Mr. SponsorPants

My relapses. 1986 and 1988. Part 1

January 6th is a personal anniversary for me.

It was my original sobriety date:  January 6, 1986.

I have not had any alcohol since January 5th, 1986 -- which is, given the nature of my alcoholism, nothing short of miraculous, trite as that phrase may be.

But that is not my sobriety date now.  To date I have been clean and sober and honest about it since March 1, 1988.  I have to include the "honest about it" part because ... well, you'll see.

I stumbled (literally) into AA in early January of 1986.  My family had done their half-assed version of an intervention, and by that I mean it was all heart and no teeth.  The shark-like predatory alcoholic inside me knew that I still had some rope to play in that department.  It is the nature of alcoholism that you can love people deeply, and still ruthlessly use them in order to keep drinking.  The guilt from this, under the internal pressure of addiction, crystallizes into a kind of deep self loathing -- like coal into diamond;  from a lump of black to something hard and sharp and cutting -- but what it cuts is any semblance of self worth or esteem. 

But although I felt there was more bluff than consequence from the Enablers Quarter, the first small miracle of my sobriety was that I called the phone number they had given me for the National Council on Alcoholism.  My memory of what happened when I went is hazy, but suffice to say I left with an Alcoholics Anonymous Meeting Directory and the clear sense that an AA meeting was my next stop.

It was hideous.

Oh, the people were nice -- wonderful, in fact.  It was just that I was detoxing and freaking out and if I hadn't promised myself that I would stay for the whole thing I would have made a polite excuse and a run for the door after about five minutes.  Again, my memory is spotty on some of the specifics -- I remember I chain smoked through the whole thing (this was back when you could smoke in meetings -- ironically not only could you smoke in meetings, the meeting itself was held in the smoking section of a hospital cafeteria.  Man, back in the day, those smoking meetings were smokey.  There is nothing like a roomful of sober drunks, drinking coffee and smoking, to paint the air blue.  I remember thinking, even as a serious smoker back then, "Holy spit, this smoke thing is over the top."  The meetings were ninety minutes long, and by the end of the first hour you could barely see to the other side of the room.)

From there I got my first Big Book, and learned about what other meetings were held there at the hospital (venturing beyond the one place I'd found seemed too much for me), and one day at a time, I did not drink and I went to meetings.

I shook.

I had terrible, explosive migraines (given the amount I was drinking towards the end, a medically supervised detox would probably have been wise).

I sweated profusely and my mouth was dry and I remember feeling like my brain was buzzing, like an actual low-grade, nearly audible hum, and I was about five seconds from saying "eff it" and going back to the bar at any given moment ... but I just read the Big Book and went to meetings and ... didn't drink, one minute at a time.

Then I realized that ... one minute at a time had added up to some days.

Then I found out about the chips, and I circled the days on the calendar as to when I could get them.  I was determined to get the chips.  I was not above lying to get them, except that in the back of my mind I pictured going up for a chip before I'd earned it and someone in the back of the meeting jumping up and shouting "Stop! That man is a filthy liar!  He has not been sober long enough for that chip!"  Then everyone would gasp, and I'd have to leave.

(If you're new to AA I would like to pause this loopy personal recollection for a moment and assure you that AA meetings are not a place where you will find people jumping up and denouncing the newcomer for anything.  A couple of old-timers may go toe-to-toe on rare occasions, metaphorically speaking, and usually on something important only to the two of them -- but the overwhelming majority of AA'ers would just like to welcome you if you're new, and pretty much that's it.  Our enthusiasm in that can be its own kind of off-putting, but that's a discussion for some other time.)

Why getting the chips was so important to me, I do not know -- except that I have always liked a little trinket, a little souvenir, possibly some jewelry, so that might have had something to do with it.  Whatever it was, I locked in on those chips with laser intensity.

Then I actually got a chip, and people clapped, and I pretended that it didn't matter but I liked that very much indeed.

I kept my mouth shut, didn't share for a long time (hard to believe now, I'm sure) but back then I was still checking the whole thing out, looking for hooks and angles.

Three chips along, suddenly one night, sitting at my kitchen counter, I thought to myself, "You know what?  I should go and see Greg and Leon.  I haven't seen them in three months -- they're going to think I'm rude!"

Yeah, rude.  That's what I convinced myself I was worried about.

Now, Greg and Leon lived together and were partners in a small construction company -- which was really more apartment prep/handyman than real construction.  I had fallen in with them at the bar, and started working for them.  None of us liked each other much when we were sober, but that wasn't ever a problem, since we were constantly smoking pot and drinking. 

So I hop off my kitchen stool and toodle on over to say hi to Greg and Leon.

Except that I wasn't going over to say hi, I was going over to get hi.

And in the way of the curious mental blank spot all who suffer from alcoholism are afflicted with, I both did and did not know this.  I did not know it just a little teeny bit more than I did know it, and that's all it takes, kids.

That's all it takes to wind up killing yourself, actually.

