Consumed

Or "ADDiction: My Gift to Myself"

I grew up the child, grandchild, cousin of addicts. As a presumptuous teenager, I told an adult neighbor (also the child of an addict) that l would never touch alcohol to my lips. I know that I was being presumptuous because she told me I was.

But I believe I was naive.

I wasn't feeling better than anyone else. I was living in fear that prompted me to desire a far better future than past for myself (and any future children I might have).

It didn't help that I grew up in the Deep South where drinking a glass of wine is considered the Abominable Sin. (Southern Baptists are so much like the Jehovah's Witnesses they deem to be a cult. Consider . . .)

In my 20s, I rolled my eyes when a younger girl said alcohol was a demon. "No," I thought. "My addict relatives are the demons. Powdered demons. Just add liquid!"

Over the years, my thoughts about drinking have changed; I only drank once in high school. But do NOT ask me how many times I smoked pot! Drugs didn't seem "bad" to me ~ that one, at least. Drugs weren't why my dad hurt others. Alcohol was.

I could conjugate Spanish verbs, diagram sentences and perform quadratic equations . . . in my sleep . . .  with one hand tied behind my back. Yet I could not connect the dots ~ the ones that said Addiction is addiction. Period!

And my high school still let me graduate valedictorian! Imagine!

My life has been fraught with traumas and losses and bad, bad choices! I got this lovely, quaint, little case of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) growing up in a home of addiction.

Problem was: nobody knew about PTSD back then. Truth be told, my alcoholic father probably suffered from it. But I was raised to believe my father was weak and bad and didn't love his family ~ although he owned a business that provided so well, we all grew up thinking we were as rich as god's step-brother, Ned.

Dad gave what he could cause it was all he had.

And we all made sure he knew it was never enough.

Still ~ it's not easy growing up with a violent/angry alcoholic.

I've known other types of alcoholics. There is the Happy Drunk everyone loves to dance with. There's the Sloppy Drunk who passes out in his own vomit ~ but does no harm to others. There's Lovie Drunk. That's the one who wants to take the world in a love embrace. There's Delusional Drunk who thinks everyone who looks at him finds him sexy. There's Dopey Drunk; these ones mix alcohol with drugs. And there's Horny Drunk, who can go from 0 to horny in 2.3 beers.

The Seven Drunken Elves: Angry, Happy, Sloppy, Lovie, Delusional, Dopey and Horny.

I have ~ at different times ~ been all 7. But I generally hang out in the Lovie camp. If I'm drunk, I'm liable to kiss you on the lips ~ even if I just met you. And that, My Friends, leads to Horny Drunk, which leads to Happy Drunk . . . if one is lucky . . .

I write about addiction a lot because I've basically always been surrounded by it. (First rule of writing: write what you know!) I rarely speak of my own.

I got drunk off half a wine cooler the first time I ever drank as an adult. (Yeah ~ I've always been a light-weight. Saves money. . .) I never drank a beer until I was 25; I found I rather liked it. But I rarely drank when my kids were small ~ and hardly drank once they were teenagers. I was still frightened of becoming a powdered monster myself, so I focused my attention on what I thought were healthy addictions: writing, art, reading, cleaning, cooking and being an over-the-top health freak . . .  All of these, I performed obsessively, as though I'd never get enough or do enough or know enough . . .  (I was probably on the right track there!)

When my kids' dad walked out, I tried to heal myself with art, meditation, music, yoga and words. When my next husband and I split up, I found that Captain Morgan's Spiced Rum in a bit of Sprite worked faster ~ especially at night when my inner demons are most vocal. ("Candy is dandy, but liquor is quicker!" ~ Willie Wonka)

I was still more committed to the "healthy" addictions than to alcohol . . .

. . . 'til the tornado hit.

Well, it USED to be a house . . .

People told me I was lucky because I'd lived ~ against all odds. I told them I wasn't lucky. I lived in a sparsely populated area. I would have been "lucky" if the tornado had gone around me ~ instead of nearly killing me and my daughter, destroying our home, taking everything we owned . . . including the brand new computer I'd bought the month before and the $800 in my purse. (It was payday.) O ~ and there were some naughty pictures of me. We never found those, either.  Dear Friend Cissie, however, did find my bag of sex toys.  (O, thank you, Cissie!)  Our two precious kittens, Nymphadora Tonks and Minerva ~ whom we feared dead ~ were found over the next 24 hours alive and (amazingly) uninjured, though frightened.

My daughter and I each felt ourselves rotate in the air about 4 times. She (Lilli) was thrown into a pasture full of mud, downed barbed wire and cow poo. I was trapped under a wall.

Toward the middle of the pic is where Lilli landed ~

Long story short: Lilli found ~ and rescued ~ me. (My Angel!) We made it ~ hand in hand, muddy, soaked to the bone ~ to an adjacent barn.

The area from which Lilli rescued me ~

Help came, but it took a while because so many felled trees were blocking the roadways. All I wanted was a water bottle and a cigarette. I felt desperate for these things ~ and kept walking to the entrance of the barn to collect rain in my hands. Paramedics gave me a water bottle once they finally got there and my land lady at the time gave me a pack of Virginia Slims.

I was hooked!

I'd smoked before, but only a few times a week. After the tornado, I began smoking a pack and a half a day. (I don't do anything half-assed! I'm an overachiever! ) And I drank just as much as I wanted. The first five nights, Red Cross and a local charity paid for a motel room for Lilli and me. My father (now deceased) brought me a 6-pack of Miller Light that first night at the motel. He felt I just might need it. (The night of the tornado, Lilli and I stayed with my son, Ben, who made me the largest daiquiri that you can imagine. That was the only way I could sleep . . . with that liquid tranquilizer.  Still ~ I could sleep only a few hours.)

After those 5 nights, we had to vacate the motel. We moved into a very nice mother-in-law cabin on a friend's property.

I drank a 6-pack every doggone night for several months. Between the trauma and the brain injury I'd suffered, sleep was impossible without some sort of intervening force.

My problem was that my PTSD had jumped off the charts! While I can look back now and say, "Yes ~ my behavior was very normal for someone with an acute case of PTSD," I still felt deficient, bad. And was treated as such by certain family members. This is ~ sadly ~ common with PTSD relationships. (I give my friends a shout out for being kinder than my own family! Thanks, Guys!!!)

My organizational skills ~ one of my greatest talents ~ went out the window with my belongings. So did many of my other skills: like memory and discretion.  And that little "check engine" light connected to our conscience?  I painted it black, just like the Stones told me to! My anxiety reached epic levels. My depression made me frequently suicidal. And my undying faith? Gone! Vamoose!

I was a mess!

I didn't drink as much as some people thought . . . most nights! My main problem was the brain injury I'd suffered mixed with that big, ole batch of PTSD.

The doc finally put me on some anti-anxiety and prescription sleeping meds, thus decreasing my "need" for alcohol.

Progress has been slow. Many people have said things and treated me so badly, a Secondary Wounding (the psych term for this sort of harsh or judgmental behavior, which leads to longer recovery times) impeded my return to the real world. It's not been an easy journey ~ at all! But I have managed to cut back to half a pack of cigarettes a day. (Yes ~ Nature Woman who eats organic is still addicted to nicotine.) And I was able to cut back on the beer by drinking soda water instead. But this could occur ONLY AFTER a great deal of emotional and physical healing!

More than ever before, I understand people with brain trauma. It is not that THEY are mean or weird or defective. It's that their brains are wounded in the same way the pancreas or lungs can be wounded by cancer. It's very sad to me that we denigrate these sorts, rather than find a way to heal their brains. Research shows that we can change neuro-pathways drug-free, but it takes a very long time and loads of work.  My suggestion ~ if your brain is as wounded as mine has been ~ is to see your MD about appropriate meds, see a therapist, while you work on those neuro-pathways.

I've been told over the last three years to stop using my brain injury as an excuse. (More Secondary Wounding.)

I couldn't stop my behaviors until I'd swam to the other shore ~ with the help of Buspar, Depakote and some of the best friends in the world ~ who not only allowed me to swim across, but HELPED me to swim quite often. My Friends: My Buoys!

Now that I've crossed over, some people act as though I am still fundamentally flawed as a human (though I never truly was). That's been painful and it's taken me a long time to learn to let go. (0 ~ thank Buddha for Zen!)

Because of certain books specifically about brain function, I have garnered a greater understanding not only of my own struggles, but of OTHERS as well.

I send out love and hope to the rest of you who are wounded!

RECOMMENDED PURCHASES

Oliver Sacks books ~ The first book I ever read about human neurology and brain function was one of the brilliant books by Dr. Oliver Sacks.  (He is best known for the book ~ and motion picture starring Robin Williams ~ Awakenings.)

The Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder Sourcebook: A Guide to Healing, Recovery and Growth by Glenn R. Schiraldi ~ My dear friend, Dr. SamTheMan, allowed me to borrow this book in 2009.  It was a great book to read ~ but I halted at the workbook part of it.  This was before much of my healing was realized.  I loved reading about the experiences of others; this made me feel "okay" ~ "normal."  Sometimes ~ when you're in the midst of pain, wounding, dysfunction, it's difficult to feel there is any hope you'll cross over.  But there IS hope.  Just remember to be gentle with yourselves!  Do the "work" when you're ready!

Change Your Brain, Change Your Life by Dr. Daniel Amen ~ The title is so cheesy, I never would have picked it up if a counselor friend of mine hadn't recommended it.  Dr. Amen uses SPECT scans to examine brain function.  He has found that numerous people with similar "off" behaviors show over- (or under-) function in the same parts of the brain. Even violent behavior can be traced back to certain brain functions.  I love to think there may be a day when this new science is old school, and we can heal people from the inside out!

Teepa Snow, MS, OTR-L, FAOTA ~ This woman is brilliant; one of the nation's leading experts and speakers on dementia.  I love continuing education and recently attended a seminar this little lady presented.  She spoke quite candidly about behaviors common in dementia, as well as the best ways to respond to these behaviors.  She features studies on brain function.  (For instance, the brain function of an 18-month-old is similar to the brain wounded by dementia.  Only difference is: the brain with dementia cannot learn, while the 18-month-old brain can.)  She sells her videos on the internet.  I do not believe she has any books out.  I recommend ANYONE who loves and/or cares for someone with wounded brain function to look her up at  www.teepasnow.com.

The Art of Extreme Self-Care by Cheryl Williamson ~ Three years ago, I ordered this book from one of my spiritual websites.  (Don't ask me which!  No idea at this point!)  Williamson is a life coach who stresses self-care, self-love and healthy boundaries in this book. Her ideas are quite radical to those of us who naturally know how to let people walk all over us!

RECIPES

Kahlua (0 why the hell not? It makes a great holiday gift!)

Ings:

5 cups sugar

1 cup instant coffee

4 tbsp vanilla extract

1 qt vodka (I buy whatever is cheapest)

4 cups boiling water

Mix sugar and coffee together. Add boiling water and stir until dissolved. Cool completely. Add vanilla and vodka. Stir well and bottle.  I gave bottles of this as gifts last Christmas.  It was a hit!  Try in alone, in coffee or with cream.  It's almost like drinking a dark mocha chocolate candy bar.  Willie Wonka, indeed!