Author: Ashley

WTF do you mean “I’m at fault”?

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In the midst of a (friendly on my part) debate about the step program, I was asked:

“How is saying ‘we’re invariably at fault’ not psychological abuse?”

And, to be honest, I had to pause for a moment.

And see if that was even something I wanted to defend.

Because, for me, the step program’s been super helpful as far as serving (in part) as a basis for my recovery. That said, I don’t accept all of it. And that’s fine with me. My recovery’s mine and it’s been working beautifully for years. (Even in the midst of 2016 prematurely winning the “worse-year-since-benzo-detox” award). So, after thinking about it, I admitted to my sorta sardonic conversationalist, “Yeah, I can see how that sounds kinda callous.” I mean, after all, we have genetic tendencies, some of us. Or the emotional turmoil led us there.

So, yeah.

What’s happened to you? Not your fault.

But, when you think about it, is it really abusive for you or I to accept accountability for any of our adult behavior? Now, I mean? Shouldn’t we accept it? I’m not a drug puppet. No one’s pulling my strings unless I let them. I mean, sure, my emotional response to past events or people induced a feeling where I thereafter wanted to use. Absolutely. But if that bad stuff already happened – it’s over; it’s not happening now. So, why keep using it as an excuse to use now? What’s that do? What does blaming my parents, rapist, society, anything – on my bad habits do for me now? Does it change what happened to me? Not so far. Does polluting my flesh vessel with chemicals? Nope. Does either fix what happened to me? Not as of yet.

And how about the “genetic” defense?

Well, if I know that’s a tendency, I should’ve kinda known better than to pick up. Even if it’s “not fair” that everyone else is normal and can manage their elixirs, there’s no appeal system to reality. You must just accept it or suffer. And how about if I didn’t know I had a hereditary tendency? Then it was still my choice to say, “Heh. Look at that. I can’t seem to manage my libations the way my buddies do. Buuut it takes my mind off my mind. And it’s easier than seeking help. So, even though I’ve punched a dude in the face and been invited to spend the evening with the law authorities… I’mma keep drinking anyway.” There’s no shame in accepting that accountability. In fact, there’s freedom in it. Freedom from the prison of old thinking that doesn’t serve me. It allows me to move on and reinforce how important it is not to carry on like that any longer. No matter how naturally it comes. I must learn another way to be.


(Don’t leave it *or* hide in that mug, buddy.
Hit the recovery dojo, train your brain biceps, cut some “victimhood” weight, get back in the reality ring, and… beat that motherfluffer *back*.)

It’s also a reminder that I can’t alter reality – or the past.

All I can alter is my own behavior.

Now.

Right now, I can choose not to employ something that’s the opposite of a solution. I can choose to in lieu seek guidance, self-help, whatever I need – even if it’s not in a step program. Noggin numbing doesn’t fix historical issues that continue accosting our subconscious minds. Seeking a reality based solution does. (Again, even if it’s not a step program.) When I don’t choose that – that’s my fault. And so is all of the subsequent behavior that goes along with the altered mindset that follows that choice. Rage episodes. Neglected relationships. Late arrivals to work. Nasty moods. That’s on me, my dude. Which means that the only “psychological abuse” I’ve suffered since my choice to pick up is of the self inflicted variety.

AKA a cognitive cocktail called “denial with a spritz of buck-passing”.

And that’s a drink even folks with lotsa clean time still hafta put down daily.

Recovery versus relapse: is there any in between?

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“If you are not working on recovery you are working on a relapse.”

Is it true?

It’s a phrase many reformed fiends and drinkers in the step programs employ as a reminder of the daunting relapse monster. And for many -A (AA, NA, OA…) haters, it’s met with a bit of resistance. Why? Well, after chomping on this cognitive wad of gum for a bit, I suppose, in a way, I do kinda get why some reject it. I mean, there’s no statistical evidence. I don’t ever remember partaking in the annual lush or junkie census regarding the authenticity of this motto.

Yet, on the other hand, I suppose it all depends on how you define “recovery”.

Taking the phrase at face value, it’s meant to simply be one of those typical motivational idioms. Nothing more. Just a recovery revised version of that whole “if you fail to plan, you plan to fail” sayings I always see in inspographic form on my LinkedIn feed. (Don’t pretend you haven’t seen ’em too.) That said, that recovery doesn’t have to happen in a specific program. Even the one you picked it up from – when you picked up a white keytag or newcomer coin. Whether you find the first steps of your recovery in a step program or somewhere totally different is irrelevant; the point is that an addict, suddenly stripped of his or her chemical comfort, needs some sort of behavioral modification plan on board after getting clean. Something to replace those old habits, ya know?

If you’re overweight, you don’t lose weight and keep it off by just quitting eating, do you? Not so much. You’ve got to sub in healthy diet, exercise, and learn some self love if you want to slim down in a healthy, functional, and sustainable way. Otherwise, you’re just sitting around thinking, “This is normally when I’d be enjoying my third helping of my signature butter, cheese, grease, meat casserole – and breaking into a light sweat…” Some mods to your physical and mental regimens are required to arrive at lasting change.

Likewise, healthy new routines, after exiting addiction, interrupt that daily mind cycle of “when’s drink or fix number next?” And an appropriate support or an expert assistance system (even if it’s not 12 step based) to whom you can vent, helps you dredge up those demons that got you using in the first place. Once you can exorcise those emotional gargoyles squatting in your subconscious, you’re a lot less likely to use. For me, sometimes just being around addicts or alcoholics willing to get honest about their own defects or horror stories helps do exactly that, I think. (Yes, even now, after years clean.) For others, calling in the paid pros is the only way. For others who can afford overpriced rehab resorts – hey – whatever floats your yacht that brought you to seaside detox.


