Levels (11)


           "Hi, I'm new in the program and really liked what you shared tonight. I'm looking for a sponsor and can just tell you'd be great for me. Do you take sponsees?" asks a middle-aged woman at my home group meeting. It's the first time I've seen her at this meeting and I’m impressed she's already seeking a sponsor, a very promising sign. We chat for a bit and I discover she's only a week sober.

            "Thank you," she replies after my acceptance. "I know how important it is to get a sponsor early on, or so I've been told, and I can tell you've really got it together. I want to achieve that."

Flash back three years prior when nothing was together, rather in a thousand torn pieces strewn across the floor. A floor I was most likely passed out on. Not a single clue who I was or who I wanted to be. 

            Life seems to mimic a complicated equation. As a child, you stare at it, bewildered by its variables, shifting things around until they appear correct, but the proportions are still off. As a young adult, you come to recognize the value of it, but remain puzzled as to how to solve it. And as you continue along, you discover certain theories, incorporate rubrics, and strengthen your ability to reason so that cracking the code becomes a possibility rather than a maddening riddle. Even still, the greatest minds- the most brilliant, discerning and calculated thinkers- cannot provide a definite answer for a perfect existence. The reason? Every second of a person’s life is different from that of the person next to them. The key is in developing a tailored formula that works for you. An algorithm designed to get you through the day to day conversations, constant thoughts and choices you’re faced with.

For me, that formula is keeping in touch with a higher power, having a daily plan for recovery and striving to be the best possible version of myself, paying no mind to outside opinion.

 I’ve never been any good at math. In fact, I’m embarrassingly awful when it comes to the subject. The pressure of solving something my brain cannot comprehend panics me until I throw my hands up in frustration and defeat. My young adulthood felt like an honors calculus test with  Einstein as my professor, pacing the aisles and breathing  down my neck as I attempted to cheat. I didn’t know how to embrace the changes in life, the disappointments, the emotionally unnerving moments, the responsibilities and expectations-so I drank. I drank a lot.

When I got sober and went through the 12 steps of the AA program with my sponsor, things started to make sense for the first time. It’s not an easy task to look deep inside of yourself and painstakingly analyze the very things that both terrify and challenge you. I used to think to myself:  

“how did I become this person? How did I get so far from who I used to be?" 

But the truth is I never knew who I was. My sense of humor, general disposition and quirks have stayed true, but my perspective on life, values, and understanding of my purpose in connection to other people were non-existent. 

I truly believe that the 4^th step of AA’s 12 steps can help anyone. It forces you to take a moral inventory of your wrong doings, character defects (flaws) and fears. For the first time I saw what part I had played in every failed relationship, every fight, every fucked up occurrence where I played victim, dramatically crying out “but why me?” I made amends to those who would hear them. An amends actually benefits the person making the apology more so than the person wronged because it provides an opportunity to clear the trash from your side of the street and move on.

I have been able to reach a level of peace, understanding and confidence in myself as a human being I never thought possible.  I could not have gotten to this place without recognizing, digesting and purging the mistakes of my past. Like a bad stomachache caused by tempting and gluttonous foods, to feel balanced again the culprits must come to the service and leave your system.  The mistakes of my past are now my greatest resource today. Instead of just black and white, I see the world with a splash of pink; realism with a dash of hope.

In the popular novel and movie Eat Pray Love, Julia Robert’s character discovers some very hard truths about herself during her journey through food, meditation and love and in the end comes to realize something powerful:

“Happiness is the consequence of personal effort. You fight for it, strive for it, insist upon it, and sometimes even travel around the world looking for it. You have to participate relentlessly in the manifestations of your own blessings. And once you have achieved a state of happiness, you must never become lax about maintaining it. You must make a mighty effort to keep swimming upward into that happiness forever, to stay afloat on top of it.”

Most addicts and alcoholics will experience many different levels of successes and failures on their road to life-long sobriety. Months of sobriety may be followed by a bewildering slip up, leaving the addict more frustrated and confused than ever. In my experience, this is always due to trapped resentments, secrets and fears. THESE THINGS ARE A CANCER. Holding onto them will only hinder your chance for happiness.

Let them go, I promise you, it’s liberating and life-changing.

***Take what you like and leave the rest***

The Devil's Always in the Details (10)


           Truth: 1) the real facts about something : the things that are true

                     2) sincerity in action, character, and utterance

               Lie:  1) to make an untrue statement with intent to deceive

                       2) to create a false or misleading impression

            The truth will set you free. Omission is betrayal. To thine own self be true. Lies are like scars to the soul.

