Answer Addiction

Tag: triggers

  • Memories Like Velvet: Fear and Panic in Childhood

    Memories Like Velvet: Fear and Panic in Childhood

    Knowing that it’s “an emotional thing” doesn’t help much when I’m going through the anxiety and the terror and the fear in me, wondering if it will ever go away.

    I listen to the radio mornings while I’m getting breakfast and I hear all of this bad news. I don’t like it. It’s too much. Too sad, too violent. Not my thing.

    All I can say is I’m glad these things don’t happen around me. Then people would really be sorry.

    I mean, the other day I had a dentist appointment. I was scared and jittery and I’d thought about calling the whole thing off. Of course my dentist is a man. He could have started right in, slipping his hand along my legs, up around my thighs and that would have been that.

    And Saturday I had to go shopping. Needed some shampoo and conditioner and things like that. I was sixth on line and there was only one cashier so it was taking forever. I felt the sweat build up then drip down my face in little droplets but I don’t think anyone noticed.

    The skinny lady ahead of me turned sideways once but I think that was to see the price on these furry little doggies hanging down that the store was trying to get rid of fast. I don’t think she was too impressed because it didn’t take her long to read the tag and turn forward again. To wait, bored, wait her turn.

    Meantime I kept shifting from foot to foot and back again but so did everyone else so I felt like part of the crowd.

    As I kept hopping around I kept praying that no one ahead of me would get grumpy and start a fight with the cashier because, slow as she was, it was one of my days and I would have burst right out crying. I can’t help it. People say “stop it” and they think that’s so easy to do but it ain’t. Just being around people fighting and cussin’ gets me going and once that starts there’s no telling what’ll happen next. It’s what I call unpredictable.

    It’s one of those emotional problems, that’s what they call it. All I know is when things are calm, I’m okay. But once people get to fussing, it touches off something inside — sort of a frightened part — and I get hysterical.

    Like the time Jessica and I were playing some music. Things were good — we had raided the refrigerator and gotten pretzels and Diet Cokes and everything we wanted when all of a sudden her parents burst in the front door yelling at the top of their lungs. It was a fight between them, I knew that, but that didn’t stop the upset that started rising.

    I tried telling myself that it was nothing, that it wasn’t my fault or Jessica’s but sure enough I felt the lump in my throat grow bigger and bigger and lodge itself right smack where I didn’t want it. My hands grew clammy and I got up and walked around.

    Jessica could tell that something was going on, something was definitely brewing. She asked, “What’s up?” but when I tried to respond the words just didn’t come out right. Sounded like I was talking backwards.

    Meantime they kept at it and I got frantic. Did they always fucking talk this way? They glanced over at us girls and I thought they knew something was wrong, thought they could tell I wasn’t right, but I guess since I didn’t show any outward sign, they couldn’t tell. They weren’t perceptive.

    They just kept going so Jessica called them to come quick and then — then — they knew that something was up so they stopped yelling at each other’s foolishness and insanity and concentrated on me and kept holding my hands asking what was wrong. I couldn’t even begin to explain.

    After a while of no yelling and peace and quiet, I came back to reality. I calmed down. My distress sure scared the hell out of them and out of me. Knowing that it’s “an emotional thing” doesn’t help much when I’m going through the anxiety and the terror and the fear in me, wondering if it will ever go away. Then wondering if this thing is a keeper. I don’t want it to be a keeper. Go away, I say to myself and sometimes out loud. Go away and don’t come back again. It’s a nice sentiment but the reality is that the peace, quiet, and calm don’t last. They never do.

    Last year and the year before that I thought drinking some beers would help the anxiety — so I drank myself senseless — but the beers didn’t help at all. The high just made me feel paranoid and during the lows I’d feel even more depressed than before I started drinking. So that was that. No more beers, I said to myself. It was a horror giving it up and going through the feelings. Going through the terror.

    Will this always be with me?

    Will “e” always mean “emotional” to me or will there come a time when, someday down the road, when I’m all grown up and working and thinking of other things, will the letter “e” represent anything else to me other than emotional? Will I maybe think of “enterprising” or “entrepreneurial” or even “evergreen”?

    Perhaps, but I doubt it. I think that my first thought will be “emotional.” And if you say “what’s an ‘a’ word,” I’ll always say “alcohol.” Hey, it’s the hand I was dealt. It’s the genes I got or maybe, just maybe I was conditioned to be fine-tuned. Sensitive is what some people call it.

    Some people react so strangely when they find out what’s wrong. They think it’s either imagined or it isn’t that bad. So they smile or wave or talk condescendingly to me. They use simple words and they try to placate me, and when the waves of panic are still riding over me I look at them like they’re crazy. Can’t they even imagine what sheer terror is like?

    In front of Jessica’s parents my anxiety passed eventually. It rode its course. I breathed again, normally, and the clamminess began to subside. They still looked at me funny, like Jessica’s friend here is a bit of an oddball but I looked at them funny, too, because why would they walk into their home yelling and screaming like some fucking idiots? Besides, I know what’s wrong with me. It’s emotional.

    Sometimes I think that the world is nice and sometimes I wonder what it’s all about. I can’t take it when people scream, as I already told you, or when pans crash to the floor. Or when a balloon bursts. When several balloons burst at the same time it’s not good. Not good at all.

    I hate it when we’re driving along nice and smooth and someone gets too close to our car and we hit the brakes hard, hard, hard; the screech of the tires on the road just gets right under my skin.

