Answer Addiction

Tag: personal stories

  • Views From A Rehab Counselor

    Views From A Rehab Counselor

    No amount of comfort is enough when there is a look of terror on someone admitting to treatment for the first time.

    “I want to be that little girl!”  

    A woman in her late 40s is sitting in front of me in my office, sobbing as she stares at a black and white picture of my then four-year-old daughter being twirled on the dancefloor, her white crinoline dress slightly blurred by the movement of her swirl. She has a smile of joy that only a four-year-old can have.  

    The woman is a patient I’m admitting to the rehab facility where I’m a counselor. She is highly intoxicated and emotionally distraught. This is her first time in treatment.

    I immediately regret having the picture so visible, something I know a lot of counselors and therapists would never do and as I move to put the picture facedown on the window sill, she begs me not to. For some reason she is fixated on my daughter’s image.

    In the three years that I’ve been in the field there is something new happening—more and more older men and women—those in their 40s through late 60s—are entering treatment for the first time for their alcohol dependence.  

    It’s also happening with people in their 20s—young, suburban, college-educated, fresh-faced young people attempting to stop drinking.

    Prior to this job, I worked in an all-male halfway house for 30 men. In the year that I was there, maybe four of the 50 or so guys I had on my rotating caseload struggled with alcoholism. The rest were mostly 20 and 30-year-olds who were addicted to heroin.

    This carried over into my current job where initially most of the patients coming in were younger, a little rough around the edges, wanting to detox from opiates and benzos. Then suddenly, just a few months ago, something seems to have shifted.  

    I’m stunned by the amount of alcohol these patients have been drinking on a daily basis. I went into my local liquor store to ask the owner to show me what a “handle” is and what a “sleeve” of nips looks like.  

    For me, someone who is not in recovery and looks forward to a glass of wine at the end of the day, who stops the second I feel a little buzzed I can’t wrap my head around that desire, that need to completely obliterate oneself to the point of blackout. I can count on less than two hands the number of times I’ve been even slightly drunk and only one time when I actually got a touch of the bed spins. I’ve never thrown up from drinking, never passed out. 

    I know enough to realize that a good number of people with substance use disorders are self-medicating for one thing or another, for the pain and anguish, the unaddressed trauma and mental health issues that lurk beneath the surface.  

    If a family member accompanies the patient to our facility they will often take me aside and fill me in on some details that the patient wouldn’t necessarily reveal themselves during the intake process. It comes out eventually during the customary 28-day stay, with the gentle guidance of insightful therapists and peers.  

    Obviously the hard part, the seemingly impossible task, will be for them to find other ways to cope once treatment is complete.

    I have a special fondness for the men and women who arrive to the facility under the influence. I love the rollercoaster ride they take me on with them, the ups and downs, the loop-the-loops, the crying and yelling.  

    I’m okay with being told to “fuck off” and then only two minutes later being told that I’m their guardian angel. I was recently told that I was “hotter than a hand grenade” by a man whose blood alcohol level was off the charts.  

    I told him that when he sobered up how disappointed he’d be in my “hotness” level. And yes, when I DID see him the next day, he barely remembered me.   

    No amount of comfort is enough when there is a look of terror on someone admitting to treatment for the first time. I can only do so much by telling them that it’s going to be okay, that they’ve come to the right place, that they’re so brave for making this first step. I get to go home at the end of the day. I don’t have to be woken up every four hours to have my vital signs taken or worry about who my roommate might be.  

    Some time during my intake the woman sitting in front of me looked at the picture of my daughter, put her head down, still sobbing and defeated and filled with shame and said, “I’m NEVER going to be that little girl.”

    It was clear that she didn’t think she would ever achieve a moment of such complete joy and freedom, that she would ever be spun around on a dance floor in a twirly dress. It took a couple of hours to complete her paperwork and by the time we wrapped up, she had sobered up quite a bit.  

    As I stood up to escort her to the unit, she looked at the picture one more time, some strong and silent resolution having been made, the belief that joy could and would be achieved in her life and said, “I’m GOING to be that little girl.”

    I so hope that she has found many joyful and free moments since she left treatment, that she dances in her living room with a smile on her face.  

    Gayle Saks has written extensively about her work as a substance abuse counselor from the unique perspective of someone who is not in recovery herself. Her blog, My Life In The Middle Ages, was voted one of the Top 20 Recovery Blogs for 2016 by AfterParty Magazine. She has written on the subject for The Fix, HuffPost, mindbodygreen and Thought Catalog. She has also written about being the daughter of a Holocaust survivor and the eventual suicide of her mother. Her pieces on the subject have appeared in kveller where she is a regular contributor, The Jewish Journal, and MammaMia.

    In 2013 she was invited to be on a panel on HuffPost Live to talk about being middle-aged, where her 15 minutes of poignant and intelligent conversation turned into a soundbyte about her having a hot flash at a Justin Timberlake/Jay-Z concert. 