So I went over and they were drinking and smoking, like they always were, and I sat in the same chair I always sat in, like I always did, and ... naturally, I got high.  I was determined not to drink with them -- I think I dimly understood that there was no turning back again from that for me -- my 90 something days had been hard, hard won, and (to this day) I believed that I wouldn't be able to do it again if I'd started drinking again that night. 

So... now I had a secret.

On the way home I gnashed my teeth and yelled at myself and had that awful sinking feeling in your gut when you've done that same old same old major screw up again.  I thought maybe I'd have to give back my AA chips... and ... and I didn't want to have to start over!  So, genius con and fraud that I am, I made a deal with God. 

I used to make lots of deals with God.  God usually kept God's end of the bargain, in one fashion or another, albeit a bit silently.  Me?  Not so much.  But this time I was deeply sincere.  I promised God that now I got it, and I understood that clean and sober meant clean and sober, and that was just like my little "test" -- it didn't count -- and from then on I wouldn't drink or smoke pot or ... any other drugs  ... and so since now I was going to be "good" I didn't have to tell anybody about that little trip to Greg and Leon's.  That would be God's and my special little thing.

So I had a secret and a deal with God and I actually kept them both.

And since it was, as noted above, nothing short of miraculous that I wasn't drinking, and I threw myself into AA to the best of my ability, I stayed sober, and eventually, unbelievably, I actually forgot about my little visit to Greg and Leon and the fact that I was on dirty time.

The fact that I had smoked pot at about ninety days sober was there in my brain, but my thoughts would just pass around that fact like river water passing around a stone in its path.

(In the classic 1960 film "Inherit the Wind," which is a slightly fictionalized account of the John Scopes "Monkey Trial," the character of Mathew Harrison Brady is on the stand giving testimony about his belief in the Bible's 7 day creation story.  Clarence Darrow asks him some tough questions, to which he replies, "I do not choose to think about things I do not choose to think about!"  I always thought that brilliantly captures the way my mind worked in those days.  That was me, then, and I pray with all my heart sometimes that it is not me now.  Or not much, or not for long, anyway.)

But here's the problem with secrets and lies: 

They will drive a sober alcoholic insane.

And that's what started happening to me.

continued

one thing alcoholics have in common

One thing that alcoholics have in common with each other is the deep seated belief that we are each terminally unique.  I believe this makes us secretly feel both a little superior and somewhat inferior, all at the same time.

It is an odd mixture of relief and sorrow when we discover just how similar (and often mundane) we truly are.

Take heart!  There is still room for feeling special when you let go of terminal uniqueness.  It's called self esteem -- and while some days it still feels like a high wire act to value myself without making myself "different than" (i.e. unique) from the rest of the world (or at least the rest of the meeting) -- the longer I've stayed sober the more it has come to be as easy and familiar as an old sock.

Self esteem did not come to me as the result of a mental exercise, however.

To develop self esteem I had to do esteemable acts.

Or, more simply, old behaviors bring old feelings, and new behaviors bring new feelings.

Setting aside my terminal uniqueness was actually a part of the process towards self esteem that I didn't recognize till after I'd done it.  And self esteem was important not just as an exercise in feeling good (which of course it does), but as a part of a larger healing process in my recovery.

It's easier to stay sober if you begin to believe you're worth saving.

If you're reading this today and you don't believe that, it's okay, there are lots of people in AA who do -- and our belief in your worth and your ability to recover can carry you along till you believe it yourself.

But you have to keep coming back for us to have the chance to show you.

The Shovel

"Hi, welcome to Wilson's Hardware.  How can I help you today?"

"I want to return this shovel."

"Oh.  Okay, no problem, we're happy to take a return on any item in the first thirty days with a receipt, or offer store credit for up to ninety days, with or without a receipt.  Can I ask, what is the reason for the return?"

"Doesn't work."

"I'm sorry?"

"Shovel doesn't work."

"The shovel is broken in some way?  I don't see any ... "

"Doesn't work."

"The shovel... doesn't work."

"That's right.  Doesn't work.  I came in here couple weeks ago, told one of you people the situation with something I need to do, and you all told me I needed to dig a foundation, and sold me a shovel.  Said this was the tool I needed to get started."

"Oh.  Okay.  And ... I'm sorry, but how is it that the shovel is broken?  I'm happy to take it back if you like, please, don't misunderstand, I'm just ... it appears to be fine.  Completely unused in fact."

"Doesn't work."

"But how ... "

"Look, you all sold me a shovel, said this was what I needed to get started.  I took it home and nothing happened.  Got no foundation started at all."

"Did you ... forgive me but ... did you use the shovel?"

"This shovel doesn't work.  You sold me on it and I have no foundation."

"Yes, but ... did you use it?"

"Took it home and nothing happened.  Tool for the job my ass!"

"But sir, with all due respect, you have to use the tool for it to work."

"Look, I listened to you people and you convinced me that this was the tool for the job.  I bought it and brought it home.  Job's not done -- hell, job's not even begun.  Clearly, the damn thing doesn't work.  So I'm returning it."

