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**

No Thanks. I'm Allergic.(5)

         “Woa, God bless you! Need a tissue?” says a co-worker. 

         “I have one, thank you,” I reply after letting out an embarrassingly loud and violent sneeze. It’s that time of year again when the seasons change and swirling spores of pollen fill the air. Ah allergies. Don’t you just love them? Mine are fleeting and not too incapacitating, but still make me an unattractive, itchy and watery mess for part of the day.

            In no time, the rest of my co-workers are stuffing their pockets with travel size tissue packs and hand sanitizer.  If it’s not pesky ragweed swelling up their tear ducts, then it’s the furry four legged family members of friends or the tumbleweeds of dust hiding in the corners of their windowsills. It’s always something.

          After work, I head over to a friend’s house to take a walk and enjoy the crisp air despite nature's cruel joke. “Must be Spring. We’re open!” reads a sign in front of an  ice cream shop.            

          “Let’s get some ice cream!” I squeal.

          "I can't, I'm lactose intolerant, remember?" she laments. I've known this for years but always seem to forget.

          "That's right I'm sorry. We don't need the empty calories anyway. Bikini season will be here before we know it!" I counter.

My friend cannot have dairy plain and simple. It's not going to ruin her day.There are plenty of other treats in the world she can enjoy to satisfy her warm weather craving. Italian ice is just as refreshing, if not more so.

           Later on, we pick up our other friend. We have dinner plans and she already has a restaurant in mind. Two months ago she found herself in a hospital bed for three days with a diagnosis of ulcerative colitis-a nasty inflammatory disease of the intestines. In her case, it's aggravated by the intake of gluten. So now, she can't have bread products containing gluten (which is basically anything made with flour and wheat). As we sit down to a nice meal, our menus littered with salads and gluten free-options, the waitress makes her way over with a complimentary bread basket. Ms. lactose dives in while gluten-free looks on.

           "Is it hard not to eat bread, pasta and all the stuff you're so used to eating?" she says, after apologizing for the fresh garlic knot in her mouth.

        "It was at first," replies our deprived friend, "but honestly I'm used to it now and have learned to replace that stuff with other, healthier starches. I love quinoa, sweet potatoes and rice. It's funny how I thought I’d die without bread but it's not a big deal to me now. It's a lifestyle change but a manageable one. I just have to be smart and cautious."

           We order and enjoy our meals without further thought to our food allergies- yes, all three of us have one. Mine is alcohol.

                                       

             I am allergic to alcohol. Some call it an intolerance.  My body and brain cannot process alcohol normally the way other peoples can. It does not cause my stomach to inflame, my skin to break out in hives or my throat to close, but it absolutely alters my chemistry and triggers a negative response from my body. In a sense it’s a hypocritical allergy though, because when I take that first sip, my brain tells my body it needs more, not less. Just as my friend’s gluten intake contributed to her ulcerative colitis, my intake of alcohol contributed to my disease of alcoholism. A disease that runs in my family, much like heart disease or cancer does in other families. I first heard about the allergy concept at an AA meeting. My entire world changed when I learned of it.

In the big book of Alcoholics Anonymous, Dr. William D. Silkworth writes an extensive opinion on the matter. Here is an early excerpt:

"We believe, and so suggested a few years ago, that the action of alcohol on these chronic alcoholics is a manifestation of an allergy; that the phenomenon of craving is limited to this class and never occurs in the average temperate drinker. These allergic types can never safely use alcohol in any form at all; and once having formed the habit and found they cannot break it, once having lost their self-confidence, their reliance upon things human, their problems pile up on them and become astonishingly difficult to solve.

           Frothy emotional appeal seldom suffices. The message which can interest and hold these alcoholic people must have depth and weight. In nearly all  cases,their ideals must be grounded in a power greater than themselves, if they are to re-create their lives."

            So you mean to tell me there is actually something medically and biologically happening to me when I drink alcohol that makes me act the way I do? That once I reach a certain point, my behavior isn't due to the fact that I'm just an awful, reckless, crazy human being with complete disregard for my actions? That it's beyond my control to stop once I start? Wow. Who woulda thought?

         "It did not satisfy us to be told that we could not control our drinking just because we were maladjusted to life, that we were in full flight from reality,or were outright mental defectives. These things were true to some extent, in fact,to a considerable extent with some of us. But we are sure that our bodies were sickened as well. In our belief, any picture of the alcoholic which leaves           out this physical factor is incomplete.

