Archive for February 2017

So today, I came across a TED talk on Youtube hosted by Johann Hari. He claimed that he did research on the topic and found out that addiction is not related to physical abuse of substances. I agree. If that was the case, everyone would be addicted who ever took heavy painkillers for a while (Hari mentioned this example). What raised my eyebrow is when he said that addiction is based on bonding issues and on the environment. He presented a study conducted by Dr. Alexander. The Rat Park experiment. That study proved that rats only tended to use drugs that were provided to them when their cages were empty. Once the cage was full with food, toys, other rats etc the rats hardly touched (or never did) the drugs because they found well...other things to do. Thus, changing the environment and having social relationships eliminate addiction...or prevents it??? Then there is the theory of developing addiction as a result of trauma.

What happened to the idea of being born with an addicted mind? How about genetic reasons? Put an addict among friends and a nice place and poof everything is fine suddenly? How come that a lot of people who experienced trauma will never become addicts? Trauma definitely impacts the possibility of developing mental illness which can lead to substance abuse. Obviously, my summary is too simplified. Maybe the addicted mind means automatic attachment style issues and that is why bonding matters. I am not an expert. However, Psychology Today analyzed the above-stated issues. Here it is.

The stress level of animals cannot be compared to the stress level of humans. So the Rat Park/Heaven study is not relevant. We can agree that humans have to face extremely complicated situations including environmental and social factors. The causes of addiction probably will remain mysterious. All we can try is doing more research.

The only reason why I wrote this post is that I do not like when someone spreads the word to millions of people while: 1.he personally never experienced addiction, 2. his ideas are based on limited research. Gosh I think I am defensive. Maybe it means that I can embrace my illness even if I fight it.

This conversation (in different forms) happened many times before and during rehab. My addicted brain raised denial-related questions to avoid change. Sure. I knew the answers...not that it mattered in the beginning.

I am not an alcoholic. I choose to drink...because I like it. Oh and I can stop anytime I want.
You are able to get rid of alcohol from your system. Choose? Want? Those are not option anymore. You have no control.

What about my problems? My problems seem less concerning when I drink.
Haha. Wrong again.You simply numb yourself with alcohol, but your problems are still there and they get worse.

Why do I need to self-medicate myself when others can deal with their issues?
Because you were born like this...
Now that is crap! Just because my counselor said that...
Where do you think he got the information? Ooops, actually you know this answer. You researched it.

I do not want to be labeled as an alcoholic for the rest of my life!
Once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic. OK the wording can be misunderstood. It is not a label, it means that you will never be able to drink safely again.
And the ones who claim that they became social drinkers or can drink in moderation after a while?
There is a very thin line between abuse and addiction. People who abuse alcohol might achieve this. Alcoholics? No. Sorry. Remember, you researched this as well.
There are alcoholics who still say they could do it.
They say. Miracles happen. Or they are not honest. Does that ring a bell?

Let's say I start the recovery process. How could I forgive myself for all the crap I did to others?
Hard stuff. It will probably take sleepless nights and several years but it is possible. We all know that we cannot change the past.
Exactly, so how could those people forgive me?
Asking for forgiveness is your task; their reaction is not your concern. If you can accept this, you will forgive yourself because you will understand that it is the only way. Call your Creator, she/he/it will be glad to assist you with unconditional love.

So? I always followed spiritual paths...What am I supposed to do???

Shut up and listen! 😉

I got used to the daily routine and the discipline. I always needed discipline because I could not discipline myself which is a common characteristic among addicted individuals. It is not our fault and it is not something that others do not lack. We just have different reactions to it. It sounds weird but I liked the open doors, the nurses who checked on us during the night, and the entire schedule. My favorite was the homework time. I wrote in my journal that included describing plans. It also encouraged us to be honest with ourselves and study the background of addiction. I loved taking notes during the therapy sessions. Rating our days and evenings also offered insights about our progress. When I rated one morning as a 10, I received a standing ovation. It was a big deal and did not happen very often.

Every single day I met my psychiatrist. Usually for 5 minutes. He only prescribed medication but he was there if I wanted to talk. My physician completed blood tests regularly. My results happily screamed at me saying that they were fantastic. I almost hugged the doctor because I was afraid that my health hid nasty secrets of liver disease or other illnesses. However, it was annoying that the nurses refused to give me simple Tylenol for my aching neck unless I consulted with my doctor. It was pretty uncomfortable in the middle of the night when the doctors were not available. Ah well, I got an ice pack...

The daily AA meetings were confusing to the entire group, Many of us knew the program and previously attended meetings outside. The issue was the sharing part. We agreed that it was useless because it seemed forced especially when we had volunteer AA visitors who acted as they were little leaders (of course there are no leaders in AA..well not normally). We rather shared when we were coloring, walking to the cafeteria or hanging out on the corridors. Those precious conversations meant the world to me.

I learned the most from my fellows. Their thoughts, experiences, and personal stories helped me to realize how similar we were to each other. Knowing that I was not simply crazy or lost provided serenity and motivation to change. On the other hand, sometimes I felt like I had two different personalities. How could I laugh and joke around when I felt lonely and scared? Did I cover my face with a mask?

