Who the Hell Am I to Tell Anyone?

Saturday, May 31, 2008 at 8:53pm
I recently discovered that a friend of mine has given up the bottle. I used to live with this person. Ironically, I don't remember that we lived together because I was blacked out most of the time. He and another friend came into a bar I managed at one point in time and were reminiscing about us all being room mates. I couldn't and still can't recall that period of my life. There are moments, and flashes here and there, but not a whole lot. It's gone. Plflflflt.

Anyway this friend of mine is pretty open about his experience in recovery. One of the reasons for his openness is to serve as a light to others. This is a pretty noble idea actually. However, I contacted him, and told him he might want to keep a low profile about things, lest he should regret having blown his anonymity down the road.

Well now I feel like a big jerk. First, because I've got no business what so ever offering unsolicited advice. Secondly, he's right. People need to see examples of others getting healthier and happier in sobriety.

I've been thinking about this a lot today. So after some games with the family and some yard work while the kids set up a lemonade stand, I decided to head out for a bike ride to clear my head. I wound up on the riverbank trails, and completely by accident found myself at the exact spot along the riverbank where I made the decision to quit drugs and alcohol.

Here's the story of that day as briefly as possible. I'd been drunk and high for a long time. I was 22 and had already tried to quit drinking once, by going to an AA meeting, but they used the word 'God' a lot and held meetings in churches, and I had an aversion to organized religion at the time. I went to one meeting, thought it was ridiculous and left. For the next 4 years I drank virtually every day. The days that I didn't drink weren't really worthy of calling sober days because I was still sick from the endless drunk days preceding them. I think that during this 4 year stretch the longest I'd gone without getting drunk was 2 days, and there hadn't been too many 2 day stretches.
I started having quite a few friends die around me. Some were suicides, some were car accidents, but all of them seemed to be drug and alcohol related. That gets a guy thinking.
I'd been finding for years that nothing was fun anymore unless it involved getting ripped. It was the only time I felt anything akin to pleasure. There are scientific reasons for this; it's why addictions work.

Tetrahydroisoquinolines, the 'scientific reasons for this' (feel free to skip this section if you have no interest in how addictions work)
Pleasure is nothing more than brain chemistry. In layman's terms, when your brain shoots out happy juice, you feel happy, when it shoots out sad juice, you feel sad. When an addiction starts to take control, it replaces the naturally occurring happy juice (dopamine and serotonin) with a chemical called T.H.I.Q. (tetrahydroisoquinolines). This is a chemical that has always been associated with heroin addicts. Essentially it's metabolized heroin. However, in an alcoholic brain, THIQ is also quite common. In studies of rats injected with THIQ they immediately developed a preference for alcohol over water, and were known to drink themselves to death. In studies with monkeys injected with THIQ, the chemical was still present in the brain even after 7 years with no alcohol. So, essentially, when THIQ completely replaces seratonin and dopamine production, which is the eventual progression of addiction, then pleasure becomes absolutely impossible. Only the synthetic joy of whatever chemical the addict is hooked on will elicit any semblance of contentment. Depression ensues and life without the substance becomes a living hell.

A Cute Withdrawal Syndrome and Paws (you can skip this too if you want, more science)
The good news is that treatment works. Immediately after an addict or alcoholic stops abusing, they enter what's called Acute Withdrawal Syndrome. Depending on how rough the person is, this can be a world of hurt. It usually lasts just a few weeks, but for alcoholics this period can be fatal as the body rebels. Alcohol is the only substance that can kill you if you quit taking it (to the best of my knowledge). Seizures, hallucinations, all kinds of fun stuff. Luckily it only lasts a few weeks, then Post Acute Withdrawal Syndrome (PAWS) kicks in. Post Acute Withdrawal Syndrome is a sneaky bastard. It manifests itself as an absolute roller coaster of mood swings, fears, anxieties, sleeplessness and oversleeping. In the early stages changes take place from minute to minute and hour to hour. As one progresses in recovery, symptoms abate for longer and longer stretches. However, for a period of up to 2 years, they will recur, for days at a time as intense as they were in the beginning. This is your brain relearning it's original chemistry, relearning how and when and how much happy juice and sad juice to make. It's also one of the biggest triggers for relapse.
http://www.addictionsandrecovery.org/post-acute-withdrawal.htm

