Answer Addiction

Tag: trauma

  • 3 Things My Father Taught Me About Addiction

    3 Things My Father Taught Me About Addiction

    Reframing the addiction as a disease helped me understand that my father didn’t want to hurt himself or my family.

    Every time I talk to my dad about his experience with addiction, I come away with beautiful—although sometimes painful—new insights. Listening to him talk about his longtime struggle with opioid addiction has taught me not only about the complex and labyrinthine nature of addiction itself, but also about love and forgiveness.

    The most important thing I’ve learned is that no matter the struggle, there is a person who deserves real compassion—before (or under) the addiction, before (or under) the trauma that may have caused them to use drugs, before (or under) the pain and suffering.

    I’ve seen prison time, loss of custody, and disease take hold as a result of addiction, and yet I can see the other side as well. While everyone’s experiences are different, here’s what I’ve learned from my father and his experience:

    1. People with addictions don’t want to be addicted

    Within the dark void of addiction—and its loneliness, shame, powerlessness, and disaster—it can be hard to really see the person who is suffering. This is true both from the outside and if it’s yourself you’re looking to find. It’s also hard to accept that someone isn’t making an active choice to suffer (and cause suffering around them). They may have made a choice to pick up a drug, but addiction is an actual disease, and its grip is real.

    According to the National Institute on Drug Abuse, “Many people don’t understand why or how other people become addicted to drugs. They may mistakenly think that those who use drugs lack moral principles or willpower and that they could stop their drug use simply by choosing to. In reality, drug addiction is a complex disease, and quitting usually takes more than good intentions or a strong will. Drugs change the brain in ways that make quitting hard, even for those who want to.”

    Reframing the addiction as a disease helped me understand that my father didn’t want to hurt himself or my family. And in talking frankly with him today, it’s very clear that he knew he was suffering, but he simply couldn’t figure out the steps to get out of it. It took so much loss before he got himself into recovery, and that’s something I stay compassionate about. I think this empathy can go a long way in both understanding your family’s narrative and forging a path toward potential forgiveness (and maybe even advocacy for others).

    1. Addiction doesn’t magically disappear

    On a trip to see my dad recently, I was taken aback when he said, “I still get cravings.” Although I know—I mean, rationally—that just because someone is in recovery doesn’t mean they won’t feel temptation or relapse, it’s harder to hear it from your parents. It’s scary, yes, but it’s also just sad. On my end, I wanted to say, “But you’re okay, right?!”

    I held my tongue. Instead of seeking comfort from him in his truth and struggle, I decided to simply listen—as an adult, as a human. As a child of two people who have struggled with addiction, I have learned to see my parents as humans, and part of that is constantly reminding myself to actively choose to listen and find compassion in their story. It’s not always easy—and some will argue that this isn’t fair to the child—but it’s what has worked for me.

    I asked my dad, “So when do these cravings happen? Is it often?” And I simply listened to what he had to say. I learned about the mechanics of his addiction, how he manages it, and what he feels in those moments.

    That illumination has given me insight and compassion, and even though it’s hard, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. It’s enabled me to treat others as human beings and advocate when and how I can. It also helps me to see my dad fairly.

    1. Hardship often creates beauty and wisdom

    Although there’s no way this can be true for everyone, and although it’s almost a cliché, sometimes our suffering can yield something beautiful—even when it’s not our intention.

    Sitting in my dad’s house, I watched him pull out notebook after notebook filled with song lyrics and poetry. Most of these poems were about his addiction, and the sadness, loneliness, pain, and self-questioning it caused. Some of the poems were about finding a divine source, or fighting past the pain. Some weren’t so positive. Reading his words surprised me. I’ve been an active poet for years, and yet I had no idea how prolific a writer my dad is, and how he uses writing to cope with trauma as well.

    Reading his words connected me to him, but it did more than that: It proved that even in our darkest moments, humanity has an uncanny ability to try to cipher that pain into something bigger than ourselves. This is not just a mythology we tell ourselves, though. It’s real: Just look at the many writers, for example, who lived with addiction throughout their lives.

    I am grateful to see the so-called silver lining in these insights, but it only underscores the real tragedy of addiction: that far more people with substance use disorders are misunderstood and underrepresented, and that their stories, when told, are told poorly and without nuance. There is grief and hope in addiction. There is recovery and there is relapse, and there is everything in between.

    There is access to care for some and a desperate lack of access to care for others. There are abstinence-touting programs and there are clean needle centers. Addiction is a huge issue, with no one story or approach or outcome that represents everyone’s perspective. But as someone watching from the outside, as a family member, it’s my goal to listen, be compassionate, and share what I’ve learned in a way that makes space for some good.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Munchausen by Proxy: Mental Illness or Child Abuse?

    Munchausen by Proxy: Mental Illness or Child Abuse?

    Feldman has seen horrific cases of Munchausen by proxy, from mothers injecting their children with bacteria to cause infection to parents suffocating their infants. But most perpetrators are not motivated by a desire to see their child in pain.

    “That Bitch is dead!”

    The post would have been alarming on anyone’s Facebook page, but it was especially jarring when it appeared on the page of Dee Dee Blanchard, a single mom who was the full-time caregiver to Gypsy Rose, a teen with a host of medical issues ranging from muscular dystrophy to cancer.

    An even more alarming post — which talked about slashing Dee Dee’s throat and raping Gypsy — appeared soon after. Friends were horrified when they went to the Blanchard’s home and discovered that both women were missing, but all three of Gypsy’s wheelchairs, which she needed to get around, were still there. When police found Dee Dee’s body in her bedroom with multiple stab wounds, friends and neighbors became certain that Dee Dee and Gypsy had been targeted by a random and sadistic killer.

    The truth, it turned out, was much more complex. A few days after Dee Dee’s body was found, Gypsy Rose walked into a court — no wheelchair needed — to face charges that she planned her mother’s brutal murder. Encouraging her boyfriend to kill her mother was, she would later say, the only way that she could escape years of medical abuse.

    It soon became clear that Gypsy Rose was, for the most part, a perfectly healthy young woman (not a teen — her mom had changed her birth certificate and lied to Gypsy about her age). Dee Dee had fabricated much of Gypsy’s medical history, feigning her daughter’s illnesses in a pattern of behavior known as Munchausen syndrome by proxy. Dee Dee’s deceptions were so thorough that even Gypsy didn’t realize their extent. In fact, it wasn’t until her attorney told her that there was no medical record of her having cancer that she realized her mother had made that up too.

