relapse

Recovery versus relapse: is there any in between?

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

Is it true?

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

Where you get them’s ultimately up to you.

Relapse: ain’t no shame in starting over

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

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

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

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

Harsh, right?

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

And as for clean time?

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

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

And if – Higher Power forbid – I relapse?

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


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

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

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

And third? Stop.

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

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

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

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

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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.

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

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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)

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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.