So today I went to the doctors and picked up my repeat prescription for Acamprosate (Campral). And, whilst walking to the chemist to get it fulfilled I decided not to.
Time to stop.
So I have a prescription available and I was going to make it my last and then wean myself off gradually, to make sure I don’t get any side effects coming off; and to make sure the cravings don’t come back. Because that scares me. It’s hard enough as it is and so even if the pills work as a placebo I don’t care…they have worked for me.
But I changed my mind, and to make it final, I kicked away the crutches and tore up the prescription.
A quick search around the Internet revealed nothing about what to expect when coming off them so I have no idea what to expect. The only information I found was the standard “check with your Doctor first”, sounds advice of course. Which I am ignoring.
So I don’t know what will happen but I’ll post here, in part for myself, but mostly because I was surprised I didn’t find anything out there telling me what to expect. So maybe it will help someone else. I actually expect nothing to change physically but then again I have been on 4-a-day for over 1 year now, so who knows.
So in 6 days time I run out… I will no longer be taking any medication at all to deal with, well anything. If not sooner; by this time next week I will not be on any medication at all and it will be time to stand alone in my recovery without any real or imagined support from the medical world.
Counselling ended months ago, and now it’s time to move on from medication.
“There will be no more pills. There will be no more bad food. No more destroyers of my body. From now on it will be total organization. Every muscle must be tight.” –Robert De Niro as Travis Bickle
The winds of change blow through our life, sometimes gently, sometimes like a tropical storm. Yes, we have resting places – time to adjust to another level of living, time to get our balance, time to enjoy the rewards. We have time to catch our breath.
But change is inevitable, and desirable.
Sometimes, when the winds of change begin to rustle, we’re not certain the change is for the better. We may call it stress or a temporary condition, certain we’ll be restored to normal. Sometimes, we resist. We tuck our head down and buck the wind, hoping that things will quickly calm down, get back to the way things were. Is it possible we’re being prepared for a new “normal”?
Change will sweep through our life, as needed, to take us where we’re going. We can trust that process, even when we don’t know where the changes are leading.
We can trust that the change-taking place is good. The wind will take us where we need to go.
Today, help me be open to the process. Help me believe that the place I’ll be dropped off will be better than the place where I was picked up. Help me trust, and accept, even if I don’t understand.
There’s a lot of philosophical debate over what it actually means to “be happy,” but if you’re looking for concrete answers, it can leave you wanting. Here’s what scientific research says happiness is, and—perhaps more importantly—what it isn’t.
It is a striking fact that in every Indo-European language, without exception, going all the way back to ancient Greek, the word for happiness is a cognate with the word for luck… What does this linguistic pattern suggest? For a good many ancient peoples—and for many others long after that—happiness was not something you could control.
This kind of thinking is actually still pretty common today. A lot of people assume that being happy means that you’re fortunate, your life was blessed, or that you’re just one lucky son of a gun. We know that it’s possible to create some luck, but positive psychology, in combination with other scientific fields like neurology, has made a lot of headway in finding out what causes happiness, and that we do have some control over it.
Observation & experience sampling: Capturing people in a moment of their daily lives. “How happy are you feeling when you’re doing the dishes, when at work, etc.”
Cross-sectional/correlation studies: Survey studies where people answer a bunch of questions about how they feel at one moment in time.
Longitudinal studies: When people’s lives are studied over time to find the trajectory of a happy life.
Experimental studies: Experiments that allow the pinpointing of causal relationships between happiness and outside sources.
That’s fine and dandy, but how does one actually measure happiness? The answer is remarkably simple (and imperfect): self-reporting. Usually these studies will ask questions like “How satisfied are you with your life?” and “On a daily basis, what kind of positive and negative emotions are you feeling?” There are no energy outputs to measure, or happiness midichlorians to count in your bloodstream. They simply use surveys to ask study participants if they’re happy at a specific moment in time.