    “It shocked me,” Gypsy Rose said in a documentary that recently aired on Investigation Discovery. “I don’t have cancer? So what other illnesses don’t I have?”

    Since the well-publicized murder in 2015, the story of the Blanchards has captivated the attention of the media and the public. Although the case was extreme both in the extent of Dee Dee’s abuse and its ultimate violent ending, cases of Munchausen by proxy are not as rare as you might expect. Here’s the truth about this complex and disturbing phenomenon.

    What is Munchausen by proxy?

    Munchausen by proxy (MBP) occurs when a person in a position of control feigns, exaggerates or induces an illness in a child, vulnerable adult, or pet to gain emotional gratification or attention.

    “Munchausen syndrome by proxy is limited only by knowledge, creativity and motivation of the perpetrator,” said Dr. Marc D. Feldman, a clinical professor of Psychiatry and adjunct professor of Psychology at the University of Alabama and author of the book Dying to Be Ill: True Stories of Medical Deception.

    In 95 percent of cases the perpetrator is the child’s mother, and in the remaining cases the perpetrator is almost always a female relative or caregiver, Feldman said. Although the condition may seem far-fetched, it can occur in up to 1 percent of the population and is likely under-diagnosed.

    In the American Psychiatric Association’s Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-V), Munchausen syndrome by proxy is listed as a type of factitious disorder imposed on another (FDIA). FDIA is described as a psychiatric disorder in which individuals persistently falsify illness in another even when there is little or nothing tangible for them to gain from the behavior. But Feldman cautions against thinking of Munchausen by proxy as an illness.

    “People assume it’s a mental illness, but I tend not to view it as that, but as a form of abuse,” Feldman said. “The moment you consider it a mental illness, the perpetrator can argue that they’re the victim of a mental disorder and ask for a much lighter sentence or no sentence at all. This is a form of abuse like any other.”

    What causes a mother to hurt her child?

    In the nearly 30 years he’s worked with individuals affected by MBP, Feldman has seen horrific cases, from mothers injecting their children with bacteria to cause infection to parents suffocating their infants. But most perpetrators are not motivated by a desire to see their child in pain.

    “There are some perpetrators who are sadistic and enjoy the act of harming their children,” Feldman said. “[But] for most they are after the reaction: the sympathy, care and concern… all the emotions received as the result of having a terribly ill child.”

    Perpetrators like Dee Dee Blanchard, who may be fairly ordinary in their normal life, get emotional gratification by being painted as a loving and selfless caregiver. In Blanchard’s case, she also received financial benefits tied to Gypsy’s perceived illnesses including free trips, additional child support and even a home from Habitat for Humanity. Perpetrators don’t usually kill their victims, since they prefer the ongoing attention from their communities.

    Why don’t doctors intervene?

    One of the most mind-boggling aspects of the Gypsy Rose case is that Gypsy received actual medical treatment — including surgery — for conditions that Dee Dee had fabricated. Munchausen by proxy can be hard to spot, and Feldman said that doctors are cautious about questioning a parent whose child appears to be in medical distress. In addition, many perpetrators have some medical training, so they know how to make their case look compelling.

    These delays can lead to continued abuse: in most cases, there is a year and a half between when doctors first suspect MBP and when it is actually diagnosed.

    “That’s a hefty period of time, and speaks to the reticence of doctors to make the diagnosis,” he said.

    Feldman said that doctors tend to think they need a smoking gun before alerting police or social services to their suspicions. But in most states doctors are mandated reporters of child abuse, and just having a hunch should be enough to compel them to act.

    “The doctor doesn’t have to be a detective, they just have to have a suspicion.”

    Can Munchausen by proxy be treated?

    It is extremely rare for a perpetrator of MBP to be rehabilitated because there is usually deep denial about the behavior, Feldman said. In one case he worked on a mother was confronted with a video showing her suffocating her infant by putting her hands over the baby’s mouth and nose.

    “She said ‘I’m just tickling his mouth,’” Feldman recalled. “Perpetrators come up with bizarre explanations to explain away their actions.”

    In the face of such strong denial, it’s nearly impossible to establish a therapeutic rapport with the perpetrator in order to make progress in treating the condition, Feldman said. These issues are compounded when the perpetrator is jailed and has limited access to mental health care.

    Feldman has seen one case in which the mother was rehabilitated. That woman claimed that her child had seizure disorders and that her other children had died in infancy from the condition. When Munchausen by proxy was discovered, the child was removed from the mom’s custody. Ten years later the woman had another baby. In the interim she had undergone psychotherapy and Feldman was able to recommend that the whole family be reunited.

    “They’re doing beautifully together,” he said.

    What’s it like to be a victim of Munchausen by proxy?

    Most victims of MBP are young children or infants. Although the behavior and abuse usually occur in early childhood, there are lifelong effects, Feldman said. Many victims develop PTSD and can have trouble distinguishing reality. In some cases, victims develop Munchausen syndrome, which manifests in them making themselves sick.

    “They’re trying to master the trauma by doing it to themselves,” Feldman said.

    Gypsy Rose said that realizing her mother had made up all of her medical conditions was disorienting.

    “I was happy to know I was perfectly healthy, but at the same time it hurt because it’s like my whole world had been tossed up,” she told Investigation Discovery. “I realized that my mother wasn’t who I thought she was. I have a lot of complicated emotions for my mother.”

    After the murder, as the truth about the extent of Dee Dee’s abuse came out, many people were sympathetic toward Gypsy. In 2016, she pled guilty to second-degree murder and received a ten-year prison sentence for planning her mother’s killing.

    Gypsy’s ex-boyfriend, Nicholas Godejohn, was found guilty of first-degree murder last week. Godejohn was the one who actually killed Dee Dee, stabbing her multiple times. However, his attorney argued that he was manipulated by Gypsy and couldn’t fully understand the consequences of his actions because of his autism and intellectual delay. At Godejohn’s trial, the defense called Gypsy as a witness. When Gypsy was asked who spearheaded the murder plans, she answered: “I did, I talked him into it.”

    Despite this, Godejohn now faces a mandatory sentence of life in prison without the possibility of parole. Gypsy, on the other hand, will be eligible for parole in 2024 when she is 32. In the meantime, she is reportedly “thriving” in prison, according to her stepmom, Kristy Blanchard.

    “Despite everything, she still tells me that she’s happier now than with her mom,” Blanchard said. “And that if she had a choice to either be in jail, or back with her mom, she would rather be in jail.”

    “She feels freer in prison than she did in own home with her mother,” Feldman said. “That’s a really telling comment that speaks to the extent of the abuse.”