    Backed up lines on parkways? Traffic stopped on New York bridges? Especially when we’re at the highest point on the bridge — no longer going up and not yet heading down? That damn pinnacle is not my favorite place to be.

    I imagine all of us dangling over the side of that metal bridge with each one of us holding on with one hand, holding on for dear life and that sweat breaks out once again as I concentrate so hard to hold on and wait, wait, wait for someone to come along and rescue us. And I know it’s my overactive imagination at work, but why do the pictures it paints have to be so damned vivid?

    Walking along from one house to another when suddenly a lawn mower starts up so loudly I jump and cover my ears. Talk about breaking the sound barrier. That’s how it seems to me, anyway. I freeze in my tracks but then realize I’m not getting anywhere at all so I carry on, wondering why it is that a silent lawn mower can’t be made or at least a lawn mower that’s nice and quiet? That would be good. That shouldn’t be too hard to invent.

    I like the Fourth of July because everything looks so pretty with the sky all lit up like that with the pyrotechnics going off in various designs but I get so scared when a cherry bomb or something goes off next door. I just have to cry. I can’t help it.

    Noises aren’t the only things. Flashing lights set me off, too, like the time we had a school dance on a Friday night and someone hit the ceiling lights and suddenly those strobe lights were flashing, flashing, flashing and I know those disco lights were meant to add a certain ambiance to the party but my head started spinning and I had to just get out of there. Fast.

    It’s a weird thing. But the good times are good times. I like looking at flowers out in the backyard so closely, I want to squint to see every inch of them. Velvet they feel like.

    I love running around with my dog Penny, spinning and twirling and feeling the grass cool beneath my feet while an airplane flies gently overhead. You could call that one of my good days. It’s peace, quiet, and feeling comfortable. I call it progress. I’ll take it.

    I guess for once I feel I’m as free as the birds I see gliding overhead and I know there’s nothing to cry over and nothing to be afraid of anymore.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Relapse Prevention: Staying Sober Through Life Setbacks

    Relapse Prevention: Staying Sober Through Life Setbacks

    Without recovery tools or a relapse prevention plan, it can be difficult to stay sober while dealing with a significant life setback. The lure of the drink or drug to ease the pain and bring comfort becomes too great to resist.

    When people at treatment centers or in 12-step meetings say that relapse is part of recovery, it turns my stomach. Although the door to recovery remains open after a relapse—as long as a person survives such dangerous waters—relapse is not part of recovery. At the same time, however, the slip and slide process that leads to a relapse does happen in recovery.

    Whether we are newly clean and sober or have stacked up many years—even decades—of sobriety, the triggers that lead to a relapse happen before we pick up the first drink or drug. But if we have done the work and have recovery tools in place, these triggering events can be processed successfully instead of leading to a relapse. We acquire recovery tools through 12-step programs, SMART Recovery, therapy, or whichever recovery pathway we have chosen, and we use them for relapse prevention.

    Without recovery tools, it can be immensely difficult to stay sober while dealing with a significant life setback. The lure of the drink or drug to ease the pain and restore a sense of comfort becomes too great to resist. It reminds me of the mantra of Dr. Gabor Maté: “The question is not why the addiction, but why the pain.”

    But we have to know how and when to use the tools properly, which requires practice. We gain this practice by working the 12 steps or taking other constructive actions in our recovery pathway well before a triggering event occurs. Then, when we hit a life setback, we are prepared.

    Here are four life setbacks which can lead to relapse if we do not have recovery tools.

    1. The loss of a job, a promotion, or a major work opportunity

    One of my favorite sayings in 12-step programs is that an expectation is a resentment under construction. When you miss out on a significant work opportunity or you’re let go from your job or passed over for a promotion, it is natural to feel crushed and overwhelmed. Many people in recovery take professional setbacks personally, punishing themselves for a perceived failure. There is a reason alcoholism is called a disease of perception. We will drink or use to escape the pain of a perceived failure, or—in a masochistic fashion—to inflict more damage on themselves as the vicious punishment for such a failure. When you consider the consequences, this outcome can be devastating.

    Rather than sinking into depression and self-blame, you can use recovery tools to put the setback into context. Did you know people change jobs an average of 12 times during their career? In January 2018, the Bureau of Labor Statistics reported that the median employee tenure was 4.3 years for men and 4.0 years for women. The very nature of employment is a roller coaster ride of ups and downs.

    Given these statistics, it’s easy to apply the second and third steps to a career setback. If you turn over the disappointment to a higher power and have faith that another opportunity will arise, then relapse is less likely to occur. If you discuss the problem in a group, you will receive support and learn from the similar experiences of other people.

    2. Global events like elections, terrorist attacks, and natural disasters

    People in recovery tend to take everything personally. We sometimes use big events that may have no direct impact on our lives as reasons to drink or use. After the last presidential election, I heard many people in meetings bitterly joke that they were either moving to Canada or having a drink. Luckily, most of them did neither, regaining their focus on the microcosm of their own lives. They focused on what was right in front of them, remembering to take things one day at a time.

    When seemingly apocalyptic moments arise, there is an urge to console ourselves. We feel the pain and horror of terrorist attacks and natural disasters and use those feelings as a justification for a relapse.