    Saks grew up on Long Island, New York, and lives in the Greater Boston area with her husband, daughter, two cats and two dogs or as her husband says, “Too many beating hearts.”

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Me, My Psych Meds & My 12-Step Recovery

    Me, My Psych Meds & My 12-Step Recovery

    Now that I have double-digit sobriety, I have no qualms about pulling aside people who disparage the use of psych meds in meetings.

    As I sat in my jail cell I had to question the admonition I got from an old-timer at a 12-step meeting I frequented.

    “If you trust your Higher Power enough, you don’t need psych meds.”

    Really? How well did that work for me? Prior to my psychotic break I wore my sobriety well. I had married the love of my life. My IT consulting practice was netting me a mid-six figure income. The custom house we bought and furnished was paid in full.

    Funny thing about alcoholics. When things are going well we want to fiddle with the recipe that got us there. Why do I need meds? After all, I have been symptom-free for years. I have never been manic in sobriety.

    For some reason the under-utilized abacus in my head couldn’t (or wouldn’t) do the math that me plus meds equaled sanity. That old-timer’s advice started to resonate. After all, I was a Higher-Power-trusting kind of guy. Never did it occur to me that maybe there was power and inspiration behind the development of the medications that kept me sane.

    A salesman at heart, I broached the subject of discontinuing meds with my wife—my wife who had never known me symptomatic.

    “I’m doing fine,” I said. “Just look at all these articles I found on the web about managing symptoms with vitamins and exercise.”

    I closed the deal and by August of 2009 I was med-free.

    All was well until it wasn’t. In November of that year my wife was hospitalized with COPD exacerbation. Talk about the need for a lung transplant and end-of-life-planning marked many of our conversations with physicians. Up went the anxiety level.

    As the stress level began to rise, the amount of sleep I was getting decreased proportionally. Funny thing about bipolar I disorder, nothing triggers mania like lack of sleep. Or so I learned later.

    Around January or February of 2010—the timeline gets a little distorted… a little racy—my response to my wife’s health condition was to pick up more clients, sleep less and work more. One of my clients, a large county government, went under investigation by the state’s Attorney General.

    The subject of the investigation? The contents of a database I maintained.

    The state wanted the unvarnished data. The county wanted it “scrubbed.” Stress bombs were being lobbed at my increasingly fragile state of mind.

    Somewhere in the spring of 2010 there was an audible snap. Distinguishing the seemingly real from the false got a little tricky. Paranoia replaced anxiety. Clients began pulling me into meetings to explain why I was sending late-night emails about Russian cell-phone hackers and suspicious activities on the part of my co-workers.

    Apparently, my explanations were none too satisfying. First there was a mandated two- week “vacation.” A week after I returned I guess no improvement was noted as the County Manager’s personal security detail escorted me from the premises. My monthly billing dropped by 75% at a time I was spending and gambling like, well, like someone in the midst of a full manic break. The bank accounts were drained and the credit cards began to max out.

    My wife reminded me of a promise to resume medication if she ever deemed it necessary… and she was definitely in a deeming-it-necessary mode. Funny thing about psych meds, the maintenance dose that had worked so well for years really wasn’t up to snuffing out full blown mania. I resumed my meds, but it was like trying to battle a raging forest fire with a squirt bottle.

    By May, loved ones were more than a little concerned. That came to a head in the aftermath of a pool party/cookout gone awry. For some reason I thought our guests needed to be greeted by the entire content of my garage spread across the front yard and folding tables piled high with $3,500 dollars’ worth of random magazines, toys, household goods, and an inordinate amount of Febreze from a 2 a.m. Walmart shopping spree.

    Twenty-four hours later there was a late-night visit from the local police to take me to a 72-hour psych hold my wife and daughters had arranged.

    Agnosognosia. A Greek term for lack of insight. The medical profession has reserved it to describe the phenomenon of people in the throes of mania denying that they are manic. I had it, but good. Four hours into my psych hold I pretended to be asleep and then put on a very calm front for the psychiatrist who had just come on shift to make the rounds.

    By hour six I was released, and my wife and daughter got a tongue-lashing from the doctor for wasting her time. I delighted in that, but not once did it occur to me that if I had to consciously act calm, maybe things weren’t quite right. Life at home got a little more strained.

    Five days later I agreed to be hospitalized. Then I reneged on my promise and decided to storm out of the house to underscore how healthy-minded I was.

    As I packed, among other things, a two-and-a-half-foot tall Buzz Lightyear action figure, a cloth “green screen” for shooting videos and manipulating the background, and a folded American flag. I also decided to pack an unloaded .22 pistol that was going to be the centerpiece of a yet unscripted cellphone video masterpiece.

    As I turned from my dresser to the duffle bag I was packing on my bed, my wife entered the room. The gun was pointed in her direction. She didn’t see a budding videographer; to her it was a little more “assaulty-ish.”