     

    Other notable cases of Munchausen by proxy:

    “Mommy Blogger” Lacey Spears

    Marybeth Tinning

    Blanca Montano

    Hope Ybarra

    View the original article at thefix.com

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    CBS News video:

    The Brett Kavanaugh Hearing

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Alcohol Blackouts

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

    Video clip of that part of the Kavanaugh Hearing:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    Blackouts from Trauma

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Bingeing on Horror No Longer Works, What Do I Do?

    Bingeing on Horror No Longer Works, What Do I Do?

    This insatiable hunger to feel scared has almost completely jaded me, and now I have no idea what to do with this realization.

    As a kid, I was scared of literally everything; as a teenager I was perpetually living in all forms of fear — of the real world and the imagined — as a result of undiagnosed (and then later, diagnosed but still active) Post Traumatic Stress Disorder after surviving 9/11.

    About two years ago, I started dipping my toes into the murky, red-running waters of scary movies, and then I became straight up obsessed. It was my go-to genre, and I couldn’t get enough; it became my favorite escape as a sober alcoholic, this new world that could pull me out of job stress or just take me away for a while.

    And when I started to “tolerate” these movies, but still enjoy many of them, I decided to test my boundaries and go on a scary “haunted hay ride” (made for adults). I was grossly disappointed. I wasn’t even jumping when everyone else was. It was just a ride through occasional sketchy looking scenes and people in costume assaulting our tractor. I’m from New York City, guys. That’s pretty much how it is to drive in rush hour traffic.

    My worst fear, now, is that over the past year I have become such a horror fan that I actually have become almost entirely desensitized to anything that is supposed to elicit that kind of fear. It’s to the point where not only am I now virtually un-scare-able, but even the jump scares in movies — scenes which are literally designed to assault your senses and that cause everyone else to flinch or scream — don’t even cause me to blink an eye. Or I’ll go see a horror movie with a friend and try to have fun, but…meh. It’s not like I set out to be a stick in the mud, I go in with high hopes. I’m always trying to recapture that initial rush of fear.

    It almost feels as though I have binged on horror so much that it’s stopped “working” and half the time it’s no longer fun, the same exact way it was with alcohol. I still want to use it as an escape, but I just end up disappointed.

    This insatiable hunger to feel scared has almost completely jaded me, and now I have no idea what to do with this realization.

    To back up a bit, it is common for people with a history of trauma to turn to horror in order to drum up that adrenaline rush. It’s kind of like a coping mechanism used in the face of life stressors, or just in general: seek out events or experiences that evoke similar feelings to the original trauma. Often, survivors will engage in this behavior if the trauma hasn’t been worked through all the way. There’s this interesting place where the movie or the scenario is different enough, separate enough, to feel like you’re an objective viewer or participant, yet similar enough to conjure up the feelings you need to work through in some way, to trigger the catharsis that you crave. You feel brave, like you’ve faced or conquered the demons.

    After years of therapy, I was able to work though my trauma and come out as far on the other side as is possible for someone with a condition that can always be woken up by the “right” trigger at the “right” time. It’s the same with my sobriety — with 7 years under my belt at 29 years old, my life and my brain and my body just work differently now because of all the work I put in.

    Which brings us back to this: Have I started bingeing so much on horror that it no longer provides a “fix?” And even beyond that, I’ve stopped enjoying it altogether, and sometimes even get angry at Rotten Tomatoes or IMDb reviews for “lying” to me. I knew I had crossed an arbitrary threshold I had set for “stronger” material when I sought out stuff I said I’d never watch, or would never watch again. I started with the movie that ruined my entire youth, The Exorcist. It was boring. I slept like a baby. Something was not right.

    So here I am, as another Halloween approaches, watching these meta-movies about really bad things happening on Halloween but nobody realizes they’re happening because it’s Halloween. I’m taking friends’ Netflix recommendations for movies I’ve avoided because I know they’re crap, on the off-chance they might not be and that I was too quick to judge (novelty seeking anyone?). It’s the worst. The smell of my own desperation is strong enough to make me gag.

    I then wondered if it was possible that I’d already watched all of the “good ones,” leaving me scraping the bottom of the barrel for the undiscovered. But I don’t think so. Based on IMDb ratings, a lot of them should have held up — including a few new ones in theaters. Then there’s also the issue that I have simply run out of movies. Literally, run out. I’ve seen everything on every “list” of what’s currently out, streaming, rent-able, and every other option: the indies, the lesser-knowns, the big blockbusters of the past, oh, 40 years.

    I just can’t get the same thrill from horror that I did last year. I don’t want to keep pushing to find more extreme movies — I don’t want to actually be disturbed by some underground violent, cruel nonsense. Gore porn is not my thing.

    So, what’s a girl to do?

    For now, I think the only thing left to do is the same thing we all do when we realize we’re feeling a little restless, or bored, or like we need a hit of something to make us feel different. And there’s no universal formula for that; for an alcoholic, it’s whatever we’ve learned works to help us feel settled and peaceful.

    As for finding more ways to get Halloween thrills, chills, and just plain have fun with these movies again—the jury is still out, but there are two things I know.

    One, when I have the thought “I bet if I was high, this would scare me way more” it means I need to take a step back and evaluate what’s going on with me. Why do I feel so disappointed at not getting my “fix” that I even begin to go down that road? Honestly, my life is pretty great right now, and it’s a lot more stress-free than it used to be. I need to tell myself: girlfriend, enjoy your reality, please. You worked hard to get here.

    Two, I need to look at the forest and not the trees—I have conquered horror. And if I’m being honest, every movie or show I’ve watched recently hasn’t been a total stinker. It’s kind of a victory, I suppose, that I actually smile really wide when the rare good scare hits me, even if I don’t jump or scream, and that I feel happy when an entire movie comes together for me, which it still sometimes does. I have to realize that’s kind of a good thing–I went from being scared of everything to understanding that the real world is a lot scarier than the movies—and that is a mixed bag of tricks and treats that I’ll just have to be satisfied with this year.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Sober Romance: Why We Act Like Teenagers When It Comes to Relationships

    Sober Romance: Why We Act Like Teenagers When It Comes to Relationships

    So many people rush into relationships in early recovery. This may be related to neurochemistry: we’re suddenly deprived of the substances that made us feel good and we need to find a substitute.

