Empowering Those Who Are Dealing With and Recovering From Addiction
GATEWAY TO ADDICTION
The gateway to addiction isn’t marijuana, opioids or sugar. The
gateway to addiction is trauma…….abuse and neglect in childhood.
When a child is in a situation at home that is terrifying, depressing or lonely, s/he has no way to leave. Alcohol and drugs provide an escape, a coping mechanism that is effective and immediate. The problem is that these substances can “own” a person. There’s a saying, “First the person takes a drink and then the drink takes the person.”I’ve been in the recovery community for over 40 years and I remember the first time it occurred to me that a difficult childhood could be a common experience. I was listening to a speaker talking about his wonderful family and childhood. He was one of 12 children. Then he got to the part when his mother put him in a burlap bag and beat him with a broom. It occurred to me then that maybe he didn’t have such a happy childhood.
RAISED BY WOLVES
You might say wolves had raised her,
But wolves are so much kinder
Than the ones she had to live with
In the long days of her youth.No affection, no love spoken.
Her heart and soul were broken.
If only she could find out
What she’d done wrong, she could fix it.She took the torture with her
That she suffered in her childhood.
Mother taught her how to do it
Now she does it to herself.
THICKNESS IN THE AIR
She was a thickness in the air, she almost wasn’t there
After years of being told she shouldn’t be.She floated on the breezes from the talking of their mouths.
She wanted so to be there, but her self was not allowed.She knew that deep within her was a heart so parched for love
That if it were to be fed t’would be much like heaven above.And still they wouldn’t see her, she must be somehow wrong
And so she just kept floating on the need to play along.
JENNY AND THE RAKE
When I was very young, I played with Jenny.
She lived across the street and down the block.
We played with dirt and sand and made a picnic.
We drew pictures on the sidewalk with our chalk.One day when we were running down the driveway
We didn’t see a rake just lying there.
The tines were pointed up and they were dirty.
Jenny jumped on it and, yes, her feet were bare.It sliced right through her tender little foot.
Which got bloody as Jenny shrilly screamed.
Her mom came running, picked her up and held her
So tenderly, I wished it had been me.
PSYCH WARD BLUES
First you see there’s nothin’.
Nothin’ but booze and pills.
The booze and pills the help you
To get 10,000 ills.Then you feel like dyin’.
Feel like cuttin’ off your head.
Your head it is so heavy
You can’t get up outta bed.You lay in bed all morning.
Then you lay in bed all night.
The bed it is a comfort.
Everything else puts you uptight.You don’t wanna see the flowers.
You don’t wanna see the sky.
All you want is booze and pills.
Most of all you wanna die.And when these things come down
And they’re comin’ down on you,
The Big Depression’s got ya,
But there’s something you can doYou can go down to the hospital.
Go down if you can go.
The pills they have are different
And you start thinkin’ real slow.When you’re in the hospital.
You don’t know what could be worse.
You need some help and comfort,
But can’t tell who is the nurse.I need some help and comfort.
I need to ease my pain.
I feel like I’ve got nothin
It’s those booze and pill bottle blues again.
DARKEST DAYS’ DREAM
I had a dream in the darkest days, when my heart was locked away.
I was some kind of sage or saint on a trek to find my way.
I wore a gown…black lace on silk…the most beautiful robe I’d seen…
This silk was a shade of buttermilk and I felt like a queen.
I followed the path up a hill and came to a break in the ridge
Beyond was a spectral mountain, atop sat a wondrous bridge
Which led to a shining cloister as brilliant as a glowing flame.
Ah yes I said to myself as I drank that transcendent scene
This is where I belong, where I always should have been
Then there came a voice or whistling on the wind
Saying, “Not quite yet my Dear.
Look down the mountain and see
Where you’re to stay for many a year.”
Down the mountain was a cozy hamlet sleeping by a glassy sea
Where people lived and died and dreamed Not quite the place for me.
Now here’s the shock that etched this dream indelibly on my soul
Without any fuss or problem, that hamlet became my goal.
In my life thus far having locked my heart away,
The thought of such acceptance only meant to me “obey”
But there was no coercion here. It was all the same to me.
And with perfect satisfaction I chose the hamlet by the sea.
HOLLYWOOD 1967ish
Not touching….Anything
But the glass…..Cigarettes
Heavy feeling….In my stomach
Eyes unfocus
Lids are closing
Not enough
To sleep
But just to….Soften edges
Smelling ice and air-conditioning
Smelling bodies
Pressing forward
Will you love me?
