ADDICTION

__________________________________________________ADDICTION _________7/23/15

That word gets thrown about a lot. It seems to try to cover anything we are struggling with or would like to stop, but can’t. That’s a little too black and white for me.

To me it’s any activity that takes you away from your ability to experience the present moment.  Anything that your ego is using to distract you from experiencing your feelings. In many cases we need an addiction to help us get from one place to another. They are okay for that – but they are not a stopping place, not a place to hang out forever. We won’t be able to live an enjoyable life with our addiction keeping the motor going.

Our addictions are trying to tell us we’re in pain. They are not some horrible things that are trying to make us into terrible people and beat us into the ground.  Let’s follow that out and see if it’s true.

I started drinking at age 15. Someone asked me how I got the liquor. Easy, there were always a few guys who wanted to take out a girl who wanted to “party.”  We didn’t call it that in those days though. The first time I got drunk I threw up when I got home, but I loved it. Not the taste mind you, I hated the taste of it all. But something clicked in me – “this is it!”  I can be someone else with this stuff, safe from my memories, social ineptitude, fears and horrible pain. This was pretty much my life for about fifteen years including two marriages, numerous affairs, etc, etc. Not drinking age yet? No problems – with heels I was about 6’, then there’s the piled up hair, plenty of make-up and voila – “she looks 21 to me,” says the bartender. I thought I’d found a life.

After packing up and leaving Tucson (never did like that heat) I spent a couple of years in Texas where the drinking became daily and it’s a miracle that I held down my job. Now I was trying therapy. The pain was starting to break through the alcohol haze. I really wanted to be on the east coast – ocean – snow – yes. I figured I was so depressed I wouldn’t be long for this world so if I was going to die I wanted to do it someplace beautiful. This time I packed up and drove to Cape Cod. I’d started to learn medical transcription in Tucson and it became a good profession for me. On the Cape I meet my first female sweetheart; however, she decided to go back to her boyfriend – oh well. She had introduced me to a very charismatic minister, his church and their “mother” church. This is when the alcohol turned its back on me. It was not making me happy anymore, or helping me ignore my anger. No one in a bar wants to buy drinks for a bitch. I had no interest in cuddling up to anyone, much less to a man.

Fast forward. Being desperate for someone who’d run my life I found a Christian group who said I was “accepted” if I made two big changes; no more women and no more alcohol. My self-esteem was at a new low so as they ran me down emotionally, I thought they were right – I was nearly hopeless. Every week one of them would escort me to a meeting (so I wouldn’t talk to the “wrong” people). The craving to drink was awful that first year, but I didn’t want to get thrown out of the community. I did stay sober for a year and after a couple of years of not fitting in, no matter how much I tried, I fledged from that particular group of believers.

I also started therapy with a kind man who was great for a while, great for (what I was to find out later) the superficial problems. He also would not work with me if I drank so that brings us up to three years without a drink – thanks be to A. A.  But when I met the love of my life in Provincetown this same therapist said I was definitely not a lesbian (because I wore dresses?*%#). Okay what’s it going to be – leave her – leave him – leave her – leave him – hard decision (still barely able to trust my own feelings). I left HIM. And later I left her too because the untamed, wild storm of torment in me made our living together impossible. I didn’t want to live with me either.  Luckily as it turned out this woman and I found out we were much better together as the best of close friends.

     

For a lot of us, depression is an incurable, often terminal illness:

       

That’s the good news

    1.   Now you don’t have to wonder why it doesn’t go            away, but keeps coming back.

    2.   Now you don’t have to feel guilty because  people            love you, but that doesn’t help either.

     3.  Now you can relax and think about soothing yourself,      one of the best things you can do.

     4.  Now you can quit fighting it.

     5.  Now you can cry when you need to.

     6.  Now you can think about living with it instead of trying to kill it by killing yourself. 

When I heard about Robin Williams I was terribly sad and stunned. I  felt helpless. This deep sadness continued for weeks and entered  into my dreams. I told some friends that if I’d just had a chance to talk to him that day, I might have been able to do something about it. One guy asked what I’d have said to him – “let’s go get a drink,” that’s what I’d have said. Apparently he was an alcoholic and I know for sure that I’m one. But, “Hey Robin, I don’t think that’s a priority right now. It looks like there are more important things on your mind.”

Actually it’s kind of like A. A. in that it will help me stay alive and sane if I tell you how I do it, and you tell me how you don’t. Just think of me as your personal guide through the underworld and, if we’re lucky and pay attention, we’ll come through it alive.

Please don’t think for a minute that I’m not serious about this topic. Unrelenting depression took my father’s life when I was an infant. All I was told about him was that he tried suicide again and again, that he was extremely depressed and didn’t know what to do about it. Now this was 1946 so there weren’t many options, but it’s all the same. No matter what causes it; childhood abuse, psychological problems, crazy or suicidal genes, addiction.  I have a story to tell. It’s a true story. It’s my story.  I know it is not unique to me. I have to tell it because I can’t bear hearing or reading that another person has committed suicide - without my saying this. I’m not a writer and don’t have a college degree, but I’m 69 and I’ve learned a lot of things.

