But I’m better now – can’t I use again?

Leave a Comment

So, you’re wondering if you can ever successfully use again.

Think you can moderate? That it’ll be better this time?

Who knows. Maybe you’re right.

But before you decide, do yourself a favor and watch watch this talk:

If it looks familiar, that’s probably ’cause I just referenced this in my last article. But while it namely addresses dealing with the issue of addiction itself, there’s another level to it. A question that only a fellow addict might think to ask. The original talk mentions disconnectedness driving discontent – and thus addictive behavior. This makes a good deal of sense. Because (if you didn’t watch the vid as I instructed in which case shame on you) the rat experiment (which essentially resolved the rodents’ addictions by offering them utopian cages) illustrated an important point: we need in-the-flesh connection, purpose, and stimulating brain food to feel fulfilled – to not become addicted. Otherwise, we get stuck in any number of different addictions – from smart phones to smack. However, after watching, I had that nagging “something’s missing” feeling.

And I think that, in part, was a question:

If get my cage all in order, why can’t I successfully use again? In moderation?

Won’t my new connections be enough to override my proclivity to overuse?

What would truly interest me is another sequel study. One where those rats in isolation – who’d gotten good and hooked on heroin – were suddenly removed, and abruptly introduced into Rat Park. My inquiry would be this: how long would it take for them to wean themselves off the spiked hydration? Would they at all? Was it contingent on how long they’d spent addicted?

I ask this from the perspective of a recovering addict.

Because I myself understand that, personally, picking up a drug or drink is tantamount to playing Russian Roulette with a slow-motion bullet. One that gradually unravels your life until you finally die, wish you would, or make everyone around you wish they would. Some people can use recreationally, occasionally. Some people, like me, most likely cannot. Could I use successfully again? Maybe. But the stakes are too high to risk that unknown. Especially when you recognize the neuroscience behind it. You see, there are at least two bullets in my pick-up gun and they’ve both got science on their side. The first has to do with cravings. Studies have shown that when you feel a craving (whether it’s for that overpriced bakery down the street or what the dealer standing on the corner outside’a it’s got), something malevolent unravels in your mind. You go kinda dumb. The other, logical processing centers of your noggin shut off. You’re focused on only the object of your desire until it (eventually) subsides. This takes longer for addicts because we spent so long getting what we wanted. I took a good long time to lose my cravings – to reinvite them into my life by testing the waters blessed by Pinot Noir Jesus makes no sense. A sip’s not worth the likely drowning that’ll ensue.


(Yes, this non-logic seems brilliant when in the midst of a craving.)

The yes-and to that is this: even if I can make myself moderate – these returned cravings that serve as off-buttons to my logic and reason will mean devastation to other areas of my life. Think about all the stuff you need reasoning for: relationships, work, not chasing down the guy who cut me off yesterday and lighting his house on fire. I suppose this is what all of those old-timers in meetings mean when they talk about “successfully using”. Maybe I can moderate. Maybe I can use. But not without it culminating in mistakes at work, failed relationships, and a traffic massacre.

Point two on the sciencey level is this: habits.

Habits form in your brain in a very specific way. And the bastard thing about it? That they’re never truly gone. They’re there – waiting in the wings for you to eff up your new, better life. For me, the past-life hell-dwelling habit is too familiar, too ingrained, and too easy to return to. In that, I’m not alone – and I don’t just mean other addicts, either. In fact (in keeping with the rat theme), another fantastic rat study spotlighted this beautifully.What they did was go into the creatures’ brains using photon wizardry (AKA optogenetics), and turned off new, normal habits which formerly reprobate rats had acquired through practice. Wanna know what happened? Every damned time, these recidivist rodents went right back to their old ways.

That, then, begs the question: what dissolves a new ‘n improved habit?

I mean, you ‘n me don’t have Harry Potter in a lab coat waving a light wand over our basal ganglia (ganglii? gangliases? gangbanglasses?) So, what exactly is it that might threaten our new way of being – so that we know how to be on the defensive when we see it coming? In my experience, I notice that one time it happens is when any element of that rat park (connection, cerebral snacks, purpose, or do-gooding) get eliminated for more than a few days at a time. A subtraction of something good. The other? An addition of something bad. For me, that includes stuff like mindless T.V.. Channel surfing. Gossip. Excessive online browsing. And… finally… anything that alters the chemicals in my brain to the point where I feel like I’ve clicked over to a faux filter. Case in point – this anti-itch prescription pill I was given for a rash not long ago. They claimed it was non-habit forming. But it was infatuation at first feel for me as I sat on the couch for hours doing what could’ve been an audition for that one pot commercial.

I suppose, until they do my proposed rat experiment of combining junkie rats with well ones, this all’s as good of proof as any. Well, for me at least. Because I do feel that how long you spend in active addiction (versus how well and long you build up your rat park) determines how well you’re going to overcome your prior life. The thing is, with us humans, we have to be really careful with assuming we can moderate or that we’re “all better”. Some of us might be. And that’s fine. But as higher-consciousness creatures, we’re very adept at finding new addictions to avoid connection we perceive as being potentially threatening. The rats just had a vat of smack. For us, there’s social media, text messaging, emails, Youtube, Netflix, and Netflix ‘n chill for that matter. (And, no, the latter doesn’t count as connection if your brain’s miles away from your partner during the act.) Some of us have successfully built a whole cage out of our own, technical heroin water. We’ve built a rat hell – which deceivingly looks like a park in all its allure and avatar pals. It’s not. In that way, most of us can identify with stigmatized addicts. Because most of us are, in some sense. With the help of introspection and connection with our fellow “rats”, we can pull ourselves out of our respective mouse infernos.

How? By taking some quiet time to reflect on what we want. We quiet need time away from the glistening damnation in which we’ve ensconced ourselves. And why the fluff is that important? ‘cause – part of the curse of being higher-consciousness beings – we aren’t animals waiting on bipolar lab-coated sadists to build our rat parks (while our isolated, involuntary dope fiend neighbors go through the sweats and shakes). No one’s gonna do it for you. You’ll hear a lot of implied lies in the form of commercials and entertainment. But no answers. And – so long as we’re distracted by our phones and T.V.’s – something else, something external, is always gonna be dictating to you what you want. (Protip: It’s not what you want. Not if didn’t want it till someone suggested you weren’t good enough without it.) Some refer to the solution as meditation, but there are plenty’a ways to achieve this state. It doesn’t matter. It could happen during a thoughtful jog. While you’re fishing. As you pluck your nose hairs. Nobody cares. The point is that you block out the BS, find out what matters most to you, and then sow the seeds from there by taking right actions. Every damned day.

