Lest you think I am starting the new year with a bad attitude, I’m here to tell you I woke up full of piss and vinegar. That could be because I am actually on steroids. I went to an orthopedic surgeon yesterday, convinced I had bone cancer, only to find that the radiating pain in my hip was probably caused by, “Years of doing what you love to do…”.

For example, hiking up hills, running on the beach and the wearing of four inch heals. That, and a lack of space between the round ball of my hip bone and the socket it fits in. I am a bit crooked. I have lost range of motion in “bound ankle pose”.  I am occasionally in enough pain to limp piteously.

When an alcoholic is in pain…

To put this in the proper perspective, I have not been to a doctor in ten years. The whole process is so rarefied, that even filling out the insurance forms seemed novel and “fun”. I asked questions. And I couldn’t help but think of the opioids lined up like fluffy, white rabbits with fangs, on a shelf somewhere. I was asked three times, even before I made it to the examining room, what I took for the pain.

My response, “Um, nothing? Maybe an Advil gelcap when it hurts really bad?” was met with looks of incredulity. It occurred to me that most people take pain medication when something hurts… As an alcoholic, it’s weird I suppose, that I have always avoided medicine of any kind. Other than the three bottles of elixir I used to drink per day, of course…

To the young man who took my vitals (excellent), I said, “I’m an alcoholic so I can’t take anything, you know, strong…” It felt like TMI, or at least like I should have had the proper name for what I couldn’t take. Narcotics? Opioids? Oxys? Corticosteroids? I’m an addiction professional for God’s sake!

To the x-ray technician I said, “I wish this would just go away…” She laughed, but I meant it. Miracles occur, why not me?

Bone Daddy…

I waited in the appointed room, with my x-rays pinned to the light box like a Damien Hirst exhibit. My hip and back bones looked fragile and lacy. It made me feel tenuous. As if a wrong step might snap my underpinning and I’d clatter to the ground like old pottery.

An hour and 1/2 later, I didn’t care anymore. I had studied my infrastructure ad nauseum, and sped read six Hello magazines (Megan Markle is divorced). I played with the models of joints. I thought about Tom Hager’s cyanotypes. I looked out of the sliver of window like a prisoner on the Bridge of Sighs… I just wanted out of there.

I mean, doesn’t everyone think of Thomas Hager’s cyanotypes while at the orthopedic surgeon’s office? Thomas Hager “Departure” cyanotype photograph.

When the great man arrived, I amused myself by thinking of him as Bone Daddy. He was actually super cool. And, get this, one of the first questions he asked was, “Has there been an alcohol problem in the past?” I nodded yes. “Are you an alcoholic?” Bingo…

Apparently my dicky hip could be caused by excessive alcohol consumption. The gift that keeps on giving, right?

I performed like a trained bear in one of those sad, roadside carnivals for Bone Daddy – over-anxious to please. I bent at the waist and touched the floor. I duck stepped in place. I lay on my back while he twisted my legs like pipe-cleaners. Does that hurt? How about that? 

Stoic or scared straight?

The doctor said I was “stoic”. That most people would have been shouting at him to stop when he pushed my knee to my chest even though it didn’t want to go there. But, I don’t feel stoic. And as with each new experience I have in recovery, I tried to process.

The bottom line, is that those of us in recovery must advocate for ourselves.

I have developed a condition that begged the alcohol question, but what if I had said, no? I volunteered the information about my alcoholism to anyone who would listen, but what if I didn’t? As it turns out, I left with a dose of Prednisone mild enough for “pregnant women.” And a prescription for an anti-inflammatory that “also coats the stomach”.

But I keep thinking about the question, “On a scale of 1 to 10 what is your level of pain?” What if I had said 10? Alcoholics are used to under-reporting. How many drinks a day? One? I am suggesting we also try to accept a bit of discomfort, when the fix is potentially addictive. And don’t be embarrassed by the TMI. 

In this case, too much information is a good thing…

E2E – I’m BACK…

The post An Alcoholic Walks Into a Pain Doc’s Office… first appeared on Waking Up The Ghost - Alcohol Recovery.

I bought a new pot of face cream. The package promised to “erase fine lines in a week,” which is great because it’s my birthday today and I wanted to have a wrinkle-free face by that milestone…

The Quick Fix…

I mean, I actually bought the cream – $37.99 – because the box said it would work its magic quickly. Isn’t that what we all look for? And it got me thinking. Getting sober is like standing in the Lotion and Creams isle in the drugstore. We are all looking past the seductive packaging for the quick fix.  And discounting the cause – years of self-sabotage. In my case, Bahamian sun, booze, and the inadvisable practice of not removing mascara before bed and scraping it from the tender skin below my eyes with a rough washcloth in the morning…

It got me thinking that getting sober is a lot easier than staying sober. Let’s face it –  the long-haul, drudgery of sobriety and the punch in the gut demands when the addicted brain wants what it wants, are about the least fast things one can think of. It takes a lifetime. Just ask the AA old-timers.

