly using easily accessible over-the-counter drugs to attempt suicide, according to a new analysis.
In May, it was reported in the journal Pediatrics that over the last decade, there has been a dramatic increase in the number of suicide attempts by self-poisoning. From 2000 to 2018, U.S. poison control centers reported 1,677,435 self-poisoning suicide attempts by people 10-25 years old. Young women and girls made up the majority of cases.
The OTC Drugs Involved In The Attempts
A new study from the same team, published in Clinical Toxicology, examined the substances used in these attempts.
The most common substances included over-the-counter (OTC) analgesics (pain relievers) such as Tylenol or Advil, and antihistamines. The study authors noted that these drugs are “widely available over-the-counter with no restrictions regarding access.”
Of the 1,677,435 suicide attempts with poison, 27.5% of them involved OTC analgesics. (Opioids, however, were involved in far fewer cases.)
Vox noted, “But when the researchers looked at just ‘serious outcomes’—this includes needing medical treatment, or symptoms that don’t resolve quickly, or death—over the counter pain medicines were involved in 37.3% of the cases.” This highlights the potential harm that easily accessible drugs can cause.
Serious Outcomes
Voxnoted that while suicide attempts by poisoning are fatal less than 5% of the time, they are still traumatic and can still cause serious damage.
“Some of the more commonly accessible medicines were able to produce some of the most serious outcomes among young people,” said John Ackerman, study co-author and Suicide Prevention Coordinator at Nationwide Children’s Hospital.
Ackerman said that parents and caregivers should talk to their children about their mental and emotional health.
Suicide is now the second-leading cause of death among American teenagers. Between 2009 and 2017, the number of high schoolers considering suicide increased by 25%. The number of high schoolers’ suicide deaths increased by 33% during this same time period.
The stunt was a response to rumors that he was using drugs.
Musician Aaron Carter posted a video on Instagram of himself taking a drug test and showing off the clean results last Thursday.
In the video, he directly addresses Radar Online, which ran a story about what seemed to be a line of white powder and a credit card visible in a recent live stream by Carter.
“Radar Online, I’m just letting you know, I’m taking a drug test right now. It says for amphetamines, cocaine, MDMA, meth, opiates, PCP, and THC,” he says in the video, presenting the cup. “I’m gonna piss in a cup right now.”
He does.
The Results Are In
In a follow-up video, he presents the results—two lines, indicating a negative result, for every drug except THC.
“Negative means two lines, one means preliminary positive,” Carter says in the video. “I only tested positive for THC. This is my nasty ass dehydrated fucking piss, so please shut the fuck up and stop what you’re doing, and Radar Online, you have 24 hours to delete your post.”
Carter needs to prove he’s drug free because it can affect his career, he explains in the video. If there are rumors swirling around that he’s on drugs, it’s harder for him to get bookings.
“STOP WRITING LIES ABOUT ME AND START THROWING SOME FUCCKING RESPECT ON MY NAME! @radaronline, your ‘shocking drug’ post about me was desperate and completely misleading to whatever readers you have left these days,” he wrote in the caption. “proving you idiots wrong will NEVER get old to me. so shut the fuck up already with your bullshit.”
Carter recently opened up about his struggles with addiction on an episode of The Doctors, explaining that he began huffing at 16 and was really using it by 23.
“I was huffing because I was really fucking stupid and sad but this is really no excuse,” he recounted. “I was huffing because I’m a drug addict.”
Family Drama
Aaron Carter has also been in the headlines lately as his brother, Backstreet Boy Nick Carter, and Aaron’s twin sister have filed restraining orders to keep him away due to “increasingly alarming behavior. In court documents, Nick alleges that Aaron told his twin sister that he has thoughts of killing babies and of killing Nick’s wife. Aaron denied the allegations.
“I am astounded at the accusations being made against me and I do not wish harm to anyone, especially my family,” he wrote in a tweet.
Changing misconceptions and long-held stereotypes won’t happen overnight, but making the conscious decision to talk openly and honestly about suicide is a strong start.
Suicide is everywhere. We hear about it on the news, we see the headlines, we read the sad statistics. But here’s the thing: We don’t talk about suicide. We’re not having the kind of open, honest conversations that will start breaking down harmful prejudice and stigma – about people who die from suicide and also the people left behind.
We know the facts and figures, but that’s only part of the story. We don’t know how to actually communicate about suicide to learn what’s behind the statistics. We can’t fill in the blanks because we’re afraid: We worry that we’ll say the wrong thing, or unintentionally offend someone. So instead we say nothing at all. But staying silent is far more damaging; it further stigmatizes suicide, which is already misunderstood and has so much judgment attached to it in the first place.
Start a Conversation
September is Suicide Prevention Awareness Month – a time the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI) describes as a time to share stories and resources in an effort to start meaningful conversations on the taboo of suicide.
“We use this month to reach out to those affected by suicide, raise awareness and connect individuals with suicidal ideation to treatment services,” reads NAMI’s website. “It is also important to ensure that individuals, friends and families have access to the resources they need to discuss suicide prevention.”
Suicide is the 10th leading cause of death in the United States overall, but it’s the second leading cause of death in people ages 10-34. In 2017, there were twice as many suicides (47,173) in the U.S. as there were homicides (19,510).
How Can We Help Prevent a Leading Cause of Death if We Can’t Talk About It?
There’s a catch-22 when it comes to suicide: People are reluctant to talk about it because it’s a sensitive and deeply personal topic, but it remains a sensitive topic because people don’t talk about it. So we find ourselves tip-toeing around suicide altogether, which doesn’t help anyone. For years, I’d find myself at a loss for words whenever someone would mention suicide, so I’ve been there.
And yet, I also found myself desperate to talk about it after my father died from suicide in 2003. In the months and years following his death, I began to see up close just how much people are unwilling to talk about suicide. I never realized just how uncomfortable the topic makes people, whether they’d personally lost someone to suicide or they’d seen one of the many headlines about celebrities who die by suicide. It really is a taboo topic.
How can we help prevent a leading cause of death if we can’t even talk about it? And how can we help people who have been left behind if we can’t acknowledge the cause of their pain?
That’s why I’ve been trying to change suicide’s shameful stigma. For the last 16 years, I’ve been vocal, unafraid to talk about the very things people don’t want to talk about. In the beginning, I talked about my father as a way to process my grief. I saw it as a way to keep my father’s memory alive, but as the years went on, I began to realize that my talking about his suicide wasn’t just for me. Sure, it may have started out that way, but the more statistics I read and the more stories I heard, the more I learned how many people are affected by suicide. I began to feel a responsibility to share my story.