"Sir I ... that is ... "

"You know, I'm going to tell everyone that the stuff here doesn't work.  Now I'd like a refund please, and I'll be on my way."

"If ... if that's what you really want, of course, sir.  I'm certainly not here to sell you anything you don't want.  I'll be happy to refund you right away."

"Damn straight."

Relapse Prevention: Special Holiday Edition

It is almost impossible, under the onslaught of marketing, sentimentality, familiar childhood music and white sugar not to have some expectations about a holiday or the people (especially family) whom we will share it with.  Remember that expectations are the mother of most resentments.  The best thing to do when dealing with unmet expectations in a highly charged situation is to take a deep breath and say, "Okay."  The word "okay" is a magic word, stronger than "Shazam" or "Abracadabra."  Just breathe, smile (if you can) and say "okay."  Works pretty much every time.

If you're traveling you're off your routine, you're not in your own bed, you're away from your sober friends and your regular meetings.  Sometimes it's not possible or realistic to get away to a meeting when you really, really need one, and if there are differences in time zones it can be hard to reach a sponsor or sober friend on the phone.  If you forgot to pack some AA literature, or those same pages you often read just aren't doing it for you in the crunch, click here.  It is the Alcoholics Anonymous Grapevine Magazine, and it is wonderful reading.  Literally medicine for what ails you.

Sometimes reading isn't enough, and you really need to hear some people talking recovery.  Click here.  It's a link to XA.org.  XA is ... well, I'll let them tell it.  This is from their FAQ page:

Q: What is this page all about?
A: www.xa-speakers.org is a collection of recordings from speakermeetings, conventions and workshops of 12-step fellowships, such as Alcoholics Anonymous, Al-Anon Family Groups and Narcotics Anonymous.

Q: Who runs the page?
A: www.xa-speakers.org is run by a few sober drunks in Iceland.

Iceland!  (I know, me too.)  In just two or three clicks you can be listening to a speaker from a meeting.

The holiday season brings wonderful days of feasting, time with loved ones and time with people you're related to (often but not always the same thing).  But those days are just another 24 hours, and the same tools that got you through the last 24 hours can get you through these 24 hours as well.  You just have to remember to use them.

Pray, breathe, and remind yourself regularly it's not all about you.

Cheers!

" ... am I being Punk'd?" Part 2

Part 1 here.

It's funny what you learn and how you learn it.

Well, it's not always funny -- and by funny I mean strange, not ha-ha.

In retrospect I guess there's nothing funny-strange about this at all -- it's just my ego, yet again.

I've tried to write this three or four times since I wrote Part 1, but it always came out much snarkier than I intended.  But then I got it:  That's what I needed to see in all this.  The bits of snark hiding in the corners, like crappy emotional dustbunnies.

You see, it turns out that this rehab which may (or may not) go in on my street -- so laughably close to my front door that it's hard not to see a cosmic punchline somewhere in the offing -- is what would generally be referred to as "high end."

Very high end.

"Luxury concierge accommodations for people willing to pay $28,000 a month (doctors are billed separately) ..."

A concierge.

There's more: 

According to the owner/founder of the rehab it would "cater to Fortune 500 CEO's, Major League Baseball and Soccer Players and entertainers.  Ten percent (two) of our beds would be committed to 'community use' for low/no cost patients, but we'll screen them carefully to fit in with our clientele."

Yeah, I know.  Me too.

I had thought I would be describing the process of finding out about the rehab, and maybe whatever then passed between myself and my neighbor who seems so opposed to its placement here on our street.  I'd wondered if the situation was going to turn out to be a little amusing, and I might have fun sharing it here -- not at her expense -- just the irony of the larger dynamic -- what with me being a big AA booster and her apparent attitudes (not unwarranted, I hasten to add) about addicts in general.

But instead of humor, I found my own snark.  I found my AA arrogance.  And of course, my familiar friend, ego.

You know, for the longest time in early sobriety I never thought I played God -- I thought "playing God" meant you were some kind of know-it-all bully-type.  (And I'm too wiley for that -- I'm the passive/aggressive low-self-esteem charming bully-type, who grinds you down with courtesy and kindness.  Death by butter knife.)  But it is playing God to think that I know how things should be for people.  It is playing God to assume -- albeit not always with a side order of snark, sometimes with the best of intentions -- that my way of getting sober is in any way morally superior or more effective than a method which costs $28,000 per month.

Because the fact is, I don't know.  (Some people only value information they have to pay dearly for, after all.)

Turns out that in trying to write Part 2 of this I saw that my initial reaction to what I learned about the proposed rehab was dripping with reverse-snobbery, and a good sized dollop of God-playing snark underneath it.