Imagine the packaging for the product “Sobriety in a Box” – a brightly colored parcel, a symmetrical, smiling model and the promise it’s going to “TAKE YOUR WHOLE LIFE” to get the desired results. Who’d buy that?

Getting Sober Fast…

For about half of what I paid for the face cream, I can order the book: How to Give Up Drinking Fast and Stay Sober: An Ex-Alcoholic’s Guide to Overcoming Alcohol Addiction. Or a dozen other books promising “speedy recovery.” I haven’t read any of them, but anyone who has done what we have done knows it’s not about fast. And a surefire guide? One size fits all? I don’t think so.

But no one is going to choose the book titled Staying Sober is HARD.  With the subtitle:  The chronic nature of the disease may include a relapse or two… 

We live in a world where we fix every ill, quickly, prettily, with a pill or an unguent or a Google search. No one should have to suffer unnecessarily. Or, God forbid, walk around with the ravages of a hard life etched on one’s face… We are all like Willy Wonka’s Veruca. I want it now!

Benchmarks, Wrinkles & Atta’ Girls…

It is at milestones like birthdays and sober anniversaries when a person should stop and give proper credit to themselves. For doing the hard stuff.  The things that take time and effort. And we should give ourselves a break for continuing to believe the packaging – even when we know better… although I think the face cream really did reduce my fine lines…

So, on this birthday I can say I feel pretty darned good about myself. Kim is visiting and I said to her last night, “I might be older, but I am really happy with my body.” I don’t think I have ever said that before. (Although Kim reminded me I used to vogue in the mirror and say it all the time…)

What I meant this time, was that I am happy with myself. The body that I possess is clear headed. I am wearing my size twos again because of a consistent, long-term program of rigorous exercise and healthy eating. This person I have become, after all I have been through, is present. I am here for the long haul. And stronger than ever for having eschewed easy.

And I am happy with my body and my countenance.

Wrinkles and all…

E2E – I know you are thinking of me today – I think of you every day…

The post “Buying” the Sober Life (With the Proper Packaging) first appeared on Waking Up The Ghost - Alcohol Recovery.

The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead When the skies of November turn gloomy… Gordon Lightfoot

It would not have been a trip to Marquette without thinking of the time my brother almost got swept off a break wall there, during a storm. A couple of days ago I said the UP was fashioned by God’s kinder, gentler hand. That was compared to the force majeure in Florida, and it was unseasonably warm. But it was a fluke. There is nothing quite so terrifying as a storm on Lake Superior in the winter.

A drink called the “smorgasbord”

I was in college. My brother and his wife Bonnie came to visit. And my boyfriend at the time was famous for a drink he called the “smorgasbord”. This was a vile, unpredictable concoction made of any leftover liquor he had in his apartment. Spare rum, vodka, whisky, creme de menthe,  and the leavings from a year-old, gift bottle of Kahlua would be slopped into a tumbler. Sometimes, for effect, he’d light it on fire… He and Tim had several.

I was a big wine drinker even then. Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill – mixed with Squirt to cut the sweetness. And I was drunk. My brother and Mark were drunker. Bonnie was the designated driver (possibly drunk as well…). And for some reason, as drunks often do, we decided to load up in the car and check out the storm blowing in off the big lake they call “gitchee gumee.”

Why do drunks do dangerous things?

Drunks do stupid things like storm chase, because each drink affects the brain’s chemical messengers that tell us, “that’s a bad idea.” The neurotransmitters in the brain either excite or inhibit all of our control signals.  And alcohol increases GABA, an inhibitory neurotransmitter, while it decreases glutamate, an excitatory neurotransmitter.

This causes the clumsiness and slurred speech we boozers know so well.  But, alcohol also boosts dopamine – the pleasure chemical – tricking us into thinking we are having a blast. This combination is as bad as, well, a smorgasbord, because it causes us to chase a temporary “good feeling.”

Until it’s not good anymore. And when we drink, we might do something ill-advised, but we just don’t care as much about the outcome.

That my friends, is how one might find oneself slumped in the backseat of a car on a late night, back street. Watching the rain pelt the windshield, while your beloved brother decides to commune with nature. On a break wall being slammed with twelve-foot, Lake Superior waves.