It may sound wishy-washy, but it’s the best we have. The only person that can say whether you’re feeling happy or not is you. That means you’re the most reliable tool for measuring your own levels of happiness (at least for now). These self-reports can be made as a one-time survey, during experience sampling (pinging participants on their phones randomly with “what are you doing?” and “how happy are you feeling right now?”), or sometimes reported by others through behavioral indicators (particularly beneficial for studying infants and children).
Traits: “I am an enthusiastic and positive person.”
Emotions: “I feel gratitude and appreciation.”
Sensations: “It feels good to sit in this hot tub.”
All four of those things are somewhat synonymous with happiness, and it allows study participants to more thoroughly identify what kind of happiness they’re experiencing (or lacking). Someone’s overall life satisfaction and well-being is usually what researchers use these methods to study the most, but to get a good picture of someone’s happiness, all conceptual domains need to be considered. For example, knowing that someone with a high level of life satisfaction also regularly feels gratitude and spends time in a hot tub could be helpful in determining correlations and, perhaps somewhere down the road, causation.
The combination of the two is what makes up your subjective well-being. Your “happiness level” at any given time is equal to your Satisfaction with Life score plus your PANAS score. Of course, your happiness fluctuates, so your score only measures how happy you’re feeling at that point in time. You can take the questionnaires multiple times to see a more average score over days or months. With the knowledge of how science explores happiness, you can begin to paint the picture of how psychological science actually defines it (and how you can use that to help yourself become happier).
As we discuss this, however, know that there has been some controversy in the psychological studies field as of late. A recent, massive study known as the Reproducibility Project, and published in full in the journal Science, found very few psychological studies could be reproduced with similar results. Of course, The New York Times notes that the main focuses of this study were on studies conducted on learning, memory, and cognition, not happiness studies or other branches of positive psychology. It’s always good to bear in mind that no matter what studies might suggest, the results aren’t ever set in stone.
One of the misconceptions about happiness is that happiness is being cheerful, joyous, and content all the time; always having a smile on your face. It’s not—being happy and leading rich lives is about taking the good with the bad, and learning how to reframe the bad.
You can experience negative feelings and overall happiness with your life at the exact same time. In fact, learning how to do that is essential to being a happier person.
The Limitations of Pursuing Happiness
So we know how science defines happiness, but that’s only the first half of the equation. The more important question is: Can you become happier? The short answer is yes, but save for prescription medications designed to adjust chemical imbalances, there’s no “magic pill” for it. It takes some conscious effort, and even then, there are some limitations.
First, you probably have a genetically determined set range for happiness. That means, as Sonja Lyubomirsky, Ph.D., at University of California, Riverside, explains, that your inherited genes may be what keeps you at your current, or “chronic,” state of happiness. If you come from a long line of melancholic people, you might just be kind of a melancholic person. Your genes might also set a maximum limit for how happy you can ever be. Essentially, your happiness is part of your personality, part of who you are. According to Lyubomirsky, longitudinal studies have shown people’s happiness remain quite stable over the course of their lives, so nothing is going to shoot you from being miserable to the happiest person alive.
The important thing is not what therapy you follow but that you stay grounded in common sense, and whatever therapy or therapies you’re pursuing, you ask yourself repeatedly, have I reached my limit? Has this taken me as far as I’m going to go? So that you don’t get stuck in the “if I did it better” or “if I did it longer” or “if I found a better therapist.” And it’s more, “Has this taken me as far as I’m going to go, and what am I going to do now?”
Remember, you have a limit that you can’t control. Don’t beat yourself up about it, you’re just being yourself. Instead of trying to force yourself to be happy, Catalino advises you simply reflect on the moments and activities that give you joy. So stop trying so hard.
The Common Factors of the Happiest People
The truth is, real happiness and contentment isn’t a single thing. It’s a culmination of genetics, feelings, personality, emotions, and other life variables and circumstances. The dirty little secret about happiness is that researchers are still debating about it, and we don’t know exactly what it is. But research does give us a pretty good idea of what happiness looks like, at least. Even though everyone has their own limitations, there are things you can do to strive for your personal maximum level of happiness.