    A half hour later, I was cleaning the pool at an unoccupied rental house of ours where I had decided to camp out. Not five minutes into it, I noticed a helicopter directly overhead. In my paranoid and delusional state, I assumed the helicopter was there to film me in all my glory.

    Turns out, a very real S.W.A.T. team had encircled me and I wasn’t so delusional after all. My mugshot made the front page of our major online newspaper… in all my glory.

    Over the next six weeks in jail my symptoms subsided, my marriage was repaired, and I got a felony assault charge reduced to disorderly conduct. (I really couldn’t argue that I had been a little disorderly.)

    Still, I had one full year to learn how difficult it is to stay employable until that felony disorderly conduct was reduced to a misdemeanor. I am now very sympathetic towards sponsees who are trying to get back on track following incarceration.

    You guessed it. If I am still sponsoring, I am still active in 12-step recovery. It may not be for everyone, but it works very well for me.

    Now that I have double-digit sobriety, however, one thing has changed. I have no qualms about pulling aside people who disparage the use of psych meds in meetings. I share my story and explain rather firmly why they might want to reconsider that position.

    I am also not shy about sharing in meetings about an article from AA’s Grapevine magazine published in the 1970s when groups were first wrestling with the subject of psych meds. The home group in that story? Well, it arrived at a position that still holds true to this day: If advised to take psychiatric medication by a physician, you should not take one more, nor one less, than prescribed.

    Rick Bell, a bipolar alcoholic in recovery, holds a M.S.in Addiction Science and is completing a PhD in Psychology. He blogs at recoveryrules.com/blog.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • No More Attendance Sheets In AA

    No More Attendance Sheets In AA

    Having court-ordered people at our meetings is like being, “a little bit pregnant.” We are either anonymous or we are not anonymous.

    Our Traditions are important to Alcoholics Anonymous. We also want to see AA continue to provide a way out for alcoholics.

    The responsibility statement located on so many meeting walls says it all. AA is an all-inclusive organization, too. We offer aid to anyone who needs help in their drinking life. However, that comfort and aid are meant to be given in an anonymous way.

    My question is, how anonymous is a court-ordered person who leaves our meetings with a signed attendance sheet? Surely everyone can remember hearing someone at an AA meeting state, “You can say that you were at this meeting but you cannot tell them I was here.”

    What good is that statement when we then turn around and sign attendance sheets? Having court-ordered people at our meetings is something like being, “a little bit pregnant.” We are either anonymous or we are not anonymous. Let’s look at some of the results of our current practice.

    In order to clear out overcrowded prisons, criminals have been released if they agree, in part, to getting attendance vouchers signed at AA meetings. One of those parolees killed an AA member in 2011 and a lawsuit against AA was filed.

    We didn’t hear about that from the General Service Organization or their Public Information Coordinator, and that is where the legal papers were delivered.

    Instead, the news broke at some later time on television. While the suit was eventually dismissed, that AA member surely would not have been murdered and that lawsuit filed if we did not sign attendance sheets.

    Greg Hardy, a former NFL player banned from the league after being charged with beating his girlfriend, has been sentenced to three AA meetings per week rather than going to jail. Look at pages 155 and 156 of the Twelve and Twelve. It states that judges would gather derelicts from society and, “parole them into our custody. We’d spill AA into the dark regions of dope addiction and criminality.”

    Look, too, at page 190 where it states that we are not to, “lend the AA name in either a direct or indirect manner to anyone.”

    Our founders predicted back in the 1950s this very situation happening today.

    The Second, Seventh and Ninth Circuit Courts of Appeal have all ruled that sending criminals to AA meetings is illegal. It’s in violation of the First Amendment. That public controversy would not have happened had we kept our meetings anonymous.

    What if AA decided to stop signing attendance sheets? What could the courts do? Are they able to set up their own classes to teach lessons about alcoholism and addiction? Could the courts take their own attendance?

    The Traditions allow AA members to go to those classes and talk about alcoholism. We could still offer aid and support to alcoholics without signing attendance sheets.

    After the above-mentioned murder, the GSO has felt compelled to hand out the Safety Card for AA Groups statement to clean up this situation. They did so without fully explaining to the public the issues noted here. Perhaps this is the time to reevaluate things more closely.

    Maybe this is an opportunity to gather the insight and courage to see if we are compromising our Traditions as well as our Alcoholics Anonymous name when signing attendance sheets.

    The author is a member of AA and chooses to remain anonymous.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • All My Friends Are Junkies

    All My Friends Are Junkies

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

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

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

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

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

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

    According to Webster:

    Junkie

    noun |  junk·ie | \ ˈjəŋ-kē \

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • What Sets Suboxone Apart From Other Medication-Assisted Treatments?

    What Sets Suboxone Apart From Other Medication-Assisted Treatments?

    When taken as prescribed by an opiate addict, Suboxone doesn’t allow me to avoid or escape reality. This is one way it differs form other MATs.