If my own financial roller coaster and checkered job history has taught me anything, it's that poverty is not ennobling, and money is not degrading.  Sure, poverty can put you in survival mode, and it's hard not to succumb to fear when you're there.  And money can prey on ego, and engender its own kind of fear (in my experience the fear of not getting what you think you need is a dull throbbing ache, but the fear of losing what you've got is a sharp, acute, stabby kind of thing.)  It's cheap sentiment, populism and reverse snobbery to make the leap that just because someone can and does spend a lot of money to go to rehab that they are ... foolish?  Misguided?  Spoiled?  Grandiose?  Wasting their money?

None of those things are true.

Some of those things may be true.  But I am not an authority on what works for other people -- I must remember that the only thing I can be sure of is what works for me.

It is embarrassing to write here, but my initial reaction to a $28,000 per month rehab had all the sophistication of an episode of "The Beverly Hillbillies":  "Garsh, Jethro, those city folks shure are high steppin when they go to dry out!"  

Sure, I'm being a little hard on myself.  You could make the case that something which appeals to elitism may not be very helpful in dealing with the commonly agreed-upon profile of an addict, which includes a propensity for grandiosity and a generally high level of self-involvement.  (And playing the victim!  Let's not forget the victim stuff!  Oh, and the entitlement!)  Having the concierge swing by the dry cleaners before you go into Group is not a treatment strategy I'm familiar with, I grant you, and the questions it immediately raises for me are worthy of consideration.

But it's not for me to say.  No, really.  That is not a posture I'm striking.  If I'm going to be open and available to newcomers, if I'm going to be open to new ideas, and not be rigid or close-minded,  I must guard against playing God, and watch for arrogance in all things recovery-related.

AA is one way of getting sober.  The 12 Step world has been an amazing, healing experience for me, and for a lot of people I know.

And certainly lots of people try lots of things -- potentially including the Fortune 500 rock-star style rehab -- before they are willing to try AA -- if they're ever willing to.

What I learned from this (so far -- more will be revealed, as the expression goes) is how subtle -- but hopefully not pervasive -- my arrogance can be on certain topics.  How easily my affection for and loyalty to AA alchemizes into something which serves no one -- not the newcomer and not me.

AA is a program of attraction, not promotion.  Thinking that we're the only and the bestest way to get sober is probably not very attractive.

It is the best way for me, yes.  But again, that's the only part of this I can be certain of.

Ah, nothing like an uncomfortable recognition of my character defects and the humbling phasers set to stun as I start the week.

Happy Monday!

you to you

Do not compare yourself to other people (which is really just what you think other people are, anyway.)

Do not compare yourself to who you think you're supposed to be.

Compare instead who and how you were when you came to AA against who and how you are today.

Compare you to you -- whether you have only a few weeks to look back upon, or many, many years.

That is the only measure worthy of reflection, as it will show you the unbroken line of spiritual healing we so easily lose sight of on any given scary day.

And really, isn't that what you need to see, when you're unsure?

and it will again

"Well, let's face it.  It wasn't the first time you'd had a S.W.A.T. team in your living room." I said, my voice low and gentle.  This was no time for sarcasm.

He took a deep breath, and laughed a little.  "Yeah, I know.  You're right."  Then he smiled just a bit, and I thought to myself, "There! If I could take a picture I would show it to people who didn't know what a rueful smile looked like and say: 'This! This is a rueful smile.'"

It was impossible not to like him, at first, which is what nearly got him killed when he was out there using for all those years.  The mean drunks start to get slapped down pretty early in their drinking careers -- family, bartenders, cops, courts -- the jerks among us get pushback fairly early on.  The charmers?  The nice ones, the funny ones ... they're the ones everybody lets slide and slide -- till they slide right into the grave, sometimes.

He is very charming, with what old-time advertising would have called "an effervescent personality," -- until you get too close and it all gets too much.  That's the thing with alcoholics and addicts.  So often we've got special, splendid qualities, but it's like our equalizer is set all wrong, and once you really start to listen you hear how our music is just a little discordant -- just a little bit ... off.

I'd sponsored him years ago.  Had his first birthday party in my back yard, actually.  (Back when I had a back yard.  Back when I was that kind of sponsor.  Now I just tell the poor kids which restaurant might have a room big enough to host a largish group and suggest they give 'em a call and make a reservation.  I'm just a terrible curmudgeon now.  Dreadful.)

His first time in the Program he did okay for a few years, then drifted.  I had often thought he was a living example of the old adage, "Don't let what Alcoholics Anonymous gives you take you away from Alcoholics Anonymous."  Lost track of him for almost a decade, though he would come to mind on occasion and I'd ask around -- eventually wondered if he might have died.  But then he turned up in a meeting one day, with that look people have when they come back from years-long runs; shaky and hesitant, too much white showing in the eyes, but not enough spirit to meet your gaze.

He'd been telling me just a little about what had happened on his relapse, the violence, the drugs, about the confusion of looking down one day and seeing all those little laser targeting things from the S.W.A.T. guns dotting his chest ("it was like being covered in fireflies" he said, in a moment of accidental poetry.  "Flat fireflies.  And when I looked down the first thing I thought was, 'Hey! Just like in the movies!'").  The recollections had gotten dark, and we had talked about his using before he got sober the first time and then his relapse and how things had progressed, as they always, always seem to.  Hence my gentle tone.

