We have a lot of excuses to choose from when we want to give up.
[I’ve been more-or-less absent from the blog for several months due to surgery in the family, among other things. All’s well there, and with any luck I’ll be back to my regular lackadaisical posting. Thanks for your patience.]
When we begin to “get on with our lives,” or “make up for lost time,” or study to become an addiction guru — whatever — we can easily drift away from our program. We feel good, our finances are becoming something like organized, and we’re generally busy and entertained by the stuff of our lives. We begin to think that we can handle it all.
The idea that we can somehow cure a chronic disease can be problematic and sometimes tragic. People feel better so they stop taking the medications that got them that way. We addicts stop taking care of ourselves in the ways that got us moving forward. We get stressed, lose focus on what’s really important, and begin the slide toward relapse.
When that happens (assuming that we survive) many of us are ashamed to go to a meeting and admit that we messed up — the worst possible decision we can make. We need to hit the brakes and return to the basics that brought our success to begin with, getting back on the path to sobriety with meetings, phone calls, fellowship, sponsor, Steps, meditation, daily inventory and so forth. Relapse is part of addiction, and everyone at the meeting has been there or come terrifyingly close. All we’re really doing is admitting to ourselves and other people that we’re no better than any other “bozo on the bus.”
Why did we forget where we came from? It’s because we are wired to forget pain. We automatically push such memories aside, and that’s why we are able to get back on the horse, or deliver a second child, or drag ourselves up and dive back into the scrum on the field of life. But those of us who made a habit of addictively suppressing pain in whatever way possible are even more likely to do it, and that’s why our “built-in forgetter” makes us so prone to backsliding.
Our programs are there to help us stay sane by keeping us in good spiritual, physical and emotional health. We put them on the back burner at our peril.
Dr. Pavlov taught us about stimulus and response. He conditioned dogs to salivate when they heard a bell by ringing the bell and then immediately giving them food. The bell was the stimulus, and the salivation was the response. Simple.
We’re a little more complicated, but we too have our conditioned responses. Some of these may be wanting to act out in our addictions when we’re exposed to certain sounds, smells, places, people — even things. We may respond to certain situations, but we have to ask ourselves how we got into those situations. Continue reading “Triggers”
Someone mentioned that I had a problem, and I listened
Someone mentioned meetings, so I went
Someone mentioned honesty, so I tried to be
Someone mentioned willingness, and I thought I was willing
Someone mentioned meditation, and I thought about it
Someone mentioned phone numbers, so I got a couple
Someone mentioned calling them, but I didn’t want to bother anyone
Someone mentioned getting a home group, so I looked
Someone mentioned connecting with others at meetings, so I said hello to a few
Someone mentioned that I needed a sponsor, but I couldn’t find the right one
Someone mentioned 90 meetings in 90 days, but I had two jobs and I needed to rest
Someone mentioned the twelve steps, so I read them
Someone mentioned working the steps, so I read them again
Someone mentioned doing service work, so I went to a business meeting
Someone mentioned helping others, so I gave them advice
Someone mentioned making amends, but I was always the victim
Someone mentioned that I looked stressed, but I didn’t worry about it
Someone mentioned that they saw me in a bar, but I was drinking a coke
Someone mentioned that they hadn’t seen me for a while
Someone mentioned the obituary, but no one remembered me
Early in my recovery from chemical addictions I knew a guy who used to say, “I drank when the dog ran away; then I drank because the dog came home.” At the time I didn’t get it, but it rang a bell in some back room of my head. I’ve since come to find out that it’s so, so true – but now I know why!
When we use outside things to make us feel good – whether alcohol, some other drug or behavior – their initial effect is to distract us from the real world and make us feel better by altering the chemical balance in our brains. As we continue to use, their ability to make us feel better wanes. Eventually we reach the point where we have to use in order to keep from feeling bad. We’re addicted.
We fall into a pattern of using not to feel good, but simply to numb reality. Continue reading “Numb”
One of the first things we hear in recovery, both in treatment and around the rooms of the support groups, is “No new relationships in the first year.” If it’s not one of the first things we hear, it’s certainly one of the first things that get our attention.
That’s hardly surprising. Emotions that have been suppressed by alcohol and other drugs are suddenly bubbling to the surface with none of the edges knocked off. Add to that the fact that we’re feeling at loose ends, with all that time on our hands that we formerly spent using, and the fact that we really don’t want to face life directly yet, and we’re ripe for distraction. Since rehab romances are one of the most common issues in early recovery, it crosses our minds, “Why not, as long as the other person is in recovery too? We’ll have so much in common!” Read more..
“…The farm is run by recovering addicts and alcoholics from New York City, men whose various addictions, and repeated relapses, have left them sickened and homeless. Called Renewal Farm, the patch of land boasts neat rows of vegetables and bright flowers, as well as two greenhouses fashioned out of thick sheets of plastic.
The men’s days are split into two very different parts. They tend the farm, lacing the air with locker-room banter and gentle ribbing. And then they exorcise their worries and voice their hopes at St. Christopher’s Inn, a hilltop rehabilitation center nearby where they sleep.
The men’s lives are shot through with such contrasts. …”