Chaise chair chick: “Hey, it’s pretty easy to stay clean with this view and without douchebag bosses or obligations.”
Flexing dude in hat: “I’ll drink to that. Probably within a week of leaving here, lol!”

So long as the new tips stick when you reintegrate into real life, I ain’t judging.

Whatever you do, if you work on making it work, I totally respect that.

Either way, that’s the takeaway I get when I hear that old adage about “working on recovery versus relapse”. It’s not necessarily, scientifically, statistically accurate for all. But for hardcore addicts aware that the desired fix equals prison, six feet beneath, or Arkham – they also often realize that marinating in their old ways is a voluntary venture into Russian Roulette. And that has them rushing back to recovery.

In a nutshell: it’s very, very easy to resume old, bad habits.

It’s less easy if you’ve got healthy inner and outer ones to replace them.

Where you get them’s ultimately up to you.

Relapse: ain’t no shame in starting over

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My third month into recovery, an even newer newcomer called Erin, called me up.

“I’ve relapsed. I went on a wine tasting,” she said.

I referred her to a potential sponsor, because I didn’t know what to say.

I was afraid of offering “wrong” advice. Yet, I knew what the rules of the program were. So I knew what my contact was gonna tell her. Basically, you start over at ground zero. You’ve unleashed your chemical kraken, those’re the rules, do not pass go, do not collect anything but a white keytag and keep coming back to meetings. And, as I read a blog article on exactly this topic today, my old friend came to mind. Especially when I kept reading and the author related that her sponsor curtly declared, “You have to start all over.”

Harsh, right?

Now, I wasn’t there for the convo, so maybe I’m getting a telephone game filter version of it. Maybe the sponsor offered a few encouraging words, too. Who knows. But what got to me was when the author talked about how it’s not fair that one mistake negates abstaining for so long. All over a sip of Tecate. The whole thing made her want to leave.

And, honestly? In some ways, I don’t disagree.

But that’s when it comes down to deciding what you need to do.

I knew from the moment I gave a different fellowship than AA a try that there were some ideologies that definitely didn’t resonate. But I also knew that I didn’t have to throw out the baby with the bathwater. There are a handful of great things I glean when I hop on into a meeting. And, when I do actually go, I use it as an opportunity to connect and talk about what other members and I do share in common – and tweak what I hear as needed in application later. Just because I’m mentally revising a few items, doesn’t mean I have to cross my arms and defiantly declare that I disagree with what their book says. What’s the point? No one in that meeting wrote the damned book. They’re just looking for a way to avoid using. And if following the literature verbatim’s the only way they can stay clean, that’s awesome. But I’m not there to share differences. I’m there to relate.


(Even if it’s about our faults. *Especially* if it’s about our faults.
The yes-and being, how we both can fix ’em.)

So, while some of it’s not for me, there’s still a use to these meetings.

I mean, in a way, it’s like free fixation therapy. I don’t hafta sign up for anything online. I don’t hafta give my name or money. Most of what’s in the literature does make sense. There are people who make themselves free to talk to. And – even if their advice sometimes is less than stellar – it’ll at least reframe my brain. Talking to them’ll get me out of my current, cyclical line of thinking and boost my oxytocin (that’s a hormone, not an opiate drug for you skimmers) levels so that I don’t feel so alone.

And as for clean time?

I guesstimate it. Don’t get me wrong – in those first 90 days, I was holding out for each keytag. They were validation milestones for my early recovery that I felt I needed. But, these days, they namely serve as a success symbol – a mental emblem occasionally reminding me of how far I’ve come beyond just staying clean. It’s a positive thing. Not some bookmark in my recovery, meant to taunt me about what I’m not permitted to do. So, I’ll be honest. I don’t use a clean calculator. Counting time can bring addiction to the forefront of my mind when I was having an otherwise successful day. So, I get why the author hates the idea of monitoring exact sobriety time. That said, I think it depends on your reason for avoiding it. For me, it’s that I don’t like to focus on a negative daily (“I didn’t use today”… “Use what?”… “Drugs.”… “Oh, yes. Drugs. Now that I think of them when I wasn’t just a moment ago, a benzo might be nice.”). I’ve already quit. Is the tendency still there? Yes. But that’s why I prefer to swing my focus-scope toward my former fixations’ replacements.

It’s kinda akin to that whole “law of attraction” thing hippies aren’t far off on following; you redirect your brain’s aim toward what you want – not what you don’t want. So, that’d be my new habits. My new routines. My new healthy way of life. (Not the thing I can’t use – which forces me to think about it, which serves in turn as a trigger.) At the same time, I know I can’t shield myself from all triggers. That’s why, if and when the burning desire becomes too strong, I can summon my talisman reminder to get me through. And I can discuss it with members just enough to remind myself why I can’t successfully utilize mind alterers. But it’s not a main theme in my life.

And if – Higher Power forbid – I relapse?

Listen, for any of us, there’s zero shame in “starting over”. The thing is, you’re here, seeking aid. You do realize that everyone, even “old timers” “start over” all the time in the program, right? They start over the second they get to step twelve – and go back to step one to uncover more about themselves. (That’s that whole “keep coming back” bit of it.) Hell, I’ve seen people with 20 years come into meetings and talk about how, sure, they’ve stayed clean but they’re so spiritually off track this week that they feel the need to pick up a white tag anyway. That’s the nice thing about the program. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. No one can make you feel like your sobriety time was a waste just cause there’s now a chemical semicolon in your recovery story. You can either choose to agree with their judgment – or laugh at how preposterous it is. And the second they get saucy with you, guess what else they get? A smile and a pink slip. ’cause it’s time for a new sponsor, clean companion, or whoever’s getting salty with you.


