How do you deal with your triggers? (Part 2 of 2)

In the previous article, we covered the importance of identifying triggers.

(Well, not “we”. Me really. I assume you all nodded in solemn agreement, however.)

And after the season finale of Edie Falco’s “Nurse Jackie” (yes, a T.V. show of all things), I found my own triggers bubbling to the surface as the character relapsed again and again. Hollwood poppycock or not, it was a fantastic reminder of where I’ve been. And what could still bring me down even now. Having made it to two years clean yesterday, that reaction made me want to look a li’l bit deeper at the reality of my disease. To be prepared for the enemy. And the first step to conquering daunting foes of any kind?

Knowing the enemy (or enemies, in this case).

And the antidotes against their toxic attempts to annihilate us.

So, what are the main triggers… and fixes?

Let’s start with just a few:

1.) Stress

Sensory overload and overstimulation.

Too long hours and too little income.

Fatigue from minimal sleep. The commute to work. Time – and how there’s not enough of it.

Stress can come from innumerable places. Jackie Peyton had a full time gig in a high anxiety environment, a deteriorating marriage, and at least one kinda snotty kid (from what I recall). The perfect ingredients for relapse. The thing about stress is that as your brain’s momentum builds, you stamp it down with Starbucks and try to match it with matcha lattes. Then, eventually, you blow up at someone. Might be your innocent children coming to give you a hug after your shift ends. Might be the family dog. Or the cashier at the grocery store. And it doesn’t feel good. I’ve tried to tell myself I didn’t care, they deserved it, or it didn’t matter. But deep down it always turns me into more of that kinda person I don’t like – the same one that made me need to use back in the old days in order to tolerate sharing a carnal residence with my ego’s antics. If I’m making myself miserable because of how I’m handling life and interactions with others, my tendency toward recidivism increases ridiculously. Stress may happen to us all, but if the glistening prize at the conclusion of letting it best us is potential relapse, then mayhaps it’s time to revisit our part in it. And that’s the antidote to our stress trigger: asking ourselves what exactly is stressing me out? Have I taken on too many tasks? Am I planning my days in the best way possible? Am I honestly allocating my funds in the most optimal possible way? Am I being curt with others unnecessarily? (May seem irrelevant, but whatever manner you practice in your interactions habitually gets ingrained into your self-talk later when you’re solo.) Or how about this: am I doing the natural things to cure stress that professionals suggest? Cardio? Meditation? Yoga? Bill Burr’s standup comedy routine?

(When all the others fail, laughter usually helps.)

2.) People Places and Things

In Nurse Jackie, the places (a hospital) and people (her pharmacist drug dealer) were crucial in keeping her addicted. But sometimes it spans beyond the drugs themselves long after we’ve been relieved of our chemical dependencies.

In fact, I still deal with this one. Though it’s no longer (usually) substance related, it’s still that very familiar sentiment I’d get back in addiction. That feeling where I’m on top of the world, my own woman, self-validated after beating my fastest running time, and driving home from the park I train at. Then, suddenly, he drives by. And suddenly that whole, whirling chi I’ve just spent all day fortifying, drops like a sack of turds out of a trotting horse. My vision moves from panorama to tunnel. The whole filter of my world is suddenly seen through the goggles of our history together – however brief and punctuated. What should have happened. What could’ve happened. And then, more than anything, anger at myself for still thinking about it when it’s been over for so long. (And rightfully so.) It’s the same thing I feel when I have a really bad day and think, “a green benzo waifer melting away on my tongue’d sure be nice.”

And if there was any doubt in my mind that the two are tied, the fact that that former non-drug fixation often leads to the latter desire for copious chemicals is a pretty good indicator in itself. They’re definitely linked. They travel the same brain loop. So, what’s the answer? Well, the same we were told to do after active addiction ended. Except with a new application. Your sponsor said you’d probably wanna compassionately cut the folks you used with outta your life. Along with the pipes. Or pill bottle paraphernalia. And maybe avoid that comfortably familiar little crackhouse down the street. The tough part is, however, that because it’s an ongoing thing – we have to be ready to recognize when it’s happening with non-drug stuff. And this one snuck up on me. Realizing that I was turning a person into an idea that’s imaginary, unreal, and cognitively constructed made me realize I was doing the same thing I’d done with drugs. Denial based on a fantastical idea that I could keep repeating the same behavior. The more I fueled the thought-fire of this person, the more I kept wanting to go back to them – when I’d made the decision to end the unhealthy dynamic in the first place. And much like I couldn’t successfully use drugs or alcohol – I knew I couldn’t connect with this person – even think of them – without using them to try and address some lacking in myself. (This is where I’d normally say I needed to tweak my outlook instead of cutting off innocent people; but the truth’s that they were using me too.) Thus, I have to avoid the thought. How? By remaining occupied with business that concerns my future as a self-actualized human. (And consciously trying to avoid situations where I might see said person.)

