Recovery Month

Although I am 11 years into my recovery, I still spent a majority of my adult life suffering from active addiction (~15-16 years). Honestly, it is kind of exciting for me to be getting closer to the time when I spent more of my time sober than intoxicated. I can say when I first got sober, I just really didn't think that I would ever get to this point. I could not see a life without alcohol. Eleven years later, it is feeling more and more weird to think of having a life with alcohol in it. Let me tell you, though, it took a long time to feel that way. Even as little as a few years ago, I was internally weighing the benefits of going back to drinking. The desire for escape and altered reality never really goes away permanently. The strength of those feelings decrease, but never fade. It's the most important thing in recovery is to be aware of when those desires start to lean towards action.

September is recovery month and addiction awareness. Addiction is hard to understand from both sides. Those of us who are in the midst of it can hardly understand ourselves. We are conflicted, feel great shame, hurt others, make promised we can't or won't keep, and express defensive/aggressive behavior when anyone speaks about who we've become or what we are doing. We want to make a better choice but find ourselves doing the opposite. We sacrifice relationships, jobs, family, and life. On the other side, watching someone with addiction is frustrating, sad, angering. We don't know how to help or when to help. We can watch a person become a shell of their former selves. We watch them lose everything and continue to make the same choice day in and day out. We yell, we talk, we empathize, we threaten, and we try to love. Sometimes we lose hope, on both sides. 

When I was first in treatment, I was trying to figure out what I was going to say to people about my life. My work world certainly knew that a person doesn't just take a month off with some pretty big issues going on. I kept it to myself for the most part. My boss was amazing and respected my privacy. Part of me didn't want to say anything for a couple of reasons. One, I thought people would see me as weak. I saw myself as weak. Why wouldn't they? Two, if people knew, then they might hold me accountable for my actions. Mind you, I didn't exactly stay sober after my first treatment. I voluntarily went to treatment, I begged to go to treatment. I called my mom knowing that I was about to tell the one person who was REALLY going to stick my feet to the fire to get better. So, like 62% of me was willing. 

As I made my way through treatment, I realized that my brain was different. I had to commit to some pretty drastic lifestyle changes. I needed to find a new support system. I needed to be honest. I needed to be willing to take advice from others. I thought that treatment was going to fix me. I had watched about 80 episodes of Intervention. People looked like I felt, they went to treatment and looked better. Some stayed sober and some didn't. I didn't really know exactly what treatment did. But people looked pretty happy so it must do something, right? And my inpatient treatment did do something. I learned about what I was dealing with and what I would need to do if I was willing to make the changes. I wasn't willing to commit 100%. Recovery is an all or nothing deal.

When I went back to treatment again, I had significant external pressure from the monitoring program for my nursing license. If you knew me or talked to me during the first six months of that program, you would have been able to see recovery Julie and addicted Julie fighting it out. Recovery Julie is saying "hey, you need this. It's what it is going to take. You are lucky you didn't lose your license to practice already. Get sober. It's time." Meanwhile, addicted Julie was livid. "HPSP took away my ability to drink. I can't drink now. They are treating me like a criminal. I never hurt anyone. I am not hurting anyone. Just leave me alone. I hate everything." I turned on the old blame hose and complained for months in treatment and to my therapist. 

Obviously, recovery Julie prevailed eventually. Between treatment and finding my personal recovery plan, I found it necessary to honest and open about what happened. I lived in the shadows of shame for so many years. I lived this lie of being a functional human being. In reality, I was a lying, distrustful individuals with profound denial who would be willing to throw you off of a bridge to get alcohol. I honestly didn't like the person I had become. However, addiction had be convinced that I was beyond help, beyond saving. Who would ever love me? Who could ever trust me? I am such an enormous failure. I should be able to stop drinking. But, I can't. I don't know why. I can't change. On and on and on. The shame spiral was spinning fast and I was circling the drain. 

