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Keeping Clean In Quarantine For The Isolated Addict

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It was tough enough pre-pandemic.

The slightest of inconveniences could feel like a trigger. The rainy weather. A long day of work. The dog taking too long to drop a deuce. Staying sober or clean was sufficiently difficulty at the best of times. But, back then, we all had outlets. For those managing their obsessions independent of a substance related group, there were gyms and coffeehouses to visit. We could punch and run our problems out. Or we could talk them to death over coffee. What’s more, the familiarity of that routine is so very comforting for the recovering addict. We love our routines. Our rituals. They bring us great comfort. My Fridays out with friends and my regular sweaty sessions at the dojo filled a void. They were hydration to my desiccated soul. I’d had a tough day or week. But I always knew I had something to anticipate. A reward.


(“Good thing I have Muay Thai to replace mai tai’s now….”)

Now, nothing.

Even if I still resonated with the anony-meetings, meetups are cancelled.

Along with the rest of the world.

As an essential worker, I know I should feel grateful to still have an income. And I do. But it’s taxing. Physically and psychologically. I spend my days using my body to heal other bodies. I spend my days using my brain to figure out how I can do that while managing a busy schedule. And I spend my days draining my empathy reserves on non-compliant patients. I’m spent by the end. And, with none of my usual outlets to fill myself back up, I go from one draining day, week, and now month, into the next. What’s more – I live alone. So, unlike my colleagues who go home to a significant other they can Netflix or hike with, it’s just me.

It’s been seven years since I’ve craved the object of my addiction: pills.

Once I had my new life in place, I didn’t miss them.

But recently, I nearly caved.

My savior? A porn star. No, I don’t mean that a stint of self love kept me clean. (Although, if that’s what you need to do, more power to you, friend.) Rather, it was a buddy I have on social media who happens to star in adult films. He had just posted about sobriety. For me, alcohol was never the issue. Pills were. But it was the same concept. So, I asked him what he was doing to stay clean in quarantine while isolated. And what he said kinda gave me a case of the duh’s: meditate. Cultivate a gratitude list. Take stock of what is going well right now. Find a new routine. Automatically, I was retro jet propelled back into my early days of clean time in my life after meds. I recall having none of the stuff I have now and managing to remain pill free. I read. I worked out on my elliptical. I cleaned. I did some art. I watched some contemplative documentaries instead of scrolling through dopamine depleting Insta posts. And, just like my friend, Seth, I meditated.

In a way, getting clean that first time was a lot like this pandemic has been.


(It used to be “you’re not alone” because there were other addicts. But *this* experience is universal.)

You step into the unknown and it feels like a kind of death.

It’s terrifying. And you know that it’s going to be hard. That it won’t feel good. That you’ll take a few L’s. But, somehow, you have the faith to believe that your hardship and sacrifice is going to yield something better. In the case of early recovery, you know that withdrawal will end within a few weeks tops and that (provided that you’re doing the work) you’ll retrain your brain toward a new normal. They talk a lot about “bucking the system” in the rooms of NA. But, now, is the ultimate test. Instead of avoiding step work or gratitude lists, now it’s about “bucking reality”. We’re all going through this. It’s a shared experience. The only question is – how will we choose to deal with it? Because, in the end, it is very much a choice. Maybe the world will go back to the way it was. But maybe another wave of illness will send us back into quarantine. The best we can do is to be prepared and have a system – just like we implemented during early clean time.

So, for my fellow friends attempting to remain unsullied in isolation: consider doing what I’m begrudgingly attempting myself today. Generate a list of what is going well. If you can’t think of anything, think of someone you love who’s still alive. And start there. Is your dog cuddled up next to you? Do you have an income? Is there still central heating keeping you warm (which we still need in mid spring for some reason)? How about your limbs? Are they all still attached to your torso? Can you hear your favorite playlist with two functional ears? Watch your favorite movie with two operating eyes? The list goes on when you actually redirect your focus. (No pun intended there.)