    An essential recovery tool for sidestepping this kind of relapse is avoiding isolation. When we are alone and in our heads, we are in dangerous neighborhoods. By going out and spending time within a supportive community, the disaster loses some of its power over us. We come to understand that it’s not only our tragedy and can share our pain with others. We do not minimize the horror or sadness of what happened, but we also do not use it as a reason to relapse. We don’t have to make our lives worse in response to disaster.

    3. The death of a family member or a close friend, and the pain of mourning

    Death can be one of the hardest challenges to face for anyone in any context. The loss of a family member, a loved one, or a close friend can be incredibly painful, both spiritually and emotionally. For someone in recovery, the situations in which we grieve present their own unique difficulties. In circles of mourning, alcohol is a conventional lubricant. It can be easy for someone without recovery tools to pick up a drink during this time.

    By talking about your feelings and reaching out for support, you can be guided through the pain. You will learn that by staying sober and clear, you have the opportunity to be present for your family and friends. You can be of service in a time of great need. Moreover, you honor your loved one by maintaining your sobriety. If you feel like you were not able to make amends for a past wrong, then make a living amends by staying sober and honoring their memory.

    4. The end of a relationship

    Have you ever heard the story of a person in early recovery who started dating and turned their partner into their higher power? Rather than focus on their own recovery and sanity, they focus on the relationship. What they fail to realize is that whenever recovery becomes supported mainly by a human relationship, the recovery (and usually the relationship) are on thin ice.

    Sometimes, the end of such a relationship leads to a relapse. When someone in early recovery focuses with such fervor on a partner, they no longer can keep the focus on themselves. This is why you hear the recommendation to stay out of relationships during the first year of recovery, or until you’ve worked all 12 steps.

    The end of a healthy relationship in long-term recovery can be dangerous as well. Breaking up can hurt so deeply that you feel you can’t bear it; having a drink or taking a drug seems to be the only way to stop the heartache. However, the pain is so much worse when it’s kept inside and remains unspoken; and while drinking or using may look like a way to find quick relief, you can’t actually escape this hurt. You only postpone the feelings and frequently the relapse brings more misery. By sharing the pain and talking about it with other people, you can obtain perspective. Although applying the principles of recovery to a breakup may help you avoid a relapse, it’s not a cure-all. When love ends, we suffer, and such suffering takes time to heal.

    Whatever life setback you might face today or in the future, taking a drink or using a drug will not help resolve the difficulty and in the vast majority of cases, it will make a bad situation much worse. Instead, cut the cord that connects drinking and using with pain relief. It’s a temporary and usually ineffective fix. For people who have lived with addiction or substance use disorders, the most powerful recovery tool is the simple and honest realization that drugs and alcohol are never the solution.

    What’s in your recovery toolkit? How do you deal with life setbacks without using or drinking?

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Ring of Shame: How Getting Ringworm Triggered My Alcoholism

    Ring of Shame: How Getting Ringworm Triggered My Alcoholism

    Even medical people are treating you like a second-class citizen. Is this really about ringworm or is this reminding you of what it’s like to be a person with addiction?

    So one day I see this pink round patch on my forearm. It itches. I immediately start Googling eczema and psoriasis. Nope, looks nothing like that. But it does have that distinctive red ring so I look up pictures of ringworm and voila, there it is, my new friend.

    When I was smoking meth and shooting cocaine, I never got sick. I never got staph or scabies despite lying around with a bunch of gutter punks. But at six years sober, out of nowhere, I get ringworm. I don’t deal with children. Colonel Puff Puff, my cat, doesn’t have it. What the fuck is going on?

    Despite its grotesque and misleading name, it has nothing to do with worms. Ringworm is a type of skin fungus akin to athlete’s foot and jock itch. Trying to make light of the situation, I tweeted: “I was super depressed and smoking again but suddenly I got ringworm and that cheered me right up.” I was hit with a bunch of questions like “Is that the one that makes you skinny?”

    No dear, that’s a tapeworm, but thanks for the concern.

    I’d heard ringworm was very contagious so I went straight to urgent care where they confirmed it was indeed ringworm. I was prescribed a cream that burned like the fires of damnation and told to “keep it covered” at night to protect the Colonel. (When the Colonel last got ringworm, it cost $2,500 for multiple lyme dips, shavings, and numerous vet visits to get rid of it. It’s a persistent motherfucker.)

    I went to the pharmacy, pulled up my sleeve, and told the pharmacist I had ringworm. 

    “I don’t know how I got it,” I said, annoyed.

    The pharmacist pulled up the leg of her capri pants and said, “I got it working here! I was really stressed out because I was getting married and my mom had a stroke and boom.”

    We both laughed and then I took my supplies home, hopeful things would soon return to normal.

    Once I informed my friends of my condition, nobody would touch me. Friends and neighbors wouldn’t come into my apartment nor let me into theirs. 

    “We love you and your ringworm,” they’d chant from the other side of the door. I was beginning to feel very leper-like even though it was one fucking red ring. My sponsor told me I could still go to meetings but I didn’t want to take the chance of giving it to anybody…(except maybe a few specific people).

    Two nights after following the urgent care doc’s protocol, the ringworm seemed to be getting worse. I saw a new circle sprouting up and there was a clear red rectangular demarcation from the band-aid. Kill me.