Positive Emotion: Peace, gratitude, satisfaction, pleasure, inspiration, hope, curiosity, and love fall into this category.
Engagement: Losing ourselves to a task or project that provides us with a sense of “disappeared time” because we are so highly engaged.
Relationships: People who have meaningful, positive relationships with others are happier than those who do not.
Meaning: Meaning comes from serving a cause bigger than ourselves. Whether a religion or a cause that helps humanity in some way, we all need meaning in our lives.
Accomplishment/Achievement: To feel significant life satisfaction, we must strive to better ourselves in some way.
There’s still a lot for us to learn when it comes to the science of happiness, but research has so far proven that there’s more to it than luck. Yes, you can be dealt a worse hand than others, but how you play it really is up to you. In fact, many researchers would argue that it’s not even about how you play the cards, but about finding a way to enjoy the playing of the game no matter what.
On Tuesday, it will be a year since I last had a drink: 365 days of not doing the thing that characterised my adult life from the ages of 13 to 43. This is a sentence I never imagined I would write. For 30 years, booze was not only my great love, but my life’s principal purpose. It was the thing that I prioritised above all else: friends, family (damn it, it was how I dealt with family), certainly love.
Alcohol may have got me into relationships, but it just as quickly boomeranged me out of them. People may want to be with the girl dancing on the table, but she loses her appeal when her lack of recall puts them in a permanent Groundhog Day. At this point, I would like to apologise to the man I lived with briefly in my 30s. But, then, he drank, too, and there were times when it tipped us into Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? territory. With other lovers, it merely meant that I absented myself – forever focused on the next glass – present, but never there.
In theory, I put work ahead of alcohol. But, then, work appeared to necessitate booze – the bonding over a warm pub red, stress drowned out by medicinal martinis. I never drank in the day because only by night could one truly let rip. Still, how often did I write hung-over? Mostly. How often did I write still hammered? More than I care to admit: exuberance wearing thin as afternoon approached.
My drinking began young because I looked old. At 14, I could order a round in school uniform and be asked whether it was wear-your-uniform-to-work day. I had been too awkward, self-conscious and antagonistic to want an infant social life. However, as a teen, alcohol propelled me from introvert to extrovert, and extrovert is what I wanted to remain. Under the influence, I felt fluent, invincible, intoxicated, in the literal and metaphorical senses.
And, yet, even as an adolescent, there were danger signs. My tolerance was Herculean, a subject of pride, but of no less peril. The first time I really put it away – half a bottle of gin at the age of 14 – I had what I now realise was an extended walking-talking blackout. Oblivious, I put this down to lack of sleep. One Easter, I joked that I had stigmata on my palms. My doctor father informed me that they were more likely to be liver spots. And how I dined – or rather drank – out on that story.
For the next three decades, I loved liquor and it appeared to love me. I was smitten by the people and the paraphernalia, the venues and the venery; the look, scent, sound, touch and taste of the thing; the fizzing up nostrils and dank aftertastes. I relished the nihilism with which it knocked the world off its axis so that only the next drink mattered; the way it suppressed emotion and released it; the heady oblivion it brought.
I adored the very language used to describe this state, much of it kinetically Anglo-Saxon: trolleyed, ratted, sloshed, ripped, wiped, shot, smashed, blasted, blitzed, skulled, guttered, loaded, plastered, wrecked, trashed, slaughtered, wasted, hammered. Normal life was dull, booze life heroic. I craved the adventure, the emphatic loathings and fallings in lust, everything full on and full speed.
I loved others on drink. Smashed sex was clearly what sex was – being out of one’s head the way into one’s body. But, mostly, I loved myself: bolder, brighter, more coruscating, and thus obviously happier, or that was the idea. Not later that night, of course, when 4am paranoia kicked in. Certainly not the next morning, brain short-circuited, life curtailed. Not generally, what with my existence fixed in one small, staggering circle, in which nothing was ever confronted, or changed.