Or just pretend to?
Pretend for me
I know it’s real
The cigarettes
The air-conditioning
Taste the glass
It doesn’t matter
After two
Just listen
Noise
Inside out?
Both I think
But not from me
I’m silent
Allowing my
Filter head
To collect noise
For future
Solitudes
PARTY
Blurs melting into blurs
Can’t distinguish any object
Why would someone invite two men who look the same
Talk different
But I can’t see
Fatigue puts my head in a paper bag
Being stoned doesn’t help
Can’t see what’s going on
If I wanted, my glasses would clarify the scene
It’s confusing to have to guess
Visine soothes but doesn’t get my red out
Can’t see
Could get used to it I suppose
But my night was a poor sleeping one
And tomorrow will be, at least, the same
Probably worse because I haven’t been to bed
And through my window for some time
I’ve watched the translucent dawn.
Non-nuclear Family Alcohol Addiction
“Non-nuclear” is not meant to diminish the devastating, explosive effects alcohol addiction has on a family, but rather that, besides myself, the alcoholics I grew up with were part of my extended family. So that even if the parents in a family aren’t falling-down drunks, alcohol addiction echoes through generations
My mother’s family immigrated from Wales and she grew up in a little Vermont village where everyone spoke Welch. Neither she nor her father were alcoholics, and I don’t think her mother was either, though her mother died when mom was quite young. Genetically speaking, Celtic people seem to have a tendency to alcohol addiction. So I had that going for me.
My father came from a family of six children, three boys and three girls. My father was the only boy in his family who wasn’t an alcoholic. His brothers were “functional alcoholics”. One ran a
neighborhood cafe for years and the other was a dentist who, occasionally after a few drinks, would go on tirades about family members. Dad was a pharmacist and while he drank and used some of the prescription drugs he sold, he was never ‘owned’ by them. I didn’t hear much about his larger extended family until later, but then I found it was peppered with alcoholics. So I also had that going for me.My dad was a ‘workaholic’ and so was gone much of the time. Each night when he got home from the pharmacy before dinner, he and my mom had a couple cocktails. It looked to me like a sacrament, almost religious...a way to relax and have a reward for a busy day. My dad had a liquor cabinet and a medicine cabinet in his bathroom that an addict could only dream about, of course, I didn’t have to dream.
My parents were examples of service to the community. Dad was on the city council for 12 years and mom spent years teaching people going overseas for the Red Cross and serving in PTA and on the School Board. My problem was that because of some difficult experiences as a child, my mom didn’t like girls and I was her only daughter.
Thus, I became one of the ‘walking-wounded’ and was so depressed that when I saw people laughing and having fun, I thought they were doing it to annoy me. I discovered that my parents’ ‘sacrament’ worked very well to totally black out my brain and release me from the horrible negativity in which I was living.
In addition to only allowing positive feelings to be expressed, another characteristic passed down through generations of alcoholics, is to totally ignore the problem. And so when I was stealing liquor from my dad’s bar, there would be pencil marks on the label showing the level of the liquid and I’d go ahead and steal some any way and no one said a word.
A couple years after I graduated from college I got a job with a woman who was the first person to say anything to me about my drinking. She told me that she could see that I was unhappy and that I didn’t have to be. She got me an appointment with her therapist and thus began my journey of recovery.
I had a son after I was six years sober and he has many of the “quirks” that I see in my friends in recovery. I like to call it “the junkie brain”. For example, his mind constantly goes to whatever the worst possible outcome of a situation could be. Also, he doesn’t seem to have an ‘off-switch’, though he is now learning to moderate his activities. Yet he doesn’t have a problem with alcohol addiction. His father was also in recovery, so he has the genetic predisposition that I had. It seems that addiction requires both genetics and environment to express itself in a person.
I learned in my family that alcohol was the way to cope with overwhelming feelings of despair. I came by the genetics honestly and that in combination with my family life was the ‘perfect storm’. It wasn’t until I stepped into the recovery community that I had the support and acceptance that has allowed me to flourish. Today family alcohol addiction is no longer a permanent curse to be passed down through generations. AA and alcohol treatment facilities hold the hope of recovery. And as a friend in recovery says...”Alcoholism is the only disease the treatment of which leaves the sufferer better off than if they had never had it.”