A recovering addict’s rat park is kinda like a tree.

The branches bear the fruit of all our connections, passions, and positive stimulation.

But they only flourish if we tend to the roots.

And avoid toxic exposure – however much we may miss it.

Changing your cage: what rats teach us about addiction

Leave a Comment

Think you’re well connected to your fellow species members?

Great. Then answer me this: How many friends do you have on Facebook?

…that you actually in-the-flesh hang out with? Or ever would?

This may seem like a kinda strange way to break into talking about addiction.

However, the issue of connection – or a lack thereof – is indeed one fascinating common denominator most addicts share. And that makes sense, if you think about it. ‘cause as this captivating dude who gave a TED talk recently explains – when we lack any constant, positive, true interaction with others, we seek substitute means to feel connected. Even via artificial means. Stay disconnected – and that can turn into what you ‘n I know as addiction. This sort’ve rivals the old theory – that “anyone can get addicted if exposed to a chemical long enough”. Why? ‘cause my patients who roll into my clinic all doped up on Dilaudid (or whatever they’re peddling nowadays) don’t start hitting up the pill mill for refills when their body recovery time’s ended a week or three later. They don’t switch over and pick up a firewater habit either. They’re anxious to get back to their nice, normal lives. Why? They’ve got something good to return to. A family, friends, job, whatever. Pro’lly all three. True addicts are different.

And it’s not just humans who demonstrate this either.

In a fascinating series of studies, scientists tinkered with (what else but) rats. Or maybe they were mice. Who knows. The point is that they revealed a good bit o’ mindblow while using them to study addiction. How’s that, you ask? Well, to answer that, we hafta look at the first round of experimental designs – which explain why that former “anyone can get addicted” fallacy was so popular for a while. In that preliminary test, the white coats threw Mickey, Minnie, and all their homies in separate cages equipped with nada but two kindsa water. The first? Your average, unfettered agua. The other? A drug puddle; heroin laced H2O. And what happened? Well, in this circumstance, the rats would almost always prefer the drugs. They’d eschew the clean stuff, chug the junkie brew, and overdose pretty much every time. And from this, they assumed, they could draw the conclusion that anyone (any rat at least) could get addicted.

Right? Case closed?

Not necessarily…

Because on the heels of that study, someone with more “outside the cage” thinking came along. And what they noticed was something relevant: the experimental design. The cage layout. The other options the rat had. These poor furry bastards were sat in these dismal digs – no real stimulation other than their daily rations and a sole (albeit synthetic) supply of feel-good. What this scientist knew is that when we’ve got an alternative au natch means of feel-goodery (via our daily doings with other beings), we’re less inclined to pursue the faux version of it. To test this theory, homeboy did something equal parts innovative and brilliant. What he constructed was called a “rat park”. An amusement park for rats. Other rats, toys, tunnels, puzzles, tons of fun stimulation, and… (still) the two kinds of water. One spiked. One not. This bit remained the same from previous experiment.

The results?

While the rats in study one had a 100% OD rate… rat park residents had none.

They didn’t want the heroin laced drank.

When they had better shiz to do, the dope water was avoided like a vat of hot lava.

So… how’d they go from 100% to zero?

Well, here’s a hint. In tennis, zero means love.

And love – stimulating connection with others – is exactly what the park provided.

The takeaway here’s that when we live happy and connected lives, we’ll wanna use far less – if at all. Program’s like NA and AA adhere to this theory brilliantly. Because a reformed addict can well connect with another addict – as they can recall what that life was like. That’s the connection element. The yes-and to this? That – should an addict relapse – they are always welcomed back with open arms. Literally. (Seriously, they love hugging over there.) And that’s another epic pointer the TED dude (his name’s Johann Hari, BTW) brought up about dealing with addicts. (Espesh if you’re a non-addict who can’t identify and has difficulty dredging up empathy.) The idea’s that an intervention’s not the answer. Compassion and willingness to connect is. Because, right now, the user’s chemical of choice is either the only or main sense of connection they feel in their lives. To threaten to take that away only will drive them closer to it.

The compassionate take, on the contrary, proposes the concept of unconditional love. Bear with me here – ‘cause I get if that sounds kinda campy – but there’s a logic behind it. If the underlying problem is disconnection, then coming in with a segue of connection is a far better answer than ripping out the rug from under ‘em. As dumb as it sounds, it’s more likely to work than the use of force. People want some positive connection. If wine’s all an alcoholic feels connected to, they’ll cling to that shiz till their liver throws up the deuce sign. You getting angry does nothing. The idea, Hari says, is to offer unconditional love. An offer to connect. An invitation. A possible replacement, that shows they’ve got more than a toxic means to feel accepted and safe. This is incredibly difficult – as the loved one of an addict. Especially if many people love the addict. Because it means you all have to be on the same page: voicing your concerns, yet letting them know you’re there for them with an offer of unconditional love. No, I won’t help you slowly kill yourself or confirm your poor lifestyle choices – but I also won’t get angry or judge.

(This is also tough logic to follow if the loved ones are co-dependents or enablers.)

And another example Hari pointed out demonstrated the effectiveness of this on a grander scale.

In Portugal, when drugs were decriminalized, they set up a special program for recovering addicts. What it centered on was giving addicts a second chance – by giving them a purpose. Going to prospective employers, they made the following proposition: you hire this ex-junkie, and we’ll foot fifty percent of the bill when it comes to his earnings. Just give him a job for at least a year and we’ll go Dutch on his check. The result of Portugal’s change? Injected drug use went down fifty percent, OD deaths declined significantly, and so did drug related HIV cases. Having a purpose – having a reason to get up and spark those connections we need (but are often hesitant to make outta fear) is crucial for humans. Thus, having a function made junkies recover – by giving them a new life perspective. One with people, stimulation, and work. Just like the Rat Park – with its other rats, toys, and puzzles.

So, I gotta ask: what’s missing from your park?

And is that driving you back to the spiked punch water?

That’s a question that took me some serious meditation and consulting with others to answer. Some days I still even hafta add amendments to my reply. There will always be that vat of aqueous temptation sitting somewhere in the corners of my cage. It might be wine at a family gathering. It might be the bottle of sake at the table next to me when I go out to PF Chang’s. It might be the Fentanyl I’m offered the next time I’m rushed the emergency room with a kidney stone – while in the throes of my weakest condition – pain. However, there’s a perspective now that gets me through. One that jibes with this talk. Because I realize now: so long as I keep the other elements in my life lodgings organized, I’m stable. So long as I keep both my outer and inner toys in my rat park well-maintained, I don’t need artificial comfort.

