Independence Day

This week I’ve had a few similar conversations with friends who are, like me, a matter of days removed from extreme intoxication. We’ve fondly looked back at the time we put together earlier this year when we were working a program, we were clean, and we all chuckle in agreement with each other about how, funnily enough, those were damn good times.

“That was actually a really nice time, wasn’t it?” my friend said to me this afternoon.

“Fuck yeah it was. Even when I was exhausted and not sleeping well it was nice waking up to have a fresh cup of coffee with my bros, watchin’ the sunrise, shootin’ the shit.” My biggest problem for a while was a scheduling conflict that interrupted my afternoon nap. Those really were the days.

So when I was driving home earlier I found it so strange that I began to think about getting high, when all I’ve been talking about these past few days is how nice it is being clean. In a few moments, my thoughts turned to how I could get together some money to score. But it’s the fucking 4^th of July, where can I get rigs if the pharmacies are closed? Maybe I could cook up some crack instead, it’s been a while since I’ve had a nice smoke.

My mind salivates as if in anticipation of a perfectly grilled steak. I doubt my girlfriend will find out. I can wait a few extra days before I move into sober living where I will be tested and so they’ll be none the wiser.

The next thought that crossed my mind was unexpected.

Less than a week ago, I found my friend dead in his apartment. He had overdosed during the night. I called 911 etc., the cops said they would contact his parents. The next morning, I get a call from his mother, who evidently had not been contacted and told of her sons fate, so I proceeded to.

It was still early in the morning, and as I slurped my cup of coffee I simply did not anticipate that in a few moments I would be telling a mother that her 23 year old son was gone. I had not considered this conversation for even a second in my mind, autopilot kicked in and got me through it. I guess I recalled some etiquette from a movie I’d seen at some point, so I said, “I think you might want to sit down”.

Is that really something people say before delivering the worst imaginable news? I don’t know where I picked it up from, but I said it, as if it would somehow soften the blow.

As a struggling mother of an addict, this is the call I assume they fear, the call that keeps them up at night. A shiver down the spine when an unknown caller dials. As she happened to be calling me, I believe on some level she had been preparing herself, as much as one possibly can prepare themselves for this kind of thing, for this unfortunate inevitability.

And so this episode pops into my head when I’m about ready to push the button, and I recall what his Mom said to me at the end of that conversation. “I just don’t want his life to have meant nothing. Even if all it means is that you stay sober Alex, that will be good enough for me.”

And I remember right after I got off the phone with her, I sat there and let that sink in. I thought that moment was my enlightenment. I thought that from that moment on, I would be on a crusade to fulfill this wish and stay sober, thereby giving my friends life a meaning.

But as I thought about getting high, recounting this episode, I found myself thinking, “meh, whatever”.

Isn’t that sad?

Recovery clichés: is addiction an allergy?

Why is it, that the things we know we cannot have we desire above all else?

When you go to rehab you hear things like “you can no longer drink or use, you are allergic to drugs and alcohol”. Well that’s a nice analogy that someone dreamed up one day but it’s stupid as fuck because I do not have an allergic reaction when I have a drink or a drug. If I did, surely I wouldn’t drink or use?

Assume I’m allergic, I smoke a pipe of crack, feel great for 30 seconds then start feeling shitty. I’m going into anaphylactic shock? Nope, that’s just crack bro.

Seriously, let’s assume I do get anaphylaxis, “a life-threatening whole-body response to an allergen”. I nearly die, ambulance comes, quick trip to the hospital and Mr. Doctor tells me I’m allergic to cocaine and if I ever ingest one tiny little grain of the white powder again I’ll get the same result.

“Okay doc, thanks for the tip. Does that mean I get an epi pen? How many of them can I get and how often can I get that refilled?”

