Nobody said it was easy
Aww It’s such a shame for us to part
Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said it would be so hard
I’m goin’ back to the start
Coldplay "The Scientist"
October 29, 2007
We live in a culture of victimhood. It has become so easy to remove accountability for ourselves by making attributions about the past, that people now cherish and even celebrate their victimhood. This in many ways reflects the current culture in psychology. We remove the load from someone by assigning them an insurance code. This allows people to justify their behavior and often perpetuates a self-fulfilling prophecy. I can't control myself you see because I am, (Borderline, Bipolar, ADHD), etc. etc. etc. Much of this is bullshit. For most people there comes a point in their life when they look into the mirror and realize its' time to take responsibility for their own behavior. This is why change happens. Not through medicine, psychotherapy, or religious experience, although all those things can certainly help as well as hinder.
That being said, it is also tremendously important to figure out where you've been and why you've been there before you can move forward. Our thoughts and behavior are deeply habituated, and without insight we can simply become little more than trained mice. This is the curse of the frontal lobes. We have insight and we can "think about our own thinking."
Even now I am stalling. I write all this because I realize I am going to have to make a deep examination of my own childhood that for many years has been filed away like a tax return that is now being audited. I will do this with my therapist but also through journaling and painful self-introspection.
The fact is I had an alcoholic father. He was funny, gregarious, a pathological liar, and nearly totally absent from my life. I loved being with him, but also knew my mom hated him for abandoning us. This shaped the way I see the world. Men are........ funny, friendly, yes, both good things. Men must...... lie when they have to, the truth is something that gets in the way of a good story. Men solve problems by........ Drinking, running, fleeing, avoiding. I swore I would never be like my father, but reading these things I know for a great deal of my life I have been all of these things.
What makes me different from my father is I became a doctor and developed some insight into the human condition as well as into my own behavior. To this point this has been virtually no comfort whatsoever. But... Perhaps I am strong enough to change although I haven't been so far. Perhaps the strongest thing I've learned from my father is that alcohol is necessary for people to have a good time. This has been, unfortunately very true in my own life and a piece of this puzzle I have yet to solve. I will continue to think about this and challenge myself to find at least one other reason to smile today. Perhaps this will be a start. Writing this down I feel I have exorcised a little piece of my demons. This has been useful.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Day 9
October 28, 2007
People spend a lifetime searching for happiness; looking for peace. They chase idle dreams, addictions, religions, even other people, hoping to fill the emptiness that plagues them. The irony is the only place they ever needed to search was within.
Ramona Anderson
Sunday Night Pathos
Sunday night is the most dangerous night for a serious drinker. On the weekend the bars are packed and you can blend in with everyone else, but on Sundays the dust has settled and the line between the amateur and the professional is clearly drawn.
Sunday night drinking is all about dread. After a weekend of drinking the sense of guilt one feels is spectacular, and to make matters worse the pending doom of a new week of work hangs over you like a dark cloud. A weekend of serious drinking leaves your body in physical pain from dehydration, poor sleep, and the inexplicable injuries that all drinkers know too well. The bind here is tremendous. One option is to sit and live through the punishment you have inflicted on yourself. This will be the longest day of your life. Simply leaving the house is a tremendous chore, and what food you can eat will be only for temporary comfort. Time will come to a virtual standstill, and you will become overwhelmed by a sense of your own inferiority.
Or..... You can go to a bar and find some of your own kind to share the load with. This is not drinking for pleasure but drinking for relief. Relief from your filthy home and relief from your filthy thoughts and relief from your filthy life.
I've always been partial to jazz bars on Sunday nights. The dark poetry of the saxophone cuts through me like a knife, and it is strangely cathartic to let this music overwhelm you. Much of this music was written by people in pain. Much of any music is written by people in pain. So it is with great trepidation that I walk into my local bar and sit down. I walk over to the jukebox and look for some money to play a song. I select Neil Young's "Unknown Legend" and sit down, hoping the waitress won't see me for a while. I select this song because it reminds me of how a person may have alternate lives. I have an alternate life in mind for myself, but I don't know exactly where the road forked. Where should I have zigged when I should have zagged? I can't picture where that life might have gone, and I have a very unclear picture of where this one is going to go. All the same I am strangely comforted by hearing the song. Luckily the waitress was too busy to wait on me and I am able to finish the song without a drink. As I walk slowly to the door I see a man and we lock eyes and slowly nod in each other's direction. It's likely we have met before, perhaps even had an in-depth conversation, but for tonight we are strangers and this makes me happy. I turn and exit the bar. Having escaped, just barely. Cleansed of my iniquities for tonight and thinking about different realities.
People spend a lifetime searching for happiness; looking for peace. They chase idle dreams, addictions, religions, even other people, hoping to fill the emptiness that plagues them. The irony is the only place they ever needed to search was within.
Ramona Anderson
Sunday Night Pathos
Sunday night is the most dangerous night for a serious drinker. On the weekend the bars are packed and you can blend in with everyone else, but on Sundays the dust has settled and the line between the amateur and the professional is clearly drawn.