For, increasingly, there were things I did not love. The “scrapes” I got into in my 20s were less amusing in my 40s; moments in which I injured myself, alienated friends, and subjected myself to dismal humiliation. The “lost time” (never “blackouts”) that startled me in my early 30s became my routine way of getting home. And I was tired – stultifyingly, deadeningly tired.
But, then, friends inflicted on themselves the same and worse: UDIs (A&E code for unidentified drinking injuries); a litany of unremembered sexual encounters; sleeping rough after losing bag, phone and keys; episodes in which they soiled themselves. All of these people are middle-class, educated and hold down “good jobs”. Many are also parents, some of these narratives relayed by their infant children.
My epiphany came after I found myself on an inadvertent bender that started at 11am and ended asleep in a friend’s bath. When I add that the bender in question was a christening, you will begin to perceive the enormity of said spree. A summer of hell-raising had left me resembling Vegas-era Elvis Presley. I was leadenly unhappy, the heftiest I had ever been, unable to be around others without being a bottle down, and entirely unable to sleep.
And so, on September 15, I stopped – booze and caffeine – for an experimental three months. The first few days seemed Sisyphean. The brief moments of sleep I managed to snatch were so grotesquely night terror-filled that I would wake sobbing. I was dazed, moody, tearful; throat sore, glands swollen, tongue furred; pink-eyed, my eyelashes moulting.
For 15 days, I barely slept, then, finally – rest, a lifetime’s worth: the sleep lavish, dense, clotted; the stuff of fairy tales, engulfing me the moment my head touched the pillow. I still had nightmares, but they felt further away somehow, less of a psychotic hangover into my waking life.
People asked whether I would be able to do it, and I thought, “Pah,” stubbornness and obsessive-compulsive disorder taking hold. Everything was uncharted territory: how to socialise, relax, dine, be around family, have sex, and endure Downton Abbey sober. It wasn’t easy, but it was 100,000 times less difficult than I had imagined. I kept a sobriety journal, having always been repulsed by diary keeping. I did not attend AA, resisting the requisite “higher power”, but listened to innumerable AA-inspired podcasts. I worked at it because sobriety is work.
As 90 days approached, it was obvious that temperance had transformed not merely my insomnia, but my entire existence. Christmas morning marked 100 days. Everyone encouraged me to celebrate with a glass of fizz. Everyone apart from another drunk, who cautioned: “Do you want a glass? Two glasses even?” He was right – I wanted a bottle, more – so none has carried on being the better option.
The advantages have been legion. For a start, the sleep: I must never forget the sleep. Although, curiously, I tend to, as so many other benefits began vying for supremacy. At the most superficial level, I shed weight – and fast – a mortifying stone and a half. I also lost my booze face: skin hollowed and shrunken about the cheeks and eyes, yet bloated and overblown as a whole, dulled, panda-eyed, parched.
Alas, I never experienced the flood of energy that reformed boozehounds enthuse about. That said, not being permanently hung-over is never not a perk. Life is calmer, more plodding, more genuinely lifelike than the epic, all-or-nothing existence I had contrived for myself. Bores are now so intolerably boring that I have to avoid certain social encounters. However, interesting people are more fascinating than ever because now I can pay attention. While I’ll always be mercurial, I am no longer careering between the abject and the giddy.
At 90 days, I met someone with whom I have been able to enjoy my first sober, thus adult, relationship. He is moderate in all things except his love and support. If I had been drinking, we would not even have spoken. I would have dismissed his not being drunk as dullness; he would have shunned my histrionics. Yet, he may be the love of my not-so young life.
At 98 days, my mother was diagnosed with a sudden, fatally vicious cancer, and, for the last six months of her life, my abstinence meant I could give her my full attention. There were times when I longed to get smashed and blot it all out. Three months after her death, there are still times when I long to get smashed and blot it all out. However, my gratitude for being able to be present for her remains unbounded. I would have given 30 years’ carousing for one sober night’s watch over her bed.