And so long as I’ve got positive rats around me, I can keep that perspective.

The five people you meet in meetings

Leave a Comment

I learn something every time I set foot in a meeting.

Sometimes it’s who I want to emulate. Sometimes it’s what I want to avoid.

Sometimes it’s that I need to find a new meeting altogether.

(Some groups can tend to lose their focus a bit.)


“Um… is this the 7:30 ‘Steppin’ with Jesus’ meeting?”

But the interesting thing is that – no matter how varied or crazy the personalities seem to be in the rooms – I always end up gaining some sort’ve insight after I leave. Retrospectively, as the bits of diction from shares I heard resonate in my mind, I’ll make some kind of connection I’d not’ve made without formerly-homeless-now-rocking-a-three-piece-suit Joe’s nostalgic reflection regarding dining outta garbage bins five years ago. And we all judge. We’re not meant to. But we all take inventory in the rooms and start putting people in buckets. So, for the sake of honesty, here’re just a few I’ve noticed in recovery – and what they’ve taught me:

The Buddha

This is the dude (or chick – whatever) who really “gets it”. They don’t talk about getting it. They don’t tell you how to get it. Authentic sans acting, they just lead by example and remind you of why you stay in the program in the first place.

The Critic

Maybe he takes the basic text with a dash of fire and brimstone in his shares. Maybe he’s frothing at the mouth to issue you a full on powerpoint presentation on how you’re failing right after a meeting. Maybe he’s just a zealot – making recovery uncomfortable for you. Taking the program seriously is great. But this guy forgets he’s not the elected representative tasked with the mission to pry into your recovery and enlighten you on how you’re doing life wrong. That’s what your sponsor’s for. And, though it’s easy to get defensive or self-conscious when you’re being attacked, it’s your job to remember he’s not your recovery confidant. You can be civil – but don’t have to level with him. Or explain yourself to him. What I’ve found, is that if you’re feeling especially Buddha-esque, you can always indicate that you sense something’s wrong in his life, ask him if he’s okay, and see if he needs someone to talk to about it. If nothing else, it’ll shut ’em up. Usually.

The Mentor

Maybe they’re your sponsor. Maybe they’re just the first person who reached out to you. Either way, they’ve been there for you through the good, the bad, and the award-winningly-warts-and-all level ugly. It’s not that they can “do no wrong”. We all know better than that. But, somehow, their wrongs are easier to internally judge less harshly than the angry dry drunk sitting next to you.

The Quiet One

He doesn’t speak much, but when he does, it’s one of those shares that culminates in a mushroom cloud of light bulb moments for everyone in the room. If you sense this person’s shy and maybe without a network, maybe exchange numbers – or suggest a friend of the same gender does.

The Mirror

This is the one who shows you to yourself. I remember the first time I met a mirror. She’d been “the quiet one” all meeting. But when she finally shared, I was floored. Not because it was some planet shattering “aha” moment – but because it was identical to something I’d just experienced. Naturally, since I was paranoid and still coming off’a drugs – I assumed she was sent there to indirectly manipulate me via her eerily similar life story. After a few meetings, however, I came to realize the truth. The lie the drugs reinforce is that we’re so alone in the way we feel. That we’re so different from everyone else.

The truth, contrarily, is that though we may wear any of these different masks…we’re terribly alike.

So much so that none of us is any single one of the above labels.

In fact, in the eyes of someone else sitting in the seat across from you or I on any given day, we’ve probably both played each ‘n every role – depending on where we are in our recovery. How we’re feeling that day. What we’re allowing to affect us. We can’t be the Buddha every day. And the fact of the matter is – we’re not meant to be. We’re meant to oscillate – so that we can learn. Much like we can learn from Cynical Sam of how we don’t want to be, we only attain Buddha Bob’s level depending on how humble we are when we come down to our lowest selves. It’s easy to give into the misery of a day we feel’s gone wrong. To spread that discontent with pessimism, judgment, or a scowl tattooed across our faces. That’s a fast track back into our old ways… which lead to the cliff’s edge of active addiction. The miracle, on the other hand, comes when we can snatch up enough awareness to look at Buddha Bob (whoever that is tonight), leading the meeting with a halo ‘round his coif, and say:

“Right. That’s what I’m here for.”

So, who do you wanna aspire to today?

Wanna try a different kinda recovery program?

Leave a Comment

Help.

Rehab.

Detox. Addict. Alcoholic. Higher power.

I get it. I won’t even pretend I didn’t feel the same way at one point.

For most chemically dependent folk who wanna get clean…. I imagine it’s these kindsa daunting words that deter them, ultimately, from getting any help. The 12 step jargon. The long road ahead. It’s tough to do the work. To feel like you’ve got to come to meetings and stay clean for the rest of your life. (And, of course, to feel guilty for thinking that thought because it goes against the whole “one day at a time” rule.) Is that all life’s gonna be from now on? Sobriety and isolation? Unless you make friends with your meeting peeps? Now that your social circle (and social activities, for that matter) have changed, that can just make the whole concept of recovery feel foreboding. In fact, when I was first coming to meetings, I saw a lot of “old timers” who lived exactly that way. They’d say all the right things to draw people in. They’d talk about surviving. But I’d rarely hear about thriving. What I want to hear about is all the crazy, mad fun you had after you gave yourself the gift of quitting and tried a new way. Where were these people? At the D.C. meeting? Or were they just having so much fun that they forgot about us?

The truth is… yeah.

Sometimes.


(Worse, actually; I’ve been it.)

See, I’ve been guilty of exactly that for the past year or so. Infrequent meetings. Rarely sharing. Why? Because, while the 12 step program offered a good foundation (even though I often fail to follow its principles too well), it couldn’t tell me everything. It couldn’t tell me what friends to keep. It couldn’t tell me which new replacement activities I needed to do with said friends. My sponsor did her best, but even she could only offer rhetorical inquiries to try and dredge up the best answer for myself. (‘cause she’s only human like I am.) What did sober people do for fun? Was there such a thing? Meditation was nice, but sometimes my brain was too hyperactive. All the meetings and meetups in the world couldn’t save me from thought induced insomnia. What was missing here? Should I go back on valium after all? Should I see a professional?

Then it dawned on me. I needed more movement in my life.

Thus, I spent half a year determined to try yoga and get back into running.

Bad back or not.

It was an amazing change – becoming a runner again.

Life saving, even.