(“I only have a roof over my head, my health, my job, my family, internet access and plenty of food. I’m dyingggg…”)

After that, in the spirit of lists, keep going. And make a daily routine, hour by hour. Following this each day, even loosely, will help hold you accountable to a schedule and keep you out of your head. Wake at eight and eat breakfast. Work remotely after. Run at noon. Clean at one. Meditate at four. Dinner at five. Whatever seems doable, make that your new plan. I’m not saying don’t have any stretches of freedom. But hours upon hours of idle time is the enemy of sobriety.

Also, it might sound odd, but I’m gonna say it: foster a dog. The single thing getting me through isolation right now is my furry companion. With her classic Pekingese bug eyes and rock star personality, I am constantly being brought out of bad thought cycles. Animals pick up on tension. And, like clockwork, when I’m letting my head get away from me, she’s there. Sat on my lap. Paw on my wrist. It’s as if to say, “Pet me instead of picking up.” (Also, I think she’s psychic because she’s making her way toward me now that we’re talking about her…)

Then, finally, for those of you who depended on the meetings, I feel you. Even as an introvert, I know for a fact that there’s something I get out of eye contact, hugs, and unspoken microexpressions or body language that I can’t get from a text message. In person, you can gaze at eachother. In person, you share energy. In isolation, you sit there, looking at your phone and hoping the red “one” appears before you start taking desperate measures. Fortunately for us, however, “Zoom” is now a thing. And, as I’ve perused a few online blogs about the digital anony-meetings, this seems to be the best bet. Having just done a family zoom last weekend, I can safely say this is a lot more enjoyable than it sounds. I hadn’t wanted to hop on a facetime conference call to talk. It seemed so distant and cold compared to actual gatherings. But, within a few minutes, it was just like the real thing. Mom and dad were confused and turning up their hearing aids. Brother was bantering with sister. Sister and I were making stupid faces and pretending to be descending imaginary stairs in the frame while everyone else ignored us and talked about Covid. So, if you’re not up for a typical meeting and hearing addicts regurgitate idioms or unoriginal dogma from the last one they went to across town, then facetime a friend. Anything to re-frame your brain and get you back on track.

And if you’re feeling quite alone right now, just know that you’re not special.

But what you are is newly equipped – with some adequate coping tools.

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.

Why should I bother being a sponsor?

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Congratulations.

You’ve made it through the twelve steps. That means two things.

The first? That you start over again at step one.

And the second? That you pass it along.


“What? No prize? Where’s the streamers and giant check?”

I know. I know. I too felt like a trophy should’ve come with getting clean. But, in a way, your award’s found when you start over and start out someone else who needs help on the path. Why? Well, the thing about this serenity ladder is that it’s not linear. It’s a circle. A sober samsara. You keep going because, well, life keeps going – and so does the addictive facet of your personality. (Can’t erase it, but you can totally manage it.) It endures so long as you do. It manifests in any malicious, tricky, didn’t-see-that-shiz-coming number of ways. And, in that way, continuing on with the steps isn’t some negative laborious thing. It’s a code you’ve luckily encountered to living a more tranquil life. A gift. Many people (non-addicts, with their own plethora of unresolved issues) will go their whole lives not having the kinda guide this program offers. (which is not just about staying sober, but staying sane.) Thus, the silver lining to addiction’s that – if you come to recovery and do the work – you’re not just covering the recovery bit of your life-issues. You’re also addressing any of the daily demons gnawing at your noggin that’ve got nothing to do with drugs before they can drive you to some sort’ve destructive behavior. Like they say in the rooms, “More will always be revealed.”

So, no, you’ve never ended your journey.


(Great. Now lower the ladder, bish and help your homies below.)

And that’s why we start back at step one – to keep the disease in check.

But this is also why – when we do – we also begin looking to newcomers who need help hopping on that wheel of wellness. Becoming a sponsor. In a way, it’s like having a little sister or bro in your clean fraternity. (At least, I’m assuming they still do that; I never got into Greek life myself in college.) You’re their serenity mentor. A sober sensei. You help other people mount the self-awareness wheel, start ’em at step one, and guide them along as you continue your own self work. And, in return for paying it backward, you pay it forward to your future self. How? ’cause it’s successful in the same way the old adage about training recruits on the job is: “See one. Do one. Teach one.” Ever heard that? When you come to a meeting, you read the lit and see in person how it’s serving other long time sober folk. Then, you do it for yourself, and realize they weren’t just effing with you. They’re on some Harry Potter shiz ’cause the “big book” truly works in application.