            The adages are endless.

           What is truth? Everyone has their own version of it. Their own concept of what is an acceptable explanation, how much they are willing to disclose, or on the contrary, turn a blind eye to. It’s an intangible, universal idea either abused or worshiped by its keeper. It can be the difference between a simple conversation or a defensive argument. A goal that evens the playing field.

     Truth is in the eyes, the voice, the breath and the stance.

            For years, I convinced myself I had my drinking under control. That my public antics and grab-life-by-the-horns attitude masked my shifty, behind the scenes behavior. That when I swore I’d never drink again and kept my word for two months straight, no one would notice or give a second glance to the vodka soda in my hand at dinner, or question my absence from responsibilities as being due to anything other than “a headache.” That was my truth.

            What is a lie? A protector of your wrong doings? A way to exist in the world you’ve created without consequence? It’s a way to mask the fear of being exposed, like a woman whose bathing suit top has come undone on a crowded beach. It provides that rush of adrenaline derived from the idea that you are somehow smarter than those around you. The thrill of getting away with it feels almost electric. But it also makes you thin inside, the way a rubber band feels after it’s lost its elasticity from being stretched too far.

     A lie is in the eyes, the voice, the breath and the stance.

            I’ve been a liar. I’ve been down that road. It cost me potential relationships I spent years chasing and investing in with no return. I hurt, worried and infuriated those closest to me. My entire being in itself became a lie due to my drinking- a manifestation of the demons in my head who used my charms and deceitful nature to emerge from the shadows. I felt constant panic. Constant dissatisfaction. Endless regret and shame. But it still wasn’t enough for me to look those I loved in the eye and tell the truth.

            I’ve been lied to. Misled, made to think I was important to someone whose main concern was their own well-being. Other times I let my guard down, only to re-build bigger walls than ever. But you choose to believe what you want to believe. To ignore the signs and red flags, the obvious indiscretions. Because at some point, you concede to the fact that love outweighs it all.

            Actively using addicts and alcoholics are masters of the lie but novices of truth. You can love them and they you, but theirs is a different love, initially. It’s manifested by a need, not a natural occurrence perpetuated by the laws of attraction. Not by the gut feeling which mimics the drop in your stomach on a roller coaster, signaling you’ve finally found “it.” Though it can be genuine, it's prompted by a sad and desperate attempt at something real. Something true. Something whole.

                                               

              I’ve been on both sides of the fence. The addict and the concerned.  I am thankful for that. I have the deepest understanding possible of what it means to have this disease and what it means to care for someone fighting the same battle. I have learned to let go when necessary, to be patience, to pick my battles and approach with compassion should I have any chance of getting through and being heard. I have matured in the delicate art of push and pull. Discovered when to use information I’ve acquired, waiting until it will prove most effective. Never using it as a weapon or collateral, only to shed light on the severity of the

situation.

            But most importantly, I’ve learned not to take it personally. As hard as it is to see a lie as anything but blatant betrayal, someone struggling with substance abuse sees it as a survival tactic and a comfort zone.  A way to escape from the waves crashing down, the walls from caving in. Corner them, and they will claw their way to safety. Of course it stings, breaks your heart a little each time the charade flaunts its victory.  Each time your intuition and suspicions prove correct but are never validated.

            Love from a distance. It’s the best way to keep your sanity. 

           If need be, stop returning their calls, giving them money, end the relationship, change your locks, go to Al Anon meetings, do what you have to do to keep yourself afloat, but never stop loving them.  And when they are ready to help themselves, be there to lend support, no matter how skeptical, resentful or tired you are, be there.

                    

            It is possible to change. People can get better.  The only way to truly achieve this is to have a plan for recovery.  So many addicts and alcoholics get treatment and learn some great tools for recovery, but the real test is settling back into life and figuring out how to maintain that sobriety. No plan equals relapse. It’s that fragile.

            It takes some people more than one try until they get it right. To decide they have finally had enough, the agony of a broken back begging for rest from years of grave digging. You cannot change that person no matter how much you love them and they you. It’s an internal conflict, a personal strife and fight for freedom.

            Loving someone with a problem is by no means an easy or fair task. It keeps you up at night with suspicion, nauseated with worry, and doubtful of a bright future. Uncertainty will be part of your days. It will take work, understanding and tough decisions. There will be bad days and a test of your will. But everyone in this world deserves a chance. And if you love someone, they are always worth it.