I Want People to Know They’re Not Alone
Today, I talk about suicide because I want people to know they’re not alone. I talk about suicide because I want people who have lost a loved one and people who suffer from suicidal ideation to know that they shouldn’t feel ashamed or like there’s something wrong with them. And not talking about it? That silence only reinforces harmful stigmas and can even be a significant barrier to someone seeking help.
Instead of silence, we need to start regularly engaging in an open and honest dialogue, including debunking common myths associated with suicide. For example, misconceptions like the belief that most suicides happen without warning, and that people who die from suicide are selfish and “taking the easy way out” are false and incredibly damaging.
So where do we go from here? Perhaps the best place to start is to realize that we all have a responsibility to create a safe space, says Forbes contributor Margie Warrell, who lost her brother to suicide.
“While we may not all suffer from mental illness, we each have a role to play in ensuring that those who do suffer feel less afraid to reach out and get the support they need in the moments when they need it most,” she wrote in 2018. “If people felt as comfortable talking about their PTSD, bipolar or anxiety as they did talking about their eczema or tennis elbow, it would markedly reduce the suffering of those with mental illness and the ability of those around them to support them.”
The stigma of suicide is far too strong, and any chance you get to talk about it is another opportunity to break down those walls of stereotypes. Don’t say the word suicide in a hushed tone, as if you’re talking about something you shouldn’t; the statistics show that most people have been impacted by suicide in some way. And try not to lie about how your loved one died because you think it will be easier than dealing with the looks and questions from people. When you lie, you’re sending the message that what your loved one did was shameful, and that further contributes to the misconceptions and prejudice people have about suicide. It might be difficult to be open about this, but it’s also freeing (and it gets easier each time you do it).
Mental Illness Is Physical Illness
I’ll never understand why people don’t treat mental health the same as physical health. Why is someone “heroic” for battling cancer, but “weak” for dying from suicide? At its core, mental illness is a physical illness, so we can’t separate the two. The more we start talking about mental illness in the same way we talk about physical illnesses like cancer or diabetes, the more we lessen the stigma surrounding suicide. Changing misconceptions and long-held stereotypes won’t happen overnight, but making the conscious decision to talk openly and honestly about suicide is a strong starting point.
If you are in crisis or are experiencing difficult or suicidal thoughts, call the National Suicide Hotline at 1-800-273 TALK (8255).
If you’re uncomfortable talking on the phone, you can also text NAMI to 741-741 to be connected to a free, trained crisis counselor on the Crisis Text Line.
For more information about suicide prevention, or to get involved and learn how to help someone in crisis, visit #BeThe1To.
As many as 60 million people worldwide have bipolar disorder. Many of those people, like me, lead productive, happy lives.
He said my smile was worth a million bucks, or was it that I had a million-dollar smile?
I remember when smiling was foreign to me. I’d wake in the morning feeling great for a few minutes, and then the dark clouds came, weighing in on my body, pressing down on me. Depression overwhelmed me, so much so that my entire body ached. I felt empty, hopeless, sad beyond belief, and exhausted.
An Emotional Black Hole
It was another day filled with mental and physical pain…another day spent looking for ways to make the pain stop. I sought help from the big one – God. I was in the early stages of finding Him. I also saw a psychologist for therapy, joined a support group, and listened to Melanie Beattie healing tapes. I read books like Happiness Is a Choice and joined a running club. Nothing worked. I sank deeper and deeper into an emotional black hole.
I wondered how I could enjoy my new relationship with God, love Him, and still feel this intense pain. It was like nothing I ever experienced. I began to understand why people kill themselves, they want to stop the pain. So did I, and I entertained thoughts of committing suicide. Once when running, I visualized doing the deed. It felt real. I sobbed and limped home.
Even in my desperate search for help, my suicidal thoughts were a closely-kept secret. I was afraid that if I revealed them to anyone I would be admitted to a hospital – maybe locked up forever.
My life was spiraling down fast. Scared, I called my therapist. He referred me to a psychiatrist who focuses on chemical imbalances.
The psychiatrist listened to me and asked me a series of questions. He seemed to know the symptoms I experienced without me telling him. Our session ended when he diagnosed me as bipolar 2. He said after six weeks of taking the medication he prescribed, a lot of those symptoms would disappear. I left his office feeling optimistic. Maybe this was the help I needed.
A Real Smile
Six weeks later, something wonderful happened. I was in my car and heard something funny on the radio. I smiled – something I hadn’t done in a long time. It felt so good that I pulled the car over and looked at my smile in the mirror.
It was as if the sun burst out from behind the dark clouds, gobbling each one up. The cobwebs in my brain cleared, and I was smiling – even laughing. The medication wasn’t a miracle worker, but it squelched my black depression and left me with the ability to deal with my problems.
That was nearly 20 years ago. I don’t remember what it felt like to live with intense mental and physical pain for no apparent reason, and I don’t want to go there again. So, I take my medication and see my psychiatrist regularly. The dark clouds came back to haunt me once in the last 20 years, and I immediately saw my psychiatrist for help and got back on track.
The Big Secret
For the most part, I prefer to keep my bipolar status under wraps. I guess it’s out of the bag now with this story. There’s stigma and prejudice against people who are bipolar. Most people don’t know much about people with mental illness and expect us behave in negative, sometimes scary ways. Some of the most common beliefs are that we have wide mood swings, engage in manic behavior, and that we’re promiscuous, wild spenders, and we can’t sustain relationships or jobs. Even worse, some people, including the media, promote characteristics that bipolar people have tendencies to be violent.
Sometimes the media reports a story about a criminal or murderer, adding that the person is bipolar. This makes me cringe. They don’t comment if a person has asthma, hypertension, allergies, or was overlooked for a promotion. Labeling these people as bipolar compounds the negative stereotype of violence. People with bipolar disorders don’t come in one category, and most of us, like the general population, do not have violent tendencies.
Should I Tell Him?
Because of the negative stigma and prejudice, I’m careful about who I share my diagnosis with and when. I decided 10 months into a relationship would be a good time for this revelation. By that time, the person I’m in a relationship with would know what I’m typically like. I’m an okay, normal person who gets sad when the situation merits it – like when my boyfriend died from cancer or my job was eliminated.
Things moved fast when I met my husband. We started falling in love on our first date, so I felt he should know that I’m bipolar 2 sooner rather than 10 months later. Three months into the relationship, I told Larry about my diagnosis. I remember that nerve-wracking evening. When I tried to speak, the words stuck in my throat. It seemed to take hours before I had the courage to tell him. During this time, Larry grew nervous and wondered if I was going to break up with him. After I told him about my diagnosis, Larry acted like I told him about the weather – not anything serious like being bipolar 2.