Sunday night drinking is all about dread. After a weekend of drinking the sense of guilt one feels is spectacular, and to make matters worse the pending doom of a new week of work hangs over you like a dark cloud. A weekend of serious drinking leaves your body in physical pain from dehydration, poor sleep, and the inexplicable injuries that all drinkers know too well. The bind here is tremendous. One option is to sit and live through the punishment you have inflicted on yourself. This will be the longest day of your life. Simply leaving the house is a tremendous chore, and what food you can eat will be only for temporary comfort. Time will come to a virtual standstill, and you will become overwhelmed by a sense of your own inferiority.
Or..... You can go to a bar and find some of your own kind to share the load with. This is not drinking for pleasure but drinking for relief. Relief from your filthy home and relief from your filthy thoughts and relief from your filthy life.
I've always been partial to jazz bars on Sunday nights. The dark poetry of the saxophone cuts through me like a knife, and it is strangely cathartic to let this music overwhelm you. Much of this music was written by people in pain. Much of any music is written by people in pain. So it is with great trepidation that I walk into my local bar and sit down. I walk over to the jukebox and look for some money to play a song. I select Neil Young's "Unknown Legend" and sit down, hoping the waitress won't see me for a while. I select this song because it reminds me of how a person may have alternate lives. I have an alternate life in mind for myself, but I don't know exactly where the road forked. Where should I have zigged when I should have zagged? I can't picture where that life might have gone, and I have a very unclear picture of where this one is going to go. All the same I am strangely comforted by hearing the song. Luckily the waitress was too busy to wait on me and I am able to finish the song without a drink. As I walk slowly to the door I see a man and we lock eyes and slowly nod in each other's direction. It's likely we have met before, perhaps even had an in-depth conversation, but for tonight we are strangers and this makes me happy. I turn and exit the bar. Having escaped, just barely. Cleansed of my iniquities for tonight and thinking about different realities.
Day 8
October 27, 2007
One must choose in life between boredom and suffering
Madame De Staal
It's Saturday night and I'm sitting in a coffee shop looking around. I've always wondered what kind of people hang around these places when others are out having fun, and I realize they look a lot like me. Back when I was a younger man and intent on pursuing a career as a writer, I used to sit in these kinds of places and make up imaginary stories and backgrounds about people I saw to jumpstart my creative inspiration. Today I look around and see blank faces, isolation, and alienation. This is how I perceive others because at this moment this is how I perceive myself. I have problems with intimacy which is an unusual problem for a psychologist as I have in many ways the most intimate job in the world. Many of my friendships are based on alcohol, and these are not true friendships but instead a happy liars club content to leave our shared insecurities unspoken. Camus said "Don't believe your friends when they ask you to be honest with them. All they really want is to be maintained in the good opinion they have of themselves". This is the essence of the alcoholic friendship. You take turns buying each other drinks and raising glasses to each other as a component of your shared denial. This I know from many years spent in bars.
Boredom is a key component of alcoholism. Drinking lets you turn the remote control in your head to another channel for a while, and this is often a welcome distraction. Without this variety life can become hopelessly repetitive.
And yet...... Many people seem to move through life taking this in stride. Their little lives keep them busy and content enough to keep moving on without the use of mind-altering substances. Kind of... Most people have some kind of distracting addiction such as food or television, or even their children or their family. Although I believe this, I also realize I'm rationalizing my own addiction here. Some poor soul who stuffs herself for emotional comfort while watching American Idol has nothing to do with me drinking myself to death. Not really.
I crave stimulation. I want to be inspired. Often I feel these things when I'm drinking, but these brilliant flashes of insight vanish as each evening creeps to a murky and hazy end. I feel like I almost touch it, almost get it in these little moments, and then the moment passes. I wake up feeling awful and with a terrible sense of dread for what I might have said or done the night before. No amount of distraction or insight is worth this feeling. But yet we come back for more. For years we come back for more. Years and years and years of our lives disappear and we can't account for any of it. It's not really living and it's not really dying, but some kind of terrible purgatory in between.
So I find myself in a coffee shop at midnight on a Saturday Night. I spot an attractive woman sitting across from me and for a moment I catch her eye. What is she doing here? I look around and see a couple holding hands and laughing and they look like perfectly happy people content to be sitting here enjoying each other's company. I realize in this moment that I am seeing these people's humanity as opposed to my own alienation I projected onto them when I first entered the shop. Perhaps the storm clouds of my depression are moving a little. I hope so. It's 12:01. I have survived my first weekend sober in at least ten years. Things could be worse. I continue to think there might be hope.
One must choose in life between boredom and suffering
Madame De Staal
It's Saturday night and I'm sitting in a coffee shop looking around. I've always wondered what kind of people hang around these places when others are out having fun, and I realize they look a lot like me. Back when I was a younger man and intent on pursuing a career as a writer, I used to sit in these kinds of places and make up imaginary stories and backgrounds about people I saw to jumpstart my creative inspiration. Today I look around and see blank faces, isolation, and alienation. This is how I perceive others because at this moment this is how I perceive myself. I have problems with intimacy which is an unusual problem for a psychologist as I have in many ways the most intimate job in the world. Many of my friendships are based on alcohol, and these are not true friendships but instead a happy liars club content to leave our shared insecurities unspoken. Camus said "Don't believe your friends when they ask you to be honest with them. All they really want is to be maintained in the good opinion they have of themselves". This is the essence of the alcoholic friendship. You take turns buying each other drinks and raising glasses to each other as a component of your shared denial. This I know from many years spent in bars.
