To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

When I was little, my mother gave me children's cold medicine. It tasted like syrup. I liked it. She told me, "Don't ever take more than I give you. If you do, you'll go to sleep and never wake up."

Looking back, that was a strange way to explain death to a child. I remember believing her to mean I would literally fall into an eternal slumber, a la Sleeping Beauty or Snow White, requiring some dashing prince (or in my case, princess) to come along and break the spell. I didn't understand the permanence of death; the finality of it.

I recently sifted through my FaceBook friend list, amazed at how many people I know who have passed. As I looked back, I counted more than a dozen friends and family members whom I've lost over the years. A couple were taken by tragic accidents, a couple by early onset heart disease, but the rest, every last one, died as the result of addiction. 

Gone too young. Gone too soon.

The path of addiction leads one place: The Grave. 

Addiction has a 100% mortality rate. 

For addicts, the age of 65 is considered a "long life." Most suffer horrible, drawn-out deaths in their 40's and 50's.  I've known many, many, many active alcoholics and addicts... not one of them have lived past their mid 60's.

Not. One. 

To paraphrase a line from the brilliantly written "Stand By Me"... these folks ain't sick, these folks ain't sleeping, these folks are dead.

Sadly, I still have loved ones who live deep within their addiction. I have attempted to 12-Step them, to no avail. They stand in the queue to an early demise. There's nothing I can do.

For them, there will be no Prince Charming.

My focus must be on those who choose to live.

Chip Chap

I just took a chip for 21 years sober.

That's a long time.

To put it into perspective, someone born on my sobriety date would now be old enough to legally drink. Hard to believe it's been that long.

I think back to my first chip... a "Welcome" chip. 

I had always been able to quit drinking for short spurts, here and there, when I wanted (or needed) to. If I felt my drinking was getting too out of hand (which was all the time), I was able to hang up the bottle and dry out for a week or month, then hop back off the wagon.

This time was different. I couldn't put the bottle down for even one night. I poured all the booze down the sink, determined to stop myself from drinking... 20 minutes later I was standing in the liquor store. I got home, chastised myself, and poured all the newly bought liquor down the drain. 20 minutes later I was standing in the liquor store. 

I repeated this process 3-4 times (the liquor store owner must have thought I was either crazy or throwing a major rager) before I finally gave in and drank. It was at this point that I knew I couldn't do it alone and needed help.

I showed up to my first meeting, a "Newcomer's Meeting," at what was to become my home group in Burbank, CA. Walking into that room and asking for help was the HARDEST thing I've ever had to do, no contest. When they asked for newcomers to stand, identify, and accept a welcome chip, I complied. Trembling, I approached the front and accepted my first chip.

That chip, my Welcome Chip, was hands-down the HARDEST chip I've ever earned.

I don't remember much about that meeting, but I do remember the 30 day chips. I know other chips and cakes were taken, but I don't remember them. The 30 day chips stood out because they were attainable. I remember watching people receive their 30 day chips and thinking, "They're no different from me... if they can do that, I can do that."  

And I did. I put 30 days together and received my second chip in sobriety: My 30 day chip.

That chip, my 30 day chip, was the SECOND hardest chip I've ever earned.

Third hardest? My 60 day chip. 

You can see where I'm going with this - they've gotten progressively easier over the years.

This week, I took a chip for 21 years of sobriety and can say, without reservation, so far it's the easiest chip I've ever earned.

Good News, Bad News

Congratulations! You're sober! There's good news and bad news...

The good news: You get your emotions back. 

The bad news: You get your emotions back.

My emotional development arrested around the age of 19 (when I started drinking daily). For the next 15(ish) years, I lived inside a bottle with my emotions stuffed neatly in my pocket. 

I didn't have to deal with the pesky things... it was great!

Problem was, when I finally got sober in my 30's, I had the emotional maturity of a teenager. I had spent the prior decade running from my feelings. When I got sober, all those buried emotions surfaced and I had NO idea how to deal with them! I was a mess!

"Substance abuse" was not my problem. My anger, my sadness, my impatience... my "emotions" were my problem. My feelings caused me pain -- so I drank to stop feeling. 

Easy-peasy. 

Turns out, the pain was caused by early trauma that lived at the root of my addiction (I've never met an addict, in or out of the rooms, who didn't suffer from some sort of past trauma). Despite this, I could never recall the origin of the wound. I assumed it was there, perhaps something that happened in my infancy, some sort of abuse that I couldn't (or wouldn't) remember.

Then I learned something...

There are two types of trauma: "Big Trauma" (Big T) and "Little Trauma" (Little T). Big T's are the obvious traumas often trumpeted in today's headlines - child abuse/molestation, violence, sexual assault, tragic accidents, etc.. These are the major life events that leave deep scars, easily identified. 

Little T's are the smaller traumas that happen on a daily basis - bullying, neglect, criticism, name calling, etc..  These traumas are akin to "a death by a thousand cuts" as they go unnoticed until it's too late. They are the most pervasive because we tend to minimize them, "Oh that was no big deal... it was just sibling rivalry... that's just boys being boys... we all go through that... etc." The open neglect of this type of trauma burrows into a festering chasm within our psyche. 

Upon learning this new info, I took a deep look into my past. What happened to me? From where were those emotions bubbling?

Big T: Uncovering this trauma was easy, as there was really only one I could remember. At the age of 11 my family went on vacation. While swimming the hotel pool, I met an older boy who befriended me and invited me back to his hotel room. On the way, he said he needed to make a stop in the lobby men's room. Once inside, after confirming the restroom was empty, he pushed me into a stall and preceded to molest me. Fortunately, someone entered the restroom and scared him off before the attack could escalate to rape. It was a brief but highly traumatic encounter that left a deep scar.

Little T: I was severely bullied by an older sibling throughout my childhood. The beatings were constant, the name-calling was daily, the belittling was persistent, the abuse was unrelenting. It seemed my older brother hated me. The Little T's piled up, year upon year, until I was forced to build a defensive wall of anger and aggression to protect my fragile psyche. I refer to this as my "anger origin story."

I asked for help. I cried, I begged. My pleas went unheeded, my weeping unheard.

Both my Big and Little T's resulted in a core wound of "helplessness." All the trauma I had experienced made me feel weak and powerless. The minimization of the abuse expounded the helplessness. I realized at an early age that nobody could help me but me. I swore, when I was big enough, no one would ever push me around or hurt me again. 

Over the following years I trained in martial arts and firearms, lifted weights, and focussed my aggression. My triggers: The insults heaped on me as a child, any form of disrespect or bullying, and God help you if you dared touch me in anger. 

I would die on my feet, rather than live on my knees. 

The abuse formed my personality.

As a result, I've spent the last 20 years of sobriety working through my anger. A large part of my step-work involved identifying my character defects and taking small steps, every day, to work through the trauma. I've learned that patience is a big trigger for my anger, so that's where I've learned to put the most effort. 

I'm a long way from perfect, but I'm getting there... One day at a time.

-----------------------------------

Let me be perfectly clear about one thing: It's nobody's fault. 

I don't blame my brother in ANY way for my wounds. I love my brother. He was just a kid himself, dealing with trauma of his own and walking through it the only way he knew how - by acting out his anger. He was a child who had pain he didn't know how to deal with. I feel compassion for that scared, angry little boy.

Today my brother is one of my best friends. He grew to be a great husband, an amazing father, and a sincere man of God (not many people I can say that about). He has made a living-amends to me a thousand times over.

I also don't blame my parents. They were outstanding guardians who loved us, protected and provided for us, and did the best they could. It was a different time... they simply didn't know back then that we know today. I have only love and admiration for them.

No one is to blame. What happened, happened. I can spend my life pointing the finger and flying the "poor me" flag, or I can grab my tools and get to work on fixing myself.

If I don't, the only person I have to blame is me.