So now that I’m allergic, just like if I was allergic to peanuts, I’d go out of my way to avoid them, right? I’d let my waiter know at the restaurant… maybe I’ve got one of those hyper allergies where my worst nightmare isn’t Snakes on a Plane but rather a kid with a pack of peanuts. Logically, I let the airline know that I might die if they serve nuts on my next flight to rehab.

Before boarding check your plane for allergens, and snakes, both potentially fatal. 

I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and I can’t figure it out. I do not think a physical allergy is the same as an addiction, but I've little confidence in my verdict. I don’t have any allergies that I know of so I can’t really speak about that. Do all my peeps out there with a nut allergy spend their days dreaming about peanut butter?  Do you wonder if you’d be a crunchy or a smooth person? Would it be more delicious if you smoked it or shot it? What about if you put it in a shot with some jelly? Bet that would be so fucking tasty.

A smart kid, I stick to shooting jelly. It’s a cheaper habit, its sweeter and much easier on my veins. Or do I?

People with allergies avoid allergens. But because you can’t have peanut butter, do you desire it? Or are you just curious about the taste? Do you even give a shit about nuts? Do they ever just… pop into your head? Do you actively try and not think about delicious, salty nuts in your mouth?

The clearest example of this that I think most people can relate to is cigarettes. We all know that smoking is hella cool. That’s why we do it. But we also know that it is highly likely to cause us a painful early death. And for the lads out there it turns our dicks into flaccid cigarette butts. But we smokers all think one of two things. We either think “it won’t happen to me” or “I’m planning on quitting”. Probably both.

Your penis may be smarter than it appears.

I can quite confidently say that if smoking one cigarette guaranteed terminal cancer and/or instant death, there would be no tobacco industry.  

Same with drugs. At the beginning, I thought, I can control this, I can quit. On jails, institutions and death, “it won’t happen to me”. Thankfully I’ve avoided jail but I do have multiple overdoses and institutions on my record now.

I also have the intellectual capacity to understand that I cannot use just once. I don’t really want to use just once. Sometimes, I fantasise about the good ol’ days when my using was recreational, but in reality I just want to be high all day, every day, minus all of the consequences. And if I’m being honest, my using was never really recreational. It was always some kind of escape. Be it from boredom, loneliness, anxiety, whatever. I know that when I start using it is going to end in one of those three ways. Jails, institutions, death. The top secret fourth option is to get clean. But that too, ends in death eventually, so to keep it simple let’s stick with three.

Generally, it is not that first drink/drug that gets someone into rehab, behind bars or dead. It’s highly unlikely, in fact. And that’s why I think denial can become so overpowering. It is so easy for me to live with a “I’ll deal with that problem tomorrow” philosophy. You know what they say, tomorrow never comes.

And without fail, tomorrow always comes (lately, all over my face, into my eyes, eww). I’m blind, but I can feel the warmth of the sunrise shining on me in the morning and the nip in the air as it sets each evening without fail. I continue to sit on my lazy ass moaning about how boring my sober life is or running around frantically using like a maniac. I’ll rebuild my sober life tomorrow. I’ll stop using tomorrow.

The other classic line you’ve probably heard if you’ve been to a rehab is the moniker for denial. Don’t Even No I Am Lying. And as tired as I am of hearing that crap, unlike the allergy analogy and unlike any gram I've ever purchased, this one is bang on point. I know facts yet still my mind can convince me to act against reason and defy logic. My final recovery cliché for today, the definition of insanity.

And addiction is insanity. It's so dumb, I do sometimes feel like I'm just being completely retarded. Today's JFT says "Addiction is not a simple disease, but it has a simple solution". This sums it up perfectly, and explains why I feel like such a jackass for being seemingly incapable of executing this ‘simple solution’.