And here he sat on my living room sofa again, and here we were, talking about the 12 Steps again.  Different living room, different sofa, same Steps.

He'd asked my help specifically in doing his 4th Step.  "There's stuff" he said.  "Stuff since I came back" (he's been sober again for a little while now) "and if I don't get it out it'll take me out."

I'm a careful listener.  When he asked me for help he didn't say "I'm afraid it might" or any variation on that.  He said "it will" -- and I believe him -- so I said I'd help.  (Really, is there any other answer to that request?  No.  Not in my book.)

In my experience, people who relapse and make it back all have pretty much the same fear inside.  A hundred variations of "What if I'm too broken for this to work?  What if I'm one of those ones who just can't get it?  What if what took me out before takes me out again?"

And I only have one answer to all that.

It's almost never that AA and the 12 Steps didn't work.  It's that you stopped working it.  And that's not because you were extra bad or too broken, it's because your alcoholism found a way back in -- and there is no shame in that -- just something to learn from, and eventually share, in the hopes of sparing others whatever you went through.    

There is no expiration date on what AA offers.

If you have relapsed, do not be afraid that it won't work -- it did before and it will again -- if you work it.

Questions via Email: Trust

Good morning Mr. SponsorPants,

I hope you can help me with a little dilemma I have.  I recently came back after a run of several years.  Before that I had several years in the rooms before I went out.  Now that I am back in the rooms I am actually in a different state than I lived in when I got sober.  My issue now is trusting people in the rooms.  The first time I was in the rooms I trusted everyone because I didn't realize that some are sicker than others.  Now I find myself on the other extreme.  I don't share at all in meetings because I don't know who is safe.  I call my sponsor but I find myself holding back.  I haven't outright lied yet but I just leave things out... and yes, I know, omission is a form of deception.

I know it takes time to open up and trust people, but I am afraid that my lack of trust will take me back out.  Right now my sponsor gave me some step work to do and I have no issue writing it all out.  I think knowing these things and having them in black and white in front of me will get me to learn a lot about myself and the patterns that lead me to drink.  However, if I am to do this properly, a lot will be revealed and I am afraid to tell it to my sponsor, or anyone for that matter.  I know I need to do this, but I don't know how willing I am to share it.  I'm stuck right now.

Any insight would be greatly appreciated.

Thank you.

Stuck Untrusting and Nervous I'll Relapse

Dear SUNIR,

The first thing I want to say to you is welcome back!

A relapse of several years has to include some real darkness, and many people seem to find coming back to Alcoholics Anonymous strangely harder than the first time they came into the rooms.  Please, please, be gentle with yourself, and rely on the fact that nothing in Alcoholics Anonymous is theory based -- it has evolved through the practical experience of many thousands of clean and sober alcoholics, and if it worked for them it WILL work for you.

Willing but unsure of those around you, afraid of relapse, wanting to trust but unable to do so ... oh, SUNIR, I am sorry, that is a dreadful place to be.  It's a terrible tangle of emotions -- let's try and sort some of this out and break it down into some actions you can try, okay?

You are right -- it takes time to open up and trust people.  To reflect back to you what you're describing, it is like some nightmarish race you find yourself in: Will you be able to develop the ability to open yourself to people in AA before your alcoholism sneaks up behind you and grabs you by the throat and drags you back down to hell?

Here's what I think:  Yes, you will be able to.

And here's how:

Start talking about this fear and trust challenge with just a few people in AA.  Yes, some are sicker than others -- so find a few of the others, and skip the some.  That may be easier than initially broaching the trust issue with your sponsor.  Sometimes we unconsciously bring a lot of baggage to the sponsor relationship (I'm not saying you have, I'm just saying it is not uncommon) and that can make it difficult to open up in that relationship at first.  So find a few people in the rooms -- maybe someone who has experience with relapse -- and just say this to them:  "Since I came back to AA I am having trouble with trust."  That's all.  You don't have to elaborate, or give any specifics, and if pressed for more information you can just say "That's all I'm comfortable saying for now, but I'm trying to reach out."  Or something like that.  You can play 'broken record' if people -- often with good intention -- encourage you to share more before you're ready. 

The point is to start to open up.  And you don't have to -- ever, if you don't want to -- share anything that makes you feel too vulnerable or unsafe -- but you can start to talk about the problem you're having opening up (and it will not only be helpful to you, but to others as well).  Part of what's keeping you silent is this perhaps unconscious assumption you're making that to open up equals getting immediately into the toughest stuff you're afraid to share -- but you don't have to start there -- and you never have to go there till you're ready -- all you have to do is start talking about the problem of talking.

My experience with my own fears -- when alcoholism has my perceptions warped and my vision twisted -- is that all my fears feel huge, and they spill over onto each other and feed each other and my alcoholism, which then feeds them -- no wonder we can't do this alone! 