    Panicked that I would soon be a walking petri dish of ringworm, I went to my primary care clinic as a walk-in patient. This clinic treats a lot of homeless people and has quite a few tents parked permanently outside with adjacent grocery carts packed with stuffed animals and recyclables and blankets. People are allowed to shower in the downstairs bathroom and it often gets crowded in the waiting area. But once I told the receptionist of my “condition,” I was quickly escorted to an empty room and quarantined. 

    Four long hours I sat in that room, my phone dying, sneaking out to smoke and feeling more and more depleted and well, just gross. A triage nurse came in briefly and told me that the urgent care doctor had made a huge error by telling me to cover the ringworm. It had created a tiny greenhouse, capturing the moisture and providing the perfect breeding ground for the ringworm to reproduce. Perfect.

    Finally, I was taken to another area to see a doctor. As I waited, I looked at the white cabinets. Two were locked. Where were the syringes, I wondered. 

    Wait, what? An enormous urge to use had come over me. I wanted to get high, call my ex, die…. It’s just ringworm, I tried to tell myself. Calm down. Why the sudden impulse to use? 

    “You’re disgusting and poor and getting old and nobody loves you,” my head said. 

    Thankfully interrupting my horrible inner dialogue, the doctor, a big ruddy guy in his mid-30’s who looked like an ex-linebacker, came in and shook my hand. I cringed inside.

    “I hear you have a rash,” he said.

    “I have ringworm,” I corrected him, hanging my head in shame.

    “Okay, let’s take a look.” He put on gloves initially but then took them off.

    “You have one ringworm,” he said. “The rest of the redness and that other circle is contact dermatitis from the bandage. You’re allergic to something in that bandage.” He touched the irritated area with an ungloved hand.

    “Oh.” I was near tears.

    “I’m going to give you another cream and just wear long sleeves if your cat sleeps with you. Better yet, take him to the vet to get him checked out. This stuff is everywhere. It’s really a reaction to your own flora. Do you do yoga?”

    “No.”

    “It’s very common among wrestlers because of the mats and sweat and body contact.”

    “No wrestling and unfortunately no body contact.”

    “You could have gotten it anywhere. If your immune system is compromised from stress or HIV or chemotherapy…”

    “Stress is my hobby these days,” I said. “Everything feels itchy, doc, like especially my head.”

    “Do you want me to check your scalp?” 

    “Please.”

    I took down my bun and into my dirty hair he plunged with bare hands. I felt ashamed but grateful that somebody was touching me.

    “You’re good,” he said.

    “Thank you for making me feel like a human being. Really…”

    He smiled.

    But as I drove to the pharmacy, I still felt depressed and still felt like using. Why? 

    The answer, as usual, came in a phone call from my friend, addictionologist and psychiatrist Dr. Howard Wetsman.

    “I understand people being scared about the ringworm because of its name and reputation. But what you’re experiencing is being shunned and isolated. People are treating you like your presence can hurt them. Even medical people are treating you like a second-class citizen. Is this really about a skin fungus or is this reminding you of what it’s like to be a person with addiction?” he asked.

    Whoa. 

    “When we’re isolated or feel ‘less than,’ the dopamine receptors in the reward center actually stop being available. You can’t feel your own dopamine as well as before. We need those receptors to keep up dopamine tone, and without that we’re back to feeling restless, irritable, and discontented. And that only goes to one place, right?”

    “Yeah I really wanted to use and it freaked me out.”

    “When you’re an addict and your dopamine tone is lowered, your brain goes ‘we gotta fix this fast.’ It doesn’t care if it’s an éclair or heroin or death…”

    “That’s why I’ve been smoking…”

    “Nicotine will give you dopamine for sure. But let’s talk bigger picture. When we go to treatment and we’re told to sit down and shut up, when we’re treated like stupid people who abused a substance that everyone else was smart enough to stay away from, when we’re told to wait three hours sitting on broken plastic chairs for someone who doesn’t give a shit, the deck is stacked against the treatment working. No healthcare system that systematically lowers people’s dopamine, much less one that treats addiction, will succeed,” he told me.

    “It’s the same in the rooms,” he continued. “The reason the 12 steps work is because you don’t have to feel ‘better than’ to not be ‘less than.’ The two messages you should get from an AA meeting are that you are never alone again and you aren’t less than anyone. But when people don’t sponsor with love, when some old-timer wants to be the boss, when it’s all about some guy with more time being right instead of helping, you lose those messages. That’s not a problem with the message; that’s a problem with the messenger. Don’t let the messenger fuck up the message. You aren’t less than anyone!”

    I sign every copy of My Fair Junkie with “fuck shame” and I don’t think I really knew why until just now.

     

    For more on dopamine and feeling “less than,” check out Dr. Wetsman’s youtube talk.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • 4 Quick Tips for Staying Sober and Avoiding FOMO on New Year's Eve

    4 Quick Tips for Staying Sober and Avoiding FOMO on New Year's Eve

    FOMO—Fear Of Missing Out—took enough away from me in my addiction. I spent countless nights wishing I hadn’t gone out or drunk as much as I did. In sobriety, I’ve never regretted not going to the party.

    If there is one thing that describes my addiction, it was the yearning for connection. Ironic, isn’t it? The thing I spent the most time striving for is the thing that I ultimately couldn’t get, even from the substances that I thought were helping me find it.

    As far back as I can remember, I wanted to be popular. In 5th grade I remember the girls who were considered “cool” inviting people to their “boy-girl” party. I patiently waited for an invitation that never came. Then in middle school, my peers started getting boyfriends and girlfriends and slow dancing at school dances, but I was never included. I did everything I could to make it seem like I should be included in these exclusive pastimes, but I never felt like I succeeded… until I started drinking.

