Month: August 2019

Waves

The first wave shouldn’t have been a surprise, but it still knocked me off my feet. I’d seen it coming, and with all the confidence of a young boy, I stood and faced it head on, fully expecting that it would be no match for me. Quite the contrary, I was no match for it.

The second and third ones seemed to come out of nowhere. Gasping for air and trying to stand up again another wave crashed on top of me, driving me into the sandy ocean floor. I don’t remember being scared, but I’m sure I must have been — I was probably around 9 or 10 years old, and the Atlantic was having it’s way with me.

I suspect that most people who have grown up going to the beach know this story. Most of us have thought that we were stronger than we were at one point or another in our lives. And kids who’ve grown up going to the beach have certainly had experiences like mine where they were caught in the breakers and were getting pummeled by the ocean.

At some point, I realized that I needed to stop fighting. That the only way to escape, was to let the surf carry me further in toward shore, where the waves would be less forceful and I’d be able to stand.

This year I’ve felt like I’m that little boy again. Month after month there have been challenges in my life that have hit me hard. It’s begun to feel like things may never get better, like there will be more and more waves with no end in sight.

I’m tired. I’m frustrated. I’m ready for a break.

Perhaps, the key is surrender again. Perhaps, I need to stop fighting the flow and just go with it. But that feels impossible at this point.

So, I persist.

I do the things that I know work. I go to meetings. I call others who I trust. I talk about what’s going on in my life and how it’s impacting me. I tweet to the #recoveryposse. I And most importantly, I don’t drink.

I don’t drink.

Its a fucking miracle, but I haven’t picked up a drink through all the turmoil of 2019. And I don’t do that because there’s nothing happening in my life that a drink won’t make worse.

Sooner or later, these waves will come to a stop. Sooner or later this too shall pass. And when I’m through it, I’ll know that Nietzsche was right.

“That which does not kill me, somehow, makes me stronger”

Posted on by damien 1

Vegas, Baby…Vegas

If there is a place on earth for which I hold more disdain than Las Vegas, I have yet to see it. In truth, Vegas was never my place even when I was a drinker. Sure, I had some wild times here, and even a few that might be considered fun, but on the whole it’s loud and obnoxious and the main point in Vegas is debauchery. And still, I come to Vegas at least twice a year for my job. Believe me, it’s not by choice. It’s hard to be a sober guy in Sin City.

I’m here for my company’s annual Sales Kick Off which is part hype machine, part celebration, part learning, and part marathon. I’m surrounded by people who are pushing the limits of their bodies with drugs, alcohol, and PowerPoint. I spent the past two nights hanging out with coworkers and genuinely had a good time with them but I’m pretty well done at this point. There’s only so much hanging around in a party atmosphere I can take these days.

We’ve got very full days here. The first session is at eight in the morning and we go until six at night, followed by dinner and a party. This is just part of the job when you’re in sales. And it could be miserable for a guy in recovery, but I don’t let that happen.

I knew I needed a plan to keep my sanity here, so I made the commitment to myself that I would leave the socializing events as soon as I felt it was time and I planned to find a few meals that weren’t provided by the company — all the meals are buffet style at these things, it’s the only way to feed several thousand people. I was especially encouraged after a friend on twitter told me about a few good spots in my hotel, including an Asian noodle spot. I’ve made a point of getting some good meals instead of the buffet and passed appetizers that are on offer at the social functions.

On the first night, I didn’t keep my commitment to myself and I stayed out with the boys longer than I should have. As the conversation got repetitive and the drinking got harder I hung out as if I were trying to prove something. This was a mistake. I found myself questioning why I was hanging out. When I found the idea of a drink starting to sound good I made my way to the room. I was pretty worn out the next day. Social Fatigue had set in and taken it’s toll. Last night, I was truer to myself and bailed early. I was in bed and asleep by 9:30. It was good. Let me tell you, dealing with an 8:00 start is much easier without a hangover.