    I’ve spent the last six and a half years of recovery wondering why I have been so emotionally immature when it comes to romantic relationships. Why have I sulked over communicating my needs? Why have I formed such insecure attachments that I wonder when I’ll see the person again before they have even left? Why have I felt so crazed and simultaneously flummoxed at my behavior? Reflecting on my relationships during my recovery, I can describe them in one word: disaster. But they’ve also been a blessing.

    When I found recovery, relationships were the last thing on my mind; I could barely function. I spent most days struggling to sufficiently caffeinate myself to get out of my apartment and to a meeting. For the first few months, I lugged my 300-pound body around wondering where this elusive pink fluffy cloud was, because it certainly wasn’t on my radar.

    As time progressed, my body began to recover: my liver regenerated—which is quite remarkable considering the quantity of cocaine I snorted and the four bottles of wine I drank each day—my depression lifted enough that I was able to function, and I lost weight. I was hardly experiencing the promises, but I could see that my life had improved. The fact I no longer felt compelled to drink was a miracle in itself.

    Sufficiently recovered—or so I naively thought—I looked for romantic distraction in the rooms. A smile from someone at the break would elicit a rush of feel-good hormones. I wonder if they like me? would play through my mind (well, that’s the PG version I’m willing to share, but you get the picture). Needless to say, this didn’t end well.

    I ignored the guidance to stay single for a year after finding recovery, because in my mind I was thinking: I’m a 32-year-old woman. Why shouldn’t I date? I’m an adult! Off I went and dated, just like every other person in the room because—let’s face it—few people actually adhere to that rule!

    And so I chose some lovely chaps from that swimming pool of dysfunction, Narcotics Anonymous. Promises that they’d treat me right, and that they really liked me, were exactly that: just promises. Even though I expressed my desire for a relationship over just messing around, my experience was that once these guys got what they wanted, they were off. Wondering what was wrong with me—and playing the victim role really well—I’d move on to the next dude.

    I couldn’t see until much later in my recovery why I was so terrible at picking a suitable partner. I was blind to my part in these encounters and all of the emotional baggage I brought to them. I’d often act like a teenager: sulking, gaslighting, and holding the person emotionally hostage. I was incapable of adequately and maturely communicating my needs, or of listening and hearing theirs.

    It took several years of recovery to unpack my insecurities around attachment and the trauma I had suffered that made forming a healthy attachment nearly impossible. I can’t imagine many people would want a relationship with a needy, insecure, obsessive woman. And that wasn’t helped by my choices: people who were completely avoidant. It was never going to work.

    Keen to explore why we act this way in early recovery, I asked recovery scientist Austin Brown about it. He explained that we have to look at our inclination to use external objects, or people, to provide instant changes in mood—just like we experienced with drugs. Also, Austin says, many of the social developmental benchmarks we pass from childhood to adulthood are slowed by active use.

    “The early stages of romance offer a thrill and an escape,” he goes on. “In fact, they operate on many of the same pleasure pathways as our substances used to. One interesting phenomenon I have noted in clinical work is the almost overwhelming desire to get into a relationship that occurs when people initially get into recovery. To me, this is likely a neurochemistry issue; a starvation of the stuff that makes us feel good. So, we act on it, having neither the maturity or the self-awareness that is required for a complex adult human relationship.”

    Explaining why we act so immaturely in relationships, Austin says, “If we started using as teens, emotionally we are still there those first few months. This is a well-known facet of the disorder. But we want—and therefore think we are ready for—a relationship, often before we even get out of treatment, have a stable job, or even have a place to live. Entering into any relationship under those conditions is statistically unlikely to succeed.”

    About our inability to communicate, Austin says, “At a more scientific level we are talking about the ability to identify AND verbalize our emotional states. Often all we know are ‘want’ and ‘relief’ when we come into recovery. Those are woefully short-sighted emotional states when it comes to equitable human relationships and partnerships. It’s like bringing a juice box to a gunfight.”

    The upside is that if we work hard to grow in recovery, we can mature fairly quickly. “I usually calculate about a year to six months of growth per every month of recovery. If we started using 12 years ago, it takes us at least a year to emotionally resemble our peers. Might even take two, depending on how hard we work at it,” he says.

    Even though we think we might be ready for a relationship after we’ve achieved a few weeks of recovery, Austin says, we might want to be cautious. “Unfortunately, early recovery relationships slow our emotional maturation as well, just like substances,” he says. “If someone else can give us a sense of relief, why do all the hard work to achieve emotional growth? Early-recovery relationships prolong our process of healing and can often throw our recovery off disastrously, sometimes even to the point of a return to use and even death. So, it is quite serious business, and yet no one really talks about it in any tangible or helpful way.”

    “Personally,” he goes on to say, “I have seen relationships in early recovery ruin more lives than substances themselves. Why relational health isn’t the central focus of early recovery support is frankly beyond me.”

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • When My “Give a F**k” Broke

    When My “Give a F**k” Broke

    I stood on the edge of this abyss and began my free fall to find healthy. I had nothing left to lose.

    “I am fine,” was my go to response for years. When anyone would ask, I would answer with that canned response, and if the typical follow up question was “Really?”, I was prepared. I would look them square in the eye and state firmly, “There is no other option.”

    During my almost three-year sexual assault investigation and prosecution, this was my warrior’s response. If someone was brave enough to follow up with that second question and meet my eyes for the response, typically they took a step back or walked away. Even my therapists tried to break through that façade, but my walls were thick, my stilettos were high, and my eyes were piercing. I was not for the faint of heart and no one was getting in.

    I was a mom first, a single mom. A single mom operating as both Mom and Dad to two beautiful girls. That man was so disengaged, he moved to Dubai but continued to send—not child support—but rather criticizing emails on how I should raise our children. Thank God for email filters – his crap went straight to a file I almost never opened.

    I was a sexual assault survivor who learned a life lesson that I could rely on no one and safety did not exist. Life taught me how to use my presence and my voice to keep people at bay, and also how to motivate people to act. Safety was not real, so I had to make it so. But my triggers were substantial and regular, and the constant awareness that what happened to me could happen to my daughters often paralyzed me.

    Those two daughters were my everything. I became a warrior on their behalf. When the school administration failed to protect my daughter from bullies, I fought them, and then finally moved. When my daughter was struck in a hit and run that was so severe it totaled my new car, I allowed my mother bear instinct to come out but limited my rage so I would not be put in prison.