    Taking shots, chugging beer, puke and rally; these dangerous drinking habits are what ultimately gave me the street cred I needed to become part of the in crowd. Boys finally found me cool and desirable and girls wanted to be friends with me. This theme followed my entire drinking career. I evolved from a scared child with a couple friends to an outgoing woman with more friend groups than you could count. Keeping up with my new reputation was exhausting, but it’s how I lived throughout my entire time at college.

    When I first heard about FOMO — Fear Of Missing Out — something in me clicked and I realized this was the feeling I always got when I couldn’t stand not being at the party. FOMO was what motivated me to drink every night from Wednesday through Sunday during college. I needed to be at every outing and party because if I wasn’t, I risked my popular, cool-girl reputation. I risked not seeing the drama or hearing the gossip. Just like the acronym-dubbed phenomenon, I was fearful I’d miss something, and I couldn’t let that happen.

    Now that I’m sober, I’ve realized that so many of us former drinkers had an intimate relationship with FOMO. It’s often what drove our drinking. It can also be what drives our return to using, or our obsession with still going to the places and parties we frequented while we were in active addiction. The holidays can be an especially daunting time for FOMO. In particular, New Year’s Eve is known for lavish and booze-filled celebrations. If you’re sober and worried about FOMO creeping in this NYE, here are some tips to help you play it safe.

    1. Plan something new and different. I can’t tell you how satisfying it is to make plans in sobriety. Instead of the same old drunken ball-drop open-bar nightclub or wine-infested awkward house party, you get to decide what your New Year’s plans are and they don’t have to include any of those things. You get to plan something fun, new, and exciting. You could travel to a new place, visit a zoo, volunteer at a homeless shelter, watch fireworks, or host your own alcohol-free party. The point is, the decision is yours and your plans don’t have to be anything like they were during your drinking years. Plan something new and different to look forward to. You could even invite your friends and family to your non-alcohol-centered event and avoid FOMO altogether.

    2. Read up on the concept of romanticizing. Yes, I’m telling you to Google “romanticize.” This is something we occasionally do about our drinking when we’re sober. We often remember the best and more fun parts of our drinking, but not the times it made us feel horrible or our worst hangovers. I’ve also heard these rose-colored memories referred to as “euphoric recall.” It’s good to have an awareness about this extremely common tactic of our mind. Remember the truth! Just because other people are out there binge drinking or going to events with alcohol doesn’t mean you have to. Just because you used to have fun at these types of events doesn’t mean you will in sobriety. Just because society tries to tell us we need alcohol to have fun does not make it true! Trust yourself. Don’t romanticize any substances you’ve tried hard to leave behind.

    3. Give yourself a pep talk. You are one smart person. You know that FOMO is a concept that begins and ends in your mind. It’s a feeling just like any other that will come and then go. If you’re struggling with drinking, I can tell you there is nothing fun to go back to. Drinking again won’t make your NYE any more memorable or special. In reality, you’re unlikely to remember most (or all) of it. You live differently now and it’s time to accept that NYE will be different and that can be a blessing. If you’re staying sober and debating going to a NYE event where the alcohol might overwhelm you, I’m here to tell you that you will not die if you don’t go to this event. Missing one event won’t change your life or the world. You can always get the lowdown from your friends who do go. I promise there’s nothing at that party that’s so wonderful it will make up for how you’ll feel if you end up drinking.

    4. Imagine the future. In the scheme of the entire world, NYE is just one holiday on one day of the year. Of course, it marks the end of 365 days of your life and that’s special, but there are so many other beautiful ways to celebrate a transition of this magnitude. You could make lists and read books and write in your journal and perform a moon ritual! You could go to a yoga retreat or a sober meet-up. It’s not your fault that society has tricked us into believing New Year’s Eve is a drinking holiday where we need to have a champagne toast at midnight. But it is your responsibility to carve out a new path for yourself on NYEs to come. Imagine your future: would you be happy to give up all your hard-earned sobriety for one night? For one party? For one New Year?

    A new year should symbolize growth, bettering yourself, or beginning again. Don’t let FOMO take that away from you.

    FOMO took enough away from me in my addiction. I spent countless nights wishing I hadn’t gone out or drunk as much as I did. In sobriety, I’ve never regretted not going to the party. Every time I think I’m going to miss out on something, I never do. I end up doing something better or more satisfying with my time. I end up missing situations, people, and places that aren’t good for me anyway. I miss out on drama, gossip, and drinking.

    This NYE ditch the FOMO and make sure you aren’t missing out on sobriety.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • In Praise of the Geographical Cure

    In Praise of the Geographical Cure

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • The Rules of Marriage…In Recovery

    The Rules of Marriage…In Recovery

    Even though it’s a positive change, adjusting to marriage with a newly sober spouse is a challenge. Some situations are a little tricky to navigate.

    After being with my husband for 15 years, it might seem like there would be few suprises left. We have the kind of relationship that includes conversations like, “Hey, Harmony, will you cut off this skin tag on my back?” followed by, “Um, no; I’ll make you a doctor’s appointment.” And later, “Does this look infected to you?”