It’s true what Harvey Fierstein said, “don’t fuck with depression because all it wants to do is get you in a room alone and kill you. ^“

That's supposed to help someone?

Monday 7-27-15
A very good friend of mine just read the sentence about depression being incurable and possibly terminal and asked me how that could possibly be the good news. My explanation was that the black humor of it probably escapes her. It makes perfect sense to me. Once I accepted how serious depression was,  I was able to get serious about it. Most people who write well meaning articles, books, pep talks about depression do not have the faintest idea what it really feels like. Let's let them know on this site how serious we are about it. 

Most cancers are incurable so the patient has to learn to live with that, or they can go down fighting, or both. But no one tells them to just cheer up - they bring them cheese cake.  

Now with depression people try to cheer you up. How often does that work for you? Yea, not me either. We are the HARD CORE of depression-land. 

    "IT WILL PASS"  ( no, it won’t pass)            2-12-15

                    

If I had a dollar for every time this has been tossed casually to me, like a basketball.

Please stop listening to people who, when you tell them you’re depressed, tell you it will pass. That’s sort of like telling homeless, starving kids that their hunger will pass. It’s ridiculous! 

Sure it will pass, maybe for 10 minutes, but it will be back again and you know it, because you’ve experienced that many times. I have experienced that many times too.

So you’re stable on medications after trying many combinations. You have a good therapist. You are able to hold down a job or live on Social Security or some other program or your private budget. Now you need to learn to live with depression day in and day out.

I’m having a break from it today. The anger underneath it is tolerable today too. It feels so good to have a break. Some days the state under the depression is more fragile than others.  Today is about a 5. I can accept myself today.  I don’t have to be liked by people so desperately today.  All the same I know just as sure as I know my shoe size, that it will be back – without my invitation. 

I can “make friends” with it. I can be curious about it. I can put it in a box, wrap it in pretty paper with a bow and put it in a desk drawer. All these things I’ve been advised to do by caring people that mean well. I’ve worked with all these systems and many others.  People say they will be “there” for me, and I think they mean it. They just don’t have any idea of what that would really mean. When the darkness, fire, or gallons of mud envelop me these people are not there. If they were they would not want to be around me for long.

I experience what is called post-traumatic stress disorder. It is decidedly less painful now than when I discovered it. So which came first, the depression or the trauma? Who knows. It doesn’t really matter. I still have to deal with it almost every day.  It is better to talk about it than try to hide.  Squashing it with alcohol, sex, drugs, food, work or money only last for a while.  Right? Of course right. You know what I’m talking about.

More to come.................vss

Introduction - It's Working...!

For a lot of us, depression is an incurable, often terminal illness:

       

That’s the good news

·     Now you don’t have to wonder why it doesn’t go away, but keeps coming back.

·     Now you don’t have to feel guilty because  people love you, but that doesn’t help either.

·     Now you can relax and think about soothing yourself, one of the best things you can do.

·     Now you can quit fighting it.

·     Now you can cry when you need to.

·     Now you can think about living with it instead of trying to kill it by killing yourself.

When I heard about Robin Williams I was terribly sad and stunned. I  felt helpless. This deep sadness continued for weeks and entered  into my dreams. I told some friends that if I’d just had a chance to talk to him that day, I might have been able to do something about it. One guy asked what I’d have said to him – “let’s go get a drink,” that’s what I’d have said. Apparently he was an alcoholic and I know for sure that I’m one. But, “Hey Robin, I don’t think that’s a priority right now. It looks like there are more important things on your mind.”

Actually it’s kind of like A. A. in that it will help me stay alive and sane if I tell you how I do it, and you tell me how you don’t. Just think of me as your personal guide through the underworld and, if we’re lucky and pay attention, we’ll come through it alive.

Please don’t think for a minute that I’m not serious about this topic. Unrelenting depression took my father’s life when I was an infant. All I was told about him was that he tried suicide again and again, that he was extremely depressed and didn’t know what to do about it. Now this was 1946 so there weren’t many options, but it’s all the same. No matter what causes it; childhood abuse, psychological problems, crazy or suicidal genes, addiction.  I have a story to tell. It’s a true story. It’s my story.  I know it is not unique to me. I have to tell it because I can’t bear hearing or reading that another person has committed suicide - without my saying this. I’m not a writer and don’t have a college degree, but I’m 69 and I’ve learned a lot of things.                               

It’s true what Harvey Fierstein said,            

“don’t fuck with depression because 
all it wants to do is get you in a room alone and kill you. <sup>“

Visit again and leave me a comment. I'll reply.</sup>