At my suggestion, Larry came with me to the psychiatrist so that my doctor could tell him about my case and answer his questions. Again, I was nervous. I believe I’m okay, but what will my psychiatrist say? What if I’m a nutcase in denial? My psychiatrist of 17 years told Larry that I have a mild case and will be okay as long as I continue taking my meds regularly and get enough sleep.
Larry and I have been married for three years. As I expected, there haven’t been any crazy episodes or depressions.
I feel very lucky that I’m getting the treatment I need. I started seeing my psychiatrist four times a year; now I see him twice a year. When I asked him if I could get off the meds, he said it’s not a good idea. I’m fine because I take the medicine.
There Are a Lot of Us
As many as 60 million people worldwide have bipolar disorder. Many of those people, like me, lead productive, happy lives. Some articles state that our 16th U.S. President, Abraham Lincoln, had bipolar disorder. Other people with this diagnosis include Catherine Zeta-Jones, Oscar-winning actress; Mariah Carey, singer; Jean-Claude Van Damme, an actor; Ted Turner, media businessman and founder of CNN; Patricia Cornwell, crime writer; Patrick J. Kennedy, Jesse Jackson, Jr., and Lynn Rivers, former members of the U.S. House of Representatives; Jane Pauley, a television journalist; maybe your colleague, sibling or neighbor…and me, a corporate communications and freelance writer.
Bipolar disorder is a chronic illness with no cure, but it can be managed with psychiatric medication and psychotherapy. I’ve been doing it for nearly 20 years and plan to do that for the rest of my life. Being free of bipolar symptoms enables me to smile…and mean it.
My optimism was the reason I had stayed in abusive situations as well as my catalyst for leaving.
The first garden I ever really tended to, I planted with an ex-partner. We’d spent several weekend mornings tilling and nurturing a small plot in my backyard, transforming the soil from arid and unkempt to rich and fecund. Upon harvesting, we filled a large basket with robust vegetables: chards, bright magenta-colored beets, green-leaf lettuce, cherry tomatoes, Anaheim peppers. I was most excited with the constant supply of tomatoes, amazed we’d started the produce from seeds and yielded such healthy plants.
Months later it became obvious that the garden was flourishing but the relationship was ending. I realized that after years of single motherhood, I’d allowed myself to attach to an emotionally abusive person out of loneliness.
When the relationship ended, I was bedridden for three months, falling deep into a clinical depression. Whenever I’d get up, my head felt dizzy, my thinking dulled and lagging. I was unable to keep up with my full-time job and just let it fade away, hoping my savings was enough until I was well again. In the mornings, I would struggle to get my daughter ready for school and I’d return from the bus stop exhausted.
The Shame of Mourning
The garden was forgotten. I couldn’t bear to weed or water, and every plant became shriveled and dry. Winter was approaching and as the cold settled in, I’d look out into the backyard from the window and watch the dead plants swaying with the freezing winds. As painful as it was, I felt stronger letting something we’d tended together die, as if in that letting go I was reminding myself that it had been only temporary, the needing anyone so badly.
“You need to let go of him and focus on your daughter.” This was the constant advice I received from well-meaning friends. As a single mother, I always found it strange how policed my emotions were by others when it came to any romantic endeavors, how shamed I would be for mourning anyone at all.
I’d already known heartbreak, had mothered alone when my baby was only one. I didn’t need the reminder; single moms know well how to mitigate their sadness and still nourish their babies. Although I’d known it before, the depression had never taken hold of me so fiercely. I realized I was mourning more than losing a partner, or the aftermath of emotional abuse; I was also far away from the writing career I’d always imagined I’d have. And I was finally feeling the deep pain I had buried when my relationship with my daughter’s father ended. Even then, I’d been shamed for my sadness and advised to focus on my child.
It was a difficult winter, alone in my thoughts. I remember wishing there was a way someone could crawl into my mind and cradle it, almost like holding my hand to lead me out of my sadness. I didn’t even know what clinical depression was, though I realized I had experienced episodes over the years. I remember sitting blankly, staring at the grimy walls of a community mental health clinic where I was finally prescribed antidepressants.
Renewal
A month after that, I was taking regular runs again, a practice I used to love. My stamina returned and the body that had shriveled up all winter grew robust and strong.
The following spring, I finally gathered enough intention to walk down the deck and face the garden. Pulling out the shriveled roots, I felt ashamed at my neglect. When I’d finished clearing the space, I watered and turned the soil, taken with how rich it had become. I sat in silence and thought about how that reflected inward, as well. The pain and solitude had alchemized me and what had sat inside that whole winter was now made anew.
Years later, I’m sitting in my therapist’s office. She’s white, Midwest-born and raised. I hadn’t planned on having a white therapist, but when I’d filled out the preference form I only checked off “woman.” She had an optimism I appreciated, and I didn’t feel especially inclined to inquire whether she was aware just how much of that optimism came from her privilege. I saw parts of myself reflected in her personality. One of the more painful aspects of my internal calcination was accepting how hopeful I’ve always tended to be, even despite the harm I would seek out. My optimism was the reason I had stayed in abusive situations as well as my catalyst for leaving. I’d hope it would get better and once I saw it wouldn’t, I’d hope a doorway would appear.
My career was now in motion. I was dumbfounded by the task of negotiating a book contract without an agent and didn’t know how to proceed. I’d written and performed largely for free for my entire career and was realizing that I was afraid to ask for a substantial sum because I still struggled with my own self-worth.
A Reluctant Astronaut
“Did you send the email?”
“I didn’t. Not yet, I just, don’t want to seem off-putting, you know? What if I ask for too much and they rescind their offer?”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” she said. “They approached you.”
I cradled my head in my hands. “I don’t know how to do this. No one taught me about money. All of this is new. I’m navigating this alone and there’s no map, no manual.”
“You know what you are?”
I looked up.
“You’re a reluctant astronaut. That’s what my mom called me and my sisters when we were afraid. You have the ability to travel through the universe, and you’re afraid to get in the captain’s seat. You’ve trained, you’re ready. You’ve got to get out there for all those who didn’t get the chance, and more so for those who will.”
I blinked back tears. A reluctant astronaut. In all my life, no one had ever said anything even remotely close to those words, that concept.
“You’ve got to send that email.”
I realized how much her words had struck me. The queer daughter of first-generation parents, I was told that I would not be allowed to leave home for college. My older brothers were encouraged to exercise their freedom while I stayed in my hometown and worked while I went to school. I could only move out when I found a husband. I wasn’t taught I was a reluctant astronaut. Instead, I was tethered to the ground from birth.
I wondered what would have been of me had I been encouraged to fly.
***
There are times when I have to leave my daughter, now ten years old. Sometimes she’ll watch me pack, her eyes heavy.
