27 years later, I would like to have a drink

December 27th, 1987 was the last time I had alcohol in my system. The night ended with me starting the process of me building a new life for myself. I was 17 years old and scared. This past weekend, 27 years after having that last drink, I had a fleeting thought of “I would like to have a drink”. A thought which sounded an alarm inside me. A thought which undressed could lead me on a path of possible self destruction. I am often asked if I still crave alcohol and drugs. And I would like to think I am able to address these fleeting thoughts before they grow into a full blown craving cycle. To understand this process you must understand the disease of addiction. 

Addiction is a primary, chronic disease of brain reward, motivation, memory and related circuitry. Dysfunction in these circuits leads to characteristic biological, psychological, social and spiritual manifestations. This is reflected in an individual pathologically pursuing reward and/or relief by substance use and other behaviors.

Addiction is characterized by inability to consistently abstain, impairment in behavioral control, craving, diminished recognition of significant problems with one’s behaviors and interpersonal relationships, and a dysfunctional emotional response. Like other chronic diseases, addiction often involves cycles of relapse and remission. Without treatment or engagement in recovery activities, addiction is progressive and can result in disability or premature death.-http://www.asam.org/for-the-public/definition-of-addiction

Craving is a natural part of the addiction and recovery process. However I don't believe a thought of wanting to have a drink constitutes a craving cycle. Maybe it derives from my sometimes desire to be “normal” or like others who can have a drink of alcohol for whatever reasons and not trigger off an addiction cycle. I know I am incapable of this. I will never be able to just have a drink. 

An urge to drink can be set off by external triggers in the environment and internal ones within yourself.

External triggers are people, places, things, or times of day that offer drinking opportunities or remind you of drinking. These "high-risk situations" are more obvious, predictable, and avoidable than internal triggers.

Internal triggers can be puzzling because the urge to drink just seems to "pop up." But if you pause to think about it when it happens, you'll find that the urge may have been set off by a fleeting thought, a positive emotion such as excitement, a negative emotion such as frustration, or a physical sensation such as a headache, tension, or nervousness.-http://rethinkingdrinking.niaaa.nih.gov/toolsresources/copingwithurgestodrink.asp

My fleeting thought, which was very random, is a reminder that I am not “cured” of my disease. I am blessed to have the insight and ability to quickly address my symptoms and continue on the path I started 27 years ago. 

B

We're alive, please be gentle

This is from a blog I read often and I thought I would share... Brit Barkholtz

WE’RE ALIVE, PLEASE BE GENTLE

Posted on: 18 December 2014

I recently attended a friend’s wedding in Seattle. Though I’ve been to Seattle before, it had been at least ten years since I was last there, so I took some time to be a typical tourist and enjoy the city. While browsing a museum gift shop, I noticed some small plants on a shelf—miniature plants, about half the size of my palm.  A small sign was perched in front of them, reading, “We’re alive, please be gentle.” My initial thought was that it was a smart sign: I had assumed the plants were fake—which was apparently a common misconception. But as I continued to browse the store, the sign stuck in my mind. 

“We’re alive, please be gentle.” 

To apply this sign to people might seem like a pretty simple concept, but I wonder how often we end up forgetting it. It only takes about five minutes of watching the news to realize we do not live in a gentle world. Wars and violent conflict make headlines across the globe. People around the world are oppressed for any number of reasons—their gender identity, their race, their religion, their sexual orientation, or their economic status. We see national and global corporations earning a profit off marginalized people seeking better options. Greed and corruption permeate the social and political spectrums, leaving many people struggling to get by.  I wish I could somehow remind people all across the world: “We’re alive, please be gentle.”

To think so large-scale might be unrealistic, so I want to bring this message a little closer to home. A recent study by the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Administration found that one in five Americans are living with some type of mental health condition. This means the odds are good that you know someone affected by mental illness, or maybe you, yourself, have experience living with mental illness. Mental health conversations are often met with stigma rather than compassion, judgment rather than gentleness. So how do we push back against that reality in our own relationships?

When it comes to being gentle with others, I think it’s most important to never underestimate the power of listening. If someone is struggling and opens up to you, they probably aren’t looking for you to have all the answers. People want to be heard, and they want to know that their voice, their story, has value. Affirm the worries and fears, the hopes and dreams of the people around you. I find it to be quite humbling and a great honor when someone opens up to me and shares their life with me. It takes so much courage for most of us to share those pieces of ourselves, and we should be proud of every single person who does it. It’s also important to encourage and support each other and not get frustrated about bumps along the way. Remember: Love, support, and kindness are not things you only give to others when everything is going well for them. 

But what if we focus the lens even closer? How often do we take the time to think about how to be gentle with ourselves? If you are anything like me, this is the toughest one. I get mad at myself for setbacks, frustrated and impatient with my own limitations, and ashamed of myself for my struggles. I say hateful, hurtful things to and about myself that I would never say to or about anyone else. I am my own toughest critic and worst cheerleader. I can turn a small misstep into a self-hate spiral in record time.

