One drink (or drug) away…

My third anniversary clean and sober has come and gone, and I feel as though I have put this thing called “addiction” behind me-that I am now cured, freed from my former flawed self.  No longer do I obsess over my next “fix,” in fact I rarely think of it at all.  I’m one of the lucky people who’ve never experienced the horrors of craving, I now realize what a blessing this is.  The myriad of trendy and cute names given to new brands of alcohol and street drugs fascinate me no longer.  I can stroll through the local market without staring at the aisles and aisles of booze so easily put in my cart.

 

I am finally free, right?

Not on your life.

 

Three years is both a short and long time.  In Alcoholics Anonymous and many other recovery groups, “sober birthdays” are celebrated with applause and congratulations, oftentimes even a homemade cake.  One year celebrations are as miraculous as thirty year birthdays.  And yet we are all aware that every one of us suffers from the same, humbling condition-that this disease never goes away.  It is insidious in its insistence that we relapse and succumb to our former, self-destructive ways.  During my first year of sobriety, I admired and envied other addicts with more “time” than I, in particular, a woman I’ll call Becky. She was lovely and reserved, and had been sober 22 years.  It was her birthday and the room went wild, we were all incredibly impressed with such an achievement, and that she continued to come to meetings occasionally.

 

And so, after a few weeks without her presence, no one was in the least concerned about her.

 

Around three weeks later, Becky returned to us in tears.  Her appearance had deteriorated and she smelled of scotch.  Oh yes, after 22 alcohol-free years, Becky had relapsed, she had to “do some more research.”  She spoke of her guilt to the group for disappointing us and begged us to forgive her.  One by one, we addressed Becky with complete understanding and thanks, yes, thanks for reminding us how close each of us were to relapse.  The disease of alcoholism and addiction never, never leaves us.

 

That day, Becky was proof of the saying that we are only “one drink (or drug) away.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

addiction.com

This post must be written with a computer keyboard since, over the years, my penmanship has become virtually indecipherable.   It doesn’t take a consummate genius to look at the title of this writing and determine that it addresses Internet addiction.  However, it is unusual to fully recognize in oneself that an addiction has indeed set in, and is almost certainly going to become unmanageable, if it has not already. I consider myself quite fortunate to “suffer” from insomnia from time to time, and this morning at 2:30 a.m, I woke suddenly to the realization that I am, in fact, obsessed.

As I came to my waking senses, I slowly understood that the Internet was all I was thinking about: “When will I post this?”,  “How should I deal with that?”,  “Have I encountered a person of ‘questionable’ intentions?” and  “Is this person genuinely what he claims to be?”  The list could go on and on.

I did not consider going back to sleep.

After completing some crucial tasks-especially brewing my first cup of coffee-I turned on my table lamp, then pushed the magic button.  The computer refused to start.  I checked every plug and cord imaginable, and finally, in defeat, considered the options of watching the morning news or even trying to write this piece longhand (both somewhat disastrous considerations).  After 3 or 4 attempts, I sat myself down, resigned to my fate, and dramatically vowed never to use the electronic beast again. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the machine come to life, and felt a wave of relief as I noticed the Windows logo lovingly distract me from my scribbling across the room.

Since I believe I am also a writer, I was relieved to think my keyboard would soon be in use, hopefully with lightning speed.  As an addict, I tend to set unreasonably high standards for myself, and no strike is in sight, so the soft glow of the lamp and glare of the screen will have to suffice. Another crazed characteristic of a junkie is to approach his object of need with unparallelled enthusiasm, with leads to neglect (or abuse) of anyone or anything that gets in the way of satisfaction.  “The dog won’t stop licking my leg!”, yell at the animal or kick it away.  “I have to blow my nose!”, snuff it up until it hits the keys.  “Damn, I’m getting cold, I need my robe!”, screw that, I’ll wait until it becomes unbearable.

Some may counter that such reactions can be reasonable, yet the degree is not. Anger and frustration with such mundane variables, in retrospect, becomes astonishingly substantial and even self-destructive.

One of the hallmarks of addiction is the predisposition to chase the object of desire into unimaginably brutal despair, or even worse.  Yet, no matter the ramifications, the authentic addict will continue in his maniacal search for gratification.  This type of fanatic is not often conscious of such insanity, so in this case I am lucky that the writing impulse woke me and demanded its own expression.  I would argue that writing, as opposed to the essentially mindless greed of  “the hunt” is a far more mindful and conscious pastime.

Rationalizing my obsession with the Internet, I began to mentally sort, one by one, the tasks I felt I needed to perform on Twitter, Facebook, Google+, LinkedIn, Tumblr, etc., and why: “If I don’t respond to so and so, what will they think of me?”,  “What if the momentum I’ve enjoyed slows, or even ceases?”

“How will they know I still exist?”, 

which can lead, unfortunately, but almost inevitably, to the question,

“How will I know I even exist?”

Therein lies the “unimaginably brutal despair” I mentioned earlier.  Alcoholics Anonymous’ phraseology is “pitiful and incomprehensible demoralization,” which is far superior to my own, yet basically the same.  My life had become defined by my addiction to the Internet, and I realized I had to slow or even stop its progression.  Yearning for success, friendship, admiration, and even the elusive fame to which we all seem to aspire out of my own realm had become an exhausting, self-defeating cycle.  At this realization, all I finally wanted was the comfort of my own luxurious blankets, the dear caress of my lover.

Every addict craves fulfillment, no matter the consequence.  The difference between such healthy gratification and its obsessive alternative (not to imply any sort of choice involved) is to be found in the ramifications inherent in human behavior.  If I can not find what I truly need in my day to day affairs, then I just may be prone to addiction.

