The Weight

Acceptance is the key.

Those in the rooms of recovery who are making a genuine attempt at sobriety oftentimes live by this mantra, and everyone who has entered one of those rooms has heard it. It is part of our new way of thinking and it is a cornerstone of that new and mentally health mindset. It is one of those statements whose meaning you begin to grasp when you look for the way to live “normally” and try to deal with life’s issues in a constructive way. For me it has meant peace and balance in the worst of times and an anchor in the rest.

A philosophy of acceptance can lead you many good places, but acceptance without due time and attention to processing and grief can provide only a temporary respite from the storm. By itself it can keep you sober, but if that is as far as you get you might be setting yourself up for relapse when the unresolved junk bubbles back up to the surface. It is the first step but truthfully should not be the only one taken, much like stopping the drinking, using or acting out behaviors is the required beginning of your walk down the path of sobriety but that alone is simply not enough.

Acceptance with no follow-up can be a temporary victory. As many of those in my life are aware, I've seen my share of difficulty both in and outside of the context of addiction or recovery. I have dealt with tragic loss and my own physical and mental limitations. It is only very recently that I came to realize that I had a great deal of anger and hurt that was seemingly lying dormant inside; these negative emotions popped back up in full force because I’d not allowed myself the space to work through feelings and emotions that resulted from some difficult circumstances.

That energy doesn't just go away. You have to respect your own need to think, feel and process in order to work through the difficulties and trials you will inevitably face.

A few days ago I heard something profoundly powerful in a twelve step meeting: sometimes you just have to sit and hurt. In dealing with the roller coaster of beginning a new career and learning of my sister’s death within an hour of each other, I haven’t ever really just allowed myself to sit and hurt because I am deathly afraid of getting stuck there. As with most things, I see it as very all-or-nothing and struggle to find moderation. I didn't really acknowledge my own feelings and by extension didn't really deal with them.

In this sense I have not progressed that much from my days as a raging alcoholic and ravenous drug abuser who was running from the pain of losing my father barely more than a year after I myself nearly died - I have still been avoiding my feelings and emotions rather than dealing with them.

Progress, not perfection.

This is another mantra of sobriety, and it may just be the one that gets me through today.

Panic

Many of the readers of this blog know that it's as much a valuable part of my recovery as it can be for anyone else's. I utilize my posts to help me process through sobriety’s challenges or insights shared in rooms of recovery. I like to be vulnerable in my posts in order to feel liberated from some struggles and to also hopefully help someone feel as though they are not alone. The theme of this post is a bit different than my usual but no less important and maybe even more applicable to those who aren't in some phase of addiction.

Several months ago I experienced something that left me pretty confused and more than a little alarmed. Driving one morning on my way to Nashville to work out of the office I began having difficulty breathing and my heart began racing. I started to feel myself about to black out. In and of themselves, these symptoms are cause for concern; I also happened to be going 70+ miles an hour down the interstate.

I pulled over on the shoulder and breathed deeply until I felt myself calming down and beginning to feel normal. Naturally it scared me, but not knowing exactly what had happened or what had caused it I didn't really seek help or tell may people. I truly wondered if I’d had a heart attack or a stroke. This was a powerful incident that I hoped would never repeat itself, but my addict instinct took over and I figured that if I ignored it, it would go away.

A few Saturdays ago I ventured out into the pouring rain and thawing icy snow-slush to head to Nashville for a commitment I had made earlier in the week. I got up early for my 9:30 appointment and waited until about 8 to leave so that the rain might melt as much of the snow and ice as possible. On my way on I-24, I hit several spots of standing water and my vehicle hydroplaned a bit.

I felt myself slipping into another one of those crazy “episodes” and this time the panic nearly won out as due to the snow and ice there was no place to pull over. I drove about twenty miles in some stage of this whatever-the-heck and pulled into a gas station parking lot just on the outskirts of downtown Nashville. I sat in my car for ten minutes or so just trying to collect myself; I then pulled into a parking spot, went inside the bathroom and threw up. Twice.

I proceeded (with caution) to my commitment and fulfilled my obligations. On the way home, the weirdness started to happen again so I stopped at a gas station, grabbed some food and water and sat until thought I might be ready to drive without risking my brain flipping out and it causing me to wreck. I managed to make it home and was in no rush to leave my house for the next few hours. Or days. Or maybe even a week.

Upon doing a bit of research I figured out that I had been having panic attacks; truth be told upon making this discovery I almost wished it had been a heart attack. I saw panic attack and immediately thought: “But, I don’t panic about stuff. I don’t freak out and I don’t really even allow myself to feel afraid often. What the hell? Does this mean I’m really a fake? Does this mean I've turned into a sissy? Who have I become?”

I questioned many things about myself before I allowed it to sink in that this was a reaction over which I had zero control. I remembered that some years ago after my (horrible, awful, no good very bad) wreck I was diagnosed as having post-traumatic stress and that it was something that could maybe pop back up sometime.

I sought out a bit of additional support in the form of therapeutic treatment - it goes without saying that medication is not an option that as a recovering addict I will readily take (if there is no other choice I will at least give it some more thought before I say no) but therapy is something in which I believe and I know that it works for many people. I am in the very beginning stages of wading through the layers of what may be going on, but I feel good about our direction and the topics we are addressing.

Believe me when I say that our first hour-long session brought up more than one topic that could be the basis of a future post, but for now I will keep them where they are and continue the work in front of me.