I am writing this because it is not just my story. The way I drank is the way ever more of us drink, women not least. Every fresh news story about alcohol confirms that professionals drink dangerously, people over 50 drink dangerously, our entire society drinks with an abandoned, kamikaze glee. It has been difficult explaining my metamorphosis because listeners tend to say: “Oh, you weren’t a drunk – that’s just normal.” And it is.
People refer to our culture as “alcogenic”. It isn’t, it is alcophiliac. Drink is not merely the socially acceptable addiction, but the socially approved fix. Alcohol is how our society detaches itself from stress, be it the angst of work or parenthood. It is how it celebrates and mourns, marks the holiday and the everyday. Millions of people – like me – come under the category “functional alcoholic”, as if the “functional” somehow negates the disease.
What it won’t negate are its effects: cirrhosis, pancreatitis, cardiovascular issues, cancer, dementia, strokes, fits, diabetes, reproductive problems and depression. Excessive drinking costs the NHS £2.8 billion a year, excessive defined as beyond the recommended three or four units of alcohol per day for men, two or three for women. No one I have ever met drinks so little. Meanwhile, research by the Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD) found that the average drinker would live longer if they avoided just one small glass of wine a week.
When I say “like me”, I am referring not only to my class but also my gender. Time was when fat was a feminist issue. Today it’s booze. Everyone’s fat, but women drink with a recklessness that suggests mother’s ruin has been transformed into mother’s little helper. The same OECD study revealed that the more educated British women are, the more slaughtered they are likely to be. And it’s killing us: the number of females aged 34 and under dying from alcohol-related conditions has more than doubled since the Eighties, and among professional women of every age the figure is up by a quarter.
I am not evangelical. I still have drink in my home. I take champagne to parties, and wish these were festivities in which I could play a part. I still want alcohol – I will always want alcohol – and I am trying to fathom an identity without it. I may not dance on tables, but continue to boast the loudest laugh in any room. I simply have to find other outlets for my largesse.
If my tone sounds uncelebratory, well, that’s about the sum of it. My reaction a year on reminds me of TS Eliot’s “Journey of the Magi”: a “cold coming”, hard, thankless, the benefits of which may be grudging, yet vital. I think of the poem’s close: “…this Birth was/Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death./We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,/But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,/With an alien people clutching their gods./I should be glad of another death.”
Eyes soberly open – the culture about me defamiliarised – it strikes me as bizarre that alcophilia should be a religion among men and women for whom drugs, smoking, junk food, and mere lack of movement would be viewed as unacceptable. It may have taken 30 years, but finally I have reached my limit. This is one celebration for which I will not be raising a glass.
SAMHSA has come up with a working definition of recovery and they say there are four major dimensions that support a life in recovery:
Health: overcoming or managing one’s disease(s) or symptoms—for example, abstaining from use of alcohol, illicit drugs, and non-prescribed medications if one has an addiction problem—and for everyone in recovery, making informed, healthy choices that support physical and emotional wellbeing.
Home: a stable and safe place to live;
Purpose: meaningful daily activities, such as a job, school, volunteerism, family caretaking, or creative endeavors, and the independence, income and resources to participate in society; and
Community: relationships and social networks that provide support, friendship, love, and hope.
Recovery emerges from hope: The belief that recovery is real provides the essential and motivating message of a better future – that people can and do overcome the internal and external challenges, barriers, and obstacles that confront them. Hope is internalized and can be fostered by peers, families, providers, allies, and others. Hope is the catalyst of the recovery process.
Recovery is person-driven: Self-determination and self-direction are the foundations for recovery as individuals define their own life goals and design their unique path(s) towards those goals. Individuals optimize their autonomy and independence to the greatest extent possible by leading, controlling, and exercising choice over the services and supports that assist their recovery and resilience. In so doing, they are empowered and provided the resources to make informed decisions, initiate recovery, build on their strengths, and gain or regain control over their lives.