    Robbie is what people in recovery like to call a “normie.” When it comes to alcohol, he can take it or leave it. He can just have one beer, and he doesn’t obsess over when he’ll have the next one. He likes to have fun, and he doesn’t really care if that fun involves alcohol. By the time I entered recovery, he rarely drank anymore; I was always the one drinking, and one of us had to stay sober enough to drive.

    The suprise here is that I am the alcoholic and he is the normie, because everyone who knows us assumed it was the other way around.

    My husband and I built the foundation of our relationship on having as much fun as possible. (Read: we partied a lot.) We’ve been to New Orleans, our closest major city, many times over the years, visiting for Mardi Gras, romantic getaways, concerts, plays, art events, and stuff with our kids. In true alcoholic form, I remember very little of any of it.

    Since I entered recovery, our relationship has shifted considerably. He is exactly the same as he’s always been, but everything about me is changing — how I react to things, what I do and say, how I view and enjoy my life, and how I relate to my husband. All these changes bring up a lot of questions and discussions, obviously, like if we go to New Orleans, will my husband drink? How much? Will I be able to handle it?

    Recently, he scored amazing tickets to an NFL game in the New Orleans Superdome. When he asked me to go, I panicked: I’ve got under two years of sobriety under my belt, and we’ve never been to any major city without alcohol. In fact, the last time we went down there, I started with a hand grenade on Bourbon Street and ended with what I believe to be absinthe. None of this was my husband’s fault — we were just there having fun — but his version of “fun” is a lot less dangerous than mine. When I start drinking, I drink to forget.

    Neither of us knew how severe my issues were when we met and fell in love. We got married, had a bunch of kids, and BAM! I was in so deep I almost didn’t find my way out. But that’s the beauty of true partnership; Robbie supports me fully in everything I do, and he wants nothing more than to see me happy and healthy. Even so, adjusting to the evolution is a challenge, and even though it is a very positive change for our family, there are still times when it can be a little tricky to navigate.

    So, what does my sobriety mean for us as a couple? What are the rules of marriage when one person is an addict and the other is not?

    What to do with the alcohol. The issue of what is and is not allowed in the house is a big one. I’m a stay-at-home mom, which means I’m the one staring at the liquor cabinet at 5 p.m. while our children complain about dinner. For us, getting the alcohol out of the house and keeping it out was vital to maintaining my sobriety. I can’t even have Oreos in the house, lest I eat them all, so for now, it’s better this way.

    However, I do know many couples who still have alcohol at home and the alcoholic partner isn’t bothered by it. It really boils down to triggers. I, for example, am triggered every damn day when I’m home alone with the kids. If I have alcohol around me and no other adults as backup, I would have a very hard time resisting. Robbie understands that and it’s not a problem for us. Also, we didn’t have to throw any of it out because I drank every last drop of it myself before sobering up.

    Prescription medication. Because I’m the mom, I’ve always been in charge of the meds. Uh, I wasn’t exactly responsible — and it was very hard to admit that, both to myself and to my husband. So for a while, and at different points since then, he’s had to take over administering the medication so I don’t eat the entire bottle like candy. He’s been willing to do that because he knows it’s an easy way to help me on my journey to wellness.

    What about the chocolate? One of the biggest problems I’ve had in recovery is my insane sweet tooth. Every time my husband or the kids bring home candy, cupcakes, Lucky Charms, or cake, I generally eat it all before they have a chance to even taste it. Robbie started hiding his stash of cookies from me, which naturally I found, and to be honest we’ve had more spats over the junk food than anything else.

    Am I always going to be the designated driver? GOD NO. I’m not stable enough to drive around a bunch of drunks. This is why there is Uber.

    Football season is huge in our house, and as I mentioned above, we went to an NFL game where everyone was drinking. And it was tough — but as long as I’m honest with him about my struggles, he is happy to help. It’s the honesty part that gets me: being willing to admit that I am powerless over alcohol.

    On the morning of the game, I got up early to attend a meeting, and prepared before we left to avoid getting too hungry, tired, or thirsty. It was literally the most fun I’ve ever had at a football game, ever — and that includes when I was drinking.

    Parties! We go to them. We might have to leave earlier than we’d like. I hope that gets better, but I’m proud of myself for going.

    Meetings. We have three children under the age of 10, and my husband is rarely home before 8 p.m. Finagling our schedules to allow for me to make it to meetings is probably one of the biggest issues we face, and sometimes I get resentful when I really need to go but have to wait until another time. He learned pretty quickly that when I go, I’m much easier to live with, so he does everything he can to accommodate me. Smart man.

    Sex. That’s a topic for a whole other essay. Suffice it to say, it’s been an adjustment.

    I can honestly say, for the first time in a very long while, that I’m truly the person that Robbie fell in love with all those years ago, and his patience with me as I fumble my way through recovery has completely renewed the love I have for him. Marriage in recovery is a beautiful, beautiful thing.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Married to a Normie: Relationship Rules

    Married to a Normie: Relationship Rules

    Even though it’s a positive change, adjusting to marriage with a newly sober spouse is a challenge. Some situations are a little tricky to navigate.

    After being with my husband for 15 years, it might seem like there would be few suprises left. We have the kind of relationship that includes conversations like, “Hey, Harmony, will you cut off this skin tag on my back?” followed by, “Um, no; I’ll make you a doctor’s appointment.” And later, “Does this look infected to you?”