We all have a weakness

Some of ours are easier to identify

Look me in the eye

And ask for forgiveness

We'll make a pact to never speak

 That word again, yes, you are my friend

We all have something that digs at us

At least we dig each other

We all have a sickness

That cleverly attaches and multiplies

No matter how we try

We all have someone that digs at us

At least we dig each other

**Take what you like and leave the rest**

Never too young (9)

         



             " I know it seems like a life time ago, but I was sitting exactly where you are right now 9 years ago. I took the same classes, had some of the same teachers and even drank and partied in the same parking lots and hidden places. Trust me, I know them all," I joke to the group of high school seniors sitting before me. They chuckle at my surprising admission.

            “That’s actually why I’m here today, to talk to you about drugs and alcohol. I'm not a counselor, teacher or member of law enforcement," I continue. "I myself am a recovering alcoholic. I'm not here to scare you straight or to even tell you not to drink. I'm simply here today to share my personal experiences with alcoholism and addiction in the hopes that you learn something."

 I can immediately tell they were not expecting me to be a substance abuse guest speaker, perhaps a college advisor or recruiter. Nonetheless, I notice a shift in body language to more comfortable positions now knowing I'm not the big bad wolf here to blow down their keg party.

I have on a form fitting, quarter sleeved, grey tweed dress and black stilettos. My blonde hair blown out straight, cherry red painted on my lips.

              "You don't look like an alcoholic," blurts out a boy in the front row. Ah, my strategic ensemble worked.

            "That's the thing about addiction, it doesn’t have a stereotypical face, it can look like anyone. This disease doesn't discriminate. Does not consider your age, race or background. It will get you if you let it."

And it's off to the races.

            I spend the entire class period chronicling my departure from innocence to corruption. From insecurity and confusion to escape and indifference. From being an honor student and Varsity athlete to a below average college scrub with a 20 lb weight gain and empty wallet. And of course, my legal woes.

I don't hold back when discussing the unhealthy view I developed in regards to sex and relationships because of my drinking and the choices I made.

            "If you take an introductory law class at any point in your life, you'll learn what a fallacy is, and a fallacy is trying to prove something to be true using false logic. I would live a wild and seemingly care free life style and then expect to be taken seriously by someone I had feelings for, simply because I said I could change. That's not the way it works. You can't expect to act a certain way and not be judged by that behavior. You have to earn people's trust and respect. And my abusive drinking turned me into an unstable, untrustworthy person."

The truth is I didn't wake up one day and think to myself, ‘I want to drink excessive amounts, put my health at risk, become someone devoid of character and warmth;’ it was a gradual process that began at an early age. The age of many students sitting before me.

            To my delight, they listened intently and even nodded their heads in empathy during some parts of my story. The minds’ of teenagers are many things, but impervious is not one of them (as much as they would have you believe).  But to get through, you must strip down and bare your soul. Speak to them directly, honestly, logically and on their level of understanding and you will break skin. Their invincible exteriors will bleed, if only slightly. It’s an incredible thing to see the wheels turning in someone’s head; their strings being plucked and nerves pinched.  To witness the uncomfortable realization that some of what you are saying may be valid and even worth remembering. 

(That’s my favorite part).

            “What made you want to speak to us and share your story?” asks an attentive young man at the end of my talk.

           “I just felt like I could have benefited from hearing a speaker closer to my age with a relatable story when I was in high school. Most of the time you guys are only exposed to the most extreme cases of addiction through shows like intervention, or shown gruesome pictures of car accidents. Most people have similar experiences to mine.”

            When I was seventeen, no one told me addiction was a disease that ran in families like cancer or heart disease.  No one told me I had a right to know my family history because it could directly affect me. Until AA, the idea that I could be allergic to alcohol did not exist. And I certainly never realized some of my peers could be struggling with mental illness or behavioral disorders and using substances to cope. Would I have become an alcoholic even with this information? Most likely due to my choices, but knowledge is power and I could have used a little of that when I was struggling and making poor decisions.

            I had the privilege last year of seeing a substance abuse awareness speaker whose story I've followed over the years and respect tremendously: Chris Herren. A former NBA player and heroin addict, Chris Herren delivers a powerful message to anyone fortunate enough to hear him. At the end of his talk, he bravely relives the pain he felt when using and how much of it sprung from his insecurities. "I want you to ask yourselves, 'What is it about me that I don't like? And why?' And figure out how to cope because you all are worth being happy and healthy.'" His foundation Project Purple http://goprojectpurple.com/ is an amazing resource and brings much needed awareness to the cause.

           

             It’s time to stop sweeping addiction under the rug. It’s always been time to give this problem its due spotlight. To educate our young people about more than facts and figures in school presentations. Never once at a college party did I stop and think to myself, “ One 12 ounce glass of beer has the same amount of alcohol as 1.5 ounces of liquor in a shot, so I’d better keep track and drink accordingly.” Not to say this health class information isn’t important, but it’s not the nitty gritty- not the blood on the front lines. It’s the candy coated, safe-behind-the-glass version.

            I’m extremely lucky that two high schools have welcomed me with open arms and given me a place to share my story these past two years. At the end of each presentation, I provide a hand out with helpful websites and my personal email should a student want to chat in private. I’ve gotten a few very touching and rewarding responses since starting this journey. I’ve had students confide in me they are in recovery themselves and even inquire about local AA meetings. I’ve had other students disclose they have an alcoholic parent and are happy someone is talking about addiction in a real way. Others have simply admitted they learned something new.

            However, despite my best efforts, the world will continue to spin today’s youth around like the giant dizzying tea cup rides of yesteryear. They will drink, they will smoke, they will sniff.  Curiosity will eventually kill the cat and they will succumb to the age old tradition of “getting wasted.”  I don’t share my story in the delusional hope that my words alone will curb their desires. The reason I speak is to let them know that should they choose not to partake, THAT’S OKAY. Or should they realize they may have a problem, they are not alone and there is help available everywhere. And most importantly that neither scenario makes them any different, better or worse than the next person.

            Your brain, emotional maturity, life experiences and understanding of who you are as a person at 17 and 18 years old is light years away from what they will become in your twenties. You can’t jump ahead in growth, there is no way around that. However, the silver lining is that you have the capacity to mold these ever changing variables into something you can be proud of. Fill the little pockets of your mind with the lessons you learn from the mistakes of other people, and use those golden bricks to build the strongest foundation possible. Nothing is ever truly in our control-learning that early on will save you a world of frustration and anxiety-but what you can control is how you use the information you are given. Don’t take that gift for granted.

Listen. Absorb. Decide.

**Take what you like and leave the rest**

Don’t let me get me (8)

         

              “Turn it up!!!” I instructed my mom from the passenger seat on our way to the mall. I'd just turned sixteen and was looking forward to doing some shopping with friends. Later in the evening we would be attending our first high school party and I needed to find a tight shirt to lift and accentuate my inadequate bust.

           “Don’t let me get me. I’m my own worst enemy; it’s bad when you annoy yourself. So irritating. Don’t wanna be my friend no more, I wanna be somebody else” I belted out along with Pink. They were words I could identify with. Singing them out loud was both liberating and painful. As I ended the chorus, I felt tears forming in my rapidly swelling ducts, and instinctively held my breath while clenching my teeth to prevent them from streaming down my face. I then let out a low sigh and re-focused my thoughts on the present.

            “Man, you really like this song,” my friend playfully observed from the back seat.

            “I can relate.”

           To go out on a limb with this theory would be an understatement. I'm more so dangling from the weakest branch of a twenty foot Crabapple, a hungry pack of wolves nipping at my ankles. Even so, I believe that everyone-at some point-has had a suicidal thought. Whether it be fueled by vanity ( I wonder how many people would come to my funeral?) Due to an overly dramatic response to everything ( you ruined my favorite sweater! I want to die!) A moment of intense melancholy or sadness ( things have been rough lately, it would be easier if I weren’t here) Or a true mental break, induced by a devastating and overwhelming sense of worthlessness and despair caused by any number of reasons ( this world does not care about me or I it. I have no other choice) 

            

            How marvelous it would be to be cruise through life with no stresses, worries or feelings of doubt. In most people's lives this is not the case. The majority of those around you are fighting a daily battle, wrestling with demons you cannot see. This is particularly true of the addict or alcoholic. Riddled with insecurities and unplayable hands. A constant losing game.

Why is it that as human beings we come out of the womb feeling judged and inferior? Why as a society do we single out children and pin them against each other in pursuit of a gold star or “# 1” trophy? I believe that this so called “sense of balance” is a disservice to both sides of the coin. Being picked last. Not being told you’re special. Being mercilessly bullied. Never feeling like you measure up to the rest. Those are devastating perceptions for children. They experience a sense of loss and emptiness no adolescent ever should. In today’s world, it’s unfortunately the reason many take their lives or turn to drugs and alcohol.