Think about those scenes…

I can kind of remember the scene. It went the way many drunken scenes go after the dopamine begins to taper. We were sitting on a tar-black road looking at the storm and my brother opened the door and got out. He was still carrying his drink. I think my sister-in-law and I were crying. Yelling for my brother to stop. He, full of bravado and stale bourbon staggered onto the break wall, looking up at the heavens like the jester in The Tempest.

And we could barely see him in the rain. Mark was going to get out to rescue him when a huge wave hit and knocked Tim to the rocks. We could see that – we assumed he would be dead, swept out to sea (lake?). More crying and yelling. Sometimes I think drunkenness saves us – the disjointed looseness. Because there is no reason he stayed on the wall, except he was like a sack of sand.

He crawled back. Wet, everyone angry and relieved. And Bonnie backed off a two foot drop-off while scolding him and we had to be towed. We did not end up in jail, but should have…

It’s funny the things you remember…

I have forgotten so many things I did when I was drinking. And I don’t recall the details of that night. But, I remember like yesterday the blue-black horizon, the steel girders and the broken rocks. I remember the shape of my brother’s shoulders, barely there in the dark…

The old break wall is gone, I think. I looked for it, but it has been moved closer to Presque Isle. A solid slab of concrete with a warning sign. Plenty of parking and when I walked the length of it (agile as a cat), a lake like glass.

I have been sober for four years now. And I have become a person who heeds the warning signs. I am no longer misguided by a hodgepodge of contradictory brain chemistry. My brother died – just not that night. And (God forgive me) I still remember how dazzling it was to be that young and crazy. Don’t go back to your college town if you want to forget that, right?

But, we live. We learn.

E2E – Read the signs…

The post Read the Signs: Turbulent Water! Violent Waves! first appeared on Waking Up The Ghost - Alcohol Recovery.

A few short years ago, the month of August would have been like every other month. I would have woken in a tangle of sheets, maybe bloody (certainly besmirched) with nausea rising in my throat and no memory of how I got the abrasions on my knees.

Read it and weep…

I’d reach over to the bedside table and drink the last dregs in the wineglass from the night before like a tonic. The curtains would be billowing, a sharp breeze off the Exuma Sound. And as I started another day in Paradise, I wouldn’t bother to look out of the window…

As patches of the previous evening came back, I’d get snippets of memory. It felt like the sickening strobe light – OFF ON OFF ON OFF ON – at the Happy People Bar in the village. A face here, a piece of a room there, swapped with a matt-black nothingness…

My past came up in the office yesterday. Jess said she could not imagine me in my active addiction. She said it made her sad to think of it. Weirdly, I can’t imagine it either. That time in my life, at the tail end of the maelstrom that was my late-stage alcoholism, feels like it happened to someone else.

Falling off a bar stool should hurt, right?

When I think about that crazy blonde who wore a wineglass like a wedding ring and drove a golf cart like a drunken banshee, I don’t even like her.  And think about what it does to your body to fall, dead weight, from the summit of a barstool. And what it must feel like to have a baker’s dozen of the local guys try to hoist you from a filthy cement floor.

It’s no wonder my Pucci kitten heals didn’t survive.  It’s a wonder I did.

There were good times living in The Bahamas. Such good times in fact, I cannot muster the nerve to return. Another island perhaps, but not Staniel Cay… not yet…

This summer I have been working…

Living in Michigan, is like living in Opposite World from The Bahamas. In fact, people work during the summer here and travel to warm climes in the winter. Speaking of working, I’ve been doing a lot of it.

And because I am proud of my accomplishments, and happy to be working at something I love to do, I wanted to share with you the new website I created (along with Jess, Monica, Kevin and Mindutopia) for Sanford House Addiction Treatment Centers.

We have gone from being a gender specific treatment facility for women, to adding treatment for men to the mix. It was necessary to rewrite the entire website before the opening (in the next two weeks in a series of events) of our newest restored historic mansion – Sanford House at John Street for Men. The website has been a long time coming. I began writing it in February, in a cabin in the Up North woods.

Walden Pond and all that…

When you think about it from the marketing perspective, a profound change in an organization makes for a host of problems, challenges, exigencies and opportunities. One must bow to the Gods of Google SEO… And what a fun brain teaser it is.

Now, I’m not saying that launching a new website and opening a 20 bed treatment facility is as relaxing as passing out on the deck of a boat on the Exuma Sound. And I am not sporting a tan this summer. But the confidence, pride and community I have developed during this process is so satisfying, I can honestly say I’d rather be doing this than sitting on a beach.

But I am thinking of taking one of those Michigan, fall vacays or booking a trip to Florida for the holidays now… All work and no play makes Mare a dull girl.

E2E – We are thinking of you every day…

The post What Did You Do On Your (Sober) Summer Vacation? first appeared on Waking Up The Ghost - Alcohol Recovery.

My four year sober anniversary came in like a lamb. I only remembered it, because Lauren sent me a text to congratulate me.  And other than being a mother (and for a while a wife) I haven’t maintained interest in many things for four years straight, so I should have been jazzed. Maybe the milestone fizzled because I drank as a hobby and later, as an avocation, for at least ten years. So by comparison it’s small potatoes.

Or maybe it’s that my sobriety has settled…

…and I’m not dealing with those punch-in-the-gut demands to DRINK anymore. So I don’t feel so full of my sober self at this milestone. It’s been six months since the last time a Bob Marley song or a walk through an airport or the smell of Aqua di Gio Pour Homme (don’t ask) has made me crave a tall, icy glass of chardonnay. Reading the words “tall, icy glass of chardonnay” doesn’t even make me salivate.

I don’t want to negate the degree of difficulty in getting and staying sober. It is the hardest thing I have ever done. There will always be a little piece of me that feels “missing”, but I am comfortable as a sober person now. And my life is so much better, I can’t even muster the resentment I used to wear like a cheap suit, because I couldn’t swill white wine anymore. I have learned there is always a worse case scenario, always something to be grateful for.

And I do not want to drink.

I work for an addiction treatment center, so I am around folks who are new to recovery all the livelong day. And at My office, in the marketing group, we are always researching the cutting edge treatments, methods and modalities available to increase the national averages for successful long-term recovery. I have found that you really have to want to get sober. No one can do it for you. I have also found you have to be ready to slay the dragon when the words, “I’m going to drink” pop into your head at inopportune times (and they will).

Four things I know for sure about getting and staying sober:

1. You Simply Must Find a Passion (If You Are Able – Get Physical)

I am convinced that long term sobriety must contain a passionate interest in something outside of oneself. For me it has been writing and hiking. Seriously. I am still saved regularly by a comment on this blog or a rigorous walk with friends (or alone). I have started a walking group, and I can see the positive influence an early morning, city trek can make on a day in treatment.

And if the passion is physical, I think it works even better for quelling the cravings. Statistics show that rigorous exercise and challenging yourself will increase your chances for long term recovery.  Fill your hands with something and get the heart pumping. You can mountain climb, but you can also walk dogs at a rescue shelter or garden. Or for a double whammy, become a docent at an art museum and take the stairs.

Passion is defined as “strong and barely controllable emotion”.  Yes. Find that.

2. We Are All in Control of Our Own Lives

I hear from people all the time who say things like, “It was my sister’s wedding. They made me drink.” Or they might say by way of excuse, “My cousin died,” or “I knew I shouldn’t have gone to that Kid Rock concert,, but what was I going to do? I couldn’t cancel…” This “excuse-thinking” is something I can relate to. Because I did it for years. I am reminded of the plastic bag in the movie American Beauty. Born on the winds as it dances with no direction of its own.

All my drinking stories used to begin with the words “I ended up”, as if I were not responsible for crawling out of a ditch after drunkenly crashing a golf cart. My bad? The fact is, we are not pushed around by capricious winds. We are in control of our own lives. And here’s the kicker – shit still happens, temptations abound even when you are sober.

3. Nature Has the Power to Save You (God is in His Heavens…)

One of the reasons I am so passionate about hiking, is that I am humbled by what I see in nature. There is something about standing alone on Guana Reserve beach before a storm that makes me feel large and small at the same time. In my mind, it is impossible to deny the existence of God, while rustling through the Michigan Up North in Autumn. 

In the excellent book by Interventionist Jeff Jay, Navigating Grace, he describes exactly that feeling during a solitary moment on the deck of his boat. He says, “I was standing on the deck, leaning back against the shrouds, looking up into the Milky Way, musing on the Universe. Here I lived in a tumble of stars, sharp and silent as the night, a thousand visible and a billion more I couldn’t make out… …And here I was, an infinitesimal being standing on a sailboat.” Beautiful.

Jeff (who is obviously farther up the ladder to heaven than me), says he can get that feeling on a city street too, or having coffee with a friend. But it is in a natural setting, in solitude when my path becomes clear and my troubles very small by comparison. I want you to have this feeling, no matter what you believe – this epiphany that is seeing the trees and the forest.