Recovery occurs via many pathways: Individuals are unique with distinct needs, strengths, preferences, goals, culture, and backgrounds: including trauma experiences that affect and determine their pathway(s) to recovery. Recovery is built on the multiple capacities, strengths, talents, coping abilities, resources, and inherent value of each individual. Recovery pathways are highly personalized. They may include professional clinical treatment; use of medications; support from families and in schools; faith-based approaches; peer support; and other approaches. Recovery is non-linear, characterized by continual growth and improved functioning that may involve setbacks. Because setbacks are a natural, though not inevitable, part of the recovery process, it is essential to foster resilience for all individuals and families. Abstinence from the use of alcohol, illicit drugs, and non-prescribed medications is the goal for those with addictions. Use of tobacco and non-prescribed or illicit drugs is not safe for anyone. In some cases, recovery pathways can be enabled by creating a supportive environment. This is especially true for children, who may not have the legal or developmental capacity to set their own course.
Recovery is holistic: Recovery encompasses an individual’s whole life, including mind, body, spirit, and community. This includes addressing: self-care practices, family, housing, employment, education, clinical treatment for mental disorders and substance use disorders, services and supports, primary healthcare, dental care, complementary and alternative services, faith, spirituality, creativity, social networks, transportation, and community participation. The array of services and supports available should be integrated and coordinated.
Recovery is supported by peers and allies: Mutual support and mutual aid groups, including the sharing of experiential knowledge and skills, as well as social learning, play an invaluable role in recovery. Peers encourage and engage other peers and provide each other with a vital sense of belonging, supportive relationships, valued roles, and community. Through helping others and giving back to the community, one helps one’s self. Peer-operated supports and services provide important resources to assist people along their journeys of recovery and wellness. Professionals can also play an important role in the recovery process by providing clinical treatment and other services that support individuals in their chosen recovery paths. While peers and allies play an important role for many in recovery, their role for children and youth may be slightly different. Peer supports for families are very important for children with behavioral health problems and can also play a supportive role for youth in recovery.
Recovery is supported through relationship and social networks: An important factor in the recovery process is the presence and involvement of people who believe in the person’s ability to recover; who offer hope, support, and encouragement; and who also suggest strategies and resources for change. Family members, peers, providers, faith groups, community members, and other allies form vital support networks. Through these relationships, people leave unhealthy and/or unfulfilling life roles behind and engage in new roles (e.g., partner, caregiver, friend, student, employee) that lead to a greater sense of belonging, personhood, empowerment, autonomy, social inclusion, and community participation.
Recovery is culturally-based and influenced: Culture and cultural background in all of its diverse representations including values, traditions, and beliefs are keys in determining a person’s journey and unique pathway to recovery. Services should be culturally grounded, attuned, sensitive, congruent, and competent, as well as personalized to meet each individual’s unique needs.
Recovery is supported by addressing trauma: The experience of trauma (such as physical or sexual abuse, domestic violence, war, disaster, and others) is often a precursor to or associated with alcohol and drug use, mental health problems, and related issues. Services and supports should be trauma-informed to foster safety (physical and emotional) and trust, as well as promote choice, empowerment, and collaboration.
Recovery involves individual, family, and community strengths and responsibility: Individuals, families, and communities have strengths and resources that serve as a foundation for recovery. In addition, individuals have a personal responsibility for their own self-care and journeys of recovery. Individuals should be supported in speaking for themselves. Families and significant others have responsibilities to support their loved ones, especially for children and youth in recovery. Communities have responsibilities to provide opportunities and resources to address discrimination and to foster social inclusion and recovery. Individuals in recovery also have a social responsibility and should have the ability to join with peers to speak collectively about their strengths, needs, wants, desires, and aspirations.