Boredom is a key component of alcoholism. Drinking lets you turn the remote control in your head to another channel for a while, and this is often a welcome distraction. Without this variety life can become hopelessly repetitive.
And yet...... Many people seem to move through life taking this in stride. Their little lives keep them busy and content enough to keep moving on without the use of mind-altering substances. Kind of... Most people have some kind of distracting addiction such as food or television, or even their children or their family. Although I believe this, I also realize I'm rationalizing my own addiction here. Some poor soul who stuffs herself for emotional comfort while watching American Idol has nothing to do with me drinking myself to death. Not really.
I crave stimulation. I want to be inspired. Often I feel these things when I'm drinking, but these brilliant flashes of insight vanish as each evening creeps to a murky and hazy end. I feel like I almost touch it, almost get it in these little moments, and then the moment passes. I wake up feeling awful and with a terrible sense of dread for what I might have said or done the night before. No amount of distraction or insight is worth this feeling. But yet we come back for more. For years we come back for more. Years and years and years of our lives disappear and we can't account for any of it. It's not really living and it's not really dying, but some kind of terrible purgatory in between.
So I find myself in a coffee shop at midnight on a Saturday Night. I spot an attractive woman sitting across from me and for a moment I catch her eye. What is she doing here? I look around and see a couple holding hands and laughing and they look like perfectly happy people content to be sitting here enjoying each other's company. I realize in this moment that I am seeing these people's humanity as opposed to my own alienation I projected onto them when I first entered the shop. Perhaps the storm clouds of my depression are moving a little. I hope so. It's 12:01. I have survived my first weekend sober in at least ten years. Things could be worse. I continue to think there might be hope.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Day 7
October 26, 2007
Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster, when you look into the abyss, the abyss looks into you
Frederick Nietzsche
I've heard some things in therapy that I truly couldn't believe. Doctors who end a successful day by physically banging their heads into cement walls, children who believe demons come into their room and terrorize them, people who dream of having sex with animals, and on and on and on. All the while I normalize and pretend these stories don't bother me when in fact I am often haunted by them. One thing I have learned unequivocally in my years as a therapist is that large numbers of people are much more troubled than most people would believe. Some of this is my bias because I hear so many of these stories personally. I have however, certainly spoken with a wide enough cross-section of people to learn that many people have dark secrets that are like an undertow that constantly threatens to swallow them up and drown them.
Me too. Perhaps me especially. Alcohol is my secret. But I also want to get behind the secrets that feed that secret. Where did it start? How does one become so disgusted by their own thoughts? I often prescribe cognitive-behavioral "techniques" to people to confront their negative thinking when I can't even do this myself. Quite simply, there is more to confronting pathology than simply learning to think positively. Often you have to go deeper, to the roots of the poison tree, before you can truly begin the process of real change.
I avoid A.A meetings because I dislike platitudes and cliches although I use them often myself. I love groups however and firmly believe in their power and efficacy. Perhaps I will look into joining another group besides A.A. As a student I went to A.A meetings as part of my studies and nearly burst out laughing at the exchange of the little sayings. Needless to say it wasn't for me. That being said I acknowledge that it is the single most successful way to treat alcoholism. I am not ready to say the "disease" of alcoholism, although I know I am personally diseased. Perhaps this is a level of denial. I am not "powerless" over alcoholism. I am a rational and intelligent person who can make choices. Right? The evidence suggests otherwise. I want to think deeper and understand why I dislike A.A so much. Perhaps it is because joining this group would mean I was just like everyone else. What would that mean? To me it would mean that I am not special and this is a belief I am not ready to dismiss quite yet. I can think this through, although the minute I right this down I understand this is a very common tool of denial. I am a week sober now. It has been hard, and I am bored, but I also am proud and hopeful. I am changing because I am thinking. I know I will have to go much deeper though and it scares me. I am in uncharted waters and I am alone. All the same I feel something today I haven't felt in a while and that is curiosity and anticipation about the future.
Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster, when you look into the abyss, the abyss looks into you
Frederick Nietzsche
I've heard some things in therapy that I truly couldn't believe. Doctors who end a successful day by physically banging their heads into cement walls, children who believe demons come into their room and terrorize them, people who dream of having sex with animals, and on and on and on. All the while I normalize and pretend these stories don't bother me when in fact I am often haunted by them. One thing I have learned unequivocally in my years as a therapist is that large numbers of people are much more troubled than most people would believe. Some of this is my bias because I hear so many of these stories personally. I have however, certainly spoken with a wide enough cross-section of people to learn that many people have dark secrets that are like an undertow that constantly threatens to swallow them up and drown them.
Me too. Perhaps me especially. Alcohol is my secret. But I also want to get behind the secrets that feed that secret. Where did it start? How does one become so disgusted by their own thoughts? I often prescribe cognitive-behavioral "techniques" to people to confront their negative thinking when I can't even do this myself. Quite simply, there is more to confronting pathology than simply learning to think positively. Often you have to go deeper, to the roots of the poison tree, before you can truly begin the process of real change.