    I carried a mortgage, student loan debt, and at one time allowed a homeless family of four to live with us in our home until the pregnant mother could give birth and they could get on their feet. Meanwhile, professionally, I endured a passive-aggressive boss who enjoyed playing head games for sport. I supervised (and truly enjoyed) over 60 adjunct professors who taught amazing students at a graduate school. With what little personal time I had, any attempts at dating were laughable; the caliber of men available was lower than I could settle for and the unavailable men who attempted to gain my affection repulsed me. I was hard, I was strong, and I was lonely – but it worked. I didn’t have a choice. I did not have the luxury of time to handle hurt or to feel more than what was necessary to be functional. I was safe if I exposed myself to nothing and no one. I was this way unintentionally most of the time, but knew how to call upon it when necessary. Still, I was absolutely perplexed when I was given feedback that I was intimidating. I just wanted to survive and I was doing it the only way I knew how.

    When my daughter was committed to a mental health facility twice for attempting suicide and given the diagnosis of Major Depressive Disorder with PTSD, I finally broke. The realization that I really could not protect my children from all the unknowns absolutely unraveled me. I sat in the emergency room, sobbing. All my deepest fears and suppressed anguish came to the surface. The reality that I could not keep my children from hurt translated into absolute failure as their mother. When the emergency room doctor came over for my statement, I was crying so hard that I could not talk. She asked me that dreaded question, “Are you okay?” I finally answered honestly, and it was the only word I could get out, “No.” That simple and honest answer broke through years of protective walls and it was devastating.

    During the months that followed, my newfound vulnerability did not settle well. I needed back in the driver’s seat; it was a non-stop internal battle. I hustled myself back into therapy, where, at one point, I told my amazing therapist that I could not talk to him unless I laid flat on the floor of his office. I was convinced I was losing my mind. He assured me I was not but I did not believe him.

    I was broken. My “Give A F**k” was now in a constant state of zero and my moral compass was constantly spinning. I felt exposed and vulnerable and very, very confused. The belief system I had created to make sense of the violence that had happened to me and to generate an environment of safety for my daughters was an illusion that had been destroyed. I had perfected this for years and it was gone in an instant. I was drowning. I could not breathe.

    What I didn’t realize at the time was that this was a gift. The dam wall had broken and all of the harbored pain was released and it forced me to process it. A healthy, accepting mindset was as foreign to me as Egyptian hieroglyphics and I had to change. My mental health and my ability to be a good mother and human depended on it. I stood on the edge of this abyss and began my free fall to find healthy. I had nothing left to lose.

    Fresh eyes saw the world for all its flaws and beauty. I learned to address flaws as a simple ingredient of life and not as a threat; I began to accept people and situations for who they were, and it was freeing. Another key step to my freedom was learning to listen to my gut and unapologetically responding as such. If I did not feel comfortable in the presence of someone, I simply removed myself gracefully and did not look back. My gut owed no one an explanation, and that was empowering. Kindness was no longer seen as weakness and connecting with people was no longer dangerous. The world was not a field of landmines but rather an adventure with twists and turns.

    I felt like I was breathing fresh air for the first time. I laughed freely without hesitation, I smiled boldly without fear, and I slept so well. I loved with all of me and I loved ME. Everything in me relaxed for the first time in over a dozen years and my mental health was good, for REAL. I was no longer simply “fine,” I was “good,” teetering on great.

    Unhealthy people in my life were not so supportive of my new healthy lifestyle, but healthy people supported me with fervor. My manipulative boss was the least supportive because she would no longer get the intended response. She was a daily practice for me though, providing regular situations that allowed me to implement healthy responses. She eventually began ignoring me. Unhealthy friendships fell to the wayside. My youngest daughter, who was working on her own demons, did not understand my choices and decided to go live with her father overseas. I mourned her decision, but the friends and loved ones who accepted me, even when I went into my Xena: Warrior Princess mode, kept me grounded.

    Shortly after reconnecting with my emotions and releasing my fear, I met a man who changed my life. He was so healthy and good, kind and unconditionally accepting. Jumping into the abyss landed me in the arms of someone who did not see me as broken and on the mend. I was also able to connect with my oldest daughter on a level that I cannot explain other than she is one of my best friends. She accepts my flaws as I accept hers, and we connect almost every day.

    I left my stressful position in that unhealthy working environment and began working as an independent contractor, providing trainings to first responders on how to communicate with victims of trauma. I began writing educational materials and speaking at conferences, utilizing my rape and prosecution experience as an educational opportunity for those who work within the criminal justice, mental health and medical professions. This work is sometimes emotional and tiring, but highly rewarding. It gives me purpose and satisfaction to know that I can make a difference.

    My “Give a F**k” may have broken, but I didn’t, and it was the best thing that ever happened to me.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • PTSD Service Dogs Are Saving Lives

    PTSD Service Dogs Are Saving Lives

    “If I could pin a medal on Aura, I would,” Evans asserts. “I feel safe in my own world since I’ve had Aura. She’s life saving.”

    United States Army Command Sergeant Major Gretchen Evans’ life changed forever in 2006. This was her ninth combat tour since joining the Army in 1979. It was early spring, Afghanistan, and snow still peaked the mountains, but the chill in the air was beginning to shudder into the warmth that heralded the time for going home. One instant shortly before departure would change her homecoming from routine to medically urgent. While taking enemy fire, a nearby rocket blast left Evans with a traumatic brain injury and total hearing loss. She also suffered post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Although the injuries sustained on that last tour in Afghanistan meant the end of Evans’ 27-year military career, she believes she’s had PTSD ever since her first tour to Grenada in 1983.

    “You just learn to keep that stuff in control because it wasn’t okay or acceptable to exhibit PTSD symptoms while in active duty,” says Evans, who began finally treating her psychological trauma in 2008. Since accepting and addressing her PTSD diagnosis, Evans has used several different treatments including therapy, medication, and identifying her personal triggers. But one of her most helpful aids comes in the form of her faithful service dog, Aura.

    Companion animals have entered the mainstream conversation in recent years as reaping a host of physical and mental health benefits for their owners. These boons include everything from lower blood pressure to decreased anxiety. Emotional support animals have gained popularity among people struggling with disorders like depression and anxiety. These animals are able to provide comfort, companionship, and a sense of purpose to some people who have shown resistance to other, more formalized treatments. Given the rising popularity of emotional support dogs and other pets, it’s important to recognize their distinction from service animals. Service dogs, which include Psychiatric Service Dogs, receive specific training related to their handler’s disability. We have probably all encountered a seeing-eye dog helping his visually impaired handler keep from walking into a busy intersection, for example. Emotional support dogs are less specialized and not covered by the Americans with Disabilities Act—which means you can’t claim discrimination if your therapy dog gets kicked out of the supermarket. The distinction may seem unfair for those who swear by their companion dog, but it does allow those with a qualifying disorder to receive highly specialized assistance. For people with PTSD, that assistance can be life changing.