    I’ve used the same pharmacy for over a decade. The tech filling my prescription this morning was the same one that had filled my Vicodin prescription for four years, on the first of the month every 30 days, like clockwork. 

    Today, I smiled at her as she stuffed a different prescription into a small white bag: 28 individually wrapped, “lime” flavored, orange-tinted filmstrips.

    “You’re still on Suboxone?” she questioned.

    “Yep.” I answered. “I don’t see weaning off anytime soon. My recovery is strong and life is good.”

    She raised a skeptical eyebrow.

    “Aren’t you just trading one for another? Wouldn’t it be better to never get on it? Nobody gets off of this stuff… It just seems like a waste…no different than any other drug addict.”

    My body deflated with a sigh, but I tried to give her the benefit of the doubt. I wasn’t expecting these questions from a woman whose career relies on understanding complicated medical pharmacokinetics, but I get it. She doesn’t grasp the complexities of addiction.

    I simply explained to her the differences in lifestyle, motivation and integrity between using illegal substances to get high, and using a medication as prescribed as one of many tools in a recovery program. 

    She’s not alone in her misunderstanding. Suboxone and other forms of medication-assisted treatment (MAT) are confusing and controversial, for addicts and “normies” alike. MAT isn’t the only thing that’s hotly debated. We argue whether addiction is a disease or a choice, what labels we should use, and how anonymous we should be. We quarrel about jargon, literature, sponsors and steps. 

    One thing most addicts and alcoholics can agree on is this: We don’t like to be uncomfortable. The inability to tolerate emotional or physical pain is often what sets us hurling down the spiral of addiction.

    An injury, illness, stress, loss, or combination of all of them (in my case migraines, divorce, job burnout) led us to drink or use to dull the pain. Whether its numbing out, sleeping it off, or chemically re-energizing, we’re professionals at self-medicating.

    Going to extreme measures to either chase pleasure or run from pain, we drink, use, pop, dose, snort, shoot and eat our way to an alternate reality.

    Could the pharmacy tech be right? Am I just trading one negative habit for another in an attempt to evade my problems? Like other opiates, Suboxone causes physical dependence and withdrawal if you stop taking it. How is taking it daily any better than taking Vicodin, Percocet, or heroin? I’ve often heard: “You might as well get in a managed cannabis program and smoke weed every day – isn’t that better than taking an opiate? “

    My answer?

    “No.”  

    But that answer hasn’t always come easily. Even as a grateful patient of this medication, I’ve grappled with the decision. Sobriety means getting honest with myself, taking into consideration anything that might be used as a “crutch” or negate recovery.

    I have to ask myself: Why am I OK with taking Suboxone? Why don’t I feel like a shady addict, living in the shadows and sneaking drugs, even though I am officially still taking an opiate? 

    The answer came to me during a particularly stressful day when all I wanted to do was get high, get wasted and go to sleep. That’s impossible to do in sobriety. I’ve had to learn to cope with emotions, to accept reality, and to tolerate discomfort. 

    A light bulb came on: Suboxone is different because it doesn’t change me or my circumstances. It doesn’t get me high.

    Suboxone doesn’t do what other opiates did for me; I can’t numb physical or emotional pain. On Vicodin and alcohol, I was irritable, suffered memory loss, was incapable of personal growth and spirituality. I spent my time and energy chasing drugs, chasing a high, running from withdrawal. I cannot avoid or escape reality by taking Suboxone. At all.

    When taken as prescribed by an opiate addict, it differs from other harm reduction and medication-assisted treatment such as methadone or marijuana by that fact.

    The form of Suboxone I currently use can’t do anything to enhance my mood even if I take it other than prescribed. I can’t dissolve it in liquid and shoot it, because the Narcan in it (the ingredient that prevents overdose) will put me into immediate withdrawal.

    I can attempt to get high by taking more than prescribed, but once my brain’s receptors are filled, Suboxone ceases to give any more effect. That undeniably sets it apart from other drugs — over-the-counter and otherwise.

    Methadone, on the other hand, can easily be abused. I’ve done it myself. Taking three times the amount of methadone I should have, I went to a meeting to “work on recovery.” I couldn’t tell you what happened at that meeting, or how I got home.

    If I take three times my Suboxone dose, I’ll likely not notice much enhanced effect, and I’ll screw myself over, since I’ll be short three doses and will somehow have to explain to my doctor why I ran out early. I’ll potentially be kicked out of the program as well, without ever even getting high! For an addict like myself, it’s not worth it. 

    Marijuana as harm reduction has become popular, and is considered safe because there’s no lethal dose. However, for daily users and first-time experimenters alike, marijuana impairs judgment, driving, and learning. Smoking weed and then showing up to meditate or work on the 12 steps is counterproductive.

    Treatment centers that prescribe cannabis generally give participants their dose at night, to make sure that they’re not high during meetings and counseling sessions in the daytime. This isn’t necessary with Suboxone – there’s no roller coaster effect of “high” vs “sober.” I feel no different after taking my daily dose than I do when I wake up in the morning prior to taking it.

    I experience every range of emotion, the same as I would without medication. If life is hard and painful and sad, I can’t go to my Suboxone box and take a big dose to make it all go away. But methadone, marijuana, Vicodin, heroin?…..Escaping life and avoiding pain is exactly what they’re good for.

    Suboxone isn’t a perfect fix by any stretch. Prescriptions can be diverted and sold on the street. Active heroin addicts will sometimes buy it to avoid withdrawal, if they can’t get their drug of choice. That’s an unfortunate fact. But is it the worst- case scenario? Every time a person injects heroin, they’re risking death by overdose or a systemic infection. There’s no guarantee that the substance is what the dealer says it is.

    When an addict buys street Suboxone, they’re taking a safer opiate. They’re protected against agonizing, incapacitating withdrawal, which leaves them helpless for their family or employer. They could even have a few days feeling like their “normal” self; maybe even well enough to join a meeting and consider recovery. I don’t condone or encourage the sale of Suboxone on the street.

    There are increasing safeguards set up by prescribing clinics and pharmacies that make it really difficult for someone to get their hands on another person’s medications. I’m just suggesting that Suboxone on the street isn’t the most dangerous or dreadful thing that can happen. 

    Suboxone does have side effects, and it’s important to mention that not all Suboxone is created equally. Addicts are the ultimate manipulators. Certain pill forms can be crushed and used inappropriately (the safest from is widely considered the film strip which is part buprenorphine/part narcan).

    If an opiate-naïve person (one who has not been abusing either heroin or prescription meds) takes Suboxone, s/he will very likely experience an initial sense of euphoria or sleepiness.  But the same can be said for Benadryl, Nyquil, or prescription nerve pain meds such as Gabapentin. The list of drugs that have potential for abuse is extensive. Recreational use is a separate situation altogether; misusing any medication is completely out of line with recovery.

    Abuse is dependent on motives and intention, not the side effects themselves. Nicotine and caffeine are two highly addictive substances that can be mood altering and cause withdrawal if stopped cold turkey. They’re not only acceptable in recovery, they’re plentiful; Coffee is supplied at meetings in unlimited doses. The use of these doesn’t negate one’s sobriety. 

    Self-improvement, spirituality, and community connection are now my daily foundation. Suboxone doesn’t impede this. It doesn’t change my perception of reality or my ability to be mindfully present. I no longer look for any means to avoid discomfort (ok sometimes I eat brownies or surf social media– we’re all a work in progress!!)

    Using tools I’ve gained from mindfulness and my recovery community, and maintained on a low dose of Suboxone to help keep cravings at bay, I work though challenges with balance and compassion. If I were still getting high, this wouldn’t be possible. 

    Suboxone’s not a magical cure. But it is a safe alternative to other opiates. It’s a solid tool that helps many of us maintain sobriety and the presence of mind to progress in recovery and personal growth. 

    Tiffany Swedeen, RN, BSN, CPC/CPRC is a certified life and recovery coach, She Recovers Designated Coach, and a registered nurse in recovery herself from opioids and alcohol. Tiffany lives “sober out loud,” proudly sharing her story through advocacy and blogging and is passionate about helping others do the same. Her goal is to eradicate shame and empower all to live a life of radical self-love. You can contact Tiffany through her website Recover and Rise, read her blog www.scrubbedcleanrn.com and follow her @scrubbedcleanrn. 

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • International Conference of Secular AA Coming To Toronto In August

    International Conference of Secular AA Coming To Toronto In August

    All members of AA are welcome to attend the conference, which takes place August 24-26 in Toronto, ON.

    The third biennial conference of Secular AA (ICSAA 2018), with a theme of inclusion and diversity, will take place in Toronto, ON from August 24th through August 26th later this summer.

    The conference will take place at the Marriott Downtown Toronto Eaton Centre Hotel at Bay and Dundas Street. During the conference we will be fellowshipping, discussing recovery and workshopping on carrying our message that “enduring recovery from alcoholism can be found by agnostic, atheist, and non-religious people, within AA.”  

    The first gathering of secular AA members was in Santa Monica, California in November of 2014 with some 300 folks in attendance. All were welcome to participate in the business meeting, where we discussed how we would organize ourselves going forward.

    At that meeting, Austin, Texas was chosen for the second conference, held in November of 2016, which was attended by over 400 persons. Toronto was selected at the Austin business meeting to host this year’s conference.

    The location of the 2020 International Conference of Secular AA will be determined by those attending the Sunday morning Business Meeting in Toronto. AA members of any community that can accommodate attendance of up to 500 persons can bid to host a biennial conference. Those interested in bidding for the 2020 conference can get more information by emailing Vice Chair Martin D.

    A plethora of information about the 2018 Toronto Conference, including registration information, information about visiting Toronto and the conference schedule can be found here.