4. Find a Way to Be Accountable to Someone or Something

I am a card carrying loner and a natural at isolation. All my heavy boozing took place behind closed doors. A wise psychologist (who I summarily ignored and lied to at the time) once told me, “Marilyn, it is dangerous to not be accountable to something.” At the time I was newly divorced and swanning in the Exumas like I owned the place (I should have, for all the dough I threw around like a drunken sailor…). The truth is, I didn’t really listen to any good advice, and I was getting some from Kim and Dee…

I think this is where AA comes in. Or a church or another 12 step or recovery group. If you can find a community where you feel comfortable and will be missed if you don’t turn up, it is a positive move for your recovery. Create a schedule. Join a book club or a walking group.

It is also the place where mended family fences and work relationships can assist. I advise anyone who is serious about getting sober to tell every single person who is important to them they have quit drinking You would be surprised how resistant most newly sober people are to doing that…

I’m Still a Grasshopper…

In the grand scheme of sobriety, four years is not a long time. And time is certainly my sober buddy. After five years of sobriety I can feel a little more comfortable that the statistics are with me on maintaining my place on the wagon. And the longer I am sober, the smarter I feel. The more secure in my own health and wellness. Maybe I don’t have all the answers, but I have four.

I can’t say, “Whoopee! I got sober, found the love of my life, lost 20 pounds and I can do a cartwheel now!” But I can say, “I have found myself. I am where I am supposed to be, doing what I am supposed to be doing.”

And I don’t lie anymore. So that’s the truth.

XXXOOO, M

The post Four Years Sober – Four Things I Know For Sure first appeared on Waking Up The Ghost - Alcohol Recovery.

I was driving around yesterday, picking up obscure items like those things you stick to the floor of slippery tubs so you don’t fall while taking a shower and knock yourself out and drown. I saw a sign on a billboard on 28th Street. The sign read, “I Forget the Last Time I Forgot”.

Brain Teasers…

That is the kind of brain teaser I usually can’t get out of my head. And it was especially meaty, because it was in front of a sad looking import shop.  I can picture the boss saying, “Get a message up on the sign out front that will drive traffic in here.” And some poor guy, with a handful of plastic letters chose this unsuitable aphorism.

Maybe he’s a recovering alcoholic.

Because, this recovering alcoholic can relate. It occurred to me, it has been ages since I have forgotten what happened the night before, or blanked out a conversation I had or unrecalled buying a puppy on the internet. That horrible, hollow feeling when the kids are saying, “Mom. You said we were going to Disney World today. Remember?”

Why Does too Much Booze Make you Forget?

According to an article by Denise Cummins Ph.D. in Psychology Today, “When the body’s alcohol level rises too high too fast, memory functions are impaired. The hippocampus, a brain structure that is crucial for transferring information from short-term to long-term memory, is impaired at a cellular level. The resulting amnesia can be en bloc (can’t remember anything) or fragmentary (bits and pieces something can be retrieved with proper cuing).”

And females are particularly at risk for blackouts.  Dr. Cummins says, “This is because females tend to weigh less than males and have less water in their bodies to dilute alcohol levels. They also have less of an enzyme called “alcohol dehydrogenase” in their guts to break down a small percentage of alcohol before it even gets into the body. Females also are more likely to skip meals to save calories when they drink, so there is less food in the stomach to help absorb the alcohol. As a result, more alcohol reaches the brain, where it plays havoc with sensory and memory functions.”

It is not exactly clear how alcohol creates a memory “blackout“. And the amount of  alcohol required to impair  memory and potentially cause a blackout, can vary. The type of alcohol, and the amount consumed is significant. If you are pounding moonshine, don’t expect to have sharp recall of how you got home (or to someone else’s home…).  And the faster you drink, the more impact there is on the brain and memory.

Mornings are the BEST Part of Being Sober…

I have said it before, but I’ll say it again. Mornings are the greatest part of a sober life. There is nothing like opening one’s eyes and feeling clear, clean and honest. And my memory is sharp enough now, I’m the one who recalls the details and says, “Remember?”

There seem to be benchmarks in alcohol recovery. At three or four months, the effects of post-acute withdrawal (PAWS) begin to dissipate. At two years, or “advanced recovery” cravings and triggers have less impact. And at 5 years the relapse rate drops from a whopping 75 percent in the first year of recovery, to 7 percent. People who successfully complete a formal treatment program or an intensive outpatient program (IOP) have higher recovery rates than those who do not. And day by day, benchmark by benchmark, the brain rewires.

For me, at four years sober, yesterday was another benchmark – marking that I’d forgotten I don’t forget anymore. And for a minute, as I ran normal, everyday errands I remembered there was a time when I would have run the same errands with wine shooters clinking in the glove box.