I avoid A.A meetings because I dislike platitudes and cliches although I use them often myself. I love groups however and firmly believe in their power and efficacy. Perhaps I will look into joining another group besides A.A. As a student I went to A.A meetings as part of my studies and nearly burst out laughing at the exchange of the little sayings. Needless to say it wasn't for me. That being said I acknowledge that it is the single most successful way to treat alcoholism. I am not ready to say the "disease" of alcoholism, although I know I am personally diseased. Perhaps this is a level of denial. I am not "powerless" over alcoholism. I am a rational and intelligent person who can make choices. Right? The evidence suggests otherwise. I want to think deeper and understand why I dislike A.A so much. Perhaps it is because joining this group would mean I was just like everyone else. What would that mean? To me it would mean that I am not special and this is a belief I am not ready to dismiss quite yet. I can think this through, although the minute I right this down I understand this is a very common tool of denial. I am a week sober now. It has been hard, and I am bored, but I also am proud and hopeful. I am changing because I am thinking. I know I will have to go much deeper though and it scares me. I am in uncharted waters and I am alone. All the same I feel something today I haven't felt in a while and that is curiosity and anticipation about the future.
Friday, October 26, 2007
Day 6
October 25, 2007
I saw my therapist again today, and left the session irritated and angry. She confronted me about some of my irrational thoughts, (her job) and perhaps it was because it was the first time in quite a while that someone has spoken that way to me that I felt so upset. The anhedonia I feel right now is tremendous. Nothing seems any fun anymore, and I know this a pretty strong indicator of depression. The fact is that I get a lot out of my drinking. Courage, vacation time from my thoughts, as well as camaraderie and friendship.
On the other hand.........For the alcoholic, drinking is a form of slow and insidious suicide. The compulsive need to escape your own thoughts is similar to what a suicidal person experiences when they simply can't stand the reality of consciousness anymore. That's the truth about alcoholism.
But what about me? Is my life so bad? Some days it seems like it is while others I feel like I can take on the world. To paraphrase the late, great Jerry Garcia, "Sometimes the lights are shining on me, other times I can barely see." These are perhaps my all-time favorite song lyrics and words I reflect on often as I stumble though my life.
On my worst days it feels like nothing I do really matters. People come into my office and unload their problems on me and then return to their lives and do nothing to evoke real change. The fact of the matter is I despise this quality in others because I despise this quality in myself.
One of the ideas about psychotherapy is that you must return to the time of your childhood injuries and, with the help of the therapist correct these painful emotional experiences. Some people call this reparenting. I do this with others all the time, but am simply too proud to acknowledge that I myself am badly in need of this as well.
The fact is that guilt and shame attack the self, and I have a great deal of both. The remarkable thing about alcohol is that it is both the prescription for, as well as the cause of, nearly all of my guilt and shame. I drink to escape the guilt, and then wake up feeling even guiltier. This is vicious cycle. If I'm going to change my life I'm going to have to find ways to break this cycle. This may involve getting worse before I get better, and this is something I am prepared for intellectually but is in reality a very disturbing and difficult process.
My guilt is all I have left. If I lose it, I have stood for nothing, done nothing, been nothing.
William Kennedy
I saw my therapist again today, and left the session irritated and angry. She confronted me about some of my irrational thoughts, (her job) and perhaps it was because it was the first time in quite a while that someone has spoken that way to me that I felt so upset. The anhedonia I feel right now is tremendous. Nothing seems any fun anymore, and I know this a pretty strong indicator of depression. The fact is that I get a lot out of my drinking. Courage, vacation time from my thoughts, as well as camaraderie and friendship.
On the other hand.........For the alcoholic, drinking is a form of slow and insidious suicide. The compulsive need to escape your own thoughts is similar to what a suicidal person experiences when they simply can't stand the reality of consciousness anymore. That's the truth about alcoholism.
But what about me? Is my life so bad? Some days it seems like it is while others I feel like I can take on the world. To paraphrase the late, great Jerry Garcia, "Sometimes the lights are shining on me, other times I can barely see." These are perhaps my all-time favorite song lyrics and words I reflect on often as I stumble though my life.
On my worst days it feels like nothing I do really matters. People come into my office and unload their problems on me and then return to their lives and do nothing to evoke real change. The fact of the matter is I despise this quality in others because I despise this quality in myself.
One of the ideas about psychotherapy is that you must return to the time of your childhood injuries and, with the help of the therapist correct these painful emotional experiences. Some people call this reparenting. I do this with others all the time, but am simply too proud to acknowledge that I myself am badly in need of this as well.
The fact is that guilt and shame attack the self, and I have a great deal of both. The remarkable thing about alcohol is that it is both the prescription for, as well as the cause of, nearly all of my guilt and shame. I drink to escape the guilt, and then wake up feeling even guiltier. This is vicious cycle. If I'm going to change my life I'm going to have to find ways to break this cycle. This may involve getting worse before I get better, and this is something I am prepared for intellectually but is in reality a very disturbing and difficult process.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Day 5
October 24, 2007
I wanted to write about the moment when your addictions no longer hide the truth from you. When your whole life breaks down. That's the moment when you have to somehow choose what your life is going to be about.
Chuck Palahniuk
I include this quote because it describes perfectly how I feel today. With my evenings now not occupied by drinking, I have had time to revisit some of my favorite authors, and I really found myself thinking about why it might be that so many truly creative minds turn to alcohol.