    Joe C. recently published this article on AA Agnostica about the conference, which includes a treasure trove of information about visiting Toronto.

    The conference theme of inclusion and diversity will feature numerous workshops and panels that will demonstrate how secular AA members (mostly agnostics, atheists and freethinkers, but which also includes some believers) experience enduring, quality recovery from alcoholism within traditional AA. The current conference program can be found here.

    All members of AA are welcome to attend the conference.

    The three keynote speakers, each one who is a secular member of AA, are below with the title of their talks:

    • Dr. Vera T., Lunch Speaker on August 25th, will talk on “More was my Higher Power.”

    • Deirdre S., 5 pm on August 25th, will talk on “The Cross-Addicted Mind: How Obsessive Use of Substances and Behaviors Fuels Alcoholism.”

    • Dr. Ray B., 11 am on August 26th, will talk on “Recovery in AA: do we need God to make it work? A medical-scientific analysis.”

    At the Sunday morning Business Breakfast Meeting, the Secular AA fellowship will elect new members of the Board of Directors and determine the location for the 2020 Conference.

    New bylaws have recently been approved by the Board and according to the previous bylaws are subject to ratification by the Secular AA membership.

    A workshop on these bylaws, entitled “About the ByLaws,” has been scheduled for 11:00 am on Saturday morning of the Conference.

    In addition, the Secular AA fellowship will approve both the new:

    1. Mission Statement

    Our mission is to assure suffering alcoholics that they can find sobriety in Alcoholics Anonymous without having to accept anyone else’s beliefs or deny their own. Secular AA does not endorse or oppose any particular form of religion or belief system and operates in accordance with the Third Tradition of the Alcoholics Anonymous program: “The Only requirement for A.A. membership is a desire to stop drinking.”

    2.  Vision Statement:

    Secular AA recognizes and honors the immeasurable contributions that Alcoholics Anonymous has made to assist individuals to recover from alcoholism. We seek to ensure that AA remains an effective, relevant and inclusive program of recovery in an increasingly secular society. The foundation of Secular AA is grounded in the belief that anyone—regardless of their spiritual beliefs or lack thereof—can recover in the fellowship of Alcoholics Anonymous.

    Secular AA exists to serve the community of secularly-minded alcoholics by supporting worldwide access to secularly formatted AA meetings and fostering mutual support within a growing population of secularly-minded alcoholics.

    Those who have not registered should do so prior to July 24th to take advantage of a reduced registration price of $125 CAD. As of July 25th, registration will cost $150 CAD. Included in both registration prices is lunch on Saturday and breakfast for the Sunday morning business meeting.

    Further information can be requested from Thomas B., Outreach Chair.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Touching What (I Thought) Was Gone

    Touching What (I Thought) Was Gone

    In the last 36 hours I’ve been to five meetings, sat three times in meditation and sobbed on a friend’s couch. But I’m OK.

    Love, in my experience, has meant seismic emotional shifts and condemnation, turning even “what do you want for dinner” into a combat zone.

    I was in a rage-fueled, co-dependent relationship with my ex-husband from ages 31 to 45. I didn’t know it then, I just thought he was controlling. This is a progressive disease.

    I left him at 45, three years ago, and six months later got sober. I heeded AA’s suggestions super seriously, not dating for 2.5 years, partly due to not wanting to inflict my instability & blues onto another person, but largely due to self-protection.  

    Because I was terrified. I couldn’t imagine opening up to another man, fooling around sober – vulnerability was a liability. I thought my hunger to connect, to feel, was gone. And that was OK. So I waited. And waited.

    And then I met Gabe. Online dating. Who knew? Suddenly, it seemed possible to separate falling in like from feeling beholden.

    He was 11 years older than me, a warm widower who still held tight to his wife, even after six years. Their union, apparently, was the stuff dreams were made of, a complete 180 from my own. She had passed suddenly, and aside from one brief liaison, which he deemed “untenable,” he led a monk-like existence until me. Until me.

    He didn’t kiss me until our sixth date, but when he did I awoke. My hands mysteriously floated to his face and we giggled together. He introduced me to his friends on date four, we sang Joni Mitchell while eating ravioli and watermelon in bed, and slept with our noses touching.

    When we hugged, we’d hold on and sway.

    I was freed.

    As we ended our four-month relationship yesterday, he thanked me for “touching something he thought was gone” – We did that for each other this spring and summer, but, still, he drank from his wife’s coffee mug, her travel diary on the bedside table.

    Because he had spent decades and raised a child with her, and just a few months with me, I understood our relationship was in its infancy, and was willing to view it as a sort of “practice” – A chance to relearn intimacy and communication, one day at a time, as opposed to labeling and binding each other. And it was lovely, for a time.  

    And then, as things often go, I wanted more. I no longer could wait in line behind his departed wife, daughter, mother, patients, and friends, and I told him so.  