(Everyone can start over at something – every moment.)

And that’s why it’s so important to strengthen those new spiritual principles, healthy habits, and productive routines during your clean time. Because, the more time you spend practicing something, the better you get at it. Your brain’s neural networks rearrange to accommodate your new habit. That means, if your focus is on a drug (even if it’s just to talk about not using it) too much, then you get better at thinking about drugs. (Or, for me, on a dude I spend two years getting over.) That’s not to say we should get out of touch with the reality of our disease or past with using. It’s just to say that, if you’re gonna spend an hour an a half each day talking about how bad using was, you’d better also be spending the rest of your day putting those positive principles to good use. What’s going on at your new job? How did you uplift your friends or family today? What new connections are you making? How are you serving? That’s how you proactively avert relapse. And not because relapse means you’re demoted back down to white belt status in the art of addiction jujitsu. But because of everything else you’ve worked to build in that time. Should you relapse, those new habit connections will be good and strong enough that you can say to yourself, “I was having a moment – but I can quit now and get my shiz together again, just like I have been for the past few months.”

That’s why, next relapse that hopefully doesn’t happen, I encourage any’ve you to pause, mid-sip, sniff, screw, bite, puff, whatever… And as you do, I invite you to do three things. First? Know that you’re okay, safe, and you’ve got a squad of people who want to support you. There’s no shame in resetting your clean time. It’s not a race. No one’s keeping score for you personally. You can say whatever you want about your clean time. Second? Reflect on everything self-validating that abstaining has afforded you thus far. Your new job. Your new friends. Your family. School. Love. All the shiz you couldn’t do while swaddled in the self obsessed fog of chemicals you’re about to ingest again.

And third? Stop.

But, when you do, stop for those aforementioned things. Not for the key rings.

I wish, to this day, I’d just told Erin that.

Maybe then she’d have gotten back on the proverbial horse instead’ve the white one.

Is addiction legit? Or just an excuse for me to be an indulgent a-hole?

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I’ve spent a lot of time trolling addiction message boards of late.

Well, not trolling, per se. More like “scrolling”. Scrolling and commenting. Because, a lot of the time, I’ll hop on the comment section and encounter a wealth of outta-their-element people pontificating on addiction. It’s not always clear who has addiction. (Seeing as it’s a self diagnosed disease.) But it is always clear who definitely doesn’t – based on their grave misunderstanding of it and total lack of empathy for the sufferer.

But I get it.

To be fair, it’s tough to be empathetic to an addict.

When we’re in the throes of it, we’re shaky, pasty, pale, clammy.

And we don’t care about anything but what we crave.

We definitely don’t care about you.

So, why would you care about us? Why should you?

That might be best answered by asking those who do – for whatever reason – care about us, why they do. Ask any mom who’s watched a chemical shred her child alive, and she’ll likely pull out and dust off the high school photo album, the framed collage from Olan Mills her daughter had done after winning an academic excellence award, graduation snapshots of embraces with companions. The smile before a permanent furrow hijacked the brow of her baby girl. My point? That – all evidence to the contrary – there’s a person underneath the flesh we see, possessed by dependency. Those who love them know this. Those who’ve been through it “get it”. That’s why, though I’m recovering well (no one who’s met me in the past couple years would ever guess where I’ve been), I’m always up for extending a hand and educating those who don’t get it. Example? Today, I read a fellow addict’s musings about hitting up the pill mill and how he can’t use these drugs reasonably. His entry resonated so deeply that that dormant demon within me stirred a little himself.

Then I saw the following comment:

And, to be honest, it’s not a distant whimper from a lot of non-addicts’ logic.

Which is fine. It’s just ignorance (and I don’t mean that in a rude way) born out of lack of context. Lack of understanding. It’s never easy to identify unless you’ve been there yourself or experienced it for yourself. So, for anyone nodding in concurrence with John’s comment (or any addicts loathing themselves for lack of “self-control”), I encourage you to read my own reply to Mr. M.

It went thusly:

Yeah, I hear what you’re saying.

Indeed, drugs don’t make decisions. But they do often affect different brains differently. I too believe that maybe Clark could stay stopped after getting and being clean for a while – after allowing that ritual, habitual, neural connection that goes hand in hand with using (or any habit, really) to weaken and be replaced by healthier ones. But I think what he may have meant was that once he *starts* taking those drugs – while he’s still in the grasp of dependency and addiction – they affect his brain in such a way that he cannot make the rational decision to quit.

In other words, he can’t “reasonably use” them.

And that’s totally believable. Every brain changes on drugs. There’s a reason we’re told not to drive cars or make big decisions on scheduled substances. And, on top of that, if we’re affected by chemicals differently, it’s entirely possible that once it’s in our system, some of us hunger for that continued mitigation of emotional or physical pain the way someone drowning craves a gulp of oxygen. For an addict, once you try to listen to the halo toting voice on your shoulder, over the horned one – even if you heed its angelic advice – that doesn’t stop the horned one from screaming into your every thought. That’s when you become so distracted and dysfunctional that work performance, relationships, and activities of daily living begin to suffer. The addiction finds another release valve. Overeating. Drinking. Exercise anorexia.


(Let’s don’t forget Tinder binges, too.)

That said, addicts don’t have to live in a victim mentality. While reasonably using may not be an option for an addict, where I do agree with you is that you *can* get out of it. Enduring that thoroughgoing sensation of spiritual and physical suffocation for a while, paired with the supplanting of the right program for you (you, meaning whichever addict’s reading this and rolling their eyes at the thought of a 12 step being the only answer) is worth the ephemeral suffering.

Just my pair of pennies on the matter.

Grief in recovery: how my dying dog gave me “paws” for thought

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In early recovery, I was doing really, really well.