    The science on service dogs for PTSD is still relatively sparse. That which does exist tends to focus on the benefits for combat personnel, like Evans, which leaves little to no evidence for the use of psychiatric dogs in the treatment of PTSD related to sexual assault, natural disaster, or other forms of trauma. Nonetheless, there is strong anecdotal support of service dogs for the treatment of trauma survivors, and PTSD is now a service-dog qualifying disorder in the United States.

    Evans received Aura free-of-cost through an organization called America’s Vet Dogs, which provides service dogs to disabled U.S. veterans and first responders. Organizations like these are important because Veteran’s Affairs does not currently provide service dogs for their members. Aura is technically categorized as a hearing-aid dog because Evans’ deafness is considered her primary disability, but Evans says the training Aura received for her PTSD has been life-changing after a series of false-starts when it came to her psychological recovery.

    “In the beginning I tried excessive exercise…I tried meditation…I swam with the sharks, which is not really all that relaxing, and I did virtual reality…which works for a lot of veterans, but I had ten million things that happened to me, not just one trauma.” In the end, she says, a combination of medicinal, psychological, and community support helped her come to a place where her PTSD is manageable. And Aura.

    One of Aura’s dominant PTSD-related tasks comes in the form of something that may sound simple to those who have never experienced a trauma nightmare: waking Evans up. This is a task echoed in the emerging literature on PTSD service dogs. The animals act by removing covers from their handler, nudging them, or even jumping onto their handler’s chest if other efforts are unsuccessful. This assistance alone is crucial, because, unlike average nightmares, PTSD-related nightmares typically replay the events or emotions of the trauma in such vivid detail that those who suffer from them may fear returning to sleep, leaving them fatigued and emotionally drained before the day has even begun.

    Evans says Aura also helps her feel safe in the world. The combination of hearing loss and combat-related PTSD can leave Evans feeling vulnerable in public, especially in settings where she has to stand in line or navigate a crowd of unfamiliar people. Her service dog helps to alert her when strangers are approaching from behind, and to provide a berth that minimizes unwanted contact—all of these important for the reduction of hypervigilance, a common PTSD symptom that leaves sufferers feeling anxious, alert, and physically fatigued.

    The biggest criticism emerging from the practice of using service dogs to support PTSD recovery is that dogs have a considerably shorter life span than humans, which could potentially leave an attached handler devastated by the loss. Though merely speculative at this point, this concern merits further research, especially when it comes to the care of survivors who witnessed or experienced loss of life.

    Research on PTSD dogs is still young and much of the extant literature relies on self-reports. Like many aspects of trauma research, it has thus far focused mostly on combat veterans. It will likely be years before we have a large body of data confirming the experiences of combat trauma survivors like Evans, and even longer before that is applied to survivors of other types of trauma. Until then, we have the testimony of those whose lives have been changed by these animals.

    “If I could pin a medal on Aura, I would,” Evans asserts. “I feel safe in my own world since I’ve had Aura. She’s life saving.”

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • The Importance of Women’s Recovery Spaces

    The Importance of Women’s Recovery Spaces

    Women’s meetings gave me the space to talk about the unspeakable, allowing me to move closer to becoming free from the fear that has kept me shackled.[Content Note: Discussions of IPV]

    I started my sobriety journey in a foreign city where there was one English speaking 12-step meeting daily, and a relatively small number of attendees. During part of the year, there were few travelers coming through the city, which meant fewer attendees. It wasn’t out of the ordinary to be the only female in the room. I was struggling to accept the gendered language of the literature we read, and had difficulty relating to the stories of the men in that space. I appreciated their support and camaraderie, but I didn’t see myself often reflected in their experiences. I didn’t know it at the time, but what I needed was to connect with other women in sobriety.

    When a recovery meeting for women was suggested by a few ladies who had recently moved to the area, it was met with some resistance. The same happened when I later moved and suggested a women’s meeting in the new city where I was living. The resistance wasn’t a force in numbers, but there was a strength of conviction in the small number of people who had a problem with it. I’ve been told that a women’s-only meeting (that is also open to all non-binary, gender non-conforming, and trans identifying folks) can’t possibly be considered part of a [insert 12-step group name here] program because Tradition Three states, “The only requirement for membership is a desire to stop [drinking/using/overeating/etc].”

    When it comes to recovery from addiction, gender-aware spaces are important and there has been a long history of them within 12-step programs. Identity-focused groups have existed for decades, including men’s meetings. The first meeting for Black folks began in the 1940s in Washington DC. In 1971, the first gay and lesbian AA meeting began in the same city. While some binary-gender-specific meetings are open to trans folks, there are many that are not. The transgender community still struggles to find a place to recover safely, but there are some meetings in some large cities that are specifically for people who identify as trans.

    The first women in Alcoholics Anonymous (AA)–the first and most common of the 12-step programs–didn’t have other women in recovery to guide them and would receive support and sponsorship from non-alcoholic women. The founders originally disagreed on whether or not to admit women into the fellowship, at all. The first women-only AA meeting began in 1941 in Cleveland, Ohio. By 1947 there were more than a dozen women-only groups throughout country and that number has since grown exponentially, worldwide. In 1965 the first forum for women alcoholics was held as the National AA Women’s Conference. Every February since, the International AA Women’s Conference has held a conference “just for women in AA.”

    The gender we identify with and the gender we were assigned at birth both play major roles in how we are socialized growing up and how society treats us as adults. Our experiences and choices are, without a doubt, guided and influenced by these societal gender norms. Men and women (generally) benefit in different ways from participation in 12-step programs. According to a paper published in the journal Addiction which looked at AA specifically, women seem to benefit the most from “improved confidence in their ability to abstain during times when they were sad or depressed.” Men tend to benefit more from an increased “confidence in the ability to cope with high-risk drinking situations and [an increased] number of social contacts who supported recovery efforts.” In this study, men benefited from experiencing less depression and having fewer drinking buddies hanging around. Women needed the confidence to experience depression and still not drink.

    Women’s meetings can foster validation for feelings of sorrow, and women share their experiences on not drinking despite those feelings. Men, on the other hand, frequently cite the need to combat “self-pity” and credit tough love for their early success in sobriety. For women, it’s often about learning to abstain while in the dark feelings, not escaping from the dark feelings altogether.