In order for me to really embrace recovery and sobriety, I felt I had to be "all-in". For me, "all-in" meant talking about the fact that I was hopeless addicted to alcohol. Yes, I went to treatment. Yes, I relapsed. Yes, I have been to detox. No, I am not insane (although one could argue while under the influence I was not sane). Yes, I go to meetings. Yes, I am still in treatment. Yes, I am mentally ill. Yes, I see a therapist. Yes, I take anti-depressants. Once I was willing to say these things to other people, my whole life changed. My world became so small, so isolated, and so lonely when I was drinking. I felt like I was breaking free from that shell and presenting myself to the world "as-is". Take it or leave it. I was nervous about this transition. I thought I would be judged or shunned. In some cases, that happened. However, 95% of the time, people embraced my journey. I would hear things like "You? I had no idea! So happy you are getting better." Yup, I was great at hiding. "Wow.....good for you. Let me know if I can help." Sure thing! "Hey, you know, I have a problem too...." Please, let's talk.

For one reason or another, I have felt a lot shame in my life. My greatest shame came from being an alcoholic. Like I have said in other posts, I knew I was an alcoholic from the first time I drank. I was never normal in my use. The compulsions were so incredibly strong. I felt like I was a failure for not being able to control my use. I was more ashamed of who I had become, who I had hurt, and how far I was willing to go to meet my needs. I made terrible decisions at times. I should have been in legal trouble more than once for more than one thing. Shame drove me so far into myself that I lost almost all human connections of meaning. I felt that not talking about what I had been through was giving back into that shame cycle and would lead me back to drinking. I just wanted to be me. Being me means that I am an alcoholic. By practicing some self-acceptance, I started writing this blog. I talked to people very openly about my struggles and recovery. Life got a lot better. Being me now means you will know about my past. I have a story to tell. If you think I suck because of it, sorry, I don't need you.

If you are friends with me on FB, I got another tattoo added to my "recovery arm" I call it. I am building a tattoo sleeve on my arm with flowers that indicate the number of years of recovery. I went to work to work for the past two nights and everyone I came in contact with asked about the tattoo. At one job, I haven't really said very much about my recovery. Not because of shame or anything, it just really never came up. I work nights so there is only a few of us there. It's pretty quiet. So, when I went in, one of my co-workers asked if my tattoos had any meaning. I hesitated at first. And just busted right through that. I told a little bit of my story and why I get these tattoos. There was a sense of disbelief that "you?? You were addicted? It just doesn't seem like you." Well, because I am in recovery now, I am not that person, so she wasn't wrong. One of my co-workers gave me a hug "you have a story to tell the young kids. They would listen to you." I got some serious warm feelings from that interaction. 

So, I shall celebrate recovery month. I will continue to say prayers for my brother and sister who are still suffering. Believe me, guys, when I say that alcoholics are suffering whether they present that way or not. We often think about ending our lives because addiction has us by the throat. We can be nasty and mean to you. When we are along after those interactions, we want to avoid the feelings of regret and shame at all cost. I would wake up in the morning with terrible headaches, shaking, and vomiting. I would pray that I would never pick up again. 8 hours later, I was back at it wondering how a person could be so weak, so pathetic. I judged myself in moral terms. I think most alcoholics do. Our behavior while using is very opposite of the values and morals we hold dear. We do things against our better judgement and against our value systems on a near daily basis. That inner turmoil of failure, loss, grief, anger, insecurity, and profound depression is overwhelming and keeps us reaching for the bottle. 

How I want to end this entry is with the word "hope". People on both sides of addiction can lose hope. The world has lost too many people to addiction and mental illness. I have hope for continued recovery for myself. I have hope that others can and will make a change. I never gave up on any of my clients when I was working in treatment. Staying sober for 2 days is 2 days that you weren't drinking. It starts somewhere. The 22 million of us that are in recovery all started out with day 1. For the 20 million or so that are still in the grips of active use, I will pass along the gift of hope to you and tell you not to lose it. You are worth it. You can change. We do recover. We recover together. Never alone. 

Take care everyone,
​Julie