Soon I became aware that my soul tried to defeat and save itself in the same time. I thought that my fight started before rehab. Nope. I stepped on the battlefield when I entered the program. My insanity was attacked by an awakening sanity. My maladaptive thoughts had strong and deep roots that I intended to dig up. But all the new information made my mind sweat. Thank god it did not stink...

Insomnia remained a concerning issue for several days. I stopped caring and I focused on the days. The activities and group meetings were awesome. I learned to love rehab in no time. I especially loved coloring and yoga. I started coloring about three years ago. It was relaxing. Of course I gave it up just like everything else. Drinking won the „relax contest”. Yoga was my friend for a while as well. Unfortunately, it joined the group of losers of my alcoholic life. We also watched movies once in a while and gained knowledge about different cognitive behavioral therapies. As I mentioned, the people in the group were friendly, understanding, and protective. They got my back no matter what. Crying and laughing together was liberating.

On the third day, the nurses smiled at me and announced that I am going to move into another room where a roommate was waiting for me. Wow. I immediately threw a little tantrum deep inside. I complained but it didn’t help. My evil cheerleader – who appeared on my left shoulder right after I was born – whispered in my ear: “You do not want a roommate. You will not be able to handle her. You will fail to fall asleep again.” My dangerous imagination screened awful movies of fear in my head. All the joy I experienced behind the hospital walls faded away. Until the evening. My roommate did not feel good. She arrived on the same day I did; she slept for two days. The only thing I knew about her was her name and her choice of poison which was alcohol. I tried to feed my inner night owl in order to avoid sleeping. At one point, I had to give up. I crawled into bed and looked at her. Her face was troubled and her side of the room was messy because she did not have time or energy to put her stuff away. I actually felt calm. It surprised me. I had to admit that having another human being next to me was quite nice.

I could sleep!

Next day we started talking. She was honest and shared her thoughts and feelings with me. I did the same. We became friends…forever.

In a recent post I wrote that I chose to go to rehab after nothing else worked. Whoa, I was scared (who wouldn’t be? I admire everyone who takes this step.) H. and my sponsor almost had to push me toward the door. Once I was in I calmed down. That is exactly how I feel when I go to the dentist. A nurse asked me thousands of questions and I got some food and water which was really nice of her. After I got into the rehab center everything went crazy fast: vitamin shot in my butt, extra pillow and blanket, friendly people around me, dinner at the cafeteria, AA meeting. I received my belongings as well...well...half of my stuff was missing. I carefully packed. I reviewed the website of the hospital that explained the rules: no phone, no glass, no plastic, no metal etc. Obviously I did not pay enough attention to the guidelines. When they took away my deodorant because one of the ingredients was alcohol, I freaked out. What would I do with it? Eat it?? Actually some people tried that in the past 😟 Same with cue tips. I heard that someone shoved it in his ear until it started bleeding. Eventually I accepted what they told me regarding the restrictions. They made a lot of sense.

My real fear increased once the place settled down. For a while I could not reach H. I felt lonely. The last time I had to be in a hospital environment (even if this rather looked like a motel) I was 3 years old. During this first evening I often went to the bathroom. To cry. I sat in the corner and my body shook. Not because of physical withdrawals, I was just scared. H. called me back and I begged him to pick me up. Fortunately, he successfully convinced me to stay. As I said bye to him, I teared up again. Two women from the group came over to me and gave me huge hugs. That’s when I knew that I belonged there.

The first night was more than interesting. I took Librium in case of withdrawals and Trazodone for sleeping. I was glad that I did not have a roommate. Of course I could not sleep at all. Checking on me with a flashlight every 15 minutes and checking my vitals in every 4 hours did not help. I ended up at the nursing station in the middle of the night to chat. They were happy to do it. For the rest of the night I just laid in bed praying and waiting for breakfast.

After I admitted that I am an alcoholic, I spent days of research to find options. I totally rejected the idea of Alcoholics Anonymous. Come on, what is this bullshit? Once you’re an alcoholic you will always be an alcoholic. No way. 12-step program…what for? I can fix myself. I can do it, I can do it, and only I can do it. I would like to clarify something at this point: I do NOT think that individuals with substance abuse are incapable of sobering up without programs or counseling. However, it did not work for me. I tried very hard and I failed. In my case, those attempts were the result of fighting my addicted mind. She was scared and evil. She told me to fight alone. She knew that she could trick me. While I was searching for solutions, I still kept drinking. And I kept pretending that I could win. My imagination was showing wrong pictures again. Now I can smile at myself in a loving and non-judgmental way. Here is why: I was drinking wine while I imagined a battlefield with powerful creatures that destroyed my monster. But soon I had to realize that my actions were useless. I gave up.