“Mommy, don’t go. I get scared when you’re far away, scared you won’t return.”
I don’t tell her I’m afraid, too. I’m not afraid that I won’t return, but that I won’t get to leave at all.
I need her to be brave for both of us. She’s now old enough to understand she’s a reluctant astronaut, too. I want to make this natural for us, how sometimes I’ll have to go sit in the captain’s chair and close the hatch, home becoming small as a pin before fading out.
Even though my aunt knows I’ve scrubbed my stepmom from my life in an attempt to stop and reverse years of psychological abuse, manipulation, and mind fuckery, it’s a reality she refuses to accept.
HE IS RISEN!
This was the one-line email I woke up to on Easter Sunday. It was from my aunt, my dad’s youngest sibling. Growing up, my cousins and I agreed that she was the cool aunt, the one who took us to the Philadelphia Zoo in the summer and let us drink gallons of Pepsi when our parents weren’t around. But I wasn’t thinking about that when I opened her Easter email; instead, I was silently fuming over who she publicly copied. As I scrolled through the list, my stepmother’s address appeared directly under my dad’s and if I could see hers, that meant she could see mine.
I imagined my aunt sitting in front of her computer screen. She would have entered my dad’s email first, because he’s her oldest brother. Immediately after, she’d insert my stepmother because she’s my dad’s wife. And I had no doubt my email was added under my stepmom’s because my aunt thought of the three of us—my dad, my stepmom, and me—as a family, as if we fell into a ditch and were covered over in cement. But we’re not, and we haven’t been for more than 20 years.
And even though my aunt knows I’ve scrubbed my stepmom from my life in an attempt to stop and reverse years of psychological abuse, manipulation, and mind fuckery, it’s a reality she refuses to accept. As a result, my email address landed, free of charge, in my stepmom’s inbox. Whether she uses it or not is not the issue, it’s that she has it when my aunt knows I don’t want her to.
This wasn’t the first time my aunt casually glossed over a boundary I erected to preserve my health and well-being.
Years ago, there was an incident at my grandmother’s funeral. After the burial, everyone headed back to my aunt’s house for lunch. Both my dad and stepmom were there, and by that point, I’d been estranged from my stepmom for nearly a decade. As I climbed out of the car, my aunt, with camera in hand, corralled the three of us together on the front lawn. Looking at me she pulled her arms apart as if holding an accordion.
“I want a picture of the three of you.”
I looked at her and shook my head, “What?”
“Please.” She said firmly. “I need a picture of the three of you.”
My stepmom stood next to my dad, and I watched as she slowly rolled her shoulders in towards her chest and puffed her bottom lip out like a child on the verge of sticking her thumb in her mouth. Feeling outnumbered, I glared at my aunt, hoping she would give up and back off. But instead, she got angry. In a petulant fit, she slammed her arms down, stomped her right foot, and demanded, “I want a picture.”
At that time, I didn’t know how to defend my boundaries. Saying no or walking away from my aunt at that moment would’ve been a blatant act of disrespect. I didn’t want to offend my aunt, but today I can’t help but wonder why it was okay for her to offend me.
In the end, I did what I felt was the right thing to do; I walked over and stood next to my stepmom. Immediately, my body flared up in protest. My stomach cramped, my hands trembled, and my breath got caught in the back of my throat. My aunt raised her camera and took the shot. I don’t know about my dad or stepmom, but I know I didn’t smile.
Back at my computer, I hit reply (not reply all) and mentally wrestled with my response. I was angry, but I didn’t know what I could tell my aunt about my relationship with my stepmom that I hadn’t already said before. And as my fingertips rested on the keyboard, I acknowledged, for the first time, what I was feeling was beyond anger. It was disappointment.
I wanted to tell my aunt how disappointed I was in her. But then I realized it wasn’t just my aunt who let me down. It’s also my dad, who drank himself stupid, and my brothers, who in their fifth decade of life have yet to kick their drug habits. It’s a cousin who overdosed on heroin, and every uncle who died of alcoholism. It’s all the other addicts I’m related to who through the years traded blowjobs for crack. And it’s every other family member who, like my aunt, continues to look the other way because they don’t have the guts to acknowledge reality. I want to ask my aunt if she’s ever looked at the miserable picture she took of my dad, my stepmom, and me at my grandmother’s funeral and I want to know if she can see the truth now.
As I mulled over my response, I decided the email I wanted to send—about how our family has been my greatest disappointment—wasn’t worth the effort. So, I replied to my aunt with a question I knew she’d be happy to answer.
“AA is like parenting for adults. I got to have it as a child. My mom abandoning me in AA was the best thing she ever did for me.”
Close your eyes for a sec and pretend you’re watching a movie. It’s Christmas Eve, 1975. Lara, a five-year-old girl with white-gold hair, big green eyes, and olive skin, is scurrying to keep up with her mother, a five-foot-eight beauty.
Noni’s hair is black, her eyes blacker. Her stiletto heels click at a manic pace on the Manhattan pavement. With her large pupils and long-legged strides, she seems to be on speed but could also be soused. Her upper body teeters down Delancey Street. By rote she steps over drunks and around junkies without slowing, oblivious to her daughter racing behind. Lara mimics Noni’s dodges and weaves, also unfazed by the bodies littering the sidewalk.
Everybody Has a Screwed-Up Childhood, Right?
The Lower East Side neighborhood was “kind of peaceful then. Heroin addicts are docile,” Sharp tells The Fix. “They don’t make trouble.” Yet, as she and her Mom laughed at the late shoppers, a speeding bullet whizzed by Sharp’s head.
“It was so close it blew out my left ear. We never saw doctors so nobody knew I lost my hearing on that side.” Noni frequently exploded at Sharp for “ignoring” her, but the child couldn’t hear much of what was said. Noni mistook the lack of response as proof that Sharp was dimwitted, or willfully not paying attention.
“Everybody has a screwed-up childhood, right?” Sharp smiles and shrugs. “The only kids I knew were like me—living with a single mom, with no idea who their father was. We were like goldfish in water. You can’t see the water because it’s all you know.”
When her friend Marisol bragged about getting a letter from her father, Sharp didn’t believe her at first.
“I was so jealous. Not only did Marisol have a father, she knew his name and where he was. She could go visit him. They had conversations.” In Sharp’s five-year-old brain, it didn’t matter that Marisol’s father lived in prison.
Today Sharp is a graduate of Smith College and has written for Teen Vogue, Longreads, and is a top writer on Quora. Two years ago, her “Mansplaining Pool Post” went viral.
Poolside Johnny
Sharp explained what prompted the post: “Women all know a Poolside Johnny. We’ve met him in a hundred different places in a hundred different ways.” She was engrossed, reading Rebecca Solnit’s book Men Explain Things to Me, when a man walked up and offered to be her mentor.