It isn’t just those on the losing end, however, who are effected. Growing up, I was a “popular” kid with tons of friends, awards and praise; the other side of the coin. Even so, I crawled in my own skin, tolerating it like an itchy sweater, learning early on to “fake it till you make it.”

            In the fifth grade, I was selected to participate in the TAG program for “Talented and Gifted” students.  I remember the interview process; being pulled out of class so a teacher could assess my intelligence through a series of puzzles and brain teasers. I was sick to my stomach with nerves while adrenaline surged through my system. A reaction produced by my body and brain’s need to rise to the occasion. Out of all the kids in my grade, I was selected as one of the chosen handful. The part I found both interesting and perplexing about the group of students chosen was just how different we all were from another. That being the case, I didn’t understand why some of my friends (who I found to be smart and engaging in their own right) couldn’t join us. Why me? Before that point, I was definitely a teacher’s pet, but that particular commendation catapulted me into a whole new stratosphere of approval seeking and need to impress.

            Enter people pleaser to a fault.

            I subscribed to that mentality my entire life. Carried around the obligation of excellence like a treasured rag doll. The older I got, the more I resented my self-imposed transcendence. I wanted to distance myself from the “goody two shoes” pre-teen who watched her friends take risks while she nobly sat in the corner.

            “Come to the football game with us. We’re gonna drink Dubra on the walk over,” coaxed my best friend one middle school night’s eve. 

            “No thanks. I don’t need to drink. I have plenty of time for that when I’m older and of age,” I smugly replied.

            “Suit yourself, little miss priss” she teased.

             A year and a half later in high school my entire attitude changed.  I didn’t like feeling as though my ideals and way of thinking were different than my peers. I didn’t like being thought of as “cute” instead of “hot” like my friends. Once I discovered the escape alcohol could provide, I did a complete 180 and never looked back.

I liked this new person. She was cool, sexy, intriguing and conveyed a willingness boys found appealing. But she also had a dark side. One which completely consumed me when it chose to. I became one of those people who entertained the idea of a world without my presence.  I let people use me. Use my body. Manipulate my mind and numb my emotions. By the time I reached my mid-twenties, I was a full blown pessimist with a horrible outlook on life and love. To me, life was something I would never figure out and healthy relationships were as mythical as mermaids. I had turned myself into a joke, except no one was laughing. I preached to the high heavens that being single was far better than committing myself to someone and them to me. The truth is, I had to view things that way, because no one wanted to tell their friends they were involved with me let alone call me their girlfriend or treat me with respect. I talked a good game and never let anyone see just how unhappy I was, until I was a pint of bourbon deep. 

    

              “I’m faking glory, lick my lips toss my hair and turn a smile on, and the story’s brand new” are words to my favorite Lorde song “Bravado.” They were words I lived every day.

Where had I gone wrong? Where had been my self-esteem, sense of self -worth and belief in human decency? Moments of depression once few and far between were becoming all too
regular. After a particularly daunting and hysterical episode around my 24^th birthday, I thought back to a childhood memory when a little boy named Tyrell wrote me a love note and gave up his seat at lunch so I could sit with my friends.  Such an innocent, simple gesture, but it stuck with me after all those years because it was real, and nothing in my life felt real.  Meaningless trysts with guys who claimed to care about me and consider me a good friend, but ran at the first sign of dependence.

            It took me a long time to break my old habits and put myself first. To realize I wasn’t that girl who valued nothing and cared about no one. Even after I got sober, I put myself in unhealthy situations with men and continued to believe superficial and empty exchanges were all I deserved.  Even now, as I write this, I have a hard time believing someone could be interested in me- all of me- with no hidden agenda or poor intentions.  That people do genuinely care about one another and it’s possible to love someone and for them to love you back.

But as the saying goes, it all starts with loving yourself.

    

No matter how you were treated in your past, no matter how the world viewed you, good or bad- pushed you down or raised you up- being yourself is enough. Escaping your reality through substances, no matter how suffocating it may feel, is a tragedy. You are depriving good people of your company, beauty, love and spirit. Once I let go of all my negativity and opened up myself to the possibilities of this world, I found peace and attracted truth. I’m finally in a good place thanks to working the steps of AA and accepting most things are not in my control. Though not easy and most definitely terrifying, I have finally let my guard down to give a special and worthy person the chance to prove they are not like the rest.

It’s never too late to rectify the damage you’ve done to yourself and others. To put out the fires in your mind and settle into a better way of living, thinking, and loving. I hope that everyone can reach the state of contentment I’ve been able to achieve since getting sober.