    He conceded I deserved more than he could offer “at this point,” and thanked me for “touching something inside him he thought was gone” – We agreed we did that for each other, as I crumbled.

    I believe that loss is cumulative, so I’m not only crying over my four sweet months with Gabe, I am grieving my marriage, and all the other wreckage I’ve created over four-plus decades of life.

    In the last 36 hours I’ve been to five meetings, sat three times in meditation, sweat through three hours of yoga, and sobbed on a friend’s couch.  

    But here’s the thing – I’m OK.  I’m better than OK. Because I know now that I CAN open myself and be vulnerable, I CAN value a man who treats me well, and with the support of our beautiful program, I can gracefully end a relationship with dignity. I can grieve and grow, and then I can get back up again.

    “Thank you for your generosity, kindness, and for touching something inside me I thought was gone. I think we were both able to do that for each other. I wish you all good things.”

    Following a two-decade career in marketing and event production, Cassie Magzamen has pivoted and become a Kid’s Yoga & Mindfulness Educator. She enjoys using yoga and mindfulness to empower children mentally, physically, and spiritually, simultaneous to pursuing a career in writing — a life-long dream. 

    Cassie holds a BA in Journalism & Mass Media from Rutgers University, and a 95-hour Little Flower Yoga & Mindfulness Teacher Training Certificate. She resides in Brooklyn, New York with her precious dog-daughter, Princess Sookie-Love.  

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Clean, Sober And Using Suboxone

    Clean, Sober And Using Suboxone

    Suboxone users deserve a safe space, in and out of the rooms. And we deserve to proudly call ourselves clean and sober.   

    It was pretty apparent when I began taking Vicodin for migraines that I was going to have a problem, but I was too ashamed and afraid to ask for help.

    On the outside, I was a working professional, undergrad student and hands-on mom.

    Beneath the surface I was deteriorating. 

    It wasn’t until my career was in jeopardy and many relationships broken that I finally admitted I was out of control and needed treatment. I learned the hard way: Secrets keep you sick. Addiction grows in the dark. 

    Today, as a nurse in long-term recovery from opiate and alcohol addiction, I’ve made an intentional choice to forgo anonymity and live “Sober Out Loud.” I advocate for everyone in recovery, especially healthcare professionals, using blogging, public speaking, and coaching to do my part to end the stigma.

    My hope is that talking openly will give others the courage to speak up early. That they’ll notice their decline and get help long before their careers and lives are in danger. Choosing to be open about my addiction also supports my healing. I find accountability, connection, and purpose in sharing my experience.

    It wasn’t easy in the beginning – I was terrified of being judged. The opposite has been true – even in the hospital I worked for. Even with colleagues who may have reason to look down on me. I’ve been met with abundant compassion and acceptance. 

    Except I still have one secret. There’s one disquieting fact I haven’t told many people. I’m flooded with fear that I’ll be exiled from the recovery community and excluded from meetings. Petrified that my integrity as a coach and writer will be questioned. And if that’s the case, then what’s my value as a sober advocate?

    There are others who have the same fears, and my silence validates the stigma. Recently, I heard on the radio about a young man who committed suicide. He was tortured by internal conflict; he questioned his sobriety. We share the same secret.

    For that struggling human being, and for everyone else struggling – It’s time for me to be completely open.

    “Hello, my name is Tiffany; I’m an addict and an alcoholic. AND I use Suboxone.”

    This isn’t my opening line when I introduce myself at meetings – nobody has to divulge their prescribed medications to the group, right? The answer’s not so clear if you use Medication Assisted Treatment (MAT).

    On one hand, I feel I shouldn’t have to add a qualifier to the already awkward label I use when attending certain groups. (In the program I regularly go to, we don’t use labels at all, but that’s a subject for another time). On the other hand, it feels like I must add the qualifier, otherwise I’m a fraud. I start spiraling: “Am I allowed to share? What’s my ‘real’ clean date? Can I pick up a chip on my birthday month?”

    In my first month of sobriety, newly on Suboxone, I readily shared at meetings and with a few sober friends. Completely unaware of my disgrace, and totally unprepared for the reactions, I wanted to swallow my words as I was assaulted by:

    “Do you think you’ll be on it long?”

    “You’re going to get off of it soon right?”

    ‘You’re still on an opiate.”

    “You’re still getting high though.”

    “You’re not actually clean yet.”

    “Well you’re definitely not sober. Don’t call yourself sober.”

    “Do what you’re gonna do but don’t talk about it here.”

    “You can’t have a sponsor until you’re done with that.”

    “We all did it without. We didn’t need medication to get clean. You’re obviously not serious – not strong – not determined enough. You haven’t done enough steps. You haven’t gone to enough Meetings.”

    “You’re not sober. Come back when you are.”

    I thought I was sharing success and hope. They asserted I was “cheating the system” and “staying in the game.”