One meeting, I shared this.

Right afterward, a well-weathered woman called Christina came up to me.

And she said:

“Yeah… Things get good. Then they get really good. And then they get REAL.”

I nodded in acknowledgment. But, internally, at the time, this comment vexed me. And I wasn’t entirely sure why. Was it because she’d cruelly punted me from my pink fluffy cloud? Was it because she was right and I didn’t want to admit it? Or was it because she was wrong? It’d take me a while (nearly three years) to realize which it was. But today, I realize it was the latter of those three. Because right now, I’m writing beside my dog and best friend, Minnie. She’s laying on her death bed. And, as kidney failure takes over her frail little body – I feel anything but that fluffy pink cloud, watching her cuddle her fluffy pink poodle with her last few, precious shreds of life.

Yet, despite my darkly clouded current logic, I’m clean.

And that means I get to have those moments of clarity I rarely had during chemical dependency.

Like the following fact:

Yes, this is “real”. But so is the compendium of wonderful memories we made together. Brisk autumn jaunts in the park. Summertime snacks in the sand. Thunderstorm snuggles and walks on the dock. The way she’d air-swim if I just held her over the bathtub before a wash. The way she’d calm down two minutes into me meditating – and how she’d match my energy. How we’d howl-sing together if an ambulance drove by. The day she learned to high five. How she’d come running with her bone when I got home from work – the best gift a best friend could offer her guardian after a long day. Yes, it’s all really, really painful. My heart feels like it’s in the same state as her kidneys. But it’s no more real than the decade of my life she elevated with her presence. That was real too. The only thing is – it doesn’t help me deal with the horrendous “real” I feel now.

So, how do I manage that?

It’s times like this I reach for this book a member once gave me in a meeting.

Although the title sounds kinda boring (“Living Clean”), it’s become a bit of a scripture to keep me off the scripts that led me into the rooms in the first place. The wording is perfect. The topics cover all the little life-nuances that annoy us enough to want to use. And the advice is less direct and more anecdotal – referencing how other members stayed sober through the painful parts of reality.


(I’d advise you buy this book.
Especially if you can’t don’t frequent meetings as much as you should. Like myself.)

And what was the main takeaway that I got?

To honor this horrible feeling I’m having.

It sounds counter-intuitive to an addict, but if I need to cry, throw things, or write (like I’m doing right now) – that has to happen. Not to the point of self indulgence – but like any other release. We release physical pain with massages and stretching. We release sexual tension through intimacy with a lover. We release any variation of emotions via creativity. Likewise, pain demands to be felt. Acknowledged. Released. Back when my other family dog, Chloe, died, I was too numb on valium and painkillers to feel it. In fact, that day I took far more than my prescribed dose to avoid genuine sentiments of loss. And you know what happened, years later, when I finally quit?

It all waited for me. Like a prisoner, it’d been working out during its sentence, awaiting its release. And when it came for me, I felt.it.all. Not just the back pain, but each thing I’d dusted under my mental rug was ejected from every crevice of my emotional landscape. And it came for me. Big time. Chloe’s loss. How I’d not been as supportive as I should have been for my mom’s hard times, my sister’s hard times. How I’d not been stable enough to celebrate the news I had a niece on the way. And you want to know what’s worse than reliving those moments and the pain you missed out on? The guilt for not having felt it in the first place. Because you bet your azz it hurt those around you to see a glassy eyed, sociopathic mannequin standing where their loved one used to be.

But, a good friend of mind reiterates a quote often:

“The best apology is changed behavior.”

Of course I wanted to use the moment I heard about Minnie’s terminal condition. But, as I’d continue to read in “living clean”, there are alternatives to feeling numb, isolated, and going through this alone. If you’re lucky enough to have family like I do, you can take advantage of that. My prior M.O. was always to shut others out. Go through it solo. But something happens when you let loved ones in. It’s the same thing that happens when you walk into a meeting for your first time and decide to put your pain on the table. Because suffering shared – whatever it is – is suffering halved. Everyone suffers. But by recruiting your connections, sharing averts despairing. It’s a way to relate, connect, and hijack your internal pharmacy of its connection chemicals. I can’t lengthen Minnie’s life. But I can strengthen the bonds of the lives that are still in mine – by inviting them into this process of letting go.

I can’t imagine moving past this. Yet, I know I will.

And, as I do, things will continue to get “real”.

Christina had that right.

But what she had wrong was that real is somehow separate from “good”. And, when I review my early recovery, I already know this. I say I was doing really, really good in early recovery – and I was. That was real. But you know what else was happening? I was going through some other “real” stuff. Valium detox was horrifying. My back and neck pain woke me every couple hours in the night. Back to back attacks of kidney stones assaulted me – all through which… I remained clean. So why was I doing so well? I wasn’t on some deluded cloud vessel headed for a reality iceberg, like Christina was suggesting. No. Rather, I’d been offered, early on, all the weaponry I needed to employ against the enemy – against my default reaction to unfortunate events. To take it exactly as it is, react accordingly, but issue no more emotionally than that. And, in the interim? Allow loved ones and connections to be a part of it with you. Because it serves them as well.

See, the nature of reality – real reality – is devoid of the qualities we ascribe to it. There is no good and bad without our opinions painted over the thing in question. From great to emotionally eviscerating – we get to decide how we respond to it. This is what the serenity prayer teaches us. Can I change that my furry best friend is leaving me? No. Can I choose to make her final time here comfortable? To let my loved ones in – instead of shutting them out, as I tend to do? Can I choose to honor my feelings of hurt this time – versus employing my former forte: anesthetizing any kind of pain? Yes. To all of those. Because numbing discomfort now, only ensures it’ll be both waiting for me later – and amplified. I may only have a two and a half years behind my black keytag, but the key, I believe is to straddle a realistic version of a pink poodle cloud – as well the inevitable thunder filled cumulonimbus one that’s on its heels.