“It was so funny. I started thumb-typing everything he said.” When she told him her name was Gloria Steinem, he responded “it’s too Jewish.”
“So I said, ‘How about Betty Friedan?’ He just wasn’t getting it. He didn’t know who they were or that they both went to Smith College. While he’s still talking, I popped the conversation on the internet.”
When she realized he was not going to stop talking, she left.
“I took a long shower,” she said. “When I get out, my phone is blowing up! Facebook alerts. My first thought was a terrorist attack. Then I see it’s my post. It kept going and going.”
The famous post has now been written about in 6 languages and 20 publications including Glamour, Elle, The Daily Mail, Huffington Post and Refinery29. Sharp was surprised by the attention, especially from literary agents who wanted to rep her memoir, Do the Hustle, about growing up in foster care.
Love Is…
“My mom taught me what I needed to know. Like how to falsify documents—birth certificates, marriage licenses. We ran them through tea and let them dry on the window sill to make them look aged.” She also gave Sharp notebooks “to write everything down,” and great advice, like “Sometimes abortions are better than husbands.”
Beautiful Noni attracted men and married some. Sharp has no idea exactly how many.
Sharp self-published her first book at age five. She folded pieces of paper into a book and punched holes in it with scissors, tying it together with a ribbon. The book was a gift for Noni’s most terrifying husband, who verbally and physically abused both of them.
Sharp’s book was titled Love Is. Each page contained an answer: A hug. A kiss. Asking someone how they are. She thought if he had that information, he would be nice.
“It didn’t go as planned,” said Sharp. “He accused me of plagiarizing. A five-year-old. So yeah, that was my first book, Love Is for a sociopath.”
Noni’s struggles with alcohol and drugs started before Sharp was born. “She was that way my whole life, which I think is good because if you had a great parent and then they go downhill, I’m sure it’s a lot harder.”
Sharp didn’t know any other life: “I met a girl outside of our circle who invited me over. It was strange when we walked in and her mother wasn’t lying face down in a puddle of her own body fluid. I was so surprised when the girl’s mother served sandwiches at a table with matching chairs.”
Sharp recalls Noni’s feelings were so overwhelming, she couldn’t control her behavior: “When my mother had a feeling, she expressed it by throwing a chair. When I voiced a feeling, even if it was just, I’m hungry, I’m hot, I’m tired, my mother’s immediate response was, ‘No you’re not.’”
AA and Foster Care
When Noni found AA, Sharp learned there were people in the world who lived and behaved differently.
“Sitting in those rooms, I listened to people express themselves. They did it so clearly, appropriately. Well, despite the cursing,” she laughs. “What I mean is, they’d use words to say what had happened and how it made them feel and talk about what they were going to do. They’d say things like, ‘I’m going to sit with the feeling.’ That’s when, at seven, I realized, ‘Wow, you don’t have to react to a feeling.’”
By age eight, Sharp understood that Noni wasn’t bad, she was sick. “AA is like parenting for adults. I got to have it as a child. My mom abandoning me in AA was the best thing she ever did for me.” After getting her court slip signed, Noni would leave Sharp in the meeting while she went to the bar across the street. In those rooms, Sharp learned that addiction was hereditary and decided she didn’t want to test her luck. She considers herself an “alcoholic waiting to happen” and has always been cautious about drinking.
At nine, Sharp went into foster care. At every new place she was shuffled to, she asked if they knew how to reach her mother.” Responses ranged from “No, she couldn’t take care of you” to “She left you and isn’t coming back.”
“Noni never came to visit me. No one did.” She tried every number in her notebook. None worked. Finally, she reached one of Noni’s friends who said Noni had moved to Florida.
“Birthdays passed—no calls, no cards. By 12, I started to believe she’d abandoned me,” Sharp said, “I figured nobody wants me because I’m unlovable. I talk too much, get in the way. I’m a burden.”
Sharp told me, “I think those social workers were trying to help but, as fucked up as my mother was, before foster care, I knew she loved me. Foster care took that away.”
The places she lived all had one thing in common: Jesus. Most of Sharp’s foster parents were fundamentalist Christians.
“I didn’t do Jesus. I wasn’t down with that. I knew this hippie guy from Egypt didn’t look like Kurt Cobain. That nonsense never sat well with me. And I’m glad my mother passed on her rabid femininity. She never yelled ‘Oh my God.’ For her it was, ‘Oh my Goddess.’”
On the Grift
Some of the families had money, but many just liked collecting a check. They’d take in as many kids as they could but they’d spend the money and not feed the foster kids.
“We were always so hungry,” said Sharp. “Whenever they gave us anything to eat it was rice.”
As she got older, her options narrowed.
“Once you hit double digits, the number of homes that will take you in plummets.”
The majority of older kids live in group homes, residential facilities. Or, if there’s no place to put them, foster kids are sent to detention homes. Sharp says at group homes, there was a lot of Christianity, too.
Sharp credits those East Village AA meetings with teaching her that if a situation is uncomfortable remove yourself from the situation. At 14, she ran away. Homeless, she wound up sleeping in Washington Square Park where she met “Gay Cher,” a transgender drug addict and sex worker.
“We were on the grift together,” said Sharp. “Gay Cher became my BFF. She gave me a makeover so I could pass for 18, get a job, and earn enough to rent an apartment.”
The plan worked. Sharp found jobs in the nightclub business: waitress, hostess, party promoter and bartender. She tried dancing and recalls: “I was a decent go-go dancer but never great at pole dancing. But I made a lot of money from then on.”
Doing the Next Right Thing
On 9/11 Sharp lost friends when the towers fell. Aching to do something but feeling helpless, she credits AA for guiding her to “do the next right thing.” At 31, she examined her life and realized she wanted to quit bartending. For years, she’d been serving alcohol to customers who had drinking problems. But, without any formal education, her opportunities were limited. As an avid reader since the days Noni left her alone in libraries, she decided to take the GED. On the day of the test, she ended up in the wrong room and was given a college exam instead of the high school equivalency placement. She aced it, and enrolled in a two-year associate’s degree program for free. After that she won a scholarship to Smith College. With hard work and luck, she found her way to a career as a writer.
“I’m not angry at my mom anymore. I’m grateful that she abandoned me in libraries and AA. Now I have a loving and kind husband. We live in a beautiful home in a safe and friendly neighborhood. I learned everything I needed to know to take care of myself. And I’ve done a damn good job.”
Lara B. Sharp reads an excerpt from her memoir in progress:
Alternate rebellion can help shake up ennui and distress, otherwise known as life. It’s a great act of self-acceptance in a world that wants you to follow their dumb unwritten rules. Guess what, world? I do what I want.