Recovery is based on respect: Community, systems, and societal acceptance and appreciation for people affected by mental health and substance use problems – including protecting their rights and eliminating discrimination – are crucial in achieving recovery. There is a need to acknowledge that taking steps towards recovery may require great courage. Self-acceptance, developing a positive and meaningful sense of identity, and regaining belief in one’s self are particularly important.
Once you understand the definition, it’s time to move on to the solution to the problem. That is one thing that has not changed. If you have a problem with drugs and alcohol, you need to get help. Once you get help, you will need to practice recovery for the rest of your life.
As a kid it’s a treat; as an adolescent you buy lots of it and eat it because it’s lovely. As an adult it’s a treat, it’s a comfort and indulgence.
It’s only chocolate and everybody loves chocolate.
Everybody loves chocolate, there’s nothing wrong with that. It’s sometimes funny that people eat too much. There are cute pictures all over the Internet of young children with chocolate smeared all round their face. its funny isn’t it. There is nothing wrong with it it’s chocolate.
It’s only chocolate and everybody loves chocolate.
Chocolate is cheap; it’s widely available and comes in lots of different yummy yummy flavours and formats. You can get it at the corner shop, you can get it at the supermarket, you can get it in restaurants, petrol stations…it’s everywhere.
Which is great, because it’s only chocolate and everybody loves chocolate.
You can have it in breakfast cereals, you can have it in a spicy chilli for lunch, you can have a chocolate dessert, you can have a snack…anytime, any place.
It’s only chocolate and everybody loves chocolate.
You can have it in the car, in the park, walking along the street. You can have it in everywhere any time in any way it takes your fancy. You can have it at work, on the bus, in the evening sitting on the sofa watching the TV.
It’s only chocolate and everybody loves chocolate.
But you can have too much of it and if you do it leaves you feeling sick. It becomes the daily treat that if you over indulged you feel bad about yourself. You wake up in the morning and think I wish I hadn’t eaten so much chocolate.
But it’s only chocolate and everybody loves chocolate.
And a little bit of what you love is good for you right? Everyone knows a little bit is a lovely treat.
I actually get a little apprehensive if my secret chocolate store in the kitchen cupboard is getting low. If it’s on a special deal at the supermarket then I’ll buy it in bulk, just in case. It will get eaten eventually.
It’s only chocolate and everybody loves chocolate.
But too much, and I can really make you ill and I mean seriously seriously ill. Sick in the morning, long-term medical conditions needing treatment every day, mood swings, depression, guilt, denial.
But it’s only chocolate and everybody loves chocolate.
Today I woke up and I felt sick.
Today I woke up feeling bad about how much chocolate I had binged on to make myself feel better.
Today I woke up with regrets.
But it’s only chocolate and everybody loves chocolate.
And now replaced the word chocolate with alcohol.
We have a problem. A new problem. A different substance, same addiction pattern.
The sponsor is supposed to not only be a person to guide you through the AA program, but to also be there to listen.
Being able to rely on a sympathetic ear can be particularly important when the individual feels on the verge of relapse. Choosing the right sponsor is important, because otherwise the relationship could prove to be disastrous.
Well that sounds like me, so into the breech I go….no pressure on either side of course!
Sponsorship has been an important element from AA right from the beginning. The founding members realised that that the thing that was keeping them sober was helping other people. In fact the organisation originated from one alcoholic reaching out to help another. At the time Bill Wilson was struggling to stay sober on his own. He was on the verge of relapse when he got the idea of helping another alcoholic. He rang around the local hospitals looking for suitable candidates and found Dr Bob – their meeting is considered to be the birth of AA.
The focus in AA meetings is on members supporting each other. Simply belonging to such a group can be enough to help the member to stay free of addiction, but many find they benefit from a one-to-one relationship with a sponsor. It can be easier to share things with a trusted individual, rather than with a whole group of people. This is why the tradition of sponsorship remains strong and this type of service in recovery benefits both parties because such work keeps the sponsor strong and committed to sobriety.
Well it all sounds very promising, and hard work.