                          

            In Lorde’s “Bravado” she chronicles her path to self-discovery and acceptance. At 27, these are the lyrics I can now relate to and sing proudly:

                                                                                                                       

          “It’s a switch flipped, it’s a pill tipped back, it’s a moon eclipsed, woah

               And I can tell you that when the lights come on I’ll be ready for this. 

          It’s in your bloodstream, a collision of atoms that happens before your eyes. 

              It’s a marathon run or a mountain you scaled without thinking of size.

           I was frightened of, every little thing that I thought was out to get me down.

                 To trip me up and laugh at me, 

         But I learned not to want the quiet of a room with no one around to find me out. 

                 I want the applause, the approval, the things that make me go, oohh.”

***Take what you like and leave the rest***

Best medicine there is(7)

             I’ve never considered myself to be great at any one thing, rather mediocre at a variety of things. I can carry a modest tune while singing along to the radio but would choke if ever confronted with a real audience. I’m a fast runner and decent athlete but not physically talented enough to make a career in sports.  I love to cook and consider myself pretty knowledgeable about pairing flavors thanks to the Food Network, but a chef’s life in the kitchen is not my calling. I’m a dedicated worker with good people skills, but too much of a timid pushover for an authoritative position. In other words, I’m a jack of all trades, master of none. I’ve always struggled with a lack of passion and insecurity, flip flopping and constantly weighing the pros and cons of a venture instead of diving in head first.

          Once my drinking picked up, my lack of ambition doubled. Why push myself to become something great when there’s a bottle of whiskey and a crowded dance floor waiting for me? Where people will pay attention to me and I can put my real skills on display-skills that don’t have any value in the real world, like winning a game of beer pong. (Unfortunately, not many employers consider that impressive or useful).

When it came to my partying, I was more organized, prepared and focused than any corporate CEO. I’d buy enough mixers to last me a month and always kept a fully stocked inventory of bottles. I’d painstakingly research and furiously shop for the perfect outfit with all the fixins’ as if attending a Hollywood gala. My ability to survey a room and seek out fellow destructive individuals was better than the court IQ of any NBA point guard. A frat boy in a backwards hat taking three shots in a row was an easy target for a free drink and human night cap. When it came to booze, I had the impressively discerning palette of Jacques Pepin himself. 

           “Jesus, what was in that shot?” a friend would ask after downing a free and mysterious green shooter. 

            “Tastes like gin, Midori, lemon and blue curacao,” I’d quickly conclude.

           In my twenties, I attended college but barely passed my classes. I had plenty of room in my schedule for a part-time job, but drinking had become my job. My academics and responsibilities took a back seat to the more important objective in my life: partying. This was neither profitable nor fulfilling, more like a necessary evil. If I wasn’t drinking and playing the part of someone who seemed happy, then I was left with my true self-someone I couldn’t stand. When I was sober, I was unmotivated, bored, and succumbing to self doubt-scheming for ways to start drinking early or at odd times without appearing like I had a problem.

One of my favorite series, Dexter (whose title character is a serial killer with a pseudo conscience) introduced a new figure this season in the form of a therapist with a penchant for treating psychopaths. In one scene, the obscure yet good-natured Dr. Vogel sits down to a meal at her home with Dexter and his two equally devious comrades to enlighten them with her worldly theories. While she motherly scoops helpings of beef bourguignon onto their plates, she gives her opinion of what makes the world go round.

“I've always maintained that the greatest obstacle in life isn't danger-it's boredom. The battle against it is responsible for most of the events in the world- good or ill. I'm convinced of it.” 

Boredom is the very reason I first tried alcohol in the unsupervised basement of a friend’s home at age 13.  It’s the reason why drinking at 3 pm after class seemed perfectly acceptable because I had nothing else to occupy my time. I’m not suggesting a Tuesday night volleyball league or job at the Cheesecake Factory would have prevented the progression of my disease, but it may have helped to provide the self-esteem I was lacking. Given me a sense of purpose. I was so used to the madness and dysfunction of my drunken routine to realize a little normalcy and healthy activity is what I needed.

            I never took advantage of all the impressive programs and opportunities my university provided. Many of which I knew would have been of great interest to me. I look around at some of my former classmates who made use of these programs and see them flourishing as a result. 