    The majority of people entering into treatment for addiction are victims of trauma and they present trauma-related symptoms to a significant degree. It’s a vicious cycle: trauma increases the risk of developing a substance use disorder and substance use disorders increase the risk of experiencing trauma. Johanna O’Flaherty, a psychologist specializing in trauma, says that over the course of her career she’s seen people admitted for addiction treatment and “80 to 90 percent in the case of women, have experienced trauma.” Most of the trauma is related to physical and sexual abuse.

    The most common trauma in the world is sexual violence and intimate partner violence. Active substance use disorders are positively correlated with an increased risk of domestic violence. Alcohol does not cause domestic violence, but someone who is controlling and abusive is more likely to carry out violence when under the influence. The interconnections of violence, traumatic disorders, and addictions are profound.

    The truth is, most sexual violence is carried out by men. A 2010 National Intimate Partner and Sexual Violence Survey found that “90 percent of perpetrators of sexual violence against women are men” and 93 percent of perpetrators of sexual violence against men are also men and overall “men perpetrate 78 percent of reported assaults.” Asking women to talk about their sexual traumas in front of men is a violent act. Yet, trauma must be worked through or it will never heal. The only way to do that is to provide safe options for people to talk about things they wouldn’t otherwise feel comfortable discussing.

    Google “women in AA” and the results are heavily saturated with critiques of the program. There are suggestions for alternatives and articles on predators in the rooms of AA and NA (Narcotics Anonymous). It happens, 12 step groups are not utopias and the people in the rooms aren’t there because their lives have always been amazing and their choices ethical. It is possible to meet manipulative and abusive predators there. Strong connections between women can be a buffer and a safety net for other women who might become entangled in an unhealthy or abusive relationship in early recovery.

    As a paper written by Jolene Sanders in the Journal of Groups in Addiction & Recovery explains, “Women also feel more comfortable speaking about issues not directly related to their immediate concern of alcoholism. For example, women may talk about childhood abuse, sexual abuse or harassment, and other forms of assault. Similarly, women speak more candidly than men about their relationships with significant others and tend to focus on emotions more than men. Finally, women tend to discuss mental health issues, such as depression, more than men and focus more on building self-esteem, rather than deflating pride or ego, which are primary concerns for men in AA.”

    When the women’s 12-step meeting began in the city where I got sober, it was a game changer for me. I had been in a state of traumatic symptom overload. I was experiencing intrusive and vivid recollections of my traumas. I was being triggered all the time about the emotional, psychological, and physical abuse in my past. There are some things my body will not allow me to speak about in certain scenarios. It’s a physical reaction, neurological in origin, and uncontrollable. My body becomes hell bent on protecting me from past danger, literally preventing me from talking.

    If I attempt to speak when my body wants to protect me, I begin stuttering and tripping over each utterance. Unbeknownst to me, what I needed was the company of people who were not men. Women’s meetings gave me the space to talk about the unspeakable, allowing me to move closer to becoming free from the fear that has kept me shackled to the past.

    Women’s only spaces in recovery from trauma and addiction can help people to express things they may have been taught to not talk about in front of people outside of their gender. Or about events that they have gone through or acts they have carried out or things that have been done to them in relation to their gender identity. I’ve heard rumors suggesting that women’s meetings are not good because they’re just “man-bashing.” This is unequivocally false; just because something isn’t for you doesn’t mean it is against you.

    Victims of domestic violence often stay in their situations for financial reasons. To help with this issue, Credit Cards created a guide to help victims gain the financial independence needed to get away from their abusers safely and effectively.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Rapper Vic Mensa Deals With Addiction, Mental Health In New Song

    Rapper Vic Mensa Deals With Addiction, Mental Health In New Song

    The 25-year-old rapper gets candid about relapsing, recovery and mental health in his new song “10K Problems.”

    Chicago rapper Vic Mensa just dropped his second single in a month called “10K Problems.” The song tackles addiction, his struggles with his mental health and dealing with family tragedy.

    “10K Problems” immediately received strong reviews upon its release, and while the song is a little over two minutes, its impact hits hard from the beginning: “Niggas asking where I been at, I gotta recap it/Relapsing d-r-u-g habits/Tryin’ to move forward, depression been holding me backwards/Recovery ain’t a straight line.”

    Then as Mensa raps on, he deals with his father becoming paralyzed after surgery. “It’s a painful process watching your parents die/And niggas look at my life and think I’m in paradise.”

    Like the Fugees classic “Ready or Not,” Vic Mensa rapped “10K Problems” over the same Enya song, “Boadicea.” In the brief time the single has been out on SoundCloud, Rolling Stone has called it “cathartic,” and HotNewHipHop writes that “when Vic Mensa is his vulnerable self, he is able to weave a story with the best of ‘em.”

    Continuing in the same self-confessional vein, Mensa also promised Business Insider that his next album will be “powerful, aggressive, beautiful, sad, all those things… Whenever I get into making an album, it’s always like a really self-reflective, self-expressive journey. And I’m learning about myself in real time.”

    Mensa had previously tackled addiction in the single “Rollin’ Like a Stoner.” In the song, Mensa rapped, “I am a disaster, I don’t need a recipe/Tried to be sober, that didn’t work for me.”

    Mensa told High Times, “I really was writing that song about a point in time in my life, for the most part. I was fucking with a lot of drugs. I went sober and then I’d do hard drugs some time ago.

    But I still bounce back sometimes,” hence the lyrics in “10K Problems” where he raps, “Recovery ain’t a straight line.” (As a Mensa profile in Billboard reports, Mensa’s favorite drugs included mushrooms, acid, Molly, and Adderall.)

    Mensa added that artists should be open about drugs and alcohol, as well as their mental health struggles. “I do think that shedding some honest light on drug use is important… A lot of youngins growing up in the hood, they witness death and despair firsthand… and we’re trying to deal with trauma often through external substances.”

    Mensa admitted he sees a therapist, and practices meditation as well, and he “100%” feels that “the stigma is lessening” around mental health, “but it still needs to be introduced in a major way.”

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • "I: The Series" Exposes the Underside of Trauma and Healing

    "I: The Series" Exposes the Underside of Trauma and Healing

    We Q&A with filmmaker Mary Beth Eversole on trauma, the inspirations for her new series, and the challenges of making an indie film.

    Mary Beth Eversole is the creator and executive producer of I: The Series, in pre-production. The short film series explores the damage of trauma—from ordinary events to major catastrophes—and its impact on individuals as they learn how to heal. Episode 1 takes us into the mind of MB, a traumatized person dealing with an eating disorder, body dysmorphia, and PTSD from multiple traumas. Using “the magic of mirrors, lighting, prosthetics, and CGI editing, we watch as MB’s nightmare comes to life right before her eyes.”