But I slowly realized it wasn’t enough. Thus, I gradually tried new physical things over the next year. Paddleboarding. Kayaking. Something called Pure Barre. All the hard parts of yoga I’d been avoiding. Running in snow and ice storms. Qi gong. And, more recently, kickboxing and tennis. Only after expunging my negative energy through sweat could I cycle back around to less active but mindful things like reading again. And Buddhist mediation. And… you guessed it… delving into my addict mind to address new and old issues alike. (It’s tough to stay productively still when your whole body’s anxious). Having two years under my belt may seem like a lot, but I’m still technically just a newcomer to recovery. Had I not had gained enough of a somatic ear to realize that half the panic I was feeling was my body’s need to move and my brain’s need for newness, I may’ve very well faltered. (I was super lucky; I had a physical therapist who hammered the whole “mind body” thing in for me early on.) And the truth is, that’s what happens to a lotta addicts – the faltering. With the numbing agent eradicated, all negative stimuli just comes in cacophonous and confusing as a fire alarm jarring you awake at 3 A.M. It’s tough to recognize things like, “Ah, yes. This feeling means I should hit the gym.” And, to be fair, I still confuse those stimuli sometimes. Which is why I slowly ingrained fun, physical activity into my daily routine. (Again, I was lucky in that I’d been a runner pre back problems and addiction; so I could recall it.) What about those who can’t, though? What about people too confused coming outta detox to know? What about people for whom a daily meeting falls short? What about that guy sitting next to me at the Friday night 8:30 who’s even worse at sitting still than I am?

Enter: Phoenix multisport sober active community.

When I saw a Ted Talk on this program, I liked it for its refreshing brand of uniqueness. I mean, I’d already come around (slowly) to the fact that recovery doesn’t have to happen the way I was doing it. What mattered was that – whatever kind of a problem you have – that you’re managing it as a functional adult, and causing no one harm with it. That’s why Moderation Management seemed feasible. Or these chat rooms and phone lines. Why not? It works if it works. And, from what I’ve read, it seems like Phoenix works the same way my early recovery’s been working for me: remaining active. Rewiring your brain and body. Finding a new way to have fun. Doing so with others. (Which is what I’d initially missed with my running addiction.)

See, what they do is create a program for sober adults. Some of it includes community outreach and service work. But the big part of it centers on how people can team up and do all the stuff they (probably) didn’t do as junkies or drunkies – like hiking, climbing, yoga, and a plethora of other craziness. The smart thing about this is that it helps build the kinda oxytocin/dopamine/trust bonds with strangers you don’t get so easily sitting in a room divulging your darkness. Mind you, I’m not knocking the latter. It’s fantastic to a point. It saved my arse. But where that leaves off, something like Phoenix is a fantastic yes-and to the application of it. Because for a good time after I started only sporadically attending meetings, I began to feel disconnected again. My sober friends had different schedules than I did. Networking was tough. It wasn’t until I started playing guinea pig with a litany of different interactive physical activities that I realized what’d I’d been missing.

I’m doing alright these days.

Like anyone, I don’t get it right all the time. Today’s a good example. I feel off. And I know I’m just having a “moment” and remain functional cuzza that knowledge. And that’s all part of it. I’ve managed to stitch a workable recovery quilt for myself along the way – each phase of it, like a bead on the Pandora bracelet of my “rebirth”. And for me, that’s meant equal quantities of honest introspection (about how my addict mindset’s trying to sneak up on me) with other sober folk… as well as a buffet full’a fun, interactive, physical stuff with positive people. If you don’t wanna take forever to realize that fact like I did, but you do wanna get clean, mayhaps give Phoenix a try. It might be a bit of a flight if you don’t live in Massachusetts, California, or Colorado… but can you really put a price on putting the pieces of your life back together?

If you answered “Um…Yes” (because I’m sure this thing, however worthwhile, isn’t cheap), then mayhaps try your local AA, NA, CA, or HA (that’s Hashtaggers Anonymous; bear with me – I’m working on making it a thing). They’re free – no dues or fees – and it might serve as a good stepping stone until you either get your financial feet on the ground enough to fund the remainder of your recovery… or end up smorgasbord style selecting a slew of personalized hobbies that make you all jolly inside.

Like I – the “addict” who needed “help” with “detox” did.

Whatever path you choose…. “Higher Power” be with you, friend.

How do you deal with triggers? (Part 1 of 2)

1 Comment

Triggers are the ninja-like rivals of recovery.

And for some reason, as I finally finished “Nurse Jackie”, I found myself thinking about them a bit.

It began with me being a bit vexed with Jacqueline the junkbag.

(I’m assuming “Jacqueline” is her full name, but too lazy to look and confirm.)

She’d gotten clean more than once – only to relapse time and again. Like some druggie juggernaut, she steamrolled over her job, her family, and even the subsequent romantic partners who followed in the aftermath of her divorce. And why, you might ask, did I let myself get so wrapped up in a ridiculous television series filled with people who aren’t even real but born out of someone’s brain?

Firstly: I don’t know. Good Point.

Secondly: I suppose it’s because it’s so close to the truth of addiction in general.

And thirdly, because it’s so close to my story of addiction – not the whole relapse part, mind you, but the active addiction element. Terribly familiar. I’m so lucky to be done with that life. In fact, just yesterday, I celebrated two years clean from all chemicals. But whenever I watch a drama like this one, aptly depicting the vicissitudes of dependency – from the blissful calm of a first hit (remember that soft filtered montage with her and her dealer?) to the agonal sweats and skin crawls of withdrawal – the door to my dungeon tummy rumbles as the demons I’ve trapped in there demand release. They may never relent. No matter how many years clean I have, it will remain. I’ll always remember the positive Pavlovian response I adopted to the bitter benzo stuck on my tongue. I’ll never not have cravings for the wrong answer. I’ll always be able to identify with those still suffering and feel helpless knowing I can’t make them better.

Relapse, as I’ve come to understand, is only ever one wrong turn away. But the good news is that for all of us addicts – for every trigger-sign we have along our path, directing us to doom, we can disregard them. We can handle it. We can recover.

And how?