The only time I buckled down and put myself to work was when my dwindling finances forced me to. With the end of college approaching and no clue as to what my next move would be, I picked a job in a familiar industry-food service and events. A waitress in an upscale country club in Long Island, New York proved lucrative but enabling. The very same atmosphere and position I was fired from just two years prior for getting wrecked on the job and causing a disturbance. But when pressured and threatened by life’s inevitabilities, my warped and desperate mind did not learn the lesson of incidents past. It thought only of what it needed to keep living a consuming lifestyle. I did not care about consequences or other people. I knew I could make decent money in that line of work; my only objective.  And as a much wiser person could have predicted, history repeated itself and I again began drinking on the job. This time the outcome much worse than a pink slip. Jail.

           Things today at two and a half years sober are far from perfect for me, but I’ve learned to harness my feelings of boredom, melancholy and discontent for constructive purposes.  I’ve discovered and come to terms with more about myself in these past few years then I could have ever accomplished or realized while drinking. I now accept my flaws and appreciate my individuality. I have a passion for life and people that I never had before. An interest in trying new things, working hard and bettering myself. A mentality forced to lie dormant due to my drinking.

Staying positive is not always easy. It’s much simpler and enticing sometimes to shut out the world and give in to misery. That phrase in itself “stay positive” sounds like a cheesy bumper sticker slogan, but when you figure out just how to do that very thing, it becomes life changing.  I have learned the best way to get out of your own head and resist the temptation of self-pity is through gratitude. Being grateful for the things you do have and helping people who might not be so lucky. In most cases, there is always someone in a worse, more dire circumstance than yourself. Focus on the needs of others and it will become harder to focus on the negatives in your life. We have a saying in AA that once you catch a case of the “woe is mes” or the “have nots” the “fuck its” are not far behind.

            Alcoholism and addiction are diseases like any other, but the indispensable difference is the addict’s ability to manage and in many ways overcome it’s grip. I feel extremely fortunate not to suffer from cancer, MS, diabetes or something equally as physically and mentally debilitating. I have the tools and resources to regulate my disease and reach a healthy and happy state for the rest of my days. Other diseases are not so kind. If the most I have to do is go to AA meetings and lead a sober lifestyle in order to be ok, then I have no right to wallow or complain. I’ll take that over chemotherapy any day.

            So the next time you’re feeling unsure of what you have to offer this world, remember that there is only one of you and that in its self is incomparable. Find something you are passionate about and immerse yourself in it whole heartedly. Next time, instead of making your way to the bar because it seems like the logical, routine and expected thing to do-sign up for a class, volunteer, take up a new sport, research ways to land your dream job, or channel your creativity. If you’re feeling restless, depressed and ineffectual, a substance will not ease your mind or troubles. It will only delay the inevitable. Be thankful. Charitable behavior will actually help you more than it does your fellow man. Knowing you made a difference, large or small, in someone else’s life is a pretty powerful high.

When life gives you lemons, hand out free lemonade.

**take what you like and leave the rest**

Gone But Not Forgotten(6) 

          Reunions are supposed to be joyous occasions. Meticulously planned and looked forward to for weeks. Maybe even a special shopping trip is made after work to pick out a new and flattering dress. Seeing old faces is supposed to bring back treasured memories and spark reminiscent conversations. Nostalgic feelings for an old crush may even emerge, reddening one’s cheeks the way they’d flush in the hallway after exchanging glances years ago. Whispers of idle gossip inevitably find their way to each circle of constants regarding the appearances and current circumstances of past classmates.

           Reunions are not supposed to occur because of the tragic and untimely death of a bright and beautiful young soul.

          Instead, only tearful nods of acknowledgement are passed while each mournful attendee waits to say goodbye to another one gone too soon. Now the memories discussed are not funny tales to tell. They have become all we have left, like the remnants of a burned down home- a locket or heirloom discovered in the torched rubble. But unlike the opportunity to pick up the pieces and rebuild, a life can never be restored. The destruction has robbed its victim of a future.

         Nothing more cowardly than a thief.

And that’s exactly what addiction is- a thief. Stealing the ones we love. Hijacking the irreplaceable light in their eyes and kidnapping time we can never get back, all while laughing like a victorious and monstrous villain.

            I was fourteen the first time I experienced premature death due to substance abuse. I can still remember what I wore, how I felt, the thick and heavy cloud of unspeakable despair surrounding me. The endless flow of tears and the question “But why God?” on everyone’s lips. Two young men with the world at their fingertips met their demise in a drunk driving accident. I will never forget that day. I cried harder than I thought physically possible. Although I could not fully understand the gravity of the situation, it was still overwhelming, frightening, confusing and exhausting.

But still I thought- that will never happen to me.

But it did almost happen to me. I’d drink myself into oblivion, playing Russian roulette each time I drank. I was on my way to hitting a tree head on before my second DUI arrest. Had it not been for my arresting officers speedy tactics to get my attention, I would not be here today.