    The Fix recently had the pleasure of discussing this project with Eversole. 

    The Fix: What spurred you to pursue filmmaking?

    Mary Beth Eversole: I am an actress, voice over (VO) artist, musician, and content creator. I have acted and taught and performed music since I was very young. Voiceover came after I had a traumatic car accident that ended my operatic and musical theater singing career. I had to re-evaluate how I would still have my voice be heard as an artist. It was a very troubled time for me that included PTSD and depression.

    One of my student’s parents suggested I try voiceover work and got me an audition at iHeart Radio in Northern Colorado. The producer signed me as a contracted VO artist that day! From there, I continued to do plays and began to study the art of acting in film, which is different from acting on stage. I love the pace of it, the fact that I could play several different characters within the span of a short time frame, and that I met so many amazing creatives and collaborators. As I booked more on-camera and voiceover work, I began to learn a lot about the behind-the-scenes work and what goes into making a film or TV show happen. I realized that my voice could continue to be heard through filmmaking, not only in characters that others wrote for me, but also in what I wrote for others and myself.

    I have had a very traumatized life. I have battled anorexia, body dysmorphia, drug use, depression and PTSD. I have been hospitalized, worked through a treatment plan, been in continuous therapy, experienced 12-step programs, and done a lot of healing through music, film, theater, and other healing forces. People tell me my life story is inspiring to them and that I should share it. I realized a few years ago that it was through filmmaking that I would be able to do that and inspire others to know they are not alone and they can heal.

    Describe some challenges that you encountered at the start.

    I will say I encounter challenges all along the route during the process of making a film or TV series as I think most filmmakers do. Many of the challenges have always come from funding or lack thereof. As an indie filmmaker, funding is usually scarce unless you know someone with deep pockets or have an in with a studio, which most indie filmmakers do not.

    The same challenges are popping up again for “I”, the film series I am currently working on. We need $65,000 in order to film and edit the first episode of “I”. Why? Because we are paying our crew what they should be paid and the film involves many prosthetics and computer generated imagery (CGI) effects, both expensive ticket items for a film. If we were a full feature film being created by a studio with the same storyline, it would cost upwards of $455k and that is on the super low end. Other feature films that have had similar amounts of prosthetics and CGI with studio backing have been around the $15 million range. Therefore, in the grand scheme, $65,000 is not much, but to a small indie film like us, it is a huge mountain to climb.

    While we are doing great at building our crowd, it has been more challenging to find those funds. Currently we are running a crowdfunding campaign on Indiegogo at www.ithemovie.org and we would love to have more people head there to make donations. The cool thing about crowdfunding is the donations do not have to be huge. While it will help us to get a few $1,000-$10,000 donors, the majority of the donations will come from people who donate $15-$100. Social media and direct message shares are also super helpful to get the word out and find more backers. If we do not reach our goal through Indiegogo, we will be applying for grants, but those are very competitive and the likelihood of us getting much funding that way is very slim.

    How did you arrive at the idea for the “I” film series?

    “I” was originally just one short film, based on my personal life experience with trauma and how it led to anorexia, body dysmorphia, depression, and PTSD. My traumas include growing up with a parent with an undiagnosed mental disorder, boyfriend emotional abuse as a teen, two sexual assaults, being diagnosed with 7 major food allergies and at least 15 other food sensitivities that put me in the hospital multiple times and led to organ failure, and two major hit and run car accidents, one that ended my music career as I knew it. I have had more trauma, but those were the major ones that resulted in the mental disorders I still deal with.

    I was watching the Netflix film To The Bone and I realized that this was the first time a dramatic film or TV show had gone this in depth with what actually happens with someone suffering from an eating disorder and body dysmorphia. I also realized this film, along with others about the same subject, still only focused on the external symptoms, what people see on the outside. While the film went into the thought process of an eating disordered person a bit through actions and dialogue, it still only skirted it. Furthermore, I realized it did not talk much about what led to the eating disorder.

    When the film was done, I had an overwhelming urge to write down my experience in script form, and to give a true inside account of what happens in my head when that “critical voice”—or as I call it ED—takes over my ability to function as a human being. The script was there, all there, instantly.

    I wrote it down. [Then] I read it, and read it again, and I realized this was how I was going to inspire others to seek help, heal, and how I might possibly be able to prevent these mental disorders caused by trauma from happening in the first place. From there I showed it to a good friend and director, Brad Etter, because I knew he needed to be the one to direct it. His eye for cinematography is beautiful and I knew he would instantly understand what I was going for. He said yes immediately. After that, we began cobbling together the crew heads to come up with ideas for how we could get this film made and what it would cost.

    All along the way, we have had doors opening and people who I never thought I could get to come on to this project attach themselves to it. In fact, it was Lori Alan, celebrity voiceover artist, actress, and the beautiful voice of episode 1 for this film series, who suggested I consider turning it into a series. I decided that instead of making it a series about just my life, I wanted to make each episode about a different trauma and set of repercussions and healing forces based on true stories from what our fan base shared on our social media pages.

    Which film or films have inspired you and why?

    The films that came out this past year and addressed true life events and movements in a dramatic way, like Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri and To The Bone, as well as TV shows like Chicago Med and Law & Order: SVU that take headlines and dramatically interpret them, have influenced me. My film is based on true stories, but told through dramatic film, which gives us the liberty to construct the inside of the mind and interpret how it is seen through the eye of the traumatized person artistically while still getting the story and the message across.

    My director, Brad Etter, and my director of photography, Terrence Magee, are both using inspiration for the look of the film from the Guillermo del Torro films The Shape of Water, Pan’s Labyrinth, and Crimson Peak.

    What surprised you the most in the filmmaking process?

    First, how hard it is to fund a film. It truly is very hard! However, I think what has surprised me the most with this project has been the outpouring of support I have received from the people who are now crew, core team members for our campaign, and just fans of what I am trying to do by bringing awareness to trauma and how we heal from it, working to break the stigma surrounding these issues. I have received countless messages from friends and family saying “keep going, what you are doing is amazing.” I have received more specific messages from friends and colleagues who are or were in the social work and psychology fields that have given me advice, as well as words of encouragement saying they have been looking for a project to do this for a long time. We even have interest already from two health clinics who want us to share this series in their clinic when it is made!

    Find more info at Indiegogo and connect on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter. 

    (This interview was condensed and edited for clarity.)

    View the original article at thefix.com