When trying to untangle my fears it helps me to sort them this way:  Ego fears and Survival fears. 

Ego fears I must (eventually) smash, Survival fears I must pay attention to, but modulate.  (To illustrate the difference somewhat, it is Ego fear if I am afraid that taping money to my face and walking naked through Central Park at 3am will make me look foolish.  It is Survival fear if I am afraid doing that will get me killed.  Sometimes they overlap, which can make things even more confusing.)

This all may sound obvious, but what I've found is that when alcoholism has my head spinning my Ego fears feel like Survival fears -- thus it can seem like if I raise my hand in a group to share then I will be destroyed. 

Of course, that's not a thought I literally have -- "If I share I will be destroyed!" -- it's an intensity of feeling -- my level of anxiety over what people think of me -- or what will happen if I tell my secrets -- is like my life was at stake

So don't try to tackle that all at once.  Start with the manageable, and begin to say to some few individuals that you are having a problem with trust and with sharing.   Work up to saying to your sponsor that you are struggling with trusting everyone -- including your sponsor.

And here's another thought:  How about breaking the action of your suggested First Step writing in half, like it's the Eighth Step ("... made a list ... and became willing ...").  In other words, first do the writing and then work on becoming willing to share it.  Even though you have "no issue writing it all out" right now you're scaring yourself with the sharing part.  You frame writing as something you're "going to do" -- but haven't done yet.  You can get into some immediate action without being fully willing to take on the second part -- the reading it to your sponsor.  In fact, I might suggest that you share that with your sponsor -- "I'm writing, but I'm not ready to read it yet."  One way or another, I cannot think or feel my way into different thinking and feelings -- it is through action that I change those.  So if the problem is the feeling of fear -- a lack of trust -- the first action you can take is the writing.  Get busy and see what happens, feeling-wise.

You are very wise to extrapolate out that eventually this paralysis puts you at some risk for relapse.  So again (because I think it is very important, and also because in my experience alcoholics are great ones for saying we have no problem doing something -- but still not doing it):  Getting into action will shore up your sobriety -- a lot, I wager -- and you can do that without immediately tackling the larger fears about trust.

Finally, I suggest you bring a Higher Power -- as you understand a Higher Power -- into this equation.  You don't even have to understand your Higher Power to ask for help.  You can even believe that asking an HP for help is stupid or weak or foolish or insane or lame or it didn't work before or it won't work this time or ... or ... or... .  Just get quiet for a few minutes regularly (morning and night?  Shower and sitting in the car at lunch?) and ask for Divine Guidance, and for help in setting aside fear and mistrust.

If you get to have an HP as you understand them, then you can have one that is so delighted to hear from you that it doesn't matter if you're kneeling at the foot of your bed or jumping around in the back row of an aerobics class wearing your old leg warmers and going "Woo!" when your favorite song comes on.  That is a completely hypothetical example, of course.  (What -- why are you all looking at me like that?)  My experience has been that if I regularly ask HP to help me become willing the door starts to open a little bit.  And that's all it takes.  You don't have to become 100% willing.  You just have to get to 51%.  That's always enough to get me started.

Listen to the part of you that wants to live, SUNIR.  And remember, you've already done the hard part -- you came back from a real and tough relapse.  Keep that in perspective -- the toughest part is behind you, so the level of fear you have now (i.e. lack of trust) is your alcoholism working on you.

Fear is a part of the human experience -- it's the amount of it and where it comes from and whether or not I let it drive me or paralyze me that I think marks me as an alcoholic. 

The good news is that you and I have spiritual tools to use to deal with that fear and keep our alcoholism from using it against us.

To quote the Big Book, "It works -- it really does."

Welcome back, keep coming back, and know that everyone who read this today is rooting for you to make it -- especially me.  With all that in your corner your alcoholism doesn't stand a chance.

Love,

Mr. SP

Feelings ... nothing more than feeeeelings ...

December 1990

I had to park far away from the main entrance to the mall.  The place was packed.

(I used to work with a retail consultant who said that the way to judge the success of a shopping center was to see if the spaces in the back rows of the parking lot had stains from cars' leaky oil pans.  "If they do" he said, kind of tilting his head down and giving us what I was sure he thought was a sage look, "then that means the mall is often full, and people spend a lot of time inside -- especially during the holidays."  I didn't have the heart to tell him that it might also be that the mall employees, who were paid crap wages and thus often drove cars which would likely leak oil, had to park in the back row far-away spots per instructions from management -- this I knew since I had more than once been a mall employee making crap wages.  He seemed so proud of this observation -- and it could certainly be true, too -- that I just nodded and said "aaah" with the other people trapped in his seminar.  It was an early foray into "restraint of tongue" for me, and I was quite proud at the time.)

This was one of those spectacularly gigantic malls, a vast sprawl of stores, with wings and levels and sub-basements, several food courts and a merry-go-round.  It always made me think that the only thing left to add to it would have been a heliport, in case someone who expired in the holiday-shopper crush was discovered to have a donor card in their wallet, and they could then medivac the kidney or eyeball or whatever out with super efficiency.