      

        The doctor's theory that we have an allergy to alcohol interests us. As a laymen our opinion as to its soundness may, of course, mean little. But as ex- problem drinkers, we can say that his explanation makes good sense. It explains many things for which we cannot otherwise account."

So that’s why I drunk dialed everyone in my phone and told them to fuck off and die?!

                                            

            Armed with this liberating information I was ready to take on the world. Alcohol is something I cannot have-period. the end. I've always hated seafood, so much so that I do sometimes tell people I'm allergic to it so they don’t force their newest shrimp and scallop creation down my throat. Due to this, I was used to cutting out an entire food group from my diet. Why did my treatment of alcohol have to be any different? 

            Some people question how I could possibly sit around with peers who are drinking, or even pour them a glass of wine when I play hostess and not want to gulp one down myself, but for me it’s not complicated. Some people need to carry an EpiPen on their person at all times because of how severe their allergy to nuts is. Knowing how detrimental eating them would be to their health, I doubt watching a friend eat a snickers or peanut butter sandwich triggers them to see red and tackle the nut-eating culprit like a linebacker. They know they can't have it so they don't. That's what I've come to understand and accept about my drinking.

            Fast forward a few months where the three allergically challenged musketeers are out to dinner in Vegas at celebrity chef Gordon Ramsay's restaurant. The food is divine. The drinks are flowing. Everyone is enjoying themselves and their choices. I cannot sample their martinis but my seltzer is just as appealing to me. Gluten-free is like a pig in shit over her delicious chilled shrimp salad even though Ms. lactose is directly across the table, chowing down on the best wood-grilled burger she's ever had between a perfectly toasted brioche bun. And Ms. lactose doesn't mind she cannot eat the sticky toffee pudding with sweet ice cream I've ordered for dessert, or the dairy-riddled chocolate trifle. She instead orders the night's special: dark chocolate covered strawberries.

         The world is full of options and accommodations. It's all relative.

             The fact that alcoholism runs in my family put me at a much higher risk of becoming alcoholic than most. Mix that with the allergy and I never stood a chance. But you do not have to come from a family touched by alcoholism or feel you have the allergy for drinking to negatively affect you. There are plenty of people in this world who simply abuse alcohol and drink entirely more than is healthy though they have the ability to stop. Do not be fooled- it can easily balloon into something worse. A dependence on alcohol.

           Whenever someone badgers me about not drinking or declining a shot, I think about how silly they would sound if I were turning down something else I couldn't have, like peanuts, instead of alcohol.

"Come on, have a peanut, just one. No? Come on live a little. Just a handful of Planters and that’s it. You know you want to.”  

    Silly right?

            I was a prisoner to booze for many years. It controlled every aspect of my life. My thoughts, actions, relationships, decisions and behaviors. I refuse to let it pull me down any longer. I refuse to let alcohol dictate where I go simply because it might be making an appearance- like an ex- boyfriend who shows up to every party I attend: annoying at first, but eventually I forget he's even there and set my sites on a blue eyed football player. You do not have to feel like an outcast if you cannot or do not want to drink. There is nothing wrong with you. As the saying goes, those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind. 

          Everyone's got issues, quirks and things that set them apart. No one is perfect. Most people are far from it. Never feel ashamed of the things you cannot or do not want to partake in. There is no one definition of "normal." Whose to decide that anyway? For me, normal means being happy and healthy both mentally and physically. 

           So politely decline a drink or shot if you do not want it. Have confidence in the fact that you come first-no one else. Whether it's April foliage, long-haired cats, shellfish or alcohol, your body will make you aware of what it cannot handle. Listen to it. If for you that intolerance is alcohol, don't wait for a second arrest, loss of ability to manage your life or depression to kick in to recognize you should not drink. This realization could change your life. 

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

. 

My country tis of thee (4)

   

                            (geared towards-but not limited to-today’s youth)

         Turn on your T.V. Turn on your radio. Check your social media accounts. What do you see? What do you hear?  I am not the first nor will I be the last to make the observation we are a country inundated with images of drugs and alcohol. You cannot escape it no matter how hard you try. Even the Amish, whose chief tenet is “be ye not conformed to this world” and who shun members who use substances, allow their members to shed their protective skin and recreationally experience drugs and alcohol (should they choose to) during a brief period in their youth called Rumspringa.

 We Americans love our booze. We love our weed. We love our pills and powders. We love anything that proves we are capable of obtaining and handling more than anyone else.