Well, you know how when you get bit by a mystery creature in the woods? And then catch a really bad reaction to it? And, as you sit there in the ER with a softball sized wound festering and fountaining out milky sanguine effluvia, the doc asks you “what’d the thing that bit you look like?” But by then it’s too late? ‘cause you didn’t even see it coming? Well, much like finding out the appropriate cure to counteract an actual bite, the best way to develop an appropriate trigger antidote… is by knowing the poison that’s awaiting you. Lucky for us, though, there’ve been plenty of addicts “stung” by some common triggers in the past to pave the way for us. And according to what I’ve felt, heard, and read during my (addiction to the internet induced) browsings of Google, some’a the top reasons for relapse indeed resonated with my inner fiend. So, please feel free to peruse a few specific typical triggers that lead to relapse here… as well as some intrinsic tools you can possibly employ to counteract the poison before it morphs into an irreversible infection of the staph-relapse genre. After you gander through, I’d be interested to hear some of your own truculent triggers picking at the corners of your consciousness and trying to take you down on the daily. Leave a comment, if you like. Sometimes it only takes a single string of English language put together just the right way to induce an addict’s moment of clarity.

And you never know who you might be furtively reading yours.

Which means you never know who you might be helping by sharing your pain.

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

2 Comments

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.

10 tips that landed me the right sponsor.

Leave a Comment

“HERE,” Paul said, shoving a young woman resembling a prettier version of Amy Farrah Fowler in front of me.


(Dead.F’ing.Ringer. Same looks. Same voice. Same smarter-than-me-ness. )

Paul meant well when he forcibly suggested I accept Amy (we’ll just call her that for now) as my sponsor.

But, really, I couldn’t help but wonder if it was ’cause she had over a year of clean time… or just ‘cause we were the only two white girls in the Tuesday night meeting. Not one to ignore my own paranoia, I was mildly suspicious of this quasi thoughtless, semi racist pairing. But, to be honest, it was more so because the past two sponsors I’d eyed in the rooms just didn’t click with me. Hope was waning. What was it I was looking for anyway? Was I really turned off by the others because they were smokers and I wasn’t? Or was it actually the fact that they were no shiz bishes – and I was afraid of being tough loved? Maybe it was that I wanted someone like the person who attracted me to the program in the first place – successful and joyful, with a tranquil manner. Not “struggling” through recovery – but gleaning the good from life as best they could because of their new program of living. Someone who tended to share some’a that “strength and hope” stuff on the heels of their more painful sharings.

Unfortunately, within the rooms, I was getting more of the pessimism.

Any “hope” was non-authentic, delivered in a coat of platitudes and regurgitated idioms so perfunctorily that they might’s well’ve been sighing as they said it. Even from the potential sponsors, I noticed this. Maybe I was being picky. I was definitely doing the whole “seeing differences versus similarities”. But, to my credit, if this was meant to be an “attraction not promotion” program, shouldn’t I gravitate toward a human I’d wanna emulate at least a little bit? Especially with respect to whoever’d be dishing out pearls of prudence to chuck at me – seeing as I’d be spending lotsa one on one time with them (and I turn into an energy-matching chameleon double fast). Admittedly, with Amy, her energy didn’t seem like a quality at the start. I immediately noticed how anxious she was. And I judged. Mostly because… I was the same damned way. And witnessing her nervousness was like observing some sorta parody of my own. Which made me feel self conscious. I didn’t like it. Then, by some cosmic grace, a few things dawned on me: 1.) I was stalling on finding the “right” sponsor ‘cause I didn’t want to start the step work. 2.) I was hesitating with Amy ‘cause she told it like it was. And 3.) As someone who’s spastic and manic half the time, myself, it suddenly became clear that mayhaps being around someone so painfully similar… might just help me get self-conscious enough to calm the fluff down. Hard as it is to allow yourself to be uncomfortable as you induce change, I’d exhausted all other options. The fact was: I sick enough of myself to change. By any means. Even shame.

But was Amy really right for me?

To confirm, I referred to the same search engine I used to use for my less admirable hobbies.

(Alright, dammit. Sometimes I still do.)

This time, however, it’d be the Do’s and Don’ts of recruiting a good guru for drugless living. And what I came to learn is that it’s a lot easier than I was making it out to be. It’s not exactly like hiring on an employee. No one’s signing a contract in blood to recovery coach you for the next decade. If half a step in, you wonder whether someone who still keeps around their old smack memorabilia mightn’t be best for you, then guess what? You can fire your sponsor. Divorced. 86’d. Splitsies. And then… you can find a new one. No one will begrudge you this because everyone knows that – when it comes to recovery – it’s alright to be a bit selfish. Because if we relapse, we’re likely to lose it all.Our loved ones. Our minds. Our lives. The stakes are too high and too wide to afford any room for butthurt.

With that in mind, I was able to sponsor audition a few peeps fearlessly and move on before determining that, yes, Paul’s intuition was mayhaps founded on more than some racial basis. Amy did seem the most appropriate candidate to shepherd me as we ascended the twelve tiered staircase (which I was told only culminates in returning to the first; a bit Escher-esque if you ask me, but as I said – I was open to anything at this point).

And how’d she fit the bill?

Well, among the Do’s and Don’ts I encountered, Amy checked out on the biggies:

1. DO choose someone with over a year of clean time.

(I didn’t get this at first until I started reading some Sci Am articles on how retraining the brain after drug-taking can be a lengthy process. Clean thinking, much less clean teaching, takes some time. It’s pretty tough to instruct sobriety how-to’s when your own feet are still draggin’ from the wagon you only just recently rejoined). Plus – someone not far enough away from active addiction could easily relapse – and take my arse down with ’em. It can happen to any of us addicts – no matter how many degrees we have or how much Sci Am we read.

2. DO choose someone you respect enough to follow their direction.

(Remembering, as I failed to initially do, that you’re probably not gonna find Eckhart Tolle sat there leading meetings. If you do, A.) send me your group’s time and address. And B.) he probably already has more sponsees than an NFL star’s got unknown children. So, instead’a looking for a human god, maybe settle for someone good.)

3. DO choose someone in an active relache with their sponsor

Your sponsor needs to have someone to go to too.

Espesh when you wear them down with your madness.

The way I did to poor Amy.

4. DO choose someone who goes to meetings frequently.

Why? ’cause it’s like an interactive church for ex-junkies. It reminds us not to be douchey. Which I inevitably turn into when I adhere to my own brain’s advice versus the stuff I get in a room where telling the truth is crucial. My sponsor always asked me during those first weeks, “Which meeting are you going to tonight?” If I hadn’t been planning on it – thinking I could wing a day on my own – the open ended inquiry helped me reconsider. Granted, part of me knew what she was doing and half wanted to reply “the chatroom one” or “none”. But then I remembered why I was here in the first place. Plus, I like to think it gave her a reason to keep going too – the fact that I did. Example setting is a powerful motivator – if a bit egoic.

5. DO choose someone with a working knowledge of the steps.

That just means they actually do their step work. If they don’t then they aren’t living up to the whole “choose someone you respect and will be willing to follow” thing. Amy’d already gone through hers once or twice by the time we met.

