I want to write about the scariest thing that has ever
happened to me. But writing about it might be scarier than actually
experiencing it.
I suffer from what nosy nora aptly named, “continued
repetition of a behaviour despite adverse consequences” or CRBDAC. And for the
last month, I have been sticking with the title of CRBDAC.
Because the word “addiction” is extremely
overwhelming.
Terrifying actually.
Then I read Brene Brown’s definition of
addiction. And it became less of a scary word. She wrote:
- Most of us engage in behaviours (consciously or not)
that help us to numb and take the edge off vulnerability, pain, and discomfort.
- Addiction can be described as chronically and
compulsively numbing and taking the edge off of feelings.
- We cannot selectively numb emotions. When we numb the
painful emotions, we also numb the positive emotions.
“These most powerful emotions that we experience have
very sharp points, like the tip of a thorn. […] I believe that everyone numbs
and takes the edge off and that addiction is about engaging in these behaviours
compulsively and chronically.”
YES YES YES!!!
That is exactly it.
Emotions … feelings … they have
sharp points and I didn’t like those sharp points. So I started to numb myself
against that pain. It was easier to take sleeping pills, to take whatever I
could get my hands on, than it was to feel those sharp thorns.
The unfortunate thing is that when you numb yourself
against the negative emotions, there isn’t room to feel the positive emotions.
Instead, you start feeling nothing. And when you release yourself from the
numbing prison, you are overwhelmed by the negative emotions that you kept at
bay for so long. And when you are overcome by grief, and anger, and sadness,
and fear, and loneliness, and hopelessness … it’s hard to make room for joy,
and gladness, and happiness, and gratitude.
I want to share my story. Because it isn’t the stories
we see on tv. When I think of an addict, I think of a fall-down-drunk, or a
junkie willing to do anything for her next fix. I am not so much addicted to
the state that I am in when I take pills, I am addicted to the state that I am
NOT in. I am addicted to being numb and not having to feel or think about my
issues.
The word “sober” implies that I was in a state of
intoxication and that I no longer am. But in reality, I was in a state of
numbness. I was in a state of refusing to be vulnerable and refusing to feel.
So my sobriety means that I am now allowing in the emotions, good and bad, no
matter how difficult they are to feel. And more importantly, I am learning to
voice these emotions.
Brene Brown’s statement that addiction is “chronically
and compulsively numbing and taking the edge off of feelings” is exactly what I
have been doing. For the last 30 years.
This is my story …
When I was 7, I started to learn about the horrors of
humanity. On purpose. I wasn’t protected from the realities of the world that
we live in. children deserve to be innocent. Children have the right to be
protected. And I wasn’t. I learned about the holocaust, and slavery, and
apartheid, and human rights violations around the world. And I became afraid. I
don’t mean afraid as in scared of the dark. I mean afraid as in lying awake in
bed all night crying because Nelson Mandela was in prison. Afraid as in crying
because we watched the series Roots in its entirety. Afraid that a bad
guy was going to climb in my bedroom window. Afraid of being beaten, and raped,
or having my feet cut off.
Afraid.
All the time.
Of everything.
But we were also taught that we were mature enough to
learn about these atrocities. So I believed that I had to pretend to be the
mature child that I was told that I was. Which means that I didn’t tell anyone
about my fears. I simply sucked it up, carried on, and cried all alone at night
in my bed. Or I hid in the front closet to cry. It was my safe space.
As a little kid who couldn’t sleep, I didn’t have a
great deal of resources. I discovered that when I was given children’s chewable
Tylenol, it made me sleepy. So I used to sneak it out of the medicine cabinet.
And on those nights that I didn’t take it, I lay awake crying.
That went on for some years.
Gravol became my drug of choice. It wasn’t daily. It
was once in awhile, when things were really bad. When the boys had thrown
condoms at me in the cafeteria. When the kids were chanting “hippo” at me
during soccer in gym class and the teacher didn’t stop them. Those were the
nights that I turned to pills for the numbing relief of sleep.
During the day, I hid in the bathroom between classes
and at recess. I would be sick to my stomach, worrying about what terrible
thing the children were going to do to me next. So I would throw up. Soon it
became more of a habit than actual nausea.