Nothing demonstrates this more about our society than celebrity culture. With fame, attention and money comes the concept you are invincible and have the funds to indulge in any excess you choose. You’re not a true rock star unless you’re sniffing lines while scribbling away timeless lyrics. The only way to celebrate a successful album or movie release is with bottles upon bottles of chilled, top shelf liquor and no memory of the night’s events. And the only way to achieve recognition in the first place is by conforming to the age-old formulas of what sell in the entertainment industry: sex, partying, drugs and alcohol. 

           The most recent and glaring example of this is Miley Cyrus’s radio hit “We Can’t Stop.” How apropos she is without even realizing! We know you can’t stop Miley-you’re strung out dancing on molly and waiting in line to sniff coke in the bathroom. But eventually, she and “they” will stop. They will be forced to. Most likely after an arrest, third stint at Malibu Passages or overdose at the Chateau Marmont. And it’s hard to live up to the lyrics “We run things, things don’t run we. Don’t take nothin’ from nobody” from a jail cell or detox center. On the contrary, sober artists like Macklemore and Ryan Lewis and Lana Del Rey are gaining praise and recognition not only for their talents, but honesty about past struggles with substance abuse and positive messages.

            When it comes to Miley and her counterparts, I am making assumptions entirely. They could simply be going through a rebellious and experimental stage, all the more happy to document it for the public, and will have no issue whatsoever. Or perhaps struggle for some time before seeing the light and cleaning up their acts.  After all, who remembers that the now chic fashion icon and doting mom Nicole Richie was once a heroin addict? Or that Hollywood had written off Robert Downey JR as a drug addicted has-been before his massive comeback in the blockbuster Iron Man? Or furthermore, that the successful and quirky actress Drew Barrymore first went to rehab at age 13? I do not by any means believe that because I am an alcoholic, drinking will lead to disaster for everyone. Or that anyone who tries a drug will become an addict. Those are ridiculous notions. But the sad truth is, more often than not, problems (large or small) will occur due to the use of these very things. It's the nature of their beast.

            So why do we continue to praise and worship this celebrity, drug and alcohol addicted culture? Because it’s what we’ve come to know. It’s nothing new. It’s deep rooted in our past and unfortunately sprouting new life in our future. Although she has been gone for many years, the tragic tale of Marilyn Monroe (a woman whose life and story I identify with on many levels) lives on. Her misguided childhood, mixed with her internal demons, drug and alcohol use and impossible to fathom level of fame made for a very painful and despairing life. No person should be held so high on a pedestal that the fall would break their neck. All that glitters is not gold. Portraying the life of someone who is happy and has it all and living that life are two completely different things. Don’t be so quick to think your Hennessy swiggin’, blunt smoking role models lives’ are all they’re cracked up to be.

 Self- medication is viewed as a quick fix for many. I did not have the pressures of fame, constant ridicule or devastating problems of some and I still sought out a way to numb myself.

             It’s interesting to me that in most cases the concept of “not having control” over something is a scary, even paralyzing, thought - in relationships, with our finances, our health, our careers, our emotions- but not when it comes to substances. We pass along the responsibility of our frontal lobe like a hot potato. If someone were to steal your wallet or unexpectedly force you out of your home, you’d panic right?  You’d feel helplessly out of control. But if something were to steal your ability to reason, to function, to make good decisions, you’d consider that a welcomed hazard. Impairment of speech and judgment are signs you “can really throw em’ back.” Waking up with a hangover and no recollection of your actions are the signs of a time well had. Drunken antics are hysterically laughed at by friends and even admired. 

              “Dude, you were so funny last night. You blacked out and started dancing like an idiot, then wiped out in the parking lot. It was awesome.”

Then there’s that whole buzzed and loose feeling thing that convinces you of being the coolest person on the planet. Your inhibitions are lowered and the suppressed parts of your personality are allowed not only to surface, but thrive. Marketing firms and corporations have done their job well. “America runs on Drunken” is a truer slogan. They sold us the idea that life without booze makes you a dull person; makes your life mundane and socially unacceptable- and we bought it: hook, line and sinker.

It’s difficult not to offend or come off as “preachy” when making a social commentary about the cons of drugs and drinking. If you do not have a substance abuse problem, then by all means, enjoy a martini at happy hour; a six pack during the big game or a glass of wine with your chicken Pomodoro. But keep in mind, you do not have to drink six martinis. Or an entire 30 rack to yourself because it’s Sunday and Budweiser tells you football isn’t the same without a cold brew attached to your hand at all times. Or order another glass of wine simply because your date does. Do not let anyone or anything make that decision for you. I don’t care how attractive Absolute Vodka advertisements subliminally promise to make you. I don’t care how many shots your favorite rap artist is taking in his new video. It doesn’t make him cool and you will never be him no matter how hard you try.

 Alcoholism is a progressive disease. It only gets worse, never better. So if you find yourself unable to stop after that martini, or few beers or glass of wine, take a good hard look at your drinking. If you cannot go one day without smoking weed, it’s time re-think your priorities and goals in life. Being a 40 year old drunk or stoner is not a good look- for anyone.

Yes, we are America the brave. The free. An amazing country that affords its citizens endless opportunities and I would not want to live anywhere else. But we are also America the drunk. The high. The culturally shallow and celebrity obsessed. Our capitalistic hunger and blind need for acceptance sometimes hinders our ability to make the right choices. It’s an unfortunate and hard truth to swallow.

            With that said, the great thing about this country is you can be whoever you want to be. Two and a half years ago I was an alcoholic mess, shaking my scantily clad ass to pop songs about getting shitfaced. And now here I am, sober and exercising my right to free speech by condemning Miley Cyrus. You do not have to live up to anyone’s standards but your own. You do not have to drink if you don’t want to.  I challenge you to discover who you are in a social setting without drinking or doing a drug-you will be surprised at how confident, fun, and intelligent you are without them, and what little advantage they give you in connecting to others. Most new people I meet who learn I am sober do not dismiss me, but are instead intrigued and interested to learn more. I feel just as lively, sexy and fun with only seltzer running through my veins. 

            So take the time to get to know yourself. Do not be so influenced by what this world tries to shove down your throat. Drug use and alcohol abuse are not a glamorous template by which to measure success. They have, and will continue to be, the downfall of many.

 You only have one body, one mind, one shot to make something of this life. Don't waste it being wasted.

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

“When I find myself in times of trouble _____________ comes to me” (3)

               

             ”Forgive me father for I have sinned, it’s been three months since my last confession,” I say to the faceless priest on the other side of the screen. I am 10 years old and searching for things to confess because if I don’t, god will hold it against me.

                

             “Yesterday, I borrowed my sister’s things without asking. I was mean to my parents. I made fun of someone in my class,” I nervously admit.

               

              “Ok child. God forgives you. Say one Our Father and three Hail Marys.”

              Phew! I can go to softball practice now without worrying about eternal damnation.

               It was my parent’s choice to raise me Roman Catholic. I had no say in the matter. From a very young age I began to feel suffocated by the teachings of the church and questioned their merit. Being forced to go to CCD when all I really wanted to do was play outside became a key factor in my teenage rebellion.

Why do I have to go to church every Sunday? Why do I need absolution from a man who knows nothing about me or my life? I highly doubted the difference between my places in heaven or hell would be determined by the conservative dress I wore to service or my abstinence from pre-marital sex.

            I dumped religion and god into the same pile of ludicrousness. At 14, I told my mother after I made my confirmation I would only attend mass on Christmas and Easter, and that was purely for her benefit and peace of mind. I did not care if I ever prayed to Jesus again (except of course when I needed him to help me ace an exam or convince my parents to extend my curfew.)
            When I entered high school the concept of god became completely obsolete. He was replaced by the savior of alcohol and the bar became my church. I learned all I thought I needed to know about life there. Resolution and validation could be found at the bottom of every bottle; shots of bourbon became my penance. From the ages of 16 to 24 I ran wild with careless abandon, caring only about myself and what I could get from others to fulfill my selfish needs. I did everything I could to portray the image of someone who believed in nothing and needed no one. Life had no substance and people were just faces in a crowd.

            Towards the end of my drinking career, I began to feel the effects of my closed minded loneliness. What was my purpose in life? Why am I here? My way of living life was getting me nowhere except embarrassed, depressed, disconnected and regretful. When I finally grabbed hold of an unseen, outstretched hand and allowed something besides myself to take the reins, I got sober and changed my life. I had my first light bulb about god at an AA meeting during a reading from the big book:

(Chap. 4 WE AGNOSTICS)

                    (pg.46) With that rejection we imagine we had abandoned the God idea entirely. We were bothered with the thought that faith and dependence upon a Power greater than ourselves was somewhat weak, even cowardly. We looked upon this world of warring individuals, warring theological systems, and inexplicable calamity, with deep skepticism. We looked askance at many individuals who claimed to be godly. How could a Supreme Being have anything to do with it all? And who could comprehend a Supreme Being anyhow?  Yet, in other moments, we found ourselves thinking, when enchanted by a starlit night, “Who, then, made all this? There was a feeling of awe and wonder, but it was fleeting and soon lost.

            I was never a full blown atheist, but I didn’t think I needed religion or whatever spirit in the clouds was hovering above my halo-less head. My issues with organized religion manifested into a dark and despairing black hole, slowly sucking me into the abyss of alcohol, sex, gluttony and ruin. But in my new found clarity, I discovered my injustices of thought.

            (pg49-50) We have learned that whatever the human frailties of various faiths may be, those faiths have given purpose and directions to millions. People of faith have a logical understanding of what life is all about. Actually, we used to have no reasonable conception whatsoever. We used to amuse ourselves by cynically dissecting spiritual beliefs and practices when we might have observed that many spiritually-minded persons of all races, colors, and creeds were demonstrating a degree of stability, happiness and usefulness which we should have sought ourselves. Instead, we looked at the human defects of these people, and sometimes used their shortcomings as a basis of wholesale condemnation. We talked of intolerance, while we were intolerant ourselves. We missed the reality and the beauty of the forest because we were diverted by the ugliness of some of its trees.

            With this new found support from people in recovery just like me, I learned I could take it slow and form my own conception of a higher power. It could be whatever I wanted it to be. I wrote down all the qualities I looked for in a best friend or companion and formed my conception based on those. For many years, my best friend and lover was a liquid; terrible, cunning, manipulative and abusive. Without even realizing, I had been devoted and reliant upon something more powerful than myself all along.

            (pg 54) We found, too, that we had been worshippers. What a state of mental goose-flesh that used to bring on! Had we not variously worshipped people, sentiments, things, money, and ourselves? And then, with a better motive, had we not worshipfully beheld the sunset, the sea, or a flower? Who of us had not loved something or somebody?

            Today I consider myself to be spiritual, not religious, and that works for me. I see my higher power in many different forms: in the kindness of strangers; in my parent’s unwavering strength and hope; in the friends who have stuck by me. I have to admit there is a comfort in knowing something out there in the universe has my back, like a loved one waiting in the wings with flowers and a hug to congratulate me on a job well done. I do not dismiss religious people or their beliefs. My mother’s faith has gotten her through some very tough times. But for me, religious texts serve the same purpose as the childhood fables my teachers and parents used to teach me important lessons. They carry an overall message. 

“Pride goeth before the fall” is a prescription I take daily. I cannot do this alone. I cannot be so arrogant as to think everything is in my control, because most things are not. “Do unto others as you would have others do unto you ” is something I strive to adhere to at all times. Humility is one of the most attractive qualities a person can have, and that cannot be possessed without the understanding that you are but a brush stroke in the portrait of life.

            It does not matter who or what you choose to believe in as long as you have faith. Imagine Paul McCartney singing whatever works for you: Mother Mary; Jesus Christ: the roses in your garden; Brandon Boyd; The Simpsons; a tropical oasis; your family. 

            Currently, I see my higher power in Macklemore and Ryan Lewis. Tomorrow it may be in the friends I meet in AA, and the next day, a saintly figure. So choose an entity, a belief system or your own conception of what it all means, because after all,

                                

            (pg 64) Who are you to say there is no God?

MACKLEMORE & RYAN LEWIS- NEON CATHEDRAL

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

Don’t worry, it tastes like shit (2)

                I’m a lucky girl. There’s no doubt in my mind that without my friends and family I’d be dead in a gutter right now. Getting the ultimate wake-up call by almost hitting a tree head on while driving drunk has helped too, but I attribute a great deal of my solid sobriety and being comfortable in that sobriety to the amazing people in my life. 

          “You’re crazy, but I love you,” is something each has said to me at one point or another. I’m sure they internally had some more choice words for me, but in their battle to remain friend not foe, they never pushed too hard when it came to my drinking problem. They remained sheepishly concerned, knowing I would do whatever I wanted and heed no warning, no matter how dangerous the obstacle ahead might be. 

          For me, bars and their equivalent were wonderful spectacles, drawing me in like fireworks whose larger than life colors excite you because of how beautifully dangerous they truly are.  In his hit song Piano Man, singer Billy Joel paints a perfect picture of this atmosphere when he likens the sound of his barroom piano to those of a carnival. That’s how I felt. Like each time I stepped into a bar, I was stepping into a wonderland of characters, sights, sounds and magical illusions. Except in this tale, I am not a clumsy and bewildered Alice, tumbling down a rabbit hole. I am a college co-ed dressed to the nines with a take no prisoner’s attitude, ready to devour night.

          In that place, everyone was my friend. Everyone was my buddy. I belonged. Only after I got sober did I realize my reality was a fantasy. The people hovering in dark corners getting drunk did not care about me. Those were not my people. Some were there to ease their heartaches and drown their sorrows. Others to hunt and drag their prey back to their lair to ravage. Some to celebrate and let loose. And others, like me, because they didn’t know how to stop.

          Since I’ve joined the fellowship of Alcoholics Anonymous, I’ve learned many people had to cut everyone out of their lives and start fresh once they stopped using. I am grateful that for me this is not the case. Of course I have let acquaintances and some friendships fade, but none that I’ve had to quit cold turkey. I’ve had the same group of girlfriends since I was in middle school. We’ve stayed close through all of life’s ups and downs, through distance created by college, and becoming young women. I’ve also been fortunate to make some amazing, lifelong friends during college. And of course, there are my saviors-my parents and sister. All of these people were there for me each time I stumbled. Picked me up off the floor and put me back together. The bartenders and drunken creatures of the night were not, and did not.

          Everyone’s experience with getting sober is different. Some, like me, feel comfortable being around “normies” who can drink responsibly and casually. Others feel the need to avoid places where drinking occurs to impede temptation. Do whatever keeps you sober, but remember you have the power to take back control of your life. A solution and support is available to you should you seek it. I hope that everyone who wants to get sober has people who care about them like I do.

           One of my best friends (forever witty and optimistic) has coined a phrase she uses to lessen the sting of abstinence. Every time she pours herself a glass of Barefoot pinot grigio, she looks at me with a flippant yet assuring expression, proclaiming

                                   “don’t worry, it tastes like shit.”

I do not miss drinking alcohol and wouldn’t change my life now for any glass of wine in the world, but I still laugh every time she says it and appreciate the sentiment. She understands I need levity and humor to combat my sometimes burdensome struggle.  Like I said, I’m a lucky girl. With the right people by your side, you can do anything.

          So start appreciating or picking the right people and take out the trash. Get sober for you and for them. It could save your life.

                                                                   

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

Get moving already(1)

I'm one of those people you can't rush. I didn't fill out my college applications until the deadline almost lapsed. You can call me ten times in a row, but if I'm sleeping, I will put my phone on silent and go to back to bed until I feel like getting up. And only after I've climbed out of bed, yawned, stretched and headed down to the kitchen to make some green tea will I call you back. I do not like to feel pressured or put on the spot. Spontaneity is not my thing. My biggest fear in life is being unprepared, so when I got arrested on May 22, 2011 for my second DUI offense and sent to jail for 36 hours, I was slightly uncomfortable to say the least.

 How long will I be here? Do I make friends or keep to myself? How long can I force myself to go without a shower? Do we even get soap or shampoo? When can I use the phone?

           Those thoughts only occurred to me after I'd had a free moment to process my situation alone in my cell. Before that point, my head was spinning out control, my emotions unmanageable. I promised myself after my first arrest a year and 8 months prior I would never end up back here, but that's the thing about alcoholism-it tricks you into making promises you know you can't keep, even ones to yourself.

My entire life has been a series of ballroom waltzes. Floating around atop a smooth landing, spending entirely too much time relying on fate to figure out my next move. I drank my way through my formative years, denying my brain the chance to process young adulthood through a clear and rational  lens. I lived in a dream land and drowned my sorrows and problems in whiskey. Naturally an insecure and unsure human being, alcohol gave me the boost I needed to come alive. Except I wasn't alive, I was like a trashy Stepford-robot wife. Putting on a show and exhibiting the same behaviors over and over with the same consequences.

Once I got sober after my arrest, I felt like an explorer who'd just discovered a new, untouched world. Everything looked differently from what I'd known and I wanted to see it all. I wanted to dive in head first. Baby steps and choreographed dances were a thing of the past. I emerged from the experience someone different. Something different. It was as though someone had taken my soaking wet brain, wrung it out like a towel, then hung it to dry in the fresh air of a warm breeze before putting it back. I felt clean again.

 I drank for eight years and have been sober for a little over two. My goal is to share my story and experiences as well as things that help me, inspire me, sadden me and educate me.

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