To wrap this all up I want to go back to the original question which was looking at addiction as an allergy. And I specifically want to reference Antabuse. Firstly, if I was allergic to alcohol I would under no circumstances take a medicine that provokes an allergic reaction upon my consumption of alcohol, I would have no need. Secondly, I know several people who have drunk on Antabuse multiple times, with catastrophic results. The allergic reaction does not stop them repeating the behaviour. Finally, in the case of the chronic alcoholic whose liver would fail simply from using Listerine, we have an example whereby one drink is highly likely to lead to death. And that doesn’t stop some people drinking. 

What exactly are the symptoms of anaphylaxis? Impaired breathing, swelling in the throat, a sudden drop in blood pressure, pale skin or blue lips, fainting and dizziness.

Chuck in respiratory failure and it sounds a lot like a jelly overdose to me. Need an epi pen? Here, have naloxone. 

So is addiction an allergy? I guess so. But that analogy hasn’t done anything to help me stop using. I fucking hate recovery clichés. Thing is, they’re clichés for a reason, people say them over and over again because they are true. 

I don’t think I am going to make it out of this alive.

Periodically throughout my adolescent years I kept a journal - rarely with real conviction or consistency. Reading back through some of this now I get the impression that little has changed throughout the 15 years elapsed from my first entry at 13 and my most recent at 28.

The key theme I note throughout the years – this is the writing of a spoiled child. He wants more. Often, he thinks he knows what he wants, but when he gets it, it is not enough. He is trying to fill a hole. He tries material matters, emotional experiences, friendships, substances, a career, love. Unfortunately for him, these brief encounters are but a trap, as for a fleeting moment they provide the answer to life, that missing piece of the jigsaw that completes the puzzle. Harmony. It never lasts.

I spent 6 months travelling in 2010 - where I picked up my habit - but only remember it as the best time of my life. 

I find study of the brain fascinating. My mind struggles immensely with euphoric recall. My interpretation of this phenomenon is simply an unconscious trick my mind plays whereby it holds on to these moments of happiness like a mother to her new-born child. There is no letting go.

In some senses, I suppose it is a form of misguided nostalgia. If I look back on my early childhood, some of my fondest memories are attached to spending hours upon hours immersing myself in video games. Nintendo have built a business on this nostalgia. For me personally, Zelda, Mario and Pokémon franchises defined the years leading up to my adolescence.

Every few years, Nintendo release a new console with updated versions of those original franchises and I buy into that as it evokes the memories of joy I had playing those games as a child. There have been a small minority of games within these new franchises that have captivated my imagination in such a way as those early games, but the memories are overpowering, they defy the reason centre in my brain so that I act against all logic, buying into each new franchise, often to be disappointed. I think this has less to do with the games themselves, which are in all honesty fantastic, but more to do with the fact that I cling to the hope that by beginning a new Zelda quest it will bring me back to a happier time in my life. Perhaps this is just me, but I challenge anyone who played through Zelda: Ocarina of Time to watch the new trailer for Breath of the Wild and see what emotions this brings up for you. For me, the excitement watching this gameplay trailer was on a level with the rush and excitement I feel when I have finally found a quiet bathroom to sit down in, cook up my shot and then finally see the blood ooze out into the needle as I have registered in a vein.

Bliss.

It is this feeling that my mind remembers. Not the running around for hours on end before that moment trying to get together money to score, the sickness, the pain I have so carelessly inflicted on parents, partners, friends, myself. The paranoia, the insanity. Yes, my rational brain is aware that these are all consequences of my using. But do I feel them? Do I connect with them emotionally? Not one bit. I simply connect with the perceived feeling of euphoria, painlessness and satisfaction that comes when the drugs enter my system. I feel the good feelings. I don’t feel the bad feelings. Intellectually I know they exist, but when the mind feels so strongly the anticipation of a reward, those good feelings, and cannot connect with the negatives, it is no surprise that the behaviour loop repeats time and time again, despite those negative consequences getting worse, and worse, and worse. Last week I sold my Nintendo collection, my childhood happiness, the false nostalgia. I sold those lies to get money to buy more lies. All to fill a void, all in the search for happiness.