    This inhospitable reception is the reason I’ve stayed silent, the reason I haven’t written about it in my own blog. I found myself avoiding meetings altogether, second-guessing my sobriety; debasing my worth and value in the recovery community. 

    Despite the booming increase in patients using Suboxone, popular opinion – especially in traditional 12-step programs – is that Suboxone treatment and “clean and sober” are mutually exclusive. Regardless of research showing decreased morbidity and mortality of medication-supported patients, and the success addicts are seeing as they put their lives back together, the underlying criticism persists:

    “You’re not CLEAN.” 

    If I’m not “clean” I’m still dirty. If I’m dirty, I must be worthless. And if that’s the case, what’s the point of trying to recover?

    It’s abhorrent that leaders in the recovery community perpetuate the degradation. At a local level, meeting facilitators model this disparaging behavior, despite literature clearly stating that a person’s medication is no one else’s business. (Read The A.A. Member – Medications & Other Drugs).

    Even trusted chemical dependency physicians tout their opinions, adding to the universal disapproval. Dr. Drew Pinsky stated on the podcast “Dopey” episode #124  “I’d rather have them on cannabis.” And though he concedes he’d be open to discussing short-term use with patients to “get them in the door”, he says that Suboxone patients  “replace” other opiates and are merely surviving; that they are “not fully recovered” and “still chronically ill.”

    Still chronically ill? Not fully recovered? In the 3 years since I initiated a Suboxone regimen, I’ve worked tirelessly at making amends. I’ve regained my job as an acute care nurse and clinical instructor in a nursing program. I facilitate Recovery Meetings, and I’ve transformed into a certified Life and Recovery Coach. I’ve repaired relationships with family and friends.  I’m traveling, writing, and above all – finding JOY in living. I’m not an outlier. There’s thousands of us. We’re just not  allowed the safe space to share. 

    MAT is NOT perfect. I’m aware of it’s flaws and have experienced some of them myself. Anyone considering it should carefully review all potential side effects with their physician and trusted, non-biased recovery support. Suboxone causes physical dependence, and there’s severe withdrawal if one quits cold turkey. It is, chemically speaking, an “opiate.”

    Some prescriptions are diverted; I’ve personally cared for patients who admit getting the drug on the street. And with full transparency, I sometimes feel conflicted about using pharmaceuticals to overcome an addiction to pharmaceuticals. I’m not oblivious to the irony. And I strongly assert that any MAT is only truly successful if taken while simultaneously working on recovery of the mind and spirit. 

    But people are dying. We don’t have time to argue over which is the most righteous recovery path.

    After weighing all the pros and cons, searching my soul, and utilizing critical thinking skills I’ve honed in 17 years of working in healthcare, here’s what I’m absolutely sure of:

    Suboxone is right for ME.  I am Clean and Sober. 

    Four years ago I was resigned to being found dead in a bathroom with a needle in my arm. Today, I prove that recovery is possible. I am on a journey toward physical, emotional and mental wellness, and have a quality of life I couldn’t have dreamed up. Suboxone, for now, is a part of my story. As it is for many, in increasing numbers every day.

    Whether I wean off in a month or stay on it forever has no bearing on my credibility.

    It’s likely that someone sitting next to you today in a meeting is on Suboxone. It’s also likely they’re petrified to talk about it, like I was, and might leave the meeting fighting the humiliation of being “unclean.”  

    They might decide that it’s better to go back out and use, since they don’t belong in recovery; or to wean off without a doctor’s supervision, undergoing agonizing withdrawal and back at risk of using street drugs- which is part of my story as well. They might even decide that they don’t belong here – at all. That the only choice is to end their life. 

    What is your role in this? Are you hurting or helping? Consider the language you’re using. Is it pejorative and shame-inducing? Or do you cultivate love and belonging? 

    Those of us in recovery have a responsibility to welcome everyone who is making positive progress towards a sober lifestyle. It’s not our business to take the inventory of someone else’s medication list – it IS our business to eradicate stigma. Offer compassionate acceptance. Keep an open mind. Suboxone users deserve a safe space, in and out of the rooms. And we deserve to proudly call ourselves clean and sober.   

    Next time someone shares with you that they choose to use Suboxone – or any MAT – as part of their journey, don’t criticize. Don’t interrogate or give them a timeline to stop it. Ask how it’s working, and If they’re happy. Ask if they’ve been successful staying off street drugs; if they’ve made strides towards repairing the damage of their past. And when they share with you their clean date, congratulate them on being SOBER. 

    Tiffany Swedeen, RN, BSN, CPC/CPRC is a certified life and recovery coach, She Recovers Designated Coach, and a registered nurse in recovery herself from opioids and alcohol. Tiffany lives “sober out loud”, proudly sharing her story through advocacy and blogging and is passionate about helping others do the same. Her goal is to eradicate shame and empower all to live a life of radical self-love. You can reach Tiffany through her blog www.scrubbedcleanrn.com and follow her @scrubbedcleanrn. 

    View the original article at thefix.com