Role call, Edgar Allen Poe, Stephen Crane, Dylan Thomas, Theodore Roethke, Eugene O'Neil, Herman Melville, Hart Crane, F. Scott Fitzgerald, William Faulkner,Truman Capote, Jack London, not to mention Hemmingway and Steinbeck, and more recently William Styron and Hunter S. Thompson.
This list is the tip of the iceberg. I want to think about this list without rationalizing my own drinking, which is something I've done in the past and something nearly every alcoholic does at one point in their drinking career. Upward social comparison. Acknowledging that yes, I do drink a lot, but so does ( insert famous person) so really things are tough all over. Interestingly we also use the reverse point of logic and often think of some poor sap whose station in life is worse than ours. Such as, sure I drink a lot, but nowhere near what that pathetic, (insert worst drunk we know) does who lost his job, family, etc. etc. This kind of thinking is quicksand for the alcoholic and something I desperately want to confront and avoid.
All the same, I do want to understand why all these writers needed the bottle for inspiration. My guess is that creativity is the rope that helps us pull ourselves up from our own self-loathing. This is the case with me. I summon all of my creative powers in these moments because its the only way I escape the bondage of thinking about my own self-destructive behavior.
Anyway it helps to write some of these thoughts down. Four days with my own uninterrupted thoughts has left me feeling pensive, and I find that I am on the verge of discovering something. It is hopeful to think there might be something new on the horizon. Some new thoughts to replace the ones that have defeated me for so long. I am reminded of Camus' words "In the midst of winter, I finally found there was within me an invisible summer."
Still, even now, I know a part of me is lying. I want a drink and I want to go back to what is familiar. I fear change, while also desperately wanting something different. I am stuck. I believe in one day, and even one minute at a time as a concept but in the end these are cheap platitudes I can't quite get behind. Being like other alcoholics would make me ordinary, and that is the thing I fear the most. Joining a 12-step group would make me a loser, right? I of course know the absurdity of this statement, while also firmly believing it.
In psychology when a person comes to us for help, we are trained to ask ourselves, how is this person like all other people, how is the person like some other people, and how is this person like no other people. Why can't I apply this same idea to myself. Why can't I admit that I am like a great many other people, while also maintaining my own identity and creativity? Is this possible? The answer to this question may hold one of the keys to my sobriety. I have no answer yet, and so my struggle continues. John Donne tells us that "no man is an island" while Jean-Paul Sartre reminds us that "Hell is other people." In many ways they're both right. My journey continues.
I wanted to write about the moment when your addictions no longer hide the truth from you. When your whole life breaks down. That's the moment when you have to somehow choose what your life is going to be about.
Chuck Palahniuk
I include this quote because it describes perfectly how I feel today. With my evenings now not occupied by drinking, I have had time to revisit some of my favorite authors, and I really found myself thinking about why it might be that so many truly creative minds turn to alcohol.
Role call, Edgar Allen Poe, Stephen Crane, Dylan Thomas, Theodore Roethke, Eugene O'Neil, Herman Melville, Hart Crane, F. Scott Fitzgerald, William Faulkner,Truman Capote, Jack London, not to mention Hemmingway and Steinbeck, and more recently William Styron and Hunter S. Thompson.
This list is the tip of the iceberg. I want to think about this list without rationalizing my own drinking, which is something I've done in the past and something nearly every alcoholic does at one point in their drinking career. Upward social comparison. Acknowledging that yes, I do drink a lot, but so does ( insert famous person) so really things are tough all over. Interestingly we also use the reverse point of logic and often think of some poor sap whose station in life is worse than ours. Such as, sure I drink a lot, but nowhere near what that pathetic, (insert worst drunk we know) does who lost his job, family, etc. etc. This kind of thinking is quicksand for the alcoholic and something I desperately want to confront and avoid.
All the same, I do want to understand why all these writers needed the bottle for inspiration. My guess is that creativity is the rope that helps us pull ourselves up from our own self-loathing. This is the case with me. I summon all of my creative powers in these moments because its the only way I escape the bondage of thinking about my own self-destructive behavior.
Anyway it helps to write some of these thoughts down. Four days with my own uninterrupted thoughts has left me feeling pensive, and I find that I am on the verge of discovering something. It is hopeful to think there might be something new on the horizon. Some new thoughts to replace the ones that have defeated me for so long. I am reminded of Camus' words "In the midst of winter, I finally found there was within me an invisible summer."
Still, even now, I know a part of me is lying. I want a drink and I want to go back to what is familiar. I fear change, while also desperately wanting something different. I am stuck. I believe in one day, and even one minute at a time as a concept but in the end these are cheap platitudes I can't quite get behind. Being like other alcoholics would make me ordinary, and that is the thing I fear the most. Joining a 12-step group would make me a loser, right? I of course know the absurdity of this statement, while also firmly believing it.