Tonight, I skipped the social event and instead had a date with myself. I made it to the noodle place, and ate some really great soup. Then I went to see Jackson Browne play in the Venetian Theater. Man, what a show! I thoroughly enjoyed seeing a dude in his seventies play his heart out. He played a number of his greatest songs. It was artful and beautify.

I was most certainly the youngest person in the audience, and I’m sure some of the septuagenarians were wondering what the hell I was doing there all by my self, but I felt right at home. It’s so good to be comfortable in my own skin. I never would have done this when I was drinking. The idea of going to a concert by myself would have been horrifying. But not these days. These days, it’s great. Several times during the show, I thought to myself that I was exactly where I was supposed to be tonight. I was taking in great music, stone cold sober, and enjoying myself. For once, I felt like I actually belonged in Vegas and that it might not be such an awful town.

Posted on by damien 4

August is the Cruelest Month, Mr. Eliot

It’s August. That’s part of it. I’m approaching four years of sobriety and I can feel the squirrels prancing around in my brain.

I didn’t recognize it at first. I knew that something was off, but it didn’t occur to me that this “offness” could be rooted in the fact that I’m nearing in on 1460 days without a drink. Actually 1461 because of leap year, but who’s counting?

There’s something about mountains and craft beer. They seem go go together. When we were in Oregon I was somewhat overwhelmed by the number of craft beers on offer that I’ve never heard of before. Yes, I still look at the tap handles, and still look at beer menus. Maybe that’s not wise, but I do it. In talking with my therapist about this last week she observed, “beers and beards, where there’s more of one there’s usually more of the other.” And there were a lot of beards in Oregon.

I like to think that I’m generally immune to the prevalence of booze on offer in the world. It wasn’t always like this, but as I got more comfortable in my own skin, more comfortable with my sobriety, I found that I really wasn’t bothered by the presence of booze in many situations. Part of it is that I work in a sales job, and so, there are often functions that I must attend where others are drinking. I’ve actually had a bottle of whisky in the house since the day I quit, unopened. It’s a relic from my grandfather’s stash with a Maryland Tax Stamp still in tact from 1961. It’s also Canadian Whisky, which isn’t really whisky, it’s more like rot gut.

And for the first few days in Oregon, it was the same. But then we took a drive down the coast to Newport to go to an aquarium, which just happened to be directly next door to the Rogue brewery. I’d be hard pressed to tell you which Rogue brews I’d fancy today, but I really enjoyed Rogue Dead Guy Ale when it first arrived on the shelves in MD. And I was flooded with memories of good times. Memories of the early days of the craft beer revolution and exploring and learning about all various different styles of beer. No longer was I stuck with American Pale Ale Pisswater.

I know that this is beginning to sound like I’m romancing the drink. And I am to an extent, but I also know that my struggle with alcohol was really a slow burn. I drank for nearly 20 years normally and only developed a problem after trauma was triggered when I became a father. So, I have a lot more time in the rear view where drinking was fun, light, social, than many others who have surrendered to the fact that they cannot drink normally. But when things turned, they turned fast and I found myself in a misery that I never want to experience again.

So, I was rolling around the coast of Oregon for a week, and slowly I started to find myself thinking, “What if?” — What if I had one beer and I was cool? What if I didn’t find that I wanted to get wasted after one? What if I have addressed the trauma and done enough therapy that I wouldn’t abuse the booze? What if I didn’t drink whisky, only beer? What if, What if, What if.

I did this in silence. My wife and son had no idea this was happening to me. I’m good at secrets.

As we were standing in line at the airport, about to get on a flight home, I found myself looking up a particular statistic about the risk of relapse in people who have been sober for 5 years. It’s fairly well documented that the risk of relapse is about 15% whereas the risk of suffering from AUD (Alcohol Use Disorder) is about 13% for the general population. Did this mean I was coming in to the home stretch? Could I drink like a normal person again in another year?

These are the insane thoughts that ran through my head at 10:30 PDT on August 10, 2019. And they scared me.

I know what 12 Step tells me would happen, and I know it’s not pretty. I also know that there are many people who do return social drinking after they address their trauma. I have family members who remained sober for over a decade and then returned to normal drinking. The truth is, I don’t know what would happen if I were to have a single drink.

What I do know for certain is that my life has immeasurably improved as a result of getting sober. My health has improved and I have the blood work to prove it. My weight has improved, and my scale shows it to me every time I step on it — even if I’m not where I want to be. My physical strength and stamina has improved — I began running at 45 and now run 3 times a week and I’m about to run a 10 mile race in a week. My relationships with my friends and family have improved — I can be depended upon and while I can still pull out my “asshole card,” I do so much less often than I once did.

In short, I know that I’m better off not drinking.

I’ve been struggling to figure out where these thoughts came from. I know that it’s been a very difficult year for me emotionally. I have felt a bit like a kid caught in the rough surf at the break point in the ocean, as soon as I stand up another wave crushes down on me. And all the turmoil of 2019 cannot be discounted. There’s no doubt in my mind that I’ve been driven to seek escape.

But that’s not the entire story. As I said at the beginning of this post. It’s August. And while T. S. Eliot claimed April as the cruelest month, for me it’s August.

Subconsciously and consciously, there’s a lot going on in August. August always represents the end of summer. It is generally the peak of misery in terms of weather in Maryland. And it’s the month immediately preceding my sobriety date.

The squirrels run wild in my brain this time of year, and no one but me knows it’s happening. It always takes me a while to recognize it for what it is, and I go through some fucked up thoughts, but I don’t pickup a drink. I suspect that the squirrels might do this in August for the rest of my days. Every year, I make a promise to myself that I’ll remember this next year. And every year, I forget.

Posted on by damien 9

Running, Tears, and EMDR Therapy

It’s been a rough 2019. We’ve been through a lot as a family this year My wife and I had to appear in court on behalf of our son this week. We both gave statements in a case that resulted from the traumatic events we experienced in March. It was a hard day. Emotions ranged from anger to rage, to frustration, to compassion, to forgiveness. I suffered a migraine on the day of the court hearing.

Even though I’d started the day with a meeting, I still needed the support of friends in the program that night. I was glad to have a phone full of numbers and happy to talk to my sponsor that night. He reminded me that sometimes injustice cannot be reconciled, that the ledger will never balance for these transactions and suggested that in these cases the best thing we can do is to balance the greater ledger by doing something to make the world a better place. That kind of thinking and that kind of advice is why he’s my sponsor.

Today, I’d spent the entire day working on my computer and not getting very far with a particular project. At 4:30 I was pretty frustrated and so I decided to go for a run. I was listening to a Podcast called “Athletes Unfiltered” about Mirna Vilariowho is the author of the blog “Fat Girl Running”. Her story is impressive and challenges us to rethink what we call athletic. She is a hero. She is a woman who overcomes adversity and inspires me to be a better runner.

I knew that I wasn’t going for a long run today before I left the house and so my route was confined to the neighborhood. As I was listening to Mirna’s inspiring story I came up in a dad helping his little girl learn to ride her bike without training wheels and I was reminded of teaching my son to ride. I found myself welling up with emotion. I had a huge smile and gave her a thumbs up and a “Good Job!” As I passed her. She hadn’t realized that her dad had let go of the seat. And then I felt the tears.

Maybe it was a mix of listening to that podcast and my own emotional memories of my son as a younger boy but I was suddenly full of emotion. So raw from all of this year. The tears just came out. And with each step there were more emotions.

It felt good, if somewhat odd, to be having a cry as I ran around the neighborhood. No one could have known anyway, what with all the sweat that was pouring down my face, but even if someone had noticed I wouldn’t have cared. I needed to let out those emotions.

I’ve been wondering about where this emotional release came from tonight and I think I have an answer. When the trauma first hit our family this year a friend suggested I look into EMDR therapy. I discussed it with my wife and she told me that she knew if it and that walking, hiking, and running can have the same effect on the brain as EMDR. I wasn’t sure I believed this, but several times we’ve been in hikes and our son has suddenly had an emotional release. And now I’ve experienced this myself.

I’ve always know that walking, hiking, and running were good for my soul, now I think I know a little better why this is so.

Posted on by damien 3