Best not to forget that…

The post I Forget the Last Time I Forgot… first appeared on Waking Up The Ghost - Alcohol Recovery.

I told Christine that I had just experienced the “move from hell.” She said, “Your last move was ‘the move from hell’ wasn’t it?” Which is kind of true, but also made me feel like my horrible moves are somehow my fault. As if I don’t have the moxie to pack my own belongings, or the strength to navigate flights of narrow stairs while juggling breakables. Like I’m fabricating these hellish, move-a-day outcomes to make a better story.

 

I had this idea to get cute photos of me perched on boxes for this blog. That crazy Mare – recovery on the move again!  But after the fortieth trip up three flights of stairs to get my hanging clothes, I didn’t have the heart for it. So there are no pictures of before and after. Suffice to say I am relocated. And I look like I used to look when I stayed out late drinking and fell down a lot.

 

The offending daybed, now in a garage…

 

I had help…

And it’s not like I had to do it all myself. I had a moving company for the heaviest lifting. But I am sitting here with a body full of bruises and a head full of horror stories to tell. Come on, who has a 4 to 6 hour estimated move take 12 hours? Who has the smiling waif of a moving boy drop 500 pounds of wooden cabinet on the cement stairs and break it into pieces?

 

And who stage manages two enormous, decorative “key pieces” of furniture out of the bell tower of a refurbished church, only to have them founder on the impenetrable entranceway of the new apartment (ne historic home). And what does one do when the movers (after trying two stairways and twisting the furniture every which way but loose) look at you and say, “We don’t know what to tell you lady, but this won’t fit and we can’t put it back on the truck.” At that point, I was tired of sweet talking, cajoling and demanding. I just didn’t care. But, it’s not like putting a rickety end table at the curb for someone to dumpster dive.

 

These pieces of furniture are so large and unwieldy you need, well, a moving truck to move them. Luckily, my new landlord owns cattycorner mansions. I mustered enough charm to negotiate temporary space in his garage across the street, and got Niles and Clem to carry my behemoths to yet another location.

 

Unpacking the shot glass collection and all those flasks, again…

And why my friends do I keep packing and moving my shot glass collection? Hoisting box after box of brandy snifters and my Grandfather’s Waterford sherry flutes? And why can’t I just throw away those gag cocktail napkins, whiskey flasks and the wine glass that holds an entire bottle? I don’t think there’s any nostalgia for the days when I carried a wine goblet like an affectation. So why not toss the alcoholic’s accouterments?

 

I’d like to say this is my final move. That I will never move again. But the truth is, this move is just the next step in my resurrection/recovery (I have a fireplace!). There will be moves in the future and more stories to tell. But I need that neat, little book by the Asian woman who helps people all over the world organize their dross (keep/give away/throw away). I need to keep only those things that “bring me joy”.

 

Which reminds me, it does not bring me joy to schlep all those extra wooden hangers and the throw pillows that keep multiplying. And for God sake Marilyn, you will not be hosting a martini buffet anytime soon, so give away the martini glasses. Give them away. They do not bring you joy…

 

Today I’m not drinking, because I am moving again and keeping only those things that make me blissful…

How come you’re not drinking?

E2E I hope you are finding joy…

The post Moving the Shot Glass Collection Again… first appeared on Waking Up The Ghost - Alcohol Recovery.

I went to a free concert at Meijer Gardens on the 4th of July with Cindy. She seems to be witnessing a few of my sober “firsts”. This time, it was at an outdoor, camp-chair, picnic basket kind of concert. I haven’t been to one of those sober before. In fact, an outdoor concert (once I recced the toilets) was always an opportunity for drunken disorderliness on my part. Where better to get pie-eyed, than a pot-holed, minefield of folding chairs, wrinkled blankets and loose detritus?

Concert Going Drunk…

In the past, I would have had a glass of wine or four as I packed the cheese and crackers. I’d happily pour the better part of a bottle of wine into a thermos “roadie” and find a clever way to hide more wine on my person. Once we got settled, I’d locate the open bar and buy three, bad wines at a time – spilling booze as I teetered over the lawn with three Dixie-cups smashed together.

I can remember the slightly desperate feeling of having to go to the bathroom (all that liquid), but feeling unsteady. How was I going to pull myself up out of the folding chair two inches from the ground? Eyeing a path through the blankets and Yetis and hoping I wouldn’t lose my tenuous balance – land on someone’s bucket o’ chicken. Or turn an ankle.

I’d leave the food untouched, flinch at the first sip of concert wine like I was taking medicine. And then it wouldn’t taste so bad. I’d get sleepy, grumpy and bored. Sounds like three of Snow White’s most unpleasant dwarfs, right? And at some point I’d hate the band or my hair or the person I was with. I’d pick a fight.