People who have struggled with addiction and alcoholism are rebels by nature. If you disagree, you’re just proving my point. Getting into recovery and following the rules we need to follow if we’re going to stay sober and have a better life can feel like something’s missing – that old Eff You to the face of the world. But what if there were ways to rebel that didn’t leave a trail of dumpster fires and broken bones in your wake?
Alternate Rebellion, which is taught in Dialectical Behavioral Therapy (DBT), is the idea that there are healthy, nondestructive ways to rebel, or “act out.” There are many ways to feel like yourself without hurting yourself. It’s also highly effective as a tool for distress tolerance (a term that describes one’s capacity to cope with or withstand negative emotions or stressful conditions).
What follows is a list of several acts of alternate rebellion I have found to be very satisfying, and a link to a more comprehensive (and less aggressive) list. We already know how to get creative under pressure when it comes to self-destruction. Now, that same energy and talent can be used in ways that make you feel good about yourself before, during, and after. After all, everything we do in life is because we’re searching for a certain feeling. There are so many more ways to get there than the limited world of self-harm.
1. Cut off a friend you find boring
I had a friend — I suspect most of us have had this friend — who was sweet and loyal and utterly boring. Half the time I didn’t know, or care, what the hell she was talking about. I think a lot of us feel like we have to take what we can get in terms of human connection because we’re so fundamentally unlovable, but we don’t. Even if, say, that friend was there for you during a really dark period in your life — you realize that was their choice, and of course they got something out of it too. Ignore their calls. Refuse to read the Twilight fan fiction they keep pushing on you. When they reach out to say “What happened? Are you dead?” Refrain from saying, “Bitch, you know I’ve been posting on Insta.” Say you just don’t feel like chatting right now. Because you don’t. To them. Revel in the fact that you just did something kinda bad. It feels good.
2. Disagree with an overly confident person
I cannot recommend this enough. Especially people who can’t handle being disagreed with. Los Angeles is lousy with them. And I hate to state the obvious, but they are usually straight white men. Easy to find. You don’t have to lie; I guarantee you hear things you don’t agree with every day. And just like that: Hey. I don’t agree. Smile. The smiling is the best part. If you want to present your opposing view, have at it, but often the look on their face and their sheer inability to deal with being disagreed with is enough.
3. Get a tattoo
I went from having zero tattoos because commitment issues to having six in eighteen months because addiction issues. I regret nothing. That’s actually the first tattoo I got: je ne regrette rien. I am not French, but I do identify as a snob. There’s a great story behind it, which I will happily tell anyone hitting on me and also you. It was posted by a friend of mine who was dear to me in only the way someone you’ve followed on Tumblr for many years and only met twice in person can be. She wrote that she spoke French and nobody knew that about her and also that it’s the title of a gorgeous song, so she wanted to get it as a tattoo.
It was one of her last posts. She died suddenly in her bed at the age of 32. So I got the tattoo to honor her, and because all the bullshit got me here. Also, it’s a chance to stick a needle in your arm, but in a good way. I love my tattoos. They make me feel like a badass. Some people say oh no, they are forever, but guess what? The body is so temporary. Also: lasers.
4. Play uncool music with your windows down
I’m partial to Miley Cyrus’s Party in the U.S.A. right now, but you do you, boo. Don’t play it so loud that you scare dogs and upset children, but, you know, a little loud. Just loud enough that you feel like you shouldn’t. And dance. Dance and don’t let anyone looking at you stop you. And don’t stop at a red light next to a Tesla containing an outwardly perfect person. Party. In the U.S.A.
5. Travel somewhere you’ve always wanted to. Alone. Even if you don’t have “enough money.”
Traveling alone is my jam. I always wanted to go to Italy, and in rehab I moaned over the fact that it wasn’t fair that I couldn’t drink wine in Italy. Guess what? Nobody was taking drunk me to Italy. Traveling alone is the best because you don’t ever have to compromise on what to do or where to go or what to eat – every rebel’s dream.
In the past two years I’ve been to Costa Rica, Thailand, and Bali alone as well as a dozen states in the continental U.S. I frequently bring my dog, who flies and stays everywhere free because I have a letter from my therapist, another fantastic act of alternate rebellion. I love whenever someone tries to tell me I can’t have my pet somewhere. I quietly offer to show them paperwork, while in my head I’m screaming “EXCUSE ME HE’S AN EMOTIONAL SUPPORT ANIMAL HE KEEPS ME CALM.” I’ve been nervous about how I’m going to pay for my upcoming Italy/Greece trip, but writing this helped me remember that I had no idea how I was going to pull off any of the other international trips either. Financial insecurity is lame, so I cured it with another act of alternate rebellion.
6. Take a bath in the middle of the day
I actually did this in the middle of writing this article and it felt fantastic. I was sitting here feeling resistant about doing one of my favorite things on earth, writing, and contemplating shutting the computer down and taking a nap, eating even though I’m not hungry, turning on the TV, or a host of other things that are mildly self-destructive and won’t help me feel good about myself in the long run. So I lit my best candles, threw some crystals in there, added a few handfuls of epsom salts and a liberal amount of lavender bubbles, and in went my Juul and I. Right before I did it, I thought: I’m totally not supposed to do this, but it isn’t hurting me or anyone, so YAY. That is pretty much the definition of an act of alternate rebellion.
7. Wear your jammies out in public
A lot of people have strong opinions about people wearing sweatpants in public and I think it’s so outdated. It’s nice to be comfy, especially when you’re in distress. When I was drinking and using, sure, I’d look a mess and probably have unbrushed teeth and hair as I went in search of an open liquor store on any morning of the week, but it’s so lovely to put a little makeup on, brush my hair and teeth, and put on my most stylish and comfortable loungewear, and go out…anywhere. The grocery store? Oh yeah. The movies? Even better. Something about wearing sweatpants in public tickles me. Always has, ever since my college roommate said when we were hungover one Sunday, “You’re going to wear THAT to the dining hall?” Yes, bitch, I certainly am.
My intention with this piece is not to convince others to do exactly what I have done, but to inspire your wheels to turn toward what feels good to you. Alternate rebellion can help shake up ennui and distress, otherwise known as life. It feels like a secret even though it’s often the opposite. It’s the individuation so many of us missed out on in our lost adolescences. More than anything, it’s saying yes to yourself, to your inner child, to exactly who you are exactly at this moment. It’s a great act of self-acceptance in a world that wants you to follow their dumb unwritten rules. Guess what, world? I do what I want.
Effective treatment needs to include both the substance use disorder and the co-occurring disorder in an integrated approach because the two conditions build on each other.