I was buying some small gifts to take to the AA roller skating party-fundraiser-holiday-mixer-thing later that afternoon.

It took longer to walk back to my car than to buy the gifts.

When I got there I automatically slid my key in the door lock -- or rather, I tried to.

"Huh, that's funny, it doesn't fit."  I tried several times to put the key in.  Sometimes I am a slow study.  My car had been broken into.

Opening the door I discovered that someone had none too gently stolen my car stereo.  The glove compartment had been riffled through, but had nothing in it but car papers and napkins and fossilized salt packets from random McDonald's drive-thrus.  (Never gloves.  Why do we still call it a glove compartment?  Never in my life have I put gloves in it -- or seen anyone else do so.)  Scattered across the passenger seat were all the cassettes of my music, apparently deemed unworthy to steal.

So I had been both violated and judged.

"Oh, man... bummer."  I said, starting the car and driving off to go roller skating.

A curious thing about my early sobriety.  Sometimes my feelings were over-sized and raw and expressed themselves almost without my permission, coming violently up and out of me like one of those aliens that explode from your chest in the Sigourney Weaver movie franchise. 

And sometimes, they were there and gone so fast you weren't even sure they'd been there, let alone what they were, surfacing and submerging like an ocean creature who moved so rapidly back to the depths that only the wake of their passing showed they'd been there at all.

Sometimes my emotional suppressor circuits were ruthlessly efficient.

I arrived in Alcoholics Anonymous an artificial construct with a frozen core, self obsessively concerned about what you thought I was doing and how I looked to the people around me.  To compensate for this fear I would manically try to be what I thought I was supposed to be as opposed to having any idea at all who I was or how I felt.

In my very early days sober this feeling was intensified a thousandfold.

It took me a long, long time to thaw completely, and then once I had, to begin to find my emotional equilibrium.

Still to this day sometimes -- though rarely now -- I feel the suppressor circuits crackle to life, and I think back to my non-emotion in the parking lot that day my stereo got ripped off.

Alcoholics are great worriers about our feelings.  We worry they're too much or too little or the wrong (inappropriate) ones.  This is of course in part because we tend to be self obsessed, and in part because when drinking we don't seem to be very good at identifying them -- and no way could we express them in any productive way.  Scenes?  Tantrums?  Sulks?  Manic diatribes?  Self righteous speeches?  You betcha.  Simple, calm descriptive statements?  No freakin' way possible.

AA is not therapy, but the tools it offers -- sponsorship, inventory work, and meditation, to be specific -- help an alcoholic no longer become victimized by their emotions, as they swing wildly back and forth from giddy to grim.

If you feel like sobriety has become an emotional rollercoaster of sorts, I can offer you these two things to remember which have always helped me in this area:

1.  Feelings aren't facts.  You may feel like you're going to die, but you're not, it's just a feeling.  You may feel like you're crap, or nothing, or you wasted your life or you are this or that ... but they are just feelings, and most likely have no bearing on reality whatsoever.

2.  If it took you a long time to swim out to sea it will take you a while to make it back to shore.  Be patient and gentle with yourself.  Always remember that simplest of facts:  We are not bad people trying to get good, we are sick people working to get well.  You may feel like you're a bad person -- but you're not.  It's just your alcoholism working to find an angle.  Talk about it with a sponsor, share about it in a meeting, write about it and give it to God -- whatever that may look like to you.  If you do all that I guarantee that the next thing you'll feel is ... better.

Just a bit more about antidepressants and sober alcoholics, etc.

Recently I got an email asking about what "some people in AA say" about antidepressants and other medications.

While no one speaks for Alcoholics Anonymous -- we have no official spokesperson -- there are a number of places in AA literature which clearly state that AA suggests people only take direction regarding medication from doctors and other qualified, licensed professionals.  The book "Alcoholics Anonymous" (AA's Big Book) advises that "the world is blessed with many fine doctors and we would do well to make good use of them" (a rough but accurate-to-the-spirit-of-the-quote paraphrase).  There is also a great brochure -- which sounds so lame, I know, suggesting people read a brochure -- with an intelligent and balanced discussion of this issue, but again, reiterates that people should follow a doctor's recommendations when it comes to medicine, not anyone else -- be they a sponsor, a spouse, an impassioned and opinionated sober friend or a crusty middle-aged sober blogger.  (Okay, they didn't actually say that last one, but I think it's implied.)

Just in case the five times I said it in my previous writings I may not have been completely clear, I will say it once more here:

A doctor -- a licensed medical doctor -- is the only person one should listen to about what medication is or is not appropriate for a recovering alcoholic to take.  No sponsor or any other member of any 12 Step group is qualified to give direction on this -- in fact, persons who try to do so are both misrepresenting what Alcoholics Anonymous itself states and also should be viewed with grave misgivings.  And are probably on an ego trip.  And might also be, as my mother used to say, nutsy-kookoo.