In psychology when a person comes to us for help, we are trained to ask ourselves, how is this person like all other people, how is the person like some other people, and how is this person like no other people. Why can't I apply this same idea to myself. Why can't I admit that I am like a great many other people, while also maintaining my own identity and creativity? Is this possible? The answer to this question may hold one of the keys to my sobriety. I have no answer yet, and so my struggle continues. John Donne tells us that "no man is an island" while Jean-Paul Sartre reminds us that "Hell is other people." In many ways they're both right. My journey continues.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Day 4
October 23, 2007
I woke up in the middle of the night today and couldn't get back to sleep. I couldn't stop thinking about how I got here, and how the man I have become is nothing like the one I envisioned myself to be. I am trying very hard not to beat myself up over the things I've done, but I also realize that I have likely hurt others by some of my actions over the last several years. How many times was I on auto-pilot as a therapist when someone came to me with one of their problems? All the time. It was Carl Jung who said that it was only the wounded healer who could heal, and if this is the case I should be the Mother Theresa of psychotherapy. I don't want to fall into pity for myself but rather take responsibility for the past, deal with it, and then let it go. Is this possible? My work tells me probably not. The historical, genetic, environmental, and personality inertia that got me here is very complex and powerful, and their are pieces of my life I don't wish to revisit. But what is the cost? Another 20 years of alcoholism? This doesn't seem bearable. I feel stuck, unable to move forward and unable to escape the past. This is of course how 90 percent of my clients also see the world. It's a tough bind and I'm not sure there's an easy answer to it.
Later in the day I make an appointment to see a therapist. I pick one in a neighboring town so as to avoid gossip about my problem. Although therapists are bound and sworn to confidentiality, we gossip as much as any other profession, perhaps more. I have been guilty of this myself. Spinning a yarn about someone who is deeply in pain for the amusement of my colleagues. I am good at this. For the first time today I'm thinking how it would feel for someone to hear and bear witness to these betrayals at their expense. Hypocritically I don't want to be the object of some other therapist's after hours banter. In my sober mind I think about this a great deal and pledge to put myself in my client's shoes before doing this again.
I meet my therapist in the afternoon and am immediately bowled over by her intelligence and charm. I remind myself that I am not here to admire or charm her, but instead enter into a deep and meaningful relationship that may change my life. Still, she is dazzling. I recognize how this transference may get in the way of my disclosure, and vow to put it out of my mind. Part of me thinks if I had just met a woman like this when I was younger things may have been different for me. But this is a lie. The fact is that I have been with many extraordinary women and found a reason to push them all away. If therapy is going to work, I will have to build a relationship with this woman based on honesty, full disclosure, and trust. Then I may take what I have built in this relationship and use it in my life. That is the theory anyway. The reality is often much different. Many people change for reasons having very little to do with us. Still, I know I have done some good in therapy and I believe in the process.
You are not a beautiful, unique snowflake... This is your life, and it's ending one minute at a time.
Chuck Palahniuk
I woke up in the middle of the night today and couldn't get back to sleep. I couldn't stop thinking about how I got here, and how the man I have become is nothing like the one I envisioned myself to be. I am trying very hard not to beat myself up over the things I've done, but I also realize that I have likely hurt others by some of my actions over the last several years. How many times was I on auto-pilot as a therapist when someone came to me with one of their problems? All the time. It was Carl Jung who said that it was only the wounded healer who could heal, and if this is the case I should be the Mother Theresa of psychotherapy. I don't want to fall into pity for myself but rather take responsibility for the past, deal with it, and then let it go. Is this possible? My work tells me probably not. The historical, genetic, environmental, and personality inertia that got me here is very complex and powerful, and their are pieces of my life I don't wish to revisit. But what is the cost? Another 20 years of alcoholism? This doesn't seem bearable. I feel stuck, unable to move forward and unable to escape the past. This is of course how 90 percent of my clients also see the world. It's a tough bind and I'm not sure there's an easy answer to it.
Later in the day I make an appointment to see a therapist. I pick one in a neighboring town so as to avoid gossip about my problem. Although therapists are bound and sworn to confidentiality, we gossip as much as any other profession, perhaps more. I have been guilty of this myself. Spinning a yarn about someone who is deeply in pain for the amusement of my colleagues. I am good at this. For the first time today I'm thinking how it would feel for someone to hear and bear witness to these betrayals at their expense. Hypocritically I don't want to be the object of some other therapist's after hours banter. In my sober mind I think about this a great deal and pledge to put myself in my client's shoes before doing this again.
I meet my therapist in the afternoon and am immediately bowled over by her intelligence and charm. I remind myself that I am not here to admire or charm her, but instead enter into a deep and meaningful relationship that may change my life. Still, she is dazzling. I recognize how this transference may get in the way of my disclosure, and vow to put it out of my mind. Part of me thinks if I had just met a woman like this when I was younger things may have been different for me. But this is a lie. The fact is that I have been with many extraordinary women and found a reason to push them all away. If therapy is going to work, I will have to build a relationship with this woman based on honesty, full disclosure, and trust. Then I may take what I have built in this relationship and use it in my life. That is the theory anyway. The reality is often much different. Many people change for reasons having very little to do with us. Still, I know I have done some good in therapy and I believe in the process.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Day 3
October 22, 2007
I woke up before my alarm clock for the first time in a decade today. It was so strange to have energy and a sense of alertness and anticipation before work. I am so used to waking up in a daze. I woke up and did some mindfulness meditation which is something I advise others to do all the time but rarely do myself. I am resistant to do these exercises because they leave me alone with my own thoughts, which often offer nothing but guilt and shame. Today was different. Today I thought about what was happening physiologically in my body as I remained sober for a third day. It's possible my liver was beginning to heal itself if it's not already too far gone, which is a distinct possibility. My thoughts have become much clearer.