And finding that balance is to live with serenity.

That’s dealing with the “real”.

Why I’ll never use Valium again

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“I hope I can stay clean,” he said.

“But the thing about me – is I’ve got this built in forgetter.”

I’ll never forget when a guy called James said this in one of my first meetings at NA.


(FYI: James looks zero percent this.
But supplemental pop culture visuals are one hundred percent fun.)

It resonated ’cause it’s so true. When the cravings become strong enough, the memories of all the awful parts prior to parting ways with our choice poison are simple to misremember. It happens to the best of us. Why can’t I use? Why shouldn’t I? Was it really that bad? Would it be better this time? Can I manage it?

For me though, my reminder doesn’t come in the form of how bad using was.

Don’t get me wrong. I was whoever it is satan fears during active addiction. But as far as keep-clean motivators go, all my bad decisions and pain inflicted upon others pales in comparison to my breakup with a bottle of those little green discs dubbed “Valium”. No. It wasn’t about using. It was about the nightmare of quitting. See, for some, it’s necessary to take an ex-dependency one day at a time. And, like those folk, I do that with a heap of other things. Not with benzos. If I’m ever having doubts about remaining free of those pharmaceuticals – there’s literally zero better deterrent than recalling detox. Mentally revisiting even for a moment just how awful the wean from benzodiazepines was, is simultaneously the most horrifying and beautiful alarm to jar my fixated brain away from the craving. The anxiety was exponentially worse than the anxiety inspiring my initial clinic visit in the first place.


(Fitting that these pills have a V that looks like a heart shaped hole.
’cause a heart shaped hole’s exactly all I had left in my chest for months while detoxing.)

And that’s precisely what came to mind last night as I was sifting through my Facebook feed and found one of Vice’s valium articles. Though the author was anonymous, I couldn’t help but nod along while reading all the symptoms he described about the pain of withdrawing from this drug. I also couldn’t help but ultimately comment-contribute my own two cents about the nonsense that is this over prescription epidemic with benzos. Having been on it for the better part of half a decade myself, I can vouch for at least two things. The first? While you’re actually taking Valium – yes – it’s transcendent, full body beauty and relief from the grief your brain gives you by the minute. Especially if nonstop anxiety is your default setting, as it was mine. Nothing can compare. Likewise, however, nothing can compare to the eviscerating, thoroughgoing torture from your flesh to your soul that you’re in for when you inevitably have to nix your pharmaceutical fix. As I shared with Vice earlier:

Valium detox is a chronic, protracted, somatic and psychological excursion into hell’s Stygian cellar. Sweats and breathlessness. Hypersensitive skin. Tremors. Perpetual panic. Delusions and hallucinations. The thought that your thoughts can be detected by others. The sense you’ve been disembodied – disconnected from friends, family, the world. Strangers seem terrifying. Everyone is here to hurt you – you’re sure of it. The world takes on a cold and distant filter. And then, just when you think you’re doing better, that rebound drop comes for you, punting you off a mental precipice and into an abyss of absolute, abject hopelessness.

I regret very few choices in my life.

Accepting a benzo script from my doctor is among them.

In the end, however, regret serves nothing unless it inspires permanently changed behavior. And that’s exactly why I’m actually thankful Valium detox was such extensive hell. That sounds like hippie lip service, but it’s actually the opposite. Because, with opiate withdrawal (which I also endured), the experience – while terrible – lasts briefly enough to let that “built in forgetter” James talked about in my first meeting kick in. Kicking an addiction that takes months (versus a week or so) of marrow deep torture to detox from, though?

You never forget that shiz.

Trust me, loves.

The world of hurt the follows benzo dependency is not worth the fleeting reprieve it imparts.

How I cope with insecurity in recovery

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Sometimes, it’s tough to answer the inquiry “Why do we use?”

And while I’ve always had a smorgasboard of responses that’re all equally honest – one of my single biggest motivators was always… insecurity. It’s the reason I needed to pre-game before the party. It’s the reason I couldn’t wait to get seated at family dinner before ordering a drink. It’s the reason that my day wouldn’t happen without at least half a Valium on board. Hell, if I’m being honest, it’s likely still the reason I’m willing to sit in the Starbucks drive through to get an overpriced cup of caffeinated froth.


“My whole personality sits in this cup!”

It makes sense, though, right?

If we enlist the help of chemicals to feel better – to feel safe and secure – then, by default, we mustn’t’ve been feeling very secure or safe in the first place, yes? I drank and ate pills because it offered a sudden self-doubt drought within fifteen minutes of waking to a hurricane of insecurities. (“I’ve gained five pounds… I’m no good at my job…. I’m awkward socially.”) And I’ll give it to them – drugs offered me the the sweet reprieve from all these thoughts or caring about what they meant. Only problem was that they didn’t merely Dyson up my insecurity – they also sucked up any level of sustainable functionality. I had just enough energy for high priority tasks, but when the massive crash came (as always it does), I was even more insecure with even more issues to worry about. (’cause I’d not gotten any of the other mandatory tasks done). It was a liar. Sure, the Pinot Noir and pills told me not to worry about my superficial insecurities (good advice). But they also told me not to worry about getting my car checked out or body taken care of. Categorically bad advice – seeing as both subsequently started to fall apart. You can’t have it all when it comes to chemicals.So, without tossing the responsibility fledgling out with the bird bath, how do we get over insecurities?

The superficial ones?

Like your crazy, curly hair? Your high hips? That slight lisp you have? Your awkwardness? As much as I hate having to look to celebrities for the green light on what’s okay, I’m going to employ a couple just to prove a point. Let’s take Kate Hudson’s unruly mophead for example. She’s so lovable because her persona is. Higher Power only knows if she’s like that in reality – but I bet you can think of at least one other eccentric person you know who’s absolutely enigmatic – not because she’s a ten – but because of who she is. Or how about another Kate – Kate Upton? Her physique’s so far from the typical form you see grace the paces of Sports Illustrated. But you don’t see her being insecure about it. Quite the contrary. You know what I do see, though? Total doppelgangers who carry themselves poorly because they’re down about not matching some Platonic ideal. What about Drew Barrymore’s endearing lisp? I fall in love every time. Or Michael Cera’s awkwardness? Stallone’s slur? Walken’s strange cadence when speaking? Own whatever unique thing you’ve got, and it goes from drawback to selling factor. And that’s what it comes down to. Because, as I said, this isn’t about idealizing these celebrities so much as drawing a familiar example. Those around us we’re in awe of don’t have anything more than you or I. They’re just a few e-steam releases away from feeling as deflated as we do on our worst day. (And believe me, they have them.) But they embrace what some might say are “flaws”, until they’re a trademark.

And that’s one of three things that’ve helped flip my own insecurities.

First, though, we’ll backtrack for a sec to number one: and that’s keeping around high vibe people (who aren’t likely to poke fun at you and thus foster your insecurities). And second? What all those aforementioned celebs do: embrace those flaws head on and out loud. I do this second one at work all the time – where we all bust eachother’s chops, constantly. And while it’s all in good fun, every once in a while, someone will say something that cuts to the intrinsic quick. What do I do? Try my best to just own it. (“Yes… my hair’s like straw ’cause I bleached it like a crime scene last summer.”) You get people laughing or realizing their jabs have no power over you, and you disarm them. You disarm them, and they have no weapon to prod at your insecurity wounds. And then the whole game changes.

Often, it’s not about fixing the thing you’re insecure about – so much as making it not a problem in the first place. Which is why that former thing – keeping around non-negative people most of the time – is so terribly important. Because if you’re already insecure, consorting with the sort’ve folk who worsen that self-doubt will only confirm that fallacy of thinking. It reinforces the lie that is your insecurity. Granted, we don’t often get to choose who we expose ourselves to. There’s no buffet for coworkers and family member options. Which is why it’s so crucial to to keep a high vibe tribe in your off time. It’s fantastic self-security training for when you hafta head into a pool of unpredictable personalities – all of which harbor innumerable insecurities of their own, and only prod at yours to distract themselves from theirs.

And that’s the third thing that’s worked so well for me:

Remembering that insecurity is a liar.

Don’t get me wrong. Whatever you’re doubting might be totally legit. Your weight. Your face shape. Whatever. But the idea that you’re not good enough because of it? Not so much. Who aren’t you good enough for? A bunch of strangers whose opinions carry no weight in your life? A group of people who don’t define you? Might you be wrong about the value of their outlook? Or – what their outlook even is, for that matter? When it comes to superficial insecurity, the biggest thing I’ve realized is this: half my hangups are no more than a mistaken assumption. A mistaken assumption about what? The notion that others won’t like something about me – just ’cause I don’t. For years, like anyone else, I’ve felt self-conscious about all my little ticks – the way I walk, or the way I stick my tongue between my teeth when I’m amused, or how I talk. It wasn’t until getting deep in touch with myself through recovery that I embraced all of that (plus a bunch’ve others I’m still working on). I cuddled with my hangups long enough to mock myself along with my coworkers for being a loudmouth. Or to let a guy into my life long enough to accept that he adored all I abhorred formerly about myself. Or have someone actually admire my wiggle walk instead’ve tease me for it. But the spiritual dessert doesn’t come from that validation. The validation’s just a nice reminder that insecurity is a liar. And that whatever is causing it – is to be faced head on. That way, once you do, you can decide whether it’s something that needs refinishing (like losing weight to improve your health)… or merely an authentic part of your “you-museum” to keep polished and pristine for whoever’s worth letting near it next.

That’s the idea behind the last line in the serenity prayer, after all.

And we only win that wisdom to know the difference by keeping clean, a day at a time.

Why your worst day clean still beats your best day getting effed up.

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“My worst day sober is still better than my best day using.”

This sobriety idom’s become the recovery equivalent to that archaic meme: “Still a better love story than Twilight…” You hear it all the time in the twelve step rooms. But what does it mean? You got fired. Your car’s on the fritz. Your wife left you. How in “Higher Power”‘s name is this a better day than the numb bliss I still miss after two and a half years clean? I was just reading a thread debate about exactly this (between a few sober folks) the other day, when it dawned on me. Duh. Because it’s not about the day. It’s about us. Any one of us.

See, the big “aha” came one day when I lost my top outside.

Wait, lemme backtrack a second. I’d had a terrible month. My foot was effed up, so I couldn’t run for a while – my newfound addiction. My car had been having issues. My heart had relationship issues. (*Insert a bunch of other irrelevant boring, first world problems you don’t care about – and honestly shouldn’t – here… and then skip to now*)… where I’d hung my tee shirt for Muay Thai out to dry on the balcony after washing it. And it fell. Down into the bushes below. And I was late for class.

At first I was pissed off, but then I realized something.

Three years ago, my back was so bad that I could barely walk – much less run. Now I run so much, that I got a tarsal injury, which needed a little break. Three years ago, I was such a child woman and so helpless and so afraid of doing business with people, that I’d pawn off getting my car fixed onto my mom. (Yep, not my most proud admission. Sadly, also not even close to my most un-proud admission.) Now, I just take it in. And pretend like I shouldn’t get a gold start for handling my biz. Three years ago, I was in so much pain, the mere notion of doing martial arts would have made me audibly guffaw. And last night (after finally retrieving my uniform from the shrubbery), I got my green belt.