I started going to AA meetings. I shared my thoughts and I found a sponsor who gave me advice. Nothing changed. This was before we had to leave my mom-in-law’s house. As I mentioned, H. went to rehab. Meantime I packed up our little stuff that was placed in storage later. It was not as horrible as I imagined. What was horrible is that I had to find a new family for my precious little bird. She was part of my family for almost 9 years. My heart broke but not only because I had to give her away. Later as I became more honest with myself I had to admit that I was a terrible Mama Bird. As my alcoholism got worse, I got more impatient and angry. I often neglected her. I fed her and took her out of the cage; however, I stopped showing love. I know that part of the recovery process is forgiving. Not sure I will ever be able to forgive myself for my ugle behavior toward her.

On the day H. left the hospital, my family members dropped me off in a parking lot where H. met me. Thankfully, my mother wired us some money so we could move into a motel for few days. H. did not drink anymore. I was fascinated by the change I saw on him. I wanted to follow his path. I read the Big Book, I meditated, and I took notes. Nothing changed. Rehab became my only chance.

I became an alcoholic in the last couple of years. Wait a minute that statement is wrong. I became an alcoholic long time ago. I had cravings and I acted on them. Still, it was all right in my opinion. After my wild years I finally settled down. I met my awesome soulmate. It did not bother me that he drank too. We had a marvelous wedding then we moved the other side of the globe. Oops, we drank every single night. Who cares? I was vulnerable. The new country, the new culture, and the new traditions made me excited and stressed me out. Great reasons to immerse myself in alcohol. My husband (H. from now on) was my drinking buddy. I loved him for it.

I found a job and I created new plans. I had a lot of fun. It did not matter that I often called in sick by using ridiculous excuses so I could sleep more. It did not matter that I stopped remembering how and when I went to sleep. As a result of consuming a bottle of vodka or whiskey together, we had random fights with H. Ah but life was good. Although we had financial difficulties from the beginning, we managed to furnish and decorate our place especially for the first Christmas. We took road trips and hikes. I was also eager to start my own alternative therapy business. It never happened.

We soon had to move for several reasons. Alcohol was not one of them. We ended up living with family members who first helped us out. They did not know that we were alcoholics. I did not know either. We blamed everything else for not finding jobs and friends. Our only entertainment was sitting on the couch watching movies. Obviously with a big box of wine. We needed more and more financial assistance. We always had enough to buy more alcohol.

God gave us another chance. H. found a job and we moved into a nice apartment. I started studying. Thankfully, I never neglected studying and I was proud of myself when I graduated. The fights between me and H. continued though. They were mostly about money that kept disappearing. Finally, we had to give up our apartment; we moved back to the house where my mom-in-law lived. The relationships at home got infected. We could not communicate anymore. We were angry all the time. Doors were slammed and the police was involved in some cases. We did not socialize anymore. If we visited a nice place I could not enjoy it. Damn, I only took photos to show them off on Facebook. I believed that my side of the family and friends who lived on another continent did not suspect the reality. Of course they could sense it, they were not stupid. I fought them too. When H’s sisters decided that we needed to be kicked out of the house, we fell apart. H. went to rehab which was the best decision he could make. Now leaving the home was absolutely the right thing to do but the way they threw us out was extremely cruel. They made promises that were sugar coated by fake empathy. We agreed that we had this terrible disease of addiction. Interestingly, they simply changed their minds and ripped the promises apart. By the time H. left the rehab center we had to face the idea of homelessness.

It all began in childhood. What else is new? So I was born and raised in a European country (details are not important). I was an only child spoiled by my parents and relatives. My dad tried to challenge me from time to time. He had a great sense of humor; people loved it. So did I. My mom always protected me from whatever she thought was dangerous for me. Her love overflowed and I bathed in it even when she fought depression. We spent long vacations with my parents’ friends and families at a nice big lake. I remember how popular I was among adults. Yep, I see a pattern. Adults.

I did not have friends at all. Okay, that’s a lie. I had one friend; however, I only saw her twice a year during summer. Anyhow, I was alone most of the times. I was lonely as well. I played with imaginary friends to whom I gave personalities and voices. They were fun. I could hide behind them especially when my classmates started bullying me. The emotional and verbal abuse set me up to further develop my imagination. Then my imagination turned against me (a little). My mind exaggerated daily events in horrible ways. My mind had a magic wand. My nightmares were realistic to me. They were unrealistic to my parents…and to my psychologists. But soon I was “cured”. The nightmares passed and I learned to handle my bullies. How? I simply watched MY adults.

By the time I was eleven, I was surrounded by buddies. Some of them became my best friends. It is funny because – surprise! - they were my bullies from the past. I rose from my ashes. During the following years I became kind of famous in my small society. I wrote poems. I gained the interest of people. I got good grades. I had faith. As a teenager and young adult I saw a shiny road that the Universe laid down in front of me. I easily finished high school and enrolled in a university program (no need for bachelor’s degree in my country of origin). I became very hungry. I tried everything I could from witchcraft to wild parties. I enslaved boys. I thought I was extremely complicated and smart… I was an arrogant bitch behind the mask of the emphatic, sensitive person. And holly hell, I drank too.

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