“What sorcery is this? Witchcraft? I knew it…”

Then, after that, you demonstrate that fact one day to someone coming in and picking up a white keytag.

They hear about how three years ago your were railing mystery powder off some carnival oddity’s genetalia and dining in dumpsters. Then, in the next breath, they hear how your present problems comprise deciding whether to give up your Malibu mansion or your one in Florida and who’s going to get the private plane in the divorce. (Granted, becoming a billionaire isn’t the common recovery story. But A.) it happens and B.) the transformative 180 that happens, 100% is.) Naturally, we know those problems comparatively aren’t real problems. And, naturally, these newbie’s are drawn to the genuine joy you’re vomiting all over the meeting. Thus, they come to you saying “I wanna have what you have. How’d you get it?” And that’s when you take ’em under your clean wing and show them the ropes. Just like someone did for you when you worked the steps.

And, that’s when future you can potentially benefit.

Remember when we said you start over after step twelve? Because more will be revealed? More is always gonna be revealed. And you know what helps you do the deepest digging? Other people. This thing I’m about to say goes for any self-betterment quest, and recovery’s no different: everyone is your teacher. Sure, your sponsor and the kindly man who sponsors her. But so is that drama-mongering dry drunk who mean mugs all the way through the meeting. And so is the newcomer. Some show you what you want to be. Some show you which facets of yourself are less admirable and to avoid embodying. And some – green to being clean – just remind you of how crucial it is to keep an open mind in recovery in order to keep uncovering more about ourselves. That we all have more to learn, no matter how far we’ve come.

And that’s part of the work of sponsorship that makes it so symbiotic.

First, there’s the feel goodery that comes with an act of compassion. It says a lot about who you are if you’re willing to sacrifice your natural-high days to come down and empathize with someone on a low level. You run the risk of your good example falling flat, which can either make you feel bad – or make you hafta to work hard to remember that you can’t control other people and need to detach emotionally from the choices they ultimately make. Then again, you might have an amazing impact on them. Either way, though, you can rest assured that acting out of compassion has a resonant effect within you. Knowing, deep down, that you made an effort – at your own expense – to better someone’s situation is validating, confidence instilling, and reinforces self worth.


(It also boosts those feel-good bonding hormones.)

And when it does work – it’s mindblowing how much it can change both’a your lives.

Sure, they’re gaining indispensable insight. But so are you. By helping someone else, you’re helping yourself via reinforcing the principles that’re so easy to lose in the midst of daily, societal distractions. You can learn anything you want to – all the program literature in the world. But if you don’t apply it, you lose it. And if you don’t have reminders, you won’t apply it. And the biggest reminder is seeing the effects of the program in others. Seeing how it works in other people, helps us remember our ongoing goal. Feeling connected to that experience, however, is next level fuel for our carry-on campfire burning inside’ve us. This is why aiding a sponsee on their newfound path is especially invaluable. It’s also why they say “we keep what we have only by giving it away”. Seeing the program work in someone new is a beautiful reminder of how far you’ve come when you start to fall prey to diseased thinking again. Seeing the program work in someone because you’ve helped them, though? As a writer, I can’t aptly capture with words the feeling you get when you realize you’ve altered someone else’s life for the better. It’s a reminder that you’re a role model. (Egoic as that sounds, even the ego serves its purposes. Besides, you learn real quick that you only maintain this relevance via humility.) You’ve offered the partial seed in someone’s recovery, inseminated them with the ingredients for sobriety, and watched them grow. And that means you have a responsibility now to lead a life worth emulating. For them, and for those like them. In that way, you’re just as indebted to them as they are to you. Because they’re keeping you on track, too.

And that kinda connection’s one of the most unique things you’ll ever experience.