“I lost my top in public today because it wasn’t dry.
I lost my top in public in the old days because *I* wasn’t.”
#perspective

But that’s not all. Sure, my problems today pale in comparison because many of them come from all the stuff I never would or could have done during active addiction – that are just routine now. But they also pale in comparison because I actually handle them. Why? Because I’ve learned how to, by attending enough meetings and seeking enough supplemental spiritual tutelage to know how. I seek it out actively and drill it into my head the way I drill Muay Thai and Jeet Kune Do combos during class.

And that’s the whole point.

As popular as that “worst day/best day” idiom is, there’s a more popular one. In fact, it’s so catchy (and factual), that one girl from my old home group would say it at the end of every meeting I’ve attended. And that’s this: “It works if you work it!” Your worst day in recovery is better than your best day using not because’ve some sorcery they dole out along with keytags. Nay, sir. It’s ’cause you’ve been on the spiritual grind. And, as a result, you’ve gained that brand of awareness you need to order to recognize which life-elements you can modify, and which you’ve gotta simply surf through serenely. Yeah, my foot was injured. Yeah, I got rejected from the program I wanted to get into. Yeah, my car started having problems.

But you know what makes that day better than my best day using?

Beyond perspective?

That I’m not running on said effed up foot away from problem-fixing and toward pill-fixes. That’s what serenity is. It’s not sitting on a tranquil lake in a canoe and enjoying the sonorous chorus of late summer crickets and toads (lovely though that is). No. It’s the capacity to look at life’s arising issues – each of ’em – like video game demons you slay one at a time. And each one of those is a win, because A.) It’s daily self-validation that nothing’s a match for the bad-assery baton my clean club’s passed on to me. And B.) Procrastination is like problem fertilizer. The more I put off solving the problems (which is what I’d do if I were using), the more they transmogrify into leviathan nightmares, waiting for me when I next exit my haze and have to face reality. Spraying resolution napalm on problems now, rather, prevents that amplification of catastrophes from coming at me later.


(Well, until tomorrow’s next set’ve probs, at least.)

That, my dears, is why a horrible sober day beats a seemingly ideal one while using.

But for those of you vexed by the use of “we” or “our”, I say “our” because I’m referring to those’ve us who do the work, implement the principles, and thus reap the rewards. (Which you’re totally invited to be a part of. #youcanSOsitwithus.) Because it’s not about the day being bad or good at all. It’s about you, me, “us” – and our respective efforts. It’s about the proactive brain-training you put in at the sobriety dojo. It’s about your sudden Chuck Norris level capacity to handle bad shiz with the fierce grace. The ability to pummel the onslaught of obstacles with serenity fists. And, above all, it’s how you can now remain cool, calm, collected, and (obviously) clean even as SHTF – without having to fake it or layer life with a chemical glaze.

That’s why it’s better. Because we are.

Best of luck getting struck with this epiphany, my ex-chemical comrades.

It’ll come… if you keeping coming back.

Use-proof your recovery by mainlining deadlines into your day.

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“Are you going to the meeting?”

In early recovery, this six worded inquiry was more powerful for a newcomer than anything else. Loaded. Open ended. Feather ruffling. (“Um, no, I wasn’t planning on it – but now that you’ve Jedi Mind Tricked me into guilt trippery, I’ve got two options: make an excuse… or go and unload my woes to someone who gives a shiz.”)


(“Here, we’re all sick. See you at six, bish.”)

But the second I committed – the second I uttered a reluctant, “yeah” to my sponsor, my mind hopped the fence from obsessive mode (which is where I was, obvi, if I’d hit up my sponsor to talk in the first place), to productivity mode. If I had a meeting at four, and I needed to get work done before then, then my day was suddenly less of a suffocating, malevolent, clock monster, ticking not one minute – but un-ignorable fixation – one a time. It was suddenly a series of finite moments to get accomplished whatever articles I needed to write or errands I needed to run before the non-negotiable ETD. In fact, this daily introduction was so effective early on in the prologue to the pharmaceutical part of my life novel, that it served (and still serves) me well into the second installment of my ongoing saga from surviving to thriving. It’s become so crucial that when I don’t have at least a mini-commitment injected in there, I start obsessing again. Lapsing into that addict mindset, getting lit on cyclic thinking. That’s why, to this day, I mainline deadlines into my day every day.

That’s also why, when I saw vlogger Matt Hussey’s spin on this from a non-addict standpoint, it made my brain organ light right up. Why? Because, like anyone who’s spent time in the step rooms of recovery, we all like to look at what we share in common with other folk. Even non addicts. And the fact that even non-addicts tend to get stuck in that ritualistic, self-sabotaging, cerebral spiral too – makes me feel less isolated and more validated. (Especially since this successful U.K. guru dude who wins at life does it.) He took a while to grow on me (most people who’ve also got strong personalities do – plus most’ve his vids are relationship related, which’s irrelevant to where my focus telescope’s currently aimed). Yet, I do tend to resonate with the life-hack type messages he spits on this channel. You might like to check him out, but for now, here’s his vid on productivity:


Digging the 21 year old blogger ref. from a dude that usually rocks a modern Bond look.

Yusss. This warrants a massive “YUSSS and”.

Which is exactly what I ended up sharing in my probably too long comment after viewing Mistah Hussey’s video: that making sure the nature of those deadlines is something where someone else is holding you (or your bank account) accountable. I think I may’ve mentioned this before in fitness or even sleep articles too – the beauty of accountability and how it leads to productivity, which ultimately leads to feelings of well-being. (The blanket cure being that we rest better, feeling-eat less, and avoid using when our internal landscape’s well manicured.) But the point is that – whether you’re going for getting sleep or lean or staying clean, the momentum that comes with productivity can be the secret key.