            Had I not been so fortunate, I can imagine the morbid scenario of a different outcome. My mother inconsolable. My father lost and bewildered. The rest of my family shocked that their smart and seemingly normal family member would be driving drunk. My friends wondering if there was something they could have done or said that night. My parents, sister and friends all blaming themselves for not getting through to me the countless times they tried. 

     “If only we had tried harder, done more, forced her to stop. If only.”

And then there’d be the uninformed chatter of acquaintances and ghosts from the past. 

“She was such a sweet girl. I don’t know why she needed to drink like that. Why didn’t anyone try to stop her? She came from such a caring and loving family, you think she would have stopped for them.”

            But the bitter and unwavering truth is that nothing and no one can stop an addict from using. They have to want with every fiber of their being to stop. To give it up for good and do whatever necessary to get sober. They are the only person who can get themselves clean.

            When I was in the throes of my alcoholism, Jesus himself could not get me to put down a drink. He could have appeared to me in my colorfully decorated dorm room, adorned with shot glasses and posters of my favorite pop stars, sat his Supreme, white- illuminated behind right down on my twin bed and plead his case to no avail.

“Danielle, my child. You have a bright future but you must refrain from drinking. You are hurting yourself and the ones who love you. Please get help.”

“Wow. I really appreciate your concern and making the trek to Earth just for lil' old me Jesus, but I’m fine, really. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get going. Happy hour starts in 15 minutes.”

           

             Addiction, like any disease, is a formidable force. Abusive drinking and drugging are not hauntingly romantic or intriguingly dark. They are not a tool to inspire creativity or something to cross of a bucket list. They are flesh eating demons that leave no brain cell untouched. If they aren’t strong enough to claim your body, they will settle for your soul. 

            Most addicts and alcoholics I have come to know are some of the most genuine and passionate people you will ever encounter. They feel so deeply and are affected so fiercely by the troubles of this world that they welcome a way to numb the pain and silence the noise. And once the poison invades their body, it is a constant struggle to reverse its effects and take back control of the mind. A brilliant mind being held hostage and whispered lies by its captor. Lies that assure with absolute certainty “You need me. I am all you have. You will never survive without me. I love you.”

I have learned in my recovery that I can only help someone who wants help. Though it does not lessen the heartache of seeing someone suffer, I know they have to be ready. They have to hit their rock bottom. Dismally for many, rock bottom is eternal rest.

Like Amy Winehouse, Cory Monteith and so many others, their deaths are even more baffling and hard to accept because of the progress they seemed to be making.  Doing so well only to give in to a familiar impulse, this time more deadly than all the rest. Too exhausted to keep fighting the war, they wave a white flag of surrender and succumb to the enemy. Believing that the work it will take to achieve a life of peace and happiness is too burdensome and impossible a task. That they’ve done too much damage and are too far gone to deserve a real chance at life.

           My heart breaks into a thousand jagged pieces when I think of the all the decent, intelligent and innocent people whose lives have been claimed by addiction. 

“Innocent?” you may say. “But they chose to use in the first place. They chose not to get help.”

No one on earth can say they haven’t made a poor decision. Done something they aren’t proud of and wish they could take back. But unlike a questionable one night stand or betrayal of a friend, alcohol abuse and drug use don't momentarily suffocate before quickly dissipating like a cloud of smoke. They are a slow burn whose flames are never truly extinguished. Whether you submit or overcome, a hint of their existence will always be there.

            For those on the other end of addiction- the loved ones of someone sick and suffering-there are resources available in your hour of need. Al-Anon/Alateen are divisions of Alcoholics Anonymous designed to provide support for family and friends of addicts and alcoholics. It's main objective is to aid in the understanding that an addict's use is not your fault and countless others share in your struggle. Take advantage of this free resource. It will help you more than you know.

                          http://www.al-anon.alateen.org/

            Do not let the deaths of these people be in vain. Learn something from their misfortune. From the tragedy of a life taken too soon. 

   "When the past dies, there is mourning, but when the future dies, our imaginations are compelled to carry it on.” 

~ Gloria Steinem

And that’s exactly what I will do- keep their memories alive. Never forget the smiles they put on the faces of others and the kind words they imparted. I will remember all of the good and decent things they have done in this world, never letting them be overshadowed by the monster of addiction.

      This post is dedicated to Emily Friend and Amanda Wells. Rest in peace my darlings.<3

**Take what you like and leave the rest**