6. DO choose someone who makes themselves available.

That’s not to say they drop everything for you when you rapidfire text them from your hovel of early recovery. We’ve gotta be realistic. People with time under their belt’ll be back in the real world and busy. But, if they’re worth their weight as a sponsor, they’ll make time to talk through issues with you and set aside time for step work.

7. DO be open to criticism – but not abuse.

What Amy always did was start out by naming some of her own defects. It opened the door for me to expound on some of my own that maybe I was conveniently forgetting, had suppressed, or was just unwilling to utter out loud. We’re here to change. So why hide our defect corpses in our cognitive car trunks only to rot and putrefy and carry on (carrion?) with ruining our lives? A little openness to suggestion and willingness to relinquish the self-important ego was key for me in those starting stages. A painful, cringe educing effort – but worth it. And, if you’re not the type to open up easily, then at least don’t give up easily… when they’re honest with you and call you on your shiz.

8. DO keep the advice recovery specif.

Try to remember this is a spiritual program meant to keep you clean. Sure, you can discuss how issues of work or money are affecting your recovery (i.e. – by diminishing your practicing of the principles or making you wanna use) but a sponsor’s the 100% wrong source for advice on financial or employment matters themselves.

9. DO boundary set.

Anyone see that last season of Nurse Jackie? Where her sponsor went nutso on her and showed up at her job? Had I seen that episode before attending a f’real meeting, it might have just put me off going at all. Much less adopting one-on-one help. You see, a sponsor being honest with you about your shortcomings face to face is one thing. But if they begin infringing on your personal life, then it’s time to politely issue the pink slip and re-cast that role, my dear.



10. DO choose someone of a gender you’re least attracted to.

Difficult if you’re bi; but this is where we get honest with ourselves and say “Okay. I have zero sexual arousal around this human.” And then, if that changes? You do what I did with the ones that weren’t working out for other reasons. Dismiss ‘em. Kindly, preferably. Otherwise, that whole “13th step” thing’s bound to happen – which compromises recovery in the worst kinda way.

In the end, Amy ended up being a great sponsor.

She followed all’a that above etiquette, never infringed on my life, and was always there when I needed her.

And – as for her anxiousness? Well, the moment I showed up for step work (when I actually did it), it was like an aura of calm came over her. She was transformed. The shallow breathing and darting eyes disappeared, only to be supplanted by a sort of serenity I’ve felt myself after a good meeting, share, or passage digested from “Living Clean” (best of the NA books, IMHO). And that moment – when she knew she was out of her own tortured mind, helping another’s heal – made me realize a couple things. The first is how important compassionate, selfless service toward another can be in restoring our own sanity. And the other? That maybe all of those other sponsors I passed up without even “interviewing” may’ve have been great after all. Because if I’d dismissed Amy (the way I did the others) on the basis of how she was (almost) more antsy than I am… then I’d have missed out on a bomb azz recovery Yoda.

And, Amy, if you ever encounter this article… I hope you take the comparison as a compliment.

’cause I totes would.

Jonesin’ for mischief? Journal it.

Leave a Comment

“I want it.”

The drug. To ravage the woman who doesn’t want me. To murder my husband in his sleep.

Obsessive fixations – from physical drug cravings to harm-doing – can vice us in the grip of one of its hands and torture us slowly with the other. It wasn’t until after I quit chemicals completely that I realized just how deep, dark, and viscous is the bog of compulsive cogitation. It’s one I drown in every day. And, like any other sufferer who no longer relies on scripts or Sauvignon to diminish the demons’ appeals to my intrinsic insanity, I’ve slowly sought out self-help stuff. Initially, when I was alone, meditation itself was helpful. Then, when I began to let others enter my life, my practice was challenged. I had to remember some super Buddhist principles, like: “This is just a thought. What my ex said. What my co-worker did. How I’d like to rip that rectal polyp who cut me off out of his car to choke him out with my left hand and punch him with my right until the light turns green again…”


(“Try to remember it’s somebody’s mother.
Try to remember it’s somebody’s mother….
(*click-click*)
Try to…”)

“ALL just… thoughts.”

When actually activated, this line of thinking can be of great aid.

If something – especially something you want to act on but shouldn’t – is just a thought, it’s not real. You’re not the thought. You don’t have to do it. You’ve not committed it. So it doesn’t define you. And neither do the ramifications of what’d happen if you did.

As a brilliant yes-and to that, today, I read something about these compulsive, cyclical mental laps that really “resonated” (as my more earthy friends’d say) with me. The first part is that – just because you’re acknowledging the just-a-thought-ness, doesn’t mean you’re denying its existence. In fact, it was compared to cutting off a hydra’s head and having a ton more pop up like in that groundhog game at Chuck E. Cheese. Another way I’ve heard’ve this is the “underwater beach ball” analogy: keep trying to submerge an inflated sphere with your body, and it’ll just pop up with seemingly renewed strength, shooting out of the water altogether. The point to the relentless metaphors? Yet another one: like them or not, these thought-beachballs are a part of you. Bury them, and they’ll just spend their time below, resentfully leaking toxins from their grave into your mental earth and the water supply that your other thoughts drink from. And then everything in your world gets distorted. You get angry. Confused. And, once your guard is down, voila. They pop up with supercharged vigor and pelt you rapidfire like a bad game of dodgeball.

Instead of that recurrent nightmare, these thoughts must be dealt with.

You grow the balls to grab those balls and use ’em as weapons.

Against your own demise.

It’s like that Hozier song: “Don’t ever tame your demons; keep ’em on a leash”.

Okay. So… how? How do I do that?

Well, the suggestion I read in this month’s Psychology Today actually touched on a version of a concept I’ve heard in drug recovery programs. It’s one I’ve written about before – called “Think that thought through.” The twist, however, with what PT offered is a little more of a home exercise program. It reaches to non substance addicts who just suffer habitual thoughts they wanna kick, too. You don’t have to have a sponsor. You don’t have to have a shrink. Both help tremendously – because someone else can help keep us honest. But, if you’re in a tight spot and help’s not available, you do this:

Grab a pen and paper – and write the entire scenario down from a fact based standpoint. How the whole thing would look from start to stop. From calling that dude who peddles pills from the house down the street… to the sweats and fiery flesh sensation of coming off’a Oxycontin. From texting your copulatory companion to come over and empty himself… to you feeling empty enough in the days after that you’re more likely to call said pill pusher. Or even the anecdote I read in that PT article – about a woman who really, really wanted to suffocate her slumbering husband. I tried not to laugh about the concept (still am as I write about it) of something seemingly so preposterous – until she detailed everything from watching him stop moving to seeing her mug in tomorrow’s news… and I realized, “Oh, crap. This is really real to her.”