My first client triggered a great deal of countertransference in me which nearly reduced me to tears. It started out as a very innocuous conversation but being sober I was so much more empathically attuned to her today and her words affected me dramatically. She was 33 years old, recently divorced, and had 2 small children. My own mother was in a similar situation. Hearing this woman speak about her tribulations I wanted badly to make her life better. I was seconds away from offering her my entire paycheck, my time, my house, and whatever else she might need to hold on during this dramatic crossroads in her life. This is the same age it started going bad for my own mother when she began to lose hope in her life. At the age of 35 she was dead. None of this was relevant to my client, yet all of this was relevant to my client. I have been trained to use my own experiences to help others but all I want to do is go back in time and make things different. I want to make things different for this woman very, very badly. What I actually do is empathize, validate, and encourage. All the same she haunts me for the rest of the day, and will likely continue to do so for quite some time.
At lunch I walk by a bar, and am strongly tempted to go inside. I am no longer "mindful" and in the present moment as I was this morning. Now I am thinking about my mother and how I could have saved her. How I might still save the woman in my office today. The rational part of my brain reminds me that it's not my job to save people. It's that part of my brain that lets me wallk past the bar and into subway at this moment.
And if my thought-dreams could be seen
They'd probably put my head in a guillotine
But it's alright, ma, it's life, and life only.
Bob Dylan
I woke up before my alarm clock for the first time in a decade today. It was so strange to have energy and a sense of alertness and anticipation before work. I am so used to waking up in a daze. I woke up and did some mindfulness meditation which is something I advise others to do all the time but rarely do myself. I am resistant to do these exercises because they leave me alone with my own thoughts, which often offer nothing but guilt and shame. Today was different. Today I thought about what was happening physiologically in my body as I remained sober for a third day. It's possible my liver was beginning to heal itself if it's not already too far gone, which is a distinct possibility. My thoughts have become much clearer.
My first client triggered a great deal of countertransference in me which nearly reduced me to tears. It started out as a very innocuous conversation but being sober I was so much more empathically attuned to her today and her words affected me dramatically. She was 33 years old, recently divorced, and had 2 small children. My own mother was in a similar situation. Hearing this woman speak about her tribulations I wanted badly to make her life better. I was seconds away from offering her my entire paycheck, my time, my house, and whatever else she might need to hold on during this dramatic crossroads in her life. This is the same age it started going bad for my own mother when she began to lose hope in her life. At the age of 35 she was dead. None of this was relevant to my client, yet all of this was relevant to my client. I have been trained to use my own experiences to help others but all I want to do is go back in time and make things different. I want to make things different for this woman very, very badly. What I actually do is empathize, validate, and encourage. All the same she haunts me for the rest of the day, and will likely continue to do so for quite some time.
At lunch I walk by a bar, and am strongly tempted to go inside. I am no longer "mindful" and in the present moment as I was this morning. Now I am thinking about my mother and how I could have saved her. How I might still save the woman in my office today. The rational part of my brain reminds me that it's not my job to save people. It's that part of my brain that lets me wallk past the bar and into subway at this moment.
Monday, October 22, 2007
Day 2
October 21, 2007
Last night I tossed and turned and for the first time for as long as I can remember, I had a dream. It was about my father, who was also an alcoholic, and who died in his 50's of liver disease. In this dream my father was trying to talk to me but I couldn't quite hear him. As a psychologist it's easy to make some guesses about what this dream might mean. Perhaps my father is warning me not to go down the road that he followed. But I can't hear. Perhaps it's just too soon.
I went to work today feeling like an impostor. For the first time in quite a while I'm not hungover or worse yet still drunk, and today I'm getting a glimpse of how people must experience me while under the influence. I've become so good at conning people I'm known as a wonderfully cheerful person, but today it feels like I'm being unfriendly. Much of this is certainly in my own head. I go into my office and shut the door, not wanting to talk to anyone until my first patient arrives.
Later that morning one of my easiest patients arrives. She is a 50 year old woman who is newly single and navigating her way in the dating world for the first time in a long while. She tells me a story about how she had 3 glasses of wine and felt she "lost control" while on a recent date. I want to tell her that I know all about losing control, and that just yesterday I woke up in a pool of my own urine. What I do say, is "So you feel like you lost control, tell me about that" parakeeting back her remarks to her which is the old psychologist stall. Sure we rationalize this technique by calling it "reflecting" but what we're really doing is buying time. In these moments we've lost our insight into the human condition and tread water until we can conjure up another cogent thought.
We end the session talking about the importance of maintaining hope, which is advice I'm giving myself as well as to my client. She looks like she actually believes it and for a moment I do to. Watching her walk out of the office I admire her courage while also silently thinking about how nice a glass of wine would be right now. I have been sober for about 30 hours now and a drink is starting to sound pretty good. I return to my office, jot down some notes from the session and put on a Cd that relaxes me. I realize I can get through the rest of the day without a drink and get ready for my next session.