That was me, summer concert drunk…

Concert Going Sober…

So, on the 4th I entered the bandstand area, minding my own sober business, carrying our snacks in a big, blue insolated bag. And a very nice man wearing an apron and a sun hat said, “Would you like some drink coupons?”

I said, “No thanks.”

He said, “Are you sure? There’s wine and beer!”

I said, “No thank you.” I even smiled sweetly. Ask Cindy.

We walked past him and he tried again, like he was on commission, not a volunteer, “It’s delicious wine and beer and these are discount tickets!”

I said loudly over my shoulder, “I’m an alcoholic!”

He looked so crestfallen, I kind of felt badly for him. But then I thought of all the people who were new to recovery and struggling a bit, going to their first sober concert and this kindly idiot was forcing drink tickets on them. So I said to Cindy, “I wonder if I said enough? Should I have told him to take ‘no’ for an answer and to stop selling so hard?”

Cindy said, “I think you said enough… I think he got it.”

My first sober, outdoor concert was fantastic.

Free, so it wasn’t flawless, but I enjoyed every bit. I was able to make my way to the bathroom, teetering on a tiered step like a Flying Wallenda, awake and cheerful and grateful.

I got home and, coincidentally, a newly sober friend of mine wrote to say she was going to a concert and finding the prospect difficult. So difficult, she didn’t even think she wanted to go…  Concerts, particularly outdoor concerts, are triggers for everybody. And it’s a shame. I told her that she was in charge of the situation – to go and enjoy herself. I said, “At least you don’t have to worry about your balance on the way to the porta-potty. At least you’ll remember what you hear.”

See how this peer recovery support works?

She said she went to an Elton John concert sober once. And the first song he sang was, “The bitch is back – stone cold sober as a matter of fact.” She says she laughed out loud… And that’s it in a nutshell – feeling alive and unfettered and happy at an outdoor summer concert. Really hearing the music. Laughing out loud…

The post Summer Concert Going – Drunk Vs. Sober first appeared on Waking Up The Ghost - Alcohol Recovery.

We’re moving offices. I am sitting with stacked boxes, furniture with yellow dots and Halloween decorations  too big to package (don’t ask) waiting for the movers to arrive. It’s early, and I’ve been thinking about the positive aspects of change. Especially for those of us in recovery.

Cha cha cha changes…

Moving brings out the unique personality traits in people. There are those who hate change and the stoics who shrug, because they have done this before. In the past fifteen years, I have moved houses five times and coincidentally, work offices five times. I have downsized, stored, given away, lost and found a lifetime of possessions.

I love change, but as we began the office move, I thought about what I always think about – how does this thing I am doing impact my (and everybody else’s) recovery?

Curtail Change in Early Recovery?

Often we are told to curtail change in early recovery. “Don’t make any unnecessary decisions,” we are warned. And the ever popular, “Don’t even think about a new romance for a year.”

I understand it’s not wise to rescue a puppy in the wake of quitting your substance of choice. Because, learning and relearning self-care is most important to a person’s long term well-being. But, what about changing things up when the environment you have been in is toxic? Or filled with triggers? Or crowded with people who still use? I sold a house in The Bahamas immediately after getting sober and have not been back to the island in almost five years, because it felt dangerous to me then… It still does.

And as we tick off the months and years of our sobriety, we also gain knowledge of ourselves – what works to strengthen our recovery and what does not. We begin to feel confident in our choices. And we might even embrace change. I’ve come up with my list of those changes that are prudent to avoid and those to embrace in early recovery and beyond. Change it up!

Change to Avoid:

• Other than a goldfish (and even they require continuous care and die a lot) don’t be fooled into getting a new pet. Nuff said.
• Be careful of big relationship changes – don’t accept a marriage proposal smack out of treatment. Do not “fall in love” in rehab…
• Start small – job promotions that add to stress might be something to avoid. At least for a few months. Better to go back to a job part time than to create a situation where you are prone to unnecessary stressors.
• Temper social media outbursts (says the woman who started writing a blog six months into her sobriety) – announcing milestone sober dates on Twitter are okay as long as you stay sober – n’est-ce pas?
• Families push buttons. So, don’t volunteer to “do Thanksgiving” for the first time, when you are newly sober. In fact, have an exit strategy for any family get together.
• Avoid, when at all possible, the top twenty life stressors. The problem is, that things like substance use disorders and divorce (a sometimes unavoidable result of substance use) are on the list of stressors. My rule of thumb is – don’t court any big stressors. Also, be prepared for life’s foibles. They happen whether you are sober or not!