And the key to productivity itself is, you guessed it, accountability.

See, if it’s just me going for a run or heading to the grocery store, I subconsciously know I can put that off. No one’s going to be angry if I’m tardy for my workout or Wegman’s. But if it’s a yoga class I’ve paid for in advance, an appointment that charges a no show fee, or a friend who’d be pissed when I didn’t show up (and I’m American unlike Matt here, so that means “angry”, not “drunk” – though to be fair, he or she might be a bit of both if I’d stood them up at an imbibing establishment), then I’m far, far likelier to get all those necessary pre-requisites I need done early. And that’s because I’ve fail proofed my day for productivity by planting ramifications into its itinerary.

This might seem unrelated to recovery, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. In fact, this’s how I keep two jobs without using – by hacking my own inner fiend. See, productivity itself is addictive, once you get good at it. There’s a dopamine reward across accomplishment’s finish line. I just need the carrot of accountability to get me there. It’s the same way I’d reach my daily goals in early recovery earlier in the day – if I knew I had a meeting to get to to either lead or make coffee for. Fast forward to today, and the translation’s similar – but amplified. Now, I get more done before my eight hour workdays at the clinic than the days I’ve got off – because I know I’ve gotta be in there by ten. So, I wake up at four to squeeze in Vinyasa, jogging, writing (my second gig), and even a bit of cleaning. Why? ’cause I apparently care more about what my boss thinks at 10:15 A.M. (15 minutes after I’m meant to show up) than what future me thinks at 10:15 P.M. (when I’ve gotten negative three things accomplished from my list of today’s to-do’s). And, yeah, granted, copious caffeine is involved in all’ve this… but I’m led to believe (because: my chemical curriculum vitae) that there are far worse performance enhancers to which a chick could turn.


(Just pretend that’s green tea instead’ve sake if you trigger easy.)

And, ultimately, I’ve got – wait, what’s that the 21 year old video bloggers say…?

“No regraaaats”…?

Yussss.

I’ve got that.

Addicted to licking pussy…cats. (No, seriously. Actual cats.)

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Scrolling through my soshe media feed,I encountered this gem today:

As you can see (or maybe not, in which case I’ll explain it to you now), this fascinating gadget for lonely folk is meant to connect you better with your cat. How? Via pseudo-grooming, obviously. (Although, admittedly, all I can think of are too-easy comical cunnilingus quips.) You pop that rubber scrubber in like a pacifier, have at your cat, and suddenly he loves you because it’s the feline equivalent of simian nit-picking. Yet, however weird I thought that was, social media never disappoints me by delivering the even weirder. And it came, of course, in the form of a “My Strange Addiction” snippet. A woman not pseudo-grooming her cat, but actually snacking on the follicular remnants of him. And even tonguing the creature’s ears. And sucking them.


“It’s so soft and puffy – like cotton candy, almost…”

Now, right around here, you might be asking yourself… why the eff anyone would get their kicks off something like this? And, trust me, my tendency was to inquire exactly that myself. It seems insane. But you know what else is insane? Losing your job cuzza your coke habit… and doing a line the second you get home to feel better about it. Knowing the pills you’re abusing are making you worse, yet insufflating another crushed one to forget that fact. Downing poison first thing in the morning, and convincing yourself your liver and litany of other afflictions are caused by some esoteric mystery illness you saw on Discovery Health – instead’ve the obvious. Or eff the illegal stuff. Let’s get real. How about another, accepted chemical that gets you high? Food? How about eating the same processed crap and sugary drinks you always have, and expecting to suddenly de-obese your body by some external sorcery source that asks no effort of you?

We’ve all got the insanity in some way. No matter how we try to size it up.

This isn’t the sickness equivalent of a d*ck measuring competish.



Nay, sir.

As amusing as all of those oddities might be to outsiders, don’t fool yourself.

’cause we’re not that far outside that level of craziness. I can’t tell you how far into insanity fellow addicts have admitted to going – just to procure fix number next. Garbage bin dining. Snorting stuff from dirty floorboards. Peeing in their own beds to avoid stifling their high by moving to the loo. In that way, this is indeed a reminder of how painfully alike we reforming fiends from all walks of weirdness are. And the fact of the matter’s that running your tongue down your Tabby isn’t all that different from some of our other collective fixes. Some’ve us crave crack. Some’ve us crave cake. Some’ve us crave eight balls. Some crave f[o]ur balls. And, ya know, I’d say “Well, at least an obsession like hers isn’t chemically addictive,” – which is technically true. But, in actuality, it’s still detrimental inasmuch as you’re feeding that whole dopamine reward system in your brain. And that’s opposite of optimal because feeding that means it’s suddenly something you require to survive with your sanity intact. You need it to not go mental or get depressed. You need it before you can do anything productive, interact rationally with others, or focus on anything else. And even then, your attention’s soon on acquiring that high anew. That’s an addiction. It’s a reliance on a finite external that’s not naturally required for survival. And, chemical or not, anything like that can and will destroy your life if left unchecked. So, the comparisons aren’t entirely helpful. Also, an attempted measure of one obsession versus another doesn’t ever make anyone’s respective fixation any better, does it? Sure, you can compare all day long. But on a self improvement level, that won’t make a “lick” of difference. Thus, before we all start judging, I encourage my fellow addicts of all kinds to see the similarities here – and let it resonate as just one’ve many reminders about the kinda life we don’t wanna return to.

That said, I will admit… the “LickiBrush” suddenly seems a lot less odd now.

Sweet, even.

So long as it’s, ya know, not a gateway drug… to lapping up cat hair.