Let's talk about me again shall we?
Anyway today I found myself down at the river, and in the spot that I originally decided to quit drinking. About 15 years ago I'd been out on a bender, and was staggering home with some leftover booze on a Sunday morning, when I thought how nice it would be to sit by the river and finish off the liquor.
It was while sitting down there that I had what is a catalyst for many alcoholics and addicts. In a moment of peace I had a 'spiritual experience'...nothing freaky, I didn't see angels or anything like that. I just had this moment where it felt like my 'self' dissolved and I became one with absolutely everything. I had an overwhelming connection to every leaf on every tree, to every bug on the ground and every molecule of water in the river. It's really difficult to explain to anyone that hasn't had a similar experience. It was similar to what I imagine a moment of enlightenment would be. Anyway, in that moment I decided that I wanted to live, and that if I wanted to live, I had to get off of the booze and the drugs.
It's a testament to the power of addiction that it took a few more weeks for me to actually walk into a treatment center and ask for help. I sold the last of the dope that I'd been selling for pocket money, and I drank the last of the liquor in the fridge first. When I checked in the guy asked me if I'd been drinking and I said "No, I've just had about half a mickey and 6 beer." In my mind I wasn't actually drinking because that would have entailed a lot more booze.
Anyway I'm not sure what day it was, but it was the middle of June, and it was about 15 years ago, and I spent my first 4 days sleeping. They had beautiful plastic sheets on the beds because a lot of people come in so sick that they have no control over their bowels, and a lot of people do a lot of vomiting etc. Plastic sheets are a good idea.

For the next 2 or 3 weeks I was in 'programming' several times a day, and sleeping the rest of the time. One night they brought in a guy that had been drinking hair spray and was dying (hair spray was really popular on 20th that year, and it was killing a lot of people). They were short staffed and because I was up they asked me and another guy ( a guy I'd gone to high school with actually!) to walk this guy up to the hospital.
He was a big homeless native guy, in his 40s, and I mean BIG, probably about 6'5". How do I know he was homeless? Trust me people, you could tell by the smell, and the clothes and the matted hair. It was a smell I never want to smell again. You could smell his insides rotting.
It was only about 2 blocks to the hospital, but it took us about 45 minutes because this big giant guy kept screaming in pain, falling to his knees and yelling for his mother to help him. He wouldn't let go of our hands and just about crushed them every time he'd get hit with a wave of pain.

Finally we got to the hospital and walked through the emergency room doors, and I had developed a set of expectations along the way. I was sure they'd see that this guy was sick and dying and in excruciating pain and coming running to help us. But they didn't. The staff were all smiles, and lauging and they knew the guy by name (we'll call him Harry for now, cuz he was damn hairy.)

"How you doin' Harry, do you need a hand there?" and then Harry sort of woke up and realized where we were and he started screaming and trying to get away from us. We let him go in a hurry and some fairly big nurses came over all smiling and joking, telling us not to worry, that Harry was a regular.

Anyway I think I was in detox for 2 or 3 weeks and it was a humiliating and awful place to be, but by the end of my time I was afraid to leave. I was afraid to go outside again because I thought I might drink. But they had given me a plan, go to 90 meetings in 90 days, and so that's what I did.
I experienced PAWS pretty badly. My room mates told me that I walked and talked and yelled and sang in my sleep a lot.
Anyway, I've gone on too long, but the point is this. I was really sick and I got better. Only 5% of people that get sick like this ever get better, so I'm one of the few and the grateful. It's a rough road, and if anyone is thinking of embarking upon it I'd advise you to get help and lots of it, because 'there's things that'll knock you down you don't even see comin'
I'm not going to edit this, because it's too freakin' long to read again, but thanks for sticking with it until the end if you did