Thirty-three percent of people with mental illness also have a substance use disorder (SUD); that number rises to 50 percent for severe mental illness. Fifty-one percent of people with SUD have a co-occurring mental health disorder. Effective treatment needs to include both the SUD and the co-occurring disorder in an integrated approach because the two conditions build on each other. People with mental illness may turn to substances to alleviate symptoms and severe substance misuse can cause lasting psychological and physiological damage.
12-step programs are free, prolific, and available throughout the world. These mutual-help organizations are designed to facilitate recovery from addiction, but are they suitable for treating the large segment of people with addiction who also have other mental health conditions or psychiatric diagnoses?
A 2018 meta-analysis undertook a literature review on 14 years of studies related to dual diagnosis and Alcoholics Anonymous (AA). This extensive quantitative look into the effiicacy of AA for people with dual diagnosis found that participation in AA and abstinence “were associated significantly and positively.” The research supports the clinically-backed notion that an integrated mental health approach that encourages participation in mutual help programs is the best approach for treating patients with comorbid SUD and mental illness.
Does it Depend on the Dual Diagnosis?
There is enormous variation in mental illnesses, so does the potential effectiveness of 12-step programs change based on the type of disorder or diagnosis? The co-founder of AA, William Wilson (known as Bill W.), was afflicted with a co-occurring disorder. Wilson struggled with “very severe depression symptoms” and today his mental health issue may have been diagnosed as major depressive disorder.
A study published in the Journal of Substance Abuse Treatment followed 300 alcohol-dependent people with and without social anxiety disorder who went through hospital-assisted detox followed by participation in AA. Social anxiety disorder is characterized by an intense fear of being rejected or disliked by other people. This study found that there was no significant difference in relapse or abstinence rates between the two groups and concluded that social anxiety disorder was “not a significant risk factor for alcohol use relapse or for nonadherence to AA or psychotherapy.”
Do Sponsors Matter?
People with dual diagnoses tend to participate in 12-step programs like AA as much as people with just SUD and receive the same benefits in recovery. Those people with co-occurring conditions may actually benefit more from “high levels of active involvement, particularly having a 12-step sponsor.”
In many 12-step mutual help organizations, people enter into an informal agreement with another recovering person who will support their recovery efforts and hold them accountable for continued sobriety. This one-on-one relationship of sponsor and sponsee has been compared to the “therapeutic alliance” that is formed between patients and their clinicians. The therapeutic alliance is positively correlated with treatment outcomes and abstinence.
The therapeutic alliance is one of the most important aspects of effective psychotherapy, as it helps the therapist and the patient to work together. The relationship is based on a strong level of trust. Patients need to feel fully supported, and know that that their therapist is always working towards the best possible outcome for the patient. In the sponsor-sponsee relationship, a similar level of trust and belief is essential if sponsorship is going to be beneficial.
As with therapy, it may take many tries with many different people to find the right fit. Not all people are suitable to be sponsors and not all sponsorships go well. A sponsor is generally expected to be very accessible to their sponsee, and available at any time, day or night. They are supposed to help with completing the 12-steps, and they often provide advice and suggestions from their own experiences. It’s a lot of responsibility.
A strong therapeutic alliance has been found to be an excellent predictor for treatment outcomes. Does that mean a failed therapeutic alliance could derail treatment? In short, the answer is yes. Trust is critical to healing from any mental illness.
Trauma and the Therapeutic Alliance
Traumatic events have a serious impact on mental health. People with mental illness are at a higher risk of being further traumatized and people who are traumatized are at a higher risk of developing mental illness than the general population. Childhood trauma “doubles risk of mental health conditions.”
Recovery from trauma is based on empowering the survivor and developing new connections to life, including re-establishing trust. Judith Herman, a leading psychiatrist specializing in trauma is adamant that recovery is not a solitary process. This may be why 12-step programs have been successful in helping some people recovery from trauma.
Being a sponsor to someone who has been traumatized requires a fine balance between listening and giving space. Herman explains that survivors need to know they’re being heard when telling their story. At the same time, “trauma impels people both to withdraw from close relationships and to seek them desperately.” Meaning that when the sponsor does not go away, their motives may seem suspect in the eyes of the survivor. Yet, if the sponsor doesn’t stay, it can reinforce negative self-appraisal and stoke a fear of abandonment.
Individuals with psychological trauma can struggle to modulate intense emotions, such as anger. A sponsor or therapist has to have healthy boundaries with a sponsee/patient if the relationship is going to work. Providing good sponsorship is a huge undertaking that requires a firm commitment.
The good thing about the 12 steps is that they are considered a long-term program which encourages revisiting the steps many times to sustain successful recovery. This is useful in terms of trauma recovery because most trauma is never fully resolved. A traumatized person will likely experience reappearance of symptoms; traumatic memories can surface in different stages of life. Stress is a major cause of these recurrences and having a place to process these events as they come up is important.
Do 12-Step Programs Have a Role in Treating Dual Diagnoses?
Integrated holistic treatment that addresses how the two conditions interact and affect each other will provide the best outcomes. Ultimately, what we want is to improve quality of life and to return to ordinary life with an open door to future support when necessary. The research shows that when the principles of 12-step programs are integrated with other treatments, we see improvements in self-esteem, positive affect, reduced anxiety, and improved health.
Further research is necessary to compare 12-step programs with other emerging mutual and self-help organizations, as they have been around for less time and there are fewer published studies on their efficacy.
Pre-sobriety, alcohol and drugs often serve as coping mechanisms. When you quit, you’ll need different kinds of mental and emotional support. Make sure you have tools and solutions in place.
Essentially, the findings of the Canadian Medical Association Journal are that not drinking at all is actually better for your health than drinking when you’re stressed, no matter how much you want to lean into the whole a-glass-of-red-wine-a-day-is-good-for-you thing.
But it’s not that simple. There’s no foolproof formula like: “If I stop drinking, then my mental health will improve” (as nice as that would be).
For many of us, there’s legwork necessary for improving our mental health when we stop drinking and using drugs, in addition to simply stopping. When you stop drinking for an extended period of time (for some of us that may mean 24 hours, others, 4 weeks or 3 months), you may realize that you have symptoms of alcoholism or drug addiction, and the work you need to do to live a healthier life without substances will be outlined for you at a rehab facility, in a 12-step program, or via another form of recovery.
Or you may realize you are more of a problem drinker, who feels uncomfortable without a drink at meals, social gatherings, or after a long day, but you want to give it up for lifestyle or health reasons. You also likely have work to do for your mental health.
Why? Well, it was making you happy. It relaxed you. It calmed your anxiety. It signified fun, the loss of some inhibition, made things just a bit warmer and brighter and easier. It was a reward, it was something to do, and it was a way to cope with stress; not just day-to-day stress, but the stress of memories and past events that you carry around without even knowing and need to let go of.