Even writing this now puts me in an extremely dangerous, vulnerable headspace. In 30 seconds, I have gone from fondly writing about video games to planning an escape from my current situation. Complete disregard for my family, their feelings. It’s Christmas? So what. I want a fix. I don’t care what gets in my way, who I hurt, I want what I want and I will do what I must in order to get that. Flashback to the 13 year old writing his first diary entry, spoiled child. If you get in my way, I’ll hurt your feelings with complete disregard of any consequences.

This is a habit loop. An animal instinct which resides deep in the core of our brains. To ignore what has over millions of years become a survival instinct: trigger à routine à reward, as I have found out over the past few years, is beyond challenging. But millions of people across the world who have suffered from mental health issues including addictions to both substances and behaviours have found ways to overcome this.

My rational mind knows that using drugs brings with it misery, poverty, homelessness, disease, ultimately death, and those are just the affects to myself. For those loved ones who still cling on to hope that their addict may one day recover, I argue that they suffer even worse. All the same feelings of hopelessness, despair, fear, wide ranging mental health issues, but unlike the addict or alcoholic they suffer these feelings without the substance to numb the pain. At least the addict finds temporary relief with each fix, no matter what pain they may have endured to get there.

I have read many inspiring accounts of addiction and recovery, and many of these have been truly gut wrenching. I do not use gut wrenching simply as a generic expression that I’ve heard used time and time again to describe the actions of alcoholics and addicts, because I do hear the term thrown around frequently in meetings and in first-hand accounts of others who struggle with problems like these. I chose these two words carefully as they describe exactly the physical sensations experienced by myself when reading some of these harrowing accounts of active addiction. First comes the nausea, a sinking feeling in the abdomen, physical symptoms in my stomach, tightening, increased heart rate, anxiety escalating to full on panic when certain passages really hit home. For me, the most painful part of this that I live with every day is the simple fact of how my actions have devastated the lives of those around me. Unfortunately, in my experience, and I’m sure many can relate, it is those that we love most who get dragged through the shit, deeper and longer than anyone else.

It is through reading memoirs, blogs, first-hand accounts written by addicts that can dig beneath the euphoric recall and expose the life of an addict for what it truly is. It is so incredibly painful, I think, because I can relate. I know that the actions being described are identical to those I have carried out myself, and if I haven’t quite gotten that far yet, I see the reality of the situation and know that, although I may not have sunk to such depths yet, I know that the path leads one way only. We continue to decline, we cheat, rob, sell our bodies, sell our souls and ultimately take our own lives when we have sunk so far down the rabbit hole, in our isolation we can see no way out.

There is always a way out. Recovery is not easy, it is not natural, it doesn’t happen overnight and to be honest, I don’t think I fucking want it enough. I see my younger siblings getting their lives back on track, my best friends around me getting 6 months sober, throwing themselves into the program, or doing it their own way, it doesn't matter how they do it, just that they're doing it! And they're happy. It makes me so fucking proud of them, so happy for them. It also makes me so upset that I can't be there on that journey with them.

I want to want it. I've tried doing it for girlfriends, family, and sometimes I think I've wanted it for myself. But it doesn't last, and what good is that?

I find myself in a situation now where I have but two choices, recover, or give up. The alternative to recovery at this stage is to dive head first into the rabbit hole. But I know it’s there, I know what I need to do to get there, and I know that I can do it. For me, it is not a matter of how to do it, because the solution is simple. It does, however, require hard work, determination, and an absolute desire above all else to fight for your recovery.

Summer 2014 - think this might have been the last time I was actually happy and clean from opiates at the same time. Love, happiness, its never enough. I relapsed a matter of days later.

I am grateful for those who have managed to capture the insanity, depravity, and unparalleled selfishness of active addiction. Those who have been brave enough to put honest accounts of their stories out there. They help me see through my euphoric recall, and they may ultimately help with my recovery.