Later in the day I have a much tougher client. He's an alcoholic, resistant, difficult, and argumentative. I dislike him immensely, while also seeing a lot of myself in him. Entering the room he looks especially pissy and I know this is going to be a long 50 minutes. He begins by remarking how there is "something different about me today" and immediately I again feel like a fraud. I have been drifting through the last 6 months of my life in a daze, and now I have to pick up the pieces of the life that I have built. I'm still a relatively young man and realize there is a large part of me that wants to start again. I do my best to pay attention to that part for the rest of the day.
Your vision will become clear only when you look into your heart. Who looks outside, dreams. Who looks inside, awakens.
Carl Jung
Last night I tossed and turned and for the first time for as long as I can remember, I had a dream. It was about my father, who was also an alcoholic, and who died in his 50's of liver disease. In this dream my father was trying to talk to me but I couldn't quite hear him. As a psychologist it's easy to make some guesses about what this dream might mean. Perhaps my father is warning me not to go down the road that he followed. But I can't hear. Perhaps it's just too soon.
I went to work today feeling like an impostor. For the first time in quite a while I'm not hungover or worse yet still drunk, and today I'm getting a glimpse of how people must experience me while under the influence. I've become so good at conning people I'm known as a wonderfully cheerful person, but today it feels like I'm being unfriendly. Much of this is certainly in my own head. I go into my office and shut the door, not wanting to talk to anyone until my first patient arrives.
Later that morning one of my easiest patients arrives. She is a 50 year old woman who is newly single and navigating her way in the dating world for the first time in a long while. She tells me a story about how she had 3 glasses of wine and felt she "lost control" while on a recent date. I want to tell her that I know all about losing control, and that just yesterday I woke up in a pool of my own urine. What I do say, is "So you feel like you lost control, tell me about that" parakeeting back her remarks to her which is the old psychologist stall. Sure we rationalize this technique by calling it "reflecting" but what we're really doing is buying time. In these moments we've lost our insight into the human condition and tread water until we can conjure up another cogent thought.
We end the session talking about the importance of maintaining hope, which is advice I'm giving myself as well as to my client. She looks like she actually believes it and for a moment I do to. Watching her walk out of the office I admire her courage while also silently thinking about how nice a glass of wine would be right now. I have been sober for about 30 hours now and a drink is starting to sound pretty good. I return to my office, jot down some notes from the session and put on a Cd that relaxes me. I realize I can get through the rest of the day without a drink and get ready for my next session.
Later in the day I have a much tougher client. He's an alcoholic, resistant, difficult, and argumentative. I dislike him immensely, while also seeing a lot of myself in him. Entering the room he looks especially pissy and I know this is going to be a long 50 minutes. He begins by remarking how there is "something different about me today" and immediately I again feel like a fraud. I have been drifting through the last 6 months of my life in a daze, and now I have to pick up the pieces of the life that I have built. I'm still a relatively young man and realize there is a large part of me that wants to start again. I do my best to pay attention to that part for the rest of the day.
Sunday, October 21, 2007
The Journey Begins
October 20, 2007
Yesterday I woke up in a pool of my own urine on my living room floor. It wasn't the first time. I am a psychologist and during the day I help people deal with addictions, but when the last forms are filled out and I shut the door to my office, I am as disturbed as any of my patients are. Maybe more so. I took a long hard look in the mirror this morning and realized I was living a terrible and horrible lie.
How did I get here? As is the case with many people with addictions, my emotional development was stunted when I began drinking, and in many ways I am still an adolescent from a maturity standpoint. I managed to get through many years of schooling by smiling and charming people and getting others to do my bidding. I am respected in my field and few truly suspect how disturbed I really am. I have written numerous journal articles, spoke at conferences and published books, but deep down these are all predicated on a lie. I am a slave to my addiction and filled with an intense sense of self-loathing.
It's 5:00 now and the guilt that accompanies my drinking is now in full force. Normally I would combat these disturbing cognitions with a drink, but today I'm going to do things a little different. For one I've started this blog. As I often tell my clients writing things down can be a tremendous help. I've decided to take my own advice. Tonight will be hard.
I am a sick man. ... I am a spiteful man. I am an unattractive man. I believe my liver is diseased. However, I know nothing at all about my disease, and do not know for certain what ails me.
Fyodor Dostoyevsky
Yesterday I woke up in a pool of my own urine on my living room floor. It wasn't the first time. I am a psychologist and during the day I help people deal with addictions, but when the last forms are filled out and I shut the door to my office, I am as disturbed as any of my patients are. Maybe more so. I took a long hard look in the mirror this morning and realized I was living a terrible and horrible lie.
How did I get here? As is the case with many people with addictions, my emotional development was stunted when I began drinking, and in many ways I am still an adolescent from a maturity standpoint. I managed to get through many years of schooling by smiling and charming people and getting others to do my bidding. I am respected in my field and few truly suspect how disturbed I really am. I have written numerous journal articles, spoke at conferences and published books, but deep down these are all predicated on a lie. I am a slave to my addiction and filled with an intense sense of self-loathing.
It's 5:00 now and the guilt that accompanies my drinking is now in full force. Normally I would combat these disturbing cognitions with a drink, but today I'm going to do things a little different. For one I've started this blog. As I often tell my clients writing things down can be a tremendous help. I've decided to take my own advice. Tonight will be hard.
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