Or – was – I should say.

After she realized something important:

But also acknowledged the thoughts’ existence.

Along with how they’d look IRL… Out loud and in ink.

Because something happens when we reach a place of acceptance. It comes full circle to that “It’s just a thought” thing mentioned before. It’s just a thought. It’s just a part of my mind. It’s not who I am. When something is just a concept or a dark fantasy, it’s only reality’s highlights – not everything. It’s appealing because we’re the Spielberg of this mind movie. Conveniently, we leave the uncomplimentary facets on the cutting room floor. Through thoroughgoing acknowledgment, we add back in the full story – however painful – and let ourselves marinate in the miserable details that are part of the package deal. What’s the full story? Of returning to an abusive partner? Picking up drugs again? Inflicting harm? Sure, your favorite hobby is pleasing the man you love – but his is hitting you with frying pans. Yes, some tranquilizers’d be nice – but every time you pick up a drug, ten years disappears. Of course your wife would be more attractive with her loud mouth stitched shut – but unfortunately there’s a few laws against acting that out too.

Writing it with an actual pen and paper, they say, is crucial because the hand-to-brain action makes it more personal and concrete via the tactility – versus typing. Also, the effort and time it takes affords you the opportunity to indelibly burn the concepts into your brain. Do you remember all the little comments you spew onto social media each day? Every “lol” or heart emoji? No. It’s noncommittal. You could change your mind and unlike that post about talking tube fish tomorrow. Likewise, I have to re-read my stuff on here half the time (out loud) to make sure I mean it. Similarly, with this journaling hack, the idea is to outline facts that matter, get certain about what it is you want, and have the reminder in ink – staring you down tomorrow, versus furtively tucked into an app on your phone. If it’s easier to ignore what you’re ashamed of, you will. But once this has been tried, our darkest desires are far easier to override.

In the meantime? Learn to laugh at your thoughts – not feel guilty – as they arise.

’cause, fortunately, you can’t truly do harm from thoughts alone.

Only to others, if you act on ’em. And only to yourself, if you latch onto ’em.

Rage on: Can we feel secure without drugs?

Leave a Comment

“Do not go gentle into that good night.”

It’s a line from a classic poem that sounds as valiant as it does lovely rolling off the tongue.

And most of the time I hear it quoted, it’s by those battling life’s malevolence. Overcoming hardship. Badassing through adversity. Picking yourself up by your bootstraps. But the thing is, not all boots come with straps. And that’s what Dylan Thomas’ poem was kinda about. Someone at the end of their life. Specifically, his father who was dying… and Dylan didn’t want him to die (‘least that’s what most of the poem reviews I’ve read have said). Though the poor dude was ready to throw in the life soaked towel and greet Peter (or Buddha, or whoever) at the gates, Dylan was acting on the same emotion we all have when we don’t want loved ones to leave us – selfish fear. And he was resisting the reality of the situation – that his father was in pain and suffering a terminal illness – by urging him to fight against “the dying of the light.” Was he trying to talk him out of dying? Was he just trying to talk him out of being so horribly ill so he could have a better last memory of him? Can I judge when I dunno if I’d act any differently?

No, because – despite my recent article on “surrender” – I find myself resisting reality all the time. I try not to, but my gangster brain loves doing secret mafia hits on my few shreds of logic any time I’m not looking. And then I’m left cocooning into a fleece blanket, crying, and missing Valium because it’s officially a week till I turn another year closer to death myself and less confident in myself. However, it shouldn’t be. Because it dawned on me again recently that that concept – of death’s imminence – is the reason why we should all be confident and fearless as hell. Every clean, clear headed, step of the way.

You see, during my active addiction, one of my main reasons for using was a deep insecurity encased in fear. A selfish self-consciousness that manifested as a fear of looking dumb, ugly, or whatever other terror my ego could dredge up when I was in front’a others. And while I often hear that all fear stems from the greater fear – the fear of dying, I tend to disagree with that at least partially. ‘cause, on the contrary, I’ve come to understand that the prospect of death – the reality of it – can be both a positive motivator and even… a comfort.

Not quite where I was going with it…but lemme try to ‘splain.

Though this fact’s come to me before, I always seem to forget it. So, when the concept resurfaced the other day, I decided that this time I’d share it with someone else. And that someone else was a friend who was sharing her thoughts on why we lack confidence and why it’s so hard to force ourselves to feel confident in our own skin. I added that there’s something that almost always helps tweak my outlook so that I can feel – not just fake – confidence. And that’s that’s the concept that we are all going to die. (Bear with me here.) All of us. Eventually. Dead. So, if that’s the case, why not mainline unfettered life into my consciousness fully now? What do I need emotional anesthetic for? Why wouldn’t I feel comfortable around people when there’s going to be a point when I will never see them again? What’re they gonna do – judge me? So what! (*Points individually to members of the audience, Oprah style: “You’re gonna die. You’re gonna die. YOU’RE gonna die real soon if you keep chewing that gum so loudly…Look under your seats! You’re all going home with toe tags!”)

Everything is ephemeral. Much like we self-proclaimed wiser adults tell high school children – you will never see these people in X more years – you ‘n I also will never see everyone around us and X many more years. Granted, it might be a little bit longer (“It gets deader” campaign, anyone?). But, regardless, it’s all going to go and there’s nada you can do about it. (What a relief; can you imagine hiking earth with brittle bones a million years from now and no relief from living? That’s like one step away from a Romero film.) And when it does, all these people and all their opinions will be a whole reality behind you as you go on solo, without them.


A.) Nobody. B.) Coming with you? Looks like you done already gone, my dude.

So why wouldn’t we make everything – every experience – as enjoyable as possible until then? Why bastardize it with our brains’ crappy attitudes? Why waste another moment feeling that you’re not good enough for these people who are also going to expire, decay, and reincarnate possibly into something worse off than you? So, ask yourself – what is the worst that will happen if I act with comfortable – not forced – confidence? Do you think that somebody’s going to come up to you call you a liar? Say you’re not really OK with yourself? Tell you you’re faking? I have yet to have that happen to me. I also have yet to have it fail me as a successful way of literally feeling confidence. It just takes time. We might be initially worried about it meaning we’re “fake”. We might ask ourselves, “Am I being less authentic?” And while those are valid concerns – isn’t authenticity merely comporting yourself in a way that aligns with what you know to be true? (Side note: If you still feel that false when you embody self-security, then that just means you need to mayhaps start doing the kind of things that allow for self-affirmation to come more organically to ya.) Now that we all know we’ve no reason to feel anything but confidence – now that we know that’s true – we can act in alignment with that fact, fearlessly. And this is where that Dylan poem comes in.