And then I remember: “We’re alive, please be gentle.”

Be gentle with yourself. Be patient with yourself as you live and learn and grow. You’re going to make mistakes—we all do. But forgive yourself for them. Try not to get frustrated with the pace of whatever journey you’re on. Meet yourself where you are. Don’t give up on yourself. Treat yourself when you need a pick-me-up, and give yourself permission to rest when you need a break. Congratulate yourself on progress, big or small, and don’t tear yourself apart for stalls or setbacks. Speak words of kindness to yourself—if you wouldn’t say it to your best friend, don’t say it to yourself. Encourage yourself, affirm yourself. And if you need help with any of it, ask! Remind yourself that you deserve to be happy and healthy. Remind yourself that your story matters, that you matter, and that you are irreplaceable. Love yourself, because you are important and worthy of love.

And on the days when it feels just a little too dark, remember: “We’re alive, please be gentle.” 

http://twloha.com/blog

Trying to Sleep- May 18, 1991

You lie still

trying to hide yourself from the continuos throbbing

moist and dark are the only characteristics of your immediate surroundings

the pounding continues

as you attempt to bury your face into your fluffy but damp pillow

the pulsating digs and claws

with each echoing thump

you consider your life, your problems

you look around the bare and empty room

your thoughts continue as does the throbbing

once again you roll over

attempting to hide and escape

feeling isolated and overwhelmed.

An excerpt from May 18, 1991

B

If Normal were a color- An open letter to young readers

Painting a picture of normal 

If normal were a color it would have many profound shades. Many struggle with the palette of normal and believe to their core they are not. However who claims normal to be a pure consistent hue of certainty? We know young people struggle with personal identification and normalcy. We know many adults model what they believe to be a normal persona in thought and action. Young people are particularly susceptible to decision making which may have an immediate effect on their current situation. Most who suffer from behavioral health issues seek a life of pure consistent normalcy. This innate drive is fostered by internal and external factors alike. Young people want to feel, be normal to others. They seek concrete reinforcement form their immediate surroundings. I was never comfortable with myself as an adolescent. I never felt as though I fit in. I surrounded myself with others who didn't fit in. I engaged in behaviors which made me numb to the uncomfortableness. I felt lost, trapped, hopeless. I put myself in the position to allow others to define me, my character. No matter how hard I tried I could not find normal…or at least what I thought normal should be. As I have grown older I still struggle with the socially acceptable “normal”. I still do not know what that means and I somehow have found comfort in understanding that there are many shades of normal. 

In my painting of normal there are many colors and shades, on most days my painting looks completely different then it did the day before. And I find comfort in that.

if you struggle with normal please know you are not alone, if you cannot find someone to talk to out of fear of judgement, please know I understand. 

B

Red Ribbon Week

From October 23-31 we collectively participate in Red Ribbon Week. Many, if not all of our schools will join in celebrating a week of drug awareness. Spending a small amount of time on redribbion.org, the story of Red Ribbon week and its creation can be found and the story of Enrique (Kiki) Camarena a Drug Enforcement Administration Agent who was tortured and killed in Mexico in 1985.

“In honor of Camarena's memory and his battle against illegal drugs, friends and neighbors began to wear red badges of satin. Parents, sick of the destruction of alcohol and other drugs, had begun forming coalitions. Some of these new coalitions took Camarena as their model and embraced his belief that one person can make a difference. These coalitions also adopted the symbol of Camarena's memory, the red ribbon.”

Red Ribbon week is not only an activity for children but a call to parents and communities to become active in the education and understanding regarding the harmful effects of Drugs and Alcohol. We as community members must come forward and teach our children about the realities of and negative consequences of Substance Abuse. We must encourage, teach, and guide children to healthy alternatives.

RedRibbon.org encourages everyone to take the red ribbon pledge:

As parents and citizens, we will talk to our children and the children in our lives about the dangers of drug abuse.

We will set clear rules for our children about not using drugs.

We will set a good example for our children by not using illegal drugs or medicine without a prescription.

We will monitor our children's behavior and enforce appropriate consequences, so that our rules are respected.

We will encourage family and friends to follow the same guidelines to keep children safe from substance abuse

Red Ribbon week is reminder for us that we are tasked with the responsibility to parent the young people in our homes and communities. A sounded call to unite for the betterment of our family, all of our family.  

The rhythm of the world

Sometimes my life moves too fast. I try to slow down. I try to center, meditate, close my eyes and find peace in the rhythm of the world.

The old man sits in the building, silent

his brain races with thoughts of clouds

he hasn't seen the light of happiness

the tension puts pressure against his soul

the earth moves like a slow motion murder

he stares at the wrinkles on his hands

a map of experience, existence

he longs for relief from the echo

he misses the former version of a boy

lost in the storm 

the angels swing on the playground in silence

he has a shovel, polished 

engraved with the names of memories

the cloud seeps through the crack under the door

the string unravels

he closes his eyes, asks for peace

the clouds become a pillow

and the angels sing softly in his head

B