It’s so easy to lie to ourselves about people, places, and things. And the fix isn’t easy – but it’s simple – and in the form of a question: what am I fixating on lately? What have I been obsessing about? What cyclic loops is my brain leading me around in like a leather clad dungeon mistress? Shining a little awareness on that is half the battle. And when that – and redirecting my focus – fails at being sufficient, I can always hit up a meeting or call someone from the one I went to last time. Just to get it off my chest.

3.) Negative Feelings

This one’s a biggie.

Sometimes it’ll be an event. Sometimes it’ll just be (if you’re bipolar like me) that wave of hopelessness that clobbers you on the back’a your cranium, totally unprecedented. Whereas stress can turn me into a monster toward others, bad feelings from external happenstances or physiological issues (things beyond my control) can make me implode instead of explode. Or, as some call it, an anxiety attack. The best way I can describe an anxiety attack is like a black hole sounds. A solar plexus whirlpool of doom with a tornado’s rotation, and an inescapably malevolent magnetism. Once you’ve passed its event horizon, there’s no use trying to fight it. It’s a force. A demonic possession. And, once it passes, sometimes I’m fine – like the subsiding of a storm. Others, there’s still a blanket of grey with ominous rumbling overhead, threatening for more.

In the times either preceding the worst of these excursions into hell – or following them, even – I try this one tactic that I learned in early recovery when I was trying my hand at yoga and introspection and all that. And I’ll try my best to illustrate it for you, too. So, you know how when life’s shizzing on you and someone pats you on the back and says “This too shall pass”…? And how much it pisses you off? Yes. It pisses me off too. But one day, when I was in one of my deepest holes of the soul, the line kept resonating in my head. And, ever the improv artist, I tried my best to yes-and it. What I came up with, initially, was just another useless, thoughtless suggestion I always hear: “Try to think of something nice – the last time you were really, really happy.” And you’d think that’d just piss me off. Remembering all this trite advice. But then something occurred to me. If I can recall the last time I had an epic day – transcendent in it’s near-surreal is-this-even-real-life perfection – then maybe I could rewind just a bit more… and also recall a day before that ideal day… that I had a day just like this terrible one I’m having now. The idea, I suppose, is that if I can recall another awful day just like this one – and then remember that a fantastic one followed chronologically – then doesn’t it make sense that yet another amazing day awaits me? If I can just trudge through this? Remembering that this moment isn’t forever is key. Actively recalling not just that I’ve survived worse – but the cavalcade of negative episodes from which I’ve emerged – is a helpful exercise to educe that as an actual feeling you can know versus some empty affirmation. Plus, ya know, it’s a good way to pass the time when you’re paralytically crippled on the floor in the throes of a panic spasm.

In the end of “Nurse Jackie” *spoiler alert*, our anti-heroine relapses on heroin.

(I said spoiler even though someone didn’t do me the same courtesy before I had a chance to see it.)

But more than I’m upset for an imaginary character (or the d-bag who ruined my viewing experience for that matter), I’m more inwardly disturbed by how deeply the message resonates. You can have a successful job (just like I did), be admired for your hard work (like I was), and even keep an attractive facade (like I painted on each day). There is such thing as a totally functional junkie. What “Nurse Jackie”, good though it is, cannot communicate, however, is the deep emptiness of addiction. That first overdose where you wake up gagging on your own vomit – presumably having been out for hours considering the fact it’s thickly crusted into your hair. The disarray of your home – like a hoarder’s – while you keep your workspace neat. The lost hours, days, and years you’ll never get back with the people you love most. The relationships you could’ve had – but gave up for that which could only ever ephemerally elevate you on a chemical cloud. (And only ever to dissolve it once you were at a nosebleed – literally, sometimes – height). Sure, Nurse Jackie was a fantastic show and I identified with the lead in a great deal of ways. But that can be dangerous. Especially for anyone even slightly outta touch with the reality of their disease. Why? ‘cause Hollywood’s not a good recovery source. Sure, it was realistic to have an ending like it did. Death, prisons, or institutions are generally where addicts who don’t quit find themselves. But Hollywood only enjoys the utterly IRL grotesqueness when it can be made sexy. Not when it gets too real.

For the sake of your recovery… I hope this little post has been the antidote to that.

Best of luck, friends.