Writing Under the Influence

I began my writing career in early childhood, making tender entries in my flowery locked diary, as many youngsters have done for centuries.  I was still in awe over the wonders of this world, of family and friends.  Elementary school came along and the flowers vanished.  I no longer put my experiences on paper, reality had set in with a vengeance. 

Second grade was a mystery to me in many ways, my father became ill, and I began noticing that my parents engaged in strange and brutal verbal fights.  Initially I did not understand why these battles occurred, but as third grade loomed, my comprehension improved-the anger displayed daily had something to do with what they constantly drank.  The glasses were different from my own, taller and beautifully shaped.  I wanted desperately to be a grown-up, but they wouldn’t let me.  Fast forward to fifth grade…Once my menstruation began at age nine, my father’s sister insisted I have one of her bottles of Darvon-a pain medicine common in the sixties-certain that I would have to endure the pain of becoming a woman.   I believe now that this was the beginning of my tendency toward addiction.

The genetic factor is still the subject of debate, but many addicts seem to come from alcoholic/addictive households.  That being said, I will now jump to my late teens when I started writing in earnest.

My state of origin is California, yet I wanted to get as far away as possible from my dysfunctional clan.  I chose Missouri. The first college I attended was in St. Louis, a drama/creative sort of school.  The people in my dorm were incredibly entertaining and became the subjects of some of my writings.  Yet these writings were flawed due to my drug and alcohol use.

It is universally common for college students to experiment with drugs, alcohol, and sex, this is the time of self-discovery, self-knowledge, and rebellion.  When writing, I was often under the influence of marijuana, hashish, alcohol, and LSD.  As I read my words now, I realize that I was a confused, insecure and joyfully wacky young woman.  Yet self-hatred was often a theme.  My attempts to write when I took LSD were absolutely absurd and incomprehensible.  Garbled as they were, I nonetheless enjoyed reading my writings even after ‘coming down.’

Later, after being expelled from my Missouri school, I chose to go to Alabama.  Birmingham was my new home.  But there I enjoyed the high of methamphetamines, benzodiazepines, and prescription medications.  My work became frantic, then mellow, and in the end, ridiculous.

Now I am a grown woman of 58 in recovery.  My mind seems clearer, my thoughts steady.  Reading my young writing was once a source of shame, but now, because I am clean and sober, my words fascinate me, encourage me to become who I was meant to be, a sober writer.

Are Addiction-Free People Morally Superior?

“Here we go again,” I hear it echo in my memory of my mother’s oft-discussed, usually thoroughly maligned drinking. She was an alcoholic, that’s a given. The issue my mother faced, though, had little to do with changing her behavior of drinking alcohol, it was more a problem of the ethical and moral ‘strength’ others in hushed tones claimed she lacked.

Did I reveal a weakness in my socialization by taking up these habits? Certainly this was the attitude before the science of addiction became the legitimate response to its prevalence. I remember ‘learning’ that my own mother was morally inferior by virtue of her drinking. Many people inferred to me that she was weak, and that she chose to remain that way. Mama was to be pitied and disregarded at the same time. My family taught me this clandestinely and I secretly vowed to myself never to drink, never to ‘become my mother’. She also smoked cigarettes, which also put her apart from many, and I promised myself I would never do such a thing.

The high cost of addictions

Source: www.spiritualriver.com

A Personal Tale

Of course as you have undoubtedly inferred, I did both. I will not argue moral superiority here as I may have implied, what I intend to do here is point out the absurdity of labeling addicts as morally questionable individuals.

While it could be argued that I am sliding down a slippery slope in favor of such behaviors, this is not the case. I have been an addict far too long to encourage it in any way. Addiction is not, however, a moral failing. As one of the most popular books dedicated to assisting alcoholics/addicts in their quest to be free of substance abuse, the authors of the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous pointed out that for alcoholics, drinking is an allergy to alcohol itself. Nothing ethical here. In fact, the ‘Big Book’ is essentially a supportive discussion of addiction as a physically-based disease, published in the 1930’s and still going strong. AA has been  successful in its approach, yet alcoholism is still considered a moral failing in some circles.

Increase that ten-fold when considering drugs even though they are a fact of life for many people. They are sometimes necessary as adjunct therapy to the body’s natural functions. They are used to restore balance when the natural state is lacking. This is one of the ‘proper’ uses of pharmaceuticals and there certainly are others as well. When used for pleasure or in excess, drugs are abused. For me, substances were abused in an effort to experience comfort, pleasure, and to alleviate pain and discomfort; herein lies my personal story of addiction.

Does Morality Apply to Other Addictions?

I have been a relapsing smoker for many years, and I see that the morals and general socially acceptable activities of cigarette smokers are similarly called into question, at some points encouraging negative perceptions of the ethical standards of smokers in general.

Addiction is not a moral issue. I state this as a truth I experienced for many years, through various addictions to different substances. As a successfully socialized human being, I am in possession of socially acceptable morals. My family was thorough in instilling high moral standards in my child’s mind, and it followed that I became an ‘ethically sound’ young lady. Yet I became almost hopelessly addicted to cigarette smoking when I was 15 years old. Drugs and alcohol came soon after.

Whether or not any of this behavior was peer-induced is a legitimate discussion, but for another writing, a different day. Here I wish to encourage consideration of the ethical soundness of addicts as a whole.

What is Your Take on this Topic?

Please feel free to help me out here with the same or other points of view. How do you feel about substance addicts? Are we as a society making progress toward non-judgmental treatment of addicts? What do you think?

Addiction is a Global Disease

Source: rebloggy.com

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Put those feelings on paper or on the Internet.

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Write your true masterpiece even though it takes time.