Change to Embrace…

• Recovery is the time to embrace any new-found passions you might have learned in treatment, AA meetings, group therapy or the school of hard knocks… Hike, sing in a choir, read to children at the library, write a book or a blog, and embrace the good change recovery brings.
• Change your way of looking at the world. There is great power in positive thinking!
• Move away from those situations that squeeze your emotional triggers. Moving is stressful, but a college student going back to an off-campus party house after treatment is a BAD idea. Better to pack up your things and MOVE if your environment is toxic to your recovery.
• You might not want to jump into a new romantic relationship, but one of the joys of newfound sobriety is forming lasting friendships.
• Change how you eat and how you take care of yourself.
• Change how you respond to your cravings or emotional triggers and rewire your brain! The best way to beat a “bad habit” is to respond differently to the cue, until it becomes second nature.
• And when it’s necessary, or outside of your control, try to take a deep breath and be open to change.

Change is Fun…

When you are open to change, the world gets bigger and life is more interesting. You experience more, meet new people and set the stage for a life full of, well, LIFE. After the long, rough road of addiction that sounds pretty awesome, doesn’t it?

Real life, desensitized, in all its glory.

The post Is Change Good For Addiction Recovery? first appeared on Waking Up The Ghost - Alcohol Recovery.

There is what can only be described as a “bunny infestation” in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Cute, little rabbits are living in the middle of the city. Like foxes in London or baby alligators in Jacksonville, these creatures are lovable oddities until you have to get out of your car after a long day at the office and shoo them into the bushes.

Because bunnies don’t move…

The bunnies in Grand Rapids are either dumb or careless. (Something that could have been said about me in my drinking days.) Because, they scamper into the driveway at closing time and don’t move. The old house, where we work, is quite the microcosm. Birds tweet from the eaves troughs and chipmunks dive under the porch when I approach. Squirrels dash up tree trunks. Admittedly, I work odd hours, but these creatures seem to have a healthy respect for humans and a healthier fear of my impending Malibu.

Bunnies – not so much…

A few nights ago there were three bunnies in the drive when I left work. When city rabbits are confronted with four-thousand pounds of metal, they sit down. In front of the car, with big eyes staring into the rhododendrons, ears upright and whiskers twitching. So, I blew the horn and eased slowly toward them. Nothing. A hop or two, they looked at each other like, Did you hear something? I rolled down the window and shouted, “MOVE!” to no avail.

What’s the point of those big ears?

And more importantly, what does this have to do with alcoholism?

Nothing I suppose. But, last night a friend of mine (who is on the cusp of quitting) asked me, “Did you quit drinking more than once before you finally got sober? What made you quit once and for all?”

I answered in the usual way. I tried at least ten times to quit. I’d stop drinking for 30 days or two weeks or a long weekend. And then it would be a holiday or a birthday or it would rain and I would find an excuse to have a drink. You can’t have Thanksgiving without a glass (liter) of red wine, right? And I quit for good, because I disappointed my daughter one Christmas Eve. I didn’t quit then. I wasn’t quite ready, but I filed away the look on Lauren’s face…

And six months later, I had to pick my son up at the airport at midnight. I didn’t want to have to perform the usual machinations – get drunk early so that I could “sober up” enough to drive a car after 7 at night.  I felt like an overly-wet sponge. And I was just done with it all… It took a while, but it stuck.

And I keep thinking of those bunnies and my drinking. For two reasons:

1. In my drinking days I would have been a bit less tolerant of woodland creatures, inconveniently in my way. That is not to say I would have mown them down… But, I popped a lot of mailboxes with my rear-view mirror, because I was in a rush and distracted and careless. So, I’m just saying I don’t see myself getting out of the car and carefully herding rabbits to safety. More like Cruella, screaming out the window, “SCRAM!” and gunning it.

2.  I also can’t get it out of my head, that the bunnies sit in front of a moving car with those big eyes. Resigned. How even though they must be programmed to respond to danger, they ignore me. And that’s where the alcoholism metaphor comes in… (whew). We see the peril, we ignore the signs and we try and try again to talk ourselves out of something our brains have been rewired to do. Drink and drink and drink…

Now that I’m sober, I am kinder and gentler. I want to help. I get all the way out of the car and say, “Come on you guys, move out of the way. Take care of yourselves.”

Think about it. You wouldn’t stand in traffic, right? You wouldn’t deliberately run over bunnies….

The post Over-Drinking – It’s All Fun Till Someone Runs Over a Bunny… first appeared on Waking Up The Ghost - Alcohol Recovery.