    Robbie is what people in recovery like to call a “normie.” When it comes to alcohol, he can take it or leave it. He can just have one beer, and he doesn’t obsess over when he’ll have the next one. He likes to have fun, and he doesn’t really care if that fun involves alcohol. By the time I entered recovery, he rarely drank anymore; I was always the one drinking, and one of us had to stay sober enough to drive.

    The suprise here is that I am the alcoholic and he is the normie, because everyone who knows us assumed it was the other way around.

    My husband and I built the foundation of our relationship on having as much fun as possible. (Read: we partied a lot.) We’ve been to New Orleans, our closest major city, many times over the years, visiting for Mardi Gras, romantic getaways, concerts, plays, art events, and stuff with our kids. In true alcoholic form, I remember very little of any of it.

    Since I entered recovery, our relationship has shifted considerably. He is exactly the same as he’s always been, but everything about me is changing — how I react to things, what I do and say, how I view and enjoy my life, and how I relate to my husband. All these changes bring up a lot of questions and discussions, obviously, like if we go to New Orleans, will my husband drink? How much? Will I be able to handle it?

    Recently, he scored amazing tickets to an NFL game in the New Orleans Superdome. When he asked me to go, I panicked: I’ve got under two years of sobriety under my belt, and we’ve never been to any major city without alcohol. In fact, the last time we went down there, I started with a hand grenade on Bourbon Street and ended with what I believe to be absinthe. None of this was my husband’s fault — we were just there having fun — but his version of “fun” is a lot less dangerous than mine. When I start drinking, I drink to forget.

    Neither of us knew how severe my issues were when we met and fell in love. We got married, had a bunch of kids, and BAM! I was in so deep I almost didn’t find my way out. But that’s the beauty of true partnership; Robbie supports me fully in everything I do, and he wants nothing more than to see me happy and healthy. Even so, adjusting to the evolution is a challenge, and even though it is a very positive change for our family, there are still times when it can be a little tricky to navigate.

    So, what does my sobriety mean for us as a couple? What are the rules of marriage when one person is an addict and the other is not?

    What to do with the alcohol. The issue of what is and is not allowed in the house is a big one. I’m a stay-at-home mom, which means I’m the one staring at the liquor cabinet at 5 p.m. while our children complain about dinner. For us, getting the alcohol out of the house and keeping it out was vital to maintaining my sobriety. I can’t even have Oreos in the house, lest I eat them all, so for now, it’s better this way.

    However, I do know many couples who still have alcohol at home and the alcoholic partner isn’t bothered by it. It really boils down to triggers. I, for example, am triggered every damn day when I’m home alone with the kids. If I have alcohol around me and no other adults as backup, I would have a very hard time resisting. Robbie understands that and it’s not a problem for us. Also, we didn’t have to throw any of it out because I drank every last drop of it myself before sobering up.

    Prescription medication. Because I’m the mom, I’ve always been in charge of the meds. Uh, I wasn’t exactly responsible — and it was very hard to admit that, both to myself and to my husband. So for a while, and at different points since then, he’s had to take over administering the medication so I don’t eat the entire bottle like candy. He’s been willing to do that because he knows it’s an easy way to help me on my journey to wellness.

    What about the chocolate? One of the biggest problems I’ve had in recovery is my insane sweet tooth. Every time my husband or the kids bring home candy, cupcakes, Lucky Charms, or cake, I generally eat it all before they have a chance to even taste it. Robbie started hiding his stash of cookies from me, which naturally I found, and to be honest we’ve had more spats over the junk food than anything else.

    Am I always going to be the designated driver? GOD NO. I’m not stable enough to drive around a bunch of drunks. This is why there is Uber.

    Football season is huge in our house, and as I mentioned above, we went to an NFL game where everyone was drinking. And it was tough — but as long as I’m honest with him about my struggles, he is happy to help. It’s the honesty part that gets me: being willing to admit that I am powerless over alcohol.

    On the morning of the game, I got up early to attend a meeting, and prepared before we left to avoid getting too hungry, tired, or thirsty. It was literally the most fun I’ve ever had at a football game, ever — and that includes when I was drinking.

    Parties! We go to them. We might have to leave earlier than we’d like. I hope that gets better, but I’m proud of myself for going.

    Meetings. We have three children under the age of 10, and my husband is rarely home before 8 p.m. Finagling our schedules to allow for me to make it to meetings is probably one of the biggest issues we face, and sometimes I get resentful when I really need to go but have to wait until another time. He learned pretty quickly that when I go, I’m much easier to live with, so he does everything he can to accommodate me. Smart man.

    Sex. That’s a topic for a whole other essay. Suffice it to say, it’s been an adjustment.

    I can honestly say, for the first time in a very long while, that I’m truly the person that Robbie fell in love with all those years ago, and his patience with me as I fumble my way through recovery has completely renewed the love I have for him. Marriage in recovery is a beautiful, beautiful thing.

    View the original article at thefix.com

  • Let’s Get Real: How To Handle the Tough Stuff in Recovery Without Using

    Let’s Get Real: How To Handle the Tough Stuff in Recovery Without Using

    Of course, people had good reason to think that I couldn’t handle upsetting news. Every time a hardship, breakup, or something unsettling happened, I wound up in the psych ward, detox, ER, or a bloody, tear-filled mess.