In addition let me say that not only should a doctor be involved in putting you on a medication, but there should be check-ins to be sure dosages are within appropriate parameters and no one should suddenly stop taking medication without involving a doctor as well -- that is sometimes the most important thing of all.

I confess after I put up the answer to the email question about antidepressants I did not feel good about it.  And by that I mean I think my answer was clear, but a little ... simplistic.  On one level, yes, it is a very simple question:  Who should you listen to about medication?  A doctor and only a doctor.

But on another level sometimes it is not a simple issue at all.

Nothing I write here is intended to undermine or contradict what I said above or in my earlier post about taking medication only with a doctor's advice.  But to let that stand on its own without further discussion doesn't feel clean to me, and so I am moved to add the following:

I think it is naive to paint all doctors with a broad brush.  Some doctors are less familiar than others with addiction.   Some doctors are just as happy to listen for 20 seconds and then whip out a prescription pad and write a few 'scrips and then send you on your way, billing your insurance company (if you're lucky enough to have insurance) and moving on to the next patient.  As in any profession, the quality of the professional can vary widely.

And I think it is especially naive to forget that the pharmaceutical industry is not part of some grand philanthropic movement, bent solely on bettering the lives of people everywhere.  There is a product to be sold and a sophisticated sales and marketing element in play to get that product moving -- and not only is the general public sometimes influenced by that element, but doctors and the medical profession as well.  Some treatments -- and medications -- seem to come "into fashion."

Also, I think it is fair to say that many addicts are adept at playing doctors false, and claiming levels of anxiety (or depression or whatever) -- or convincing themselves that they are experiencing anxiety (or whatever) -- which may not be entirely true.

My experience is that there is situational depression (or anxiety) and organic depression (or anxiety) -- the former comes from tough things which happen in life and the latter from genuine brain chemistry imbalances, or crossed wires, etc.  My experience is that medicating situational depression or anxiety is potentially a bad idea for someone in recovery. 

Today we are more adept at identifying the many, many different kinds of mental and emotional illnesses there are, and no one should suffer needlessly.  In getting a diagnosis it is important to consider the genetics factor.  Looking at family history can be a big clue as to what is appropriate diagnosis and treatment.  But it is certainly possible that people in someone's family tree remained undiagnosed --  it's not always going to provide solid information -- we know more now.  Plainly put, just because (for example) no one in your family has been diagnosed as manic-depressive doesn't mean it doesn't run in your family -- but at the same time, if no one in previous generations or your extended family has been diagnosed with something you think you might have, and there are no family "stories" about them which paint a picture of organic imbalance ... well, that should be a clue to examine things more carefully before embracing any labels.

If an addict is taking medication as directed for severe anxiety or depression that they have experienced, then it is a damn good thing there are such medicines available to help them.  But if an addict is taking medication because they are afraid they are going to have feelings of anxiety or depression ... that is troubling, and I would urge anyone in such a situation to consult with a psychologist and get some good 12 Step input IN ADDITION TO talking with a doctor -- but NOT instead of.

Many people I sponsor are on appropriate medications for a variety of issues.  My suggestion to those that ask my experience on the subject is that, if they have more than one doctor prescribing medicines they commit to making sure all the doctors know about each other.  I suggest they write down all the different medications they are taking, what dosages and for what conditions -- just for the sake of clarity.

Most medications of this nature work best with a consistent application -- and for an addict to feel like they're taking medicine instead of drugs it is a good idea to have a rock solid routine as to when the medication is taken, i.e., always take it before you shower in the morning, or just before bed, or what-have-you.

Just as it's our responsibility to be smart about our recovery, and learn about the 12 Steps and the principles of the Program, it is each person's responsibility to learn about whatever medication they may be taking -- so they can be wise about noticing any changes in themselves -- for the better or worse -- over the course of their treatment.

Addicts are shortcut people.  If you tell me I have to do the work or I can take a pill, I want the pill.  Real medicine is not a shortcut, it is something to help you function -- and the long term ramifications for addicts who are looking for a medicinal shortcut are not good when it comes to staying sober.

The most terrifying truth in the world to me is that I can convince myself of anything ... anything.  I do not seem to be alone in that -- lots of alcoholics are able to do that.  So I must add here that sometimes it feels like some people are medicated needlessly, or over-medicated, or frighteningly casual about these very powerful drugs. I wouldn't feel like I've been completely honest if I didn't say that, too.

Thus I believe the best follow up to the statement that only a doctor should be giving advice about antidepressants, or mood stabilizers, or anti-anxiety medication, etc. is that people in recovery should go very slowly and carefully in this area.  Proceed with caution, and only when you are well armed with the facts.

Finally, I think sleeping pills of any sort do not fall under the heading of antidepressants, et al, and are a bad, bad, bad idea for alcoholics.  But maybe that's a post for another time.

Only a doctor should give direction when it comes to medication -- this is merely my attempt at a few follow up suggestions and ideas for people to consider, nothing more.