Because, before I knew what it meant, I always interpreted it the way my buddies did – merely a self pep talk. But maybe it can be both about death (like he meant it) and metaphorically about overcoming the obstacle of self-doubt. Maybe it can mean that – to truly defy death, we can rage on by changing up our inner fables that are causing us a fate worse than death: being dead inside all the way up until we actually die. And we “rage on” by changing (difficult though it is) pointless thought habits. It only feels like faking because you’ve convinced yourself of a false identity – a miserable, mythical, ongoing autobiography – for far too long. Now is time to leave it behind. Be willing to feel not right to leave what’s wrong behind. Be willing to embody someone you can respect by rewriting your identity into someone you’d look up to if they weren’t you. And soon that feeling’ll be reinforced when others do too. Why live like you’re dead just because you will be some day? Would you quit a marathon you’ve trained for – just because you know you’re not gonna win it? No. You want that damn 26.2 braggadocio bumper sticker for your hooptie.

So rage on with me, friend.

Right up till the light expires.

“Surrender” to what? And why?

Leave a Comment

Surrender was something I heard early on when I attended program meetings.

I didn’t understand. It was one of those terminologies that made the program sound more like a cult than anything else. The second I heard it, I started to wonder if those warnings not to hang around these folk might’ve been right. Who was I surrendering my power to? The people at the meeting? That dude twitching and drooling next to me from years of chemically induced neurological damage? Wait – was there some L Ron Hubbardian weirdo sitting at HQ somewhere with Orwellian cameras capturing us all so that the evidence could be held against us at some point? Well, we can never be sure. But it does sound like a lot of effort for a bunch of ex-junkbags just trying their hardest to clean up their lives.

Plus, most cult leaders are too narcissistic to remain “anonymous”.

Besides that – what I am sure of is that I totally misunderstood this term in those early days.

And apparently I’m not alone there. It would take me a while to realize what the true concept of surrender meant. And while I still clearly need daily reminders, the best explanache I can offer is this: surrender is not about surrendering to people; it’s about surrendering to reality …exactly as it is. That may sound obvious, but how many times have your actions shown that you clearly were adhering to some contrary belief? How often have you resisted reality by compulsively using consciousness-alterers instead of taking a breakup head on? Or a job loss? Or the fact that you woke up alive again? I know that sure as shiz was the case for me. Even now I start thinking about my current addiction – running – whenever life starts heaving circumstantial feces at me rapid-fire style. “Where’s the nearest running trail? Jeeves! Ready my kicks! I need a fix!” (That should be a bumper sticker. Or a graphic tee. Moving on.)

Obviously, that doesn’t mean that if the zombie apocalypse hits, you sit on your thumb and do nothing.

Otherwise, it’ll be the only part left of you once the undead get you in their clutches. What it does mean is that – when things are going badly – you recognize the nature of it fully versus resisting reality as it unfolds by crying, wasting all of your bullets on one cadaver ambulating toward you, or polishing off your group’s snack supply because: comfort eating. These are all emotionally reactive responses that get you nowhere. When you surrender to the concept of “Corpses now roam the globe. That’s a thing now,” then you can collect yourself. And collect the facts. And prioritize your problems in order of importance for addressing so that you and your tribe can survive.

On a comparatively smaller scale, that might start with “I didn’t get a raise. That’s a fact.” And, instead of getting angry at the person you pays you the money you use to support yourself and letting it manifest as passive aggression, you can stop and internally come to the inquiry this entire article’s about. The crucial question that’s the whole point of surrendering to reality:

“What’s the solution, here?”

If you’re angry enough at your boss for not giving you a raise, is the solution to keep staying in a toxic work environment? Or is it to do the temporarily inconvenient thing of seeking new employment? Going to a few interviews? Maybe finding a new career path that doesn’t make you have to hypnotize yourself (either literally like Office Space dude or with drugs like you or me used to) into caring less.

Surrendering – to reality – is the only way that creative solutions can come to you. And creative solutions are vital in actually resolving the issue you wanna resist in the first place. Wallowing is not a solution. Taking out anger on others is not a solution (though, to my shame, I am a sucker for spontaneously catapulting a casserole dish every now ‘n then). And, obviously, taking drugs to numb cold circumstances is not a solution. These are all definitely signs you’re not accepting actuality. That you’re not surrendering to what’s real. Once you come to terms what is actually happening, then you can effing fix it, instead of getting effed up on a fix. If nada else, remember that today. The reality is that you ‘n me aren’t able to use drugs or firewater successfully – assuming you’re an addict, too. We must accept the fact that we’re among the 10% of people who can’t have a leisurely drink because of where it leads. When we truly accept that (and our brain stops holding us hostage and shutting down because it doesn’t want to believe this information that doesn’t jibe with egg nog holidays and selfies taken in the Bahamas with fruit cocktails in hand) once that happens, then the answers to the underlying issues happening in reality (making us wanna use in the first place) can arise.

So, what’s the solution?

It’s not easy, but it is simple. We need first surrender to the fact that we cannot use.

That means, when the craving demon screams from the cellar below, our higher selves interrupt them:


“Dude… you’re the one offering me pills ‘n stuff. Hypocrite.”

Seriously, though: “Not an option” single-handedly got me through those preliminary detox cravings and withdrawal symptoms. And I can’t help but believe it might work for you too. Not because I told you to. Not because someone in a meeting told you to. But because all of us have taken a look at our lives and know where the alternative to addressing reality leads. After that, there’s a new solution for every barrier dumped in front’a me each day. And none of them can be addressed without addressing the one just mentioned – about staying clean. (Otherwise your problem-priority list on the kitchen fridge’ll always only be 1.) Get turnt 2.) Get more 3.) Repeat. As your house and life melt around you like a Salvador Dali piece). So, for me, it’s meant that at the foundation of my life, I stay clean one day at a time, keep around a tribe of like-minded sickos dedicated to their recovery, and help other people if they ask for it. That way, they can receive the same insight that was gifted me. And pass it on. ’cause surrendering isn’t giving up anything of worth. It’s only giving up the internal inferno that’s only ever let you down.

So, lemme ask you, friend: what’re you resisting today? What’s the reality of the sitch?

More importantly, what’s the solution?