    When I was drinking, I was the girl who took pulls of rail vodka right from the bottle. I took it straight, no chaser. Others looked at me with a mixture of surprise and disgust. Girls were supposed to mix their vodka with fruit juice or soda. Girls weren’t supposed to out-drink the men or keep straight razors in their wallet for chopping up fat lines. Fellow drunks patted me on the back. I was one of them. I embraced my heavy drinking as a point of pride, wore it like a badge of honor.

    But the point of this isn’t to share my war stories or act like I was the most bad ass alcoholic or junkie to ever haunt the planet. Rather, I want to share how I still prefer to apply the “straight, no chaser” motto to other areas of my life. I prefer when loved ones are straightforward, blunt, and honest with me about tough stuff and hardship rather than trying to gloss over the truth or protect me from pain. Even though I have been in recovery for years, some of my loved ones have continued to worry that I will relapse upon hearing bad or heartbreaking news, as though I was some sort of wounded dove with the word “fragile” stamped on my forehead.

    Of course, they had good reason to think that I couldn’t handle upsetting news. Every time a hardship, breakup, or something unsettling in my life happened, I wound up in the psych ward, detox, ER, or a bloody, tear-filled mess. I categorized people as either “normies” or “addicts and crazies” because it was easier than embracing the messy complexity of human beings. In my mind I was broken. Normal people went to the gym, spa, or the mall when they were troubled. But those options didn’t work quickly enough to soothe my mercurial temperament and smooth my edges. I labeled myself as a crazy addict, so I went straight to the liquor store or to the organic grocery store (ironically this was where my dealers were, standing outside with signs reading: “needs money, anything helps”).

    If you’re someone who struggles with addiction, you understand this self-destructive pattern. It’s hard to deal with “life on life’s terms,” as they say in the program. When stressful life events happen, we often turn to our familiar coping mechanisms. In fact, the National Institute of Drug Abuse found that up to 60 percent of people relapse within their first year of recovery. 

    There is a constellation of reasons that people relapse. Studies have found that being exposed to stresses that originally caused someone to excessively drink or use drugs is a major trigger for relapse. Another study found that patients with alcohol and opioid dependence were most likely to relapse when they had a family history of substance use and high number of relapses, used maladaptive coping strategies, and also had “undesirable life events.”

    I can relate as I had my share of undesirable life events this past year. Even though I’ve been clean for a few years, I still felt a massive urge to use after hearing about the death of my god-daughter and, on a less serious note, a heartbreaking romantic let-down.

    These events were handled very differently. The morning after my god-daughter died, my mom called and told me the tragic news. She wanted to make sure I heard it from her directly rather than passively finding out about the death on social media. Although this was devastating news, I appreciated that she was direct and real with me.

    What really triggered my cravings was ambiguity and a romantic disappointment. Although we broke up a few years ago after I relapsed, I still consider my ex one of my best friends. We text every single day and I even stayed with him for five days when I was visiting Portland in December. He let me sleep in his bed while he slept on the couch. Wrapping myself in his blankets, I was comforted by his familiar smell of Camel cigarettes and Old Spice. Although the visit was platonic, there were moments when I felt a possible rekindling of our romantic relationship.

    He paid for all my meals, opened doors to restaurants, and even took me to the Oregon Museum of Mental Health in Salem where I researched an essay. Okay, maybe going to a museum of mental health isn’t exactly a hot date, but the fact that he was willing to take me felt positive. He also talked about taking a road trip together in his new BMW coupe, laughing at how when we had been together he drove a Buick and we barely made ends meet. I reminded myself that my intention for this visit was to make amends in person for spinning him in my addictive chaotic orbit and leaving him in the wreckage of our relationship. Yet I still got my hopes up that we would get back together and I wrote him a long letter proclaiming my feelings for him.

    He never responded. He faded away from me, and his texts became infrequent and vague. He said that he was busy and stressed with work. Finally, he admitted to our mutual friend that he had a girlfriend but was afraid to tell me because I was “constantly on the verge of suicide” and he was worried about relapse.

    I was crushed, but at the same time I sort of understood his perspective. He knew the story of my old self. I had shown him in the past that I couldn’t handle such rejection or disappointment.

    So how do we deal with the tough stuff in recovery? Amanda Decker, a Licensed Addiction Counselor (LAC) and Licensed Professional Counselor (LPC) in Fargo, North Dakota, explained: “There will be growing pains throughout the ebb and flow of recovery. It’s hard knowing how to deal with life without drugs or alcohol but it’s helpful to remember that perspective shifts over time. It also helps to develop hobbies and interests. When people in recovery can embrace these things, drugs and alcohol become white noise in the background.”

    Decker suggested developing a “pre-emptive” relapse prevention plan by thinking about how to handle life stressors without alcohol or drugs. If we are in the position of telling difficult or uncomfortable news to a family member or friend who is in recovery, Decker advises: “As an addiction counselor, I’ve had to tell my group about a fellow group member who has overdosed. The first thing I did was to be direct and be present with my group members who were struggling in that moment. There will be a lot of grief and sadness that we have to learn to cope with.”

    The truth is that hardship, tragedy, and disappointment are parts of life that we have to learn how to come to terms with in recovery. We have to start embracing and seeing the shades of wellness and addiction rather than labeling things “normal” or “crazy.” It’s hard to tell a different story about ourselves, it’s even harder to break the story that others have about us. But I have faith in myself and I have faith in you, my fellow humans in recovery. For we are resilient, brave survivors, not fragile wounded doves.

    View the original article at thefix.com