If you respond internally with “Oh, darn, oh well” to the idea of a lifetime without Rosé all day, this may not pertain to you. But no matter why you drink or how often, alcohol is doing something for you. If you give it up, you may need to find another way of getting that need met. We all have (or had) our reasons, whether we’re aware of them or not, for drinking. And if it’s not just something we can just choose to leave in the interest of a more mindful yogi life or healthier gut, then it’s something we probably need to look at.
I spent a few years in my late teens and early twenties trying to stop drinking on my own. I was already in very strong recovery from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD)—but I had no idea what I was in for when I took alcohol and weed out of the equation. If I wasn’t already in therapy, forget it—I don’t think I could have done it.
But what helped me the most back then were the steps, the social supports, reaching out for help, having places to go and people to see where alcohol was not present, and the continued ability to work on myself—and some other issues I didn’t know I had until I’d stopped drowning them in “social” drinks.
In your first few months to a year of stopping drinking, you’re going to need more than just a positive attitude to stay mentally healthy—especially because life will come slap it right out of you one day without warning, as life tends to do.
Here’s how you can make sure you’re prepared for anything.
Professional Help
While not all therapists are amazing, the right therapist can pretty much be a hero in your life—someone who listens to you, makes you feel heard, and makes themselves available to you via text and email when you’re in crisis. These therapists guide you, challenge you, and help you grow.
A good therapist will see issues that drinking masked.
My roster included PTSD, Pre-Menstrual Dysphoric Disorder (PMDD), and I fit the bill for a few symptoms of other overlapping issues. Specific therapy, targeted therapy, is crucial for a strong recovery. For me, that meant Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) and Dialectical Behavioral Therapy (DBT), but a therapist who specializes in addiction can also be a valuable asset.
We have to learn new ways of being in the world from people who understand what we’re going through and who can be objective, reliable, and helpful supports, and while seeking comfort and wisdom from our friends and family is invaluable, nothing can take the place of professional help.
Social Support and Community
It’s important to lean not just on the friends you have already, but please, find a meet up, a meeting, even a local non-drinkers’ gathering where you can slowly start to form a group of contacts you can call, text, or hang out with who know how to deal with some of the issues you may experience.
At a 12-step meeting, you can word-vom literally everything going on to a stranger, but it’s a good idea to take more care and go slower when establishing lighthearted dishing with other folks who don’t drink but who don’t identify as “addicts or alcoholics.”
As for your “drinking” and “using” and “partying” friends—just start to bring some awareness into the picture when you’re around them. Do they still want to hang out and do something if you’re not drinking, or going to a club or a bar? When we change, the people in our lives either change with us, or we realize we’re heading in a different direction.
Self-Care
Self-care has become such a buzzword that we kind of just make it fit anywhere:
Bath time! Self-care.
Massage! Self-care.
Five gluten-free, vegan cupcakes! Self-care.
All of these things (except maybe keep an eye on the cupcake count because sugar) qualify, and they’re wonderful. Start to figure out what makes you feel good—as you’re doing it, and not just as a means to an end.
Note: if you hate massages, that is not self-care.
But if you like to read, setting aside time from your busy schedule to spend a couple hours with a good book is a great example of self-care.
Saying no to events you don’t want to go to when you’re exhausted—unless it’s for a good friend, or you might lose your job if you refuse—is self-care.
Meditation: This is terrifying at first, but it’s really not so bad if you ease into it, like sticking your toe in the temperature-regulated hotel pool. You can start with two minutes a day, and you can use an app to help you along, offering everything from vocal guidance to a gentle gong to signify the end of a timed silent session. As far as guided meditations go, they’re now specific to everything from commuting to being sick and there’s even one that addresses nervousness about meditating. And there are devices available to help, like a headband that can track your level of calm and bring your awareness back to your breath with nature sounds.
Exercise and diet: You’ve got to keep moving. You may already be in shape, or you may be “out of shape,” but in addition to giving yourself permission to replace the sugar in alcohol with the sugar in doughnuts, it’s time to start treating your body better, since there is such a strong connection between your microbiome (gut), your brain (the prefrontal cortex reacts to processed sugar the same way it reacts to opioids—by triggering dopamine) and your overall feeling of being healthy, especially mentally healthy. You don’t need to become someone who runs a 5K or hits the gym every day and pretends to like it. But keeping your body in motion and eating healthier will yield many benefits, some immediate and some that you’ll see over time, including better sleep, improved mood, stress relief, and more.
Upgrade Your PPTs (people, places, things)
New life, new people, new things, new places, new activities. It doesn’t make sense to keep hanging out at bars anymore, and there’s a difference between showing up to a bridal shower where other women may be drinking and heading to your old haunt where the only thing to do is drink, especially after a stressful day.
Start to discover the world around you. Try taking some classes, visit new neighborhoods and cultural institutions. See if you can pick up new hobbies or dig deeper into old ones. Use social media and the Internet to track down other people doing the same.
It can be hard, as an adult, to make new friends, but it’s not impossible. Go somewhere people chat. A dog run or park (if you have a dog or even if you’re just “considering” getting one and gathering information), a meet up for people who love anime, a writer’s collective. Join Facebook groups or browse Meetup and see what’s out there! Taking a class by yourself is also a great way to double down: not only will you learn something new, but you’ll find others who share your interest, maybe even someone else who was also badass enough to show up solo.
Logistical Stability
It’s important to have a healthy eat, sleep, work, play routine, and if you don’t have one, it’s time to make one.
You may already have a job that you need to turn your attention to even more deeply, and you may have a passion project you want to add into the mix. Most importantly, you should get involved with volunteer work—you don’t have to serve food at a soup kitchen; maybe you can offer your writing skills to a nonprofit, or if you know graphic design you can help them build their new website.
If you don’t have a steady job, look for one—a sober job is often referred to as one that isn’t our dream career, but is a place that we have to show up to regularly, keeps us accountable, provides an environment to socialize with others, and is a way for us to earn honest money.
If your current job makes you so unhappy it contributed to your drinking, maybe look around for something better and if you feel you’re ready, go for that dream job.
Also, make sure your housing situation is safe and affordable, and conducive to your new way of life (i.e., if you chose your roommates because they party 24/7, it might be time to look for a new place).
Bottom line: It’s dangerous for people who might be using alcohol or drugs to self-medicate depression or other underlying conditions to give up that medication without other supports, tools, and solutions in place. Your life is going to get bigger and better, and you’re going to get healthier—but as with all good things that don’t create a false feeling of safety and happiness, you have to do a little work to get there.