To my mind though, the sole object of the sponsor is to pass on what saved his or her sorry ass to someone who might benefit. Sharing other parts of life isn’t really part of the job description.
Change of scene has no effect upon unconscious conflicts.
–Edmund Bergler, M.D.
There’s no running away from the internal strife. Whatever haunts us must finally be confronted and resolved if we’re ever to grow and thus contribute to our world its due. When we keep secrets locked away, the secrets begin to keep us locked away as well.
It is folly, and yet entirely human, to think a new location, a new job, a new lover will cure whatever troubles us. The truth is, however, that whatever trips us up is at the same time trying to edge us forward to new awareness, and thus the next level of growth.
Our troubles are tools for a strengthened foundation. Without them, we’d soon crumble.
When we consider the conflicts we encounter as opportunities for further development, they excite us rather than provoke anxiety. Changing our perspective can make the same scene appear quite new.
That’s all it took, those few words. I couldn’t shake them, I couldn’t deal with them; and all that they embodied.
Standing on a busy street in the centre of town, surrounded by people who had no idea…I slowly unravelled. I was back in a deep, dark hole, alone and with only despair and hurt. I needed a way not to feel what I was feeling. It was too much…
No meetings, no friends, no….no anything. I just wanted not to feel. I can look back now and rationalise it but now doesn’t fix then. Rationalising doesn’t help to cope, not then.
All that helps, all that used to to help; was getting wasted. And now I don’t do ‘that’, I am left trying to deal with raw emotions that I have never been able to deal with well. I tried so hard, and I have worked so hard these last 16 months that I can say I didn’t drink. I so very much wanted to. Again.
But I didn’t. But I didn’t “cope” in the way that my councillor would have wanted but honestly, fuck that right now. I didn’t drink.
Being sober, or more accurately, not drinking alcohol, is only one part of being in recovery. The bigger and sometimes harder part is learning to cope with whatever it is that made us turn to drink in the first place. For me that has always been dealing with emotions that overwhelm me.
The irony is that without the booze everything feels raw and emotions are harder to deal with. It’s like we have to learn all over gain how to process emotions. What ‘normal’ people learn as they grow up is a healthy response to feelings and emotions; that often people with addictions did not learn.
So now my son is a million miles away, for me it is one such scenario always likely to recur, and I need to be able to deal with that. And even though mostly I do, sometimes I can’t. So today I fell back on some pills but I’m ok with that. It wasn’t an everyday occasion. It could be argued it was a mundane event.
I have been missing my son, and after some ‘negotiations, I was able to get through on the phone, he was watching the TV in another country, in another language with his cousin. He asked her to turn the TV down…she didn’t. She is 4.
So it was left….”Daddy I can’t hear you very well“…and then the phone went dead.
But I play those words over and over in my head….”Daddy I can’t hear you very well“…”Daddy I can’t hear you very well“…”Daddy I can’t hear you very well“.
I could hear him in the background asking someone to turn the TV off so he wanted to speak to me. But couldn’t.
It’s the sense of complete helplessness that is so frustrating and drives me to want to drink or drug. I’m sorry to say that at no time did the words I needed to remember play over in my head.
I couldn’t accept the things I could not change. Courage and wisdom eluded me.
All the more reason for me to redouble my efforts to find new ways to cope in what I’ll call those ’emergency moments’. Strangely I can handle real emergencies fine. People having accidents, dramas and crises…I cope well with those and I am the reliable one even when many people might justifiably crumble. But I have my Achilles heel.
So the search for ‘something’ for my personal emergencies continues. What do normal people do? Pick up the phone I guess. Talk to someone, talk to a higher power?
One thing ‘normal’ people don’t do is run away or hide from feelings. Like I say, work in progress….
Play not only keeps us young but also maintains our perspective about the relative seriousness of things. Running is play, for even if we try hard to do well at it, it is a relief from everyday cares.
Running has been keeping me sane lately, when the odds have been stacked against me I’ve forced myself out onto the streets for a run.