I wandered the streets by myself at lunch time. And I
spent the evenings alone at home, hiding in my room, wishing that I could just
die instead of feeling worthless and ugly and unlovable. And at night, I stole
pills from the medicine cabinet to help me sleep.
then came high school and the pressure to be a certain
“look” to fit in. looking back at photos, I wasn’t the fat kid that I thought I
was. Or that people told me I was. I was called fat from an early age. I was
told to watch what I ate. My food intake was monitored and controlled. And I
believed that I was enormous. Photos prove otherwise. I have recently discovered
that I was an average sized child. In fact, I looked the same size as my
friends. But in my mind, they were thin and I was gigantic. I can remember
having to have my waist measured in jazz class for a costume and being
horrified at the numbers being called out. And on our grade 8 skiing trip we
had to announce our weights to the teacher who was filling in a form for the
ski rentals. Seriously? We had to announce our weight in front of the entire
class. I was 5 ‘4 and weighed 105 lbs. but there was no way in hell I was going
to say that. The other girls said they were 90 lbs, so I said that too.
in high school, I did tell my parents that I found it
hard to sleep. So they gave me warm milk and other natural suggestions. I
continued with the gravol, except that now I had my own access to money and
could go buy it myself. I actually went to the guidance counselor at school
about the difficulty that I had sleeping. She told me to create a bedtime
routine.
It didn’t help. By that time, my body had become
reliant on the sleeping pills. So if I took them, I would be a bit sleepy. And
if I didn’t take them, sleep was hard to come by.
It was in university that I discovered the joys of
Nyquil. My friend died in my third year, and I lay awake crying most nights. I
got strep throat and started taking Nyquil … ahhh …. Who knew!? First there was
a numbing sensation, then my stomach got kind of lurchy, but in a fun way, and
then I would sleep. No more crying over her death. No more lying awake. Just
oblivion.
Over the last 15 years or so, I have tried many
different sleeping pills. I have taken advantage of situations where I am
prescribed pain meds and taken them far past the time when I had actual pain.
Like when I got my wisdom teeth out and I was prescribed Tylenol 3. By the
second day, I wasn’t in pain anymore. But I kept taking those pills. They
numbed me from the emotional pain that I tried so hard to keep at bay. The same
thing happened when I hurt my back a few years ago. The doctor prescribed me
Percocet. And they did nothing for the pain. I have a very low tolerance to
pain and a very high tolerance to pain medication. They did, however, make me
not have to think about things or feel the negative emotions. They did protect
me from feeling the sadness, and loneliness and hurt that has haunted me for so
long. And I enjoyed them. I am not going to lie about that.
It all came to a crisis when I was prescribed a drug
for chronic pain that my doctor felt would help me to sleep. She is convinced
that I have fibromyalgia. She is convinced that my aches and pains and my lack
of ability to sleep are caused by this neuro-disorder.
So she prescribed me 10mg a day. And I took them. And
I no longer woke up with a headache every day! But the pains in my legs and
back continued to bother me. Constant stabbing and pinching makes it difficult
to do daily activities and to concentrate. So the doctor decided that
increasing this medication would help me sleep.
So I started taking 30mg. and oh joy, oh bliss, oh
rapture … sleep finally came … and for a few months, I was living my ultimate
dream … sleeping and feeling numb to the emotional pain. These pills made it
all go away.
And I started to think to myself … if 30mg makes me
feel this good … just imagine what 60mg would do!? So I increased the
medication myself. Without consulting my doctor. The 60mg messed with my brain
chemistry. And all logic left me. Completely. Like, completely left me. No logic left at all. 60mg became 100mg,
and 100mg became 150mg until I started to be convinced that the ultimate
solution to everything in my life (and possibly in the world) was to take 200
pills at once … 2000mg. I became obsessed with this idea. It consumed me. I
thought about it all the time. I stood in the kitchen with the bottle in my
hand … the giant bottle of yellow pills … and I contemplated the ultimate
2000mg solution …
… as you can probably guess, I am a very analytical
person. I think through things and I write through things and I can often step
back from what is going on in my head and analyze it. And I knew perfectly well
that taking 200 pills, no matter how yellow or glorious they were, was really,
really dumb. And also really, really, fatal. So I talked to my therapist, Nosy
Nora, about it and agreed to see my doctor.
To say that wasn’t easy would be an understatement. I
was expecting harsh judgment and criticism. I was worried about the next time I
have surgery or an accident or an injury … will I be believed? Will I be given
the pain management medication that I might need?
My doctor was incredible. An absolute gem. Supportive
and understanding.
And that evening, I took those glorious yellow pills
back to the pharmacy and relinquished them. And I threw out any pills at home
that cause drowsiness or that I couldn’t trust myself not to abuse.
And from that day, I have been “sober” in relation to
self-medicating with drugs.
I continue to struggle with bulimia. And I continue to
struggle with using food to numb myself.
But I am facing my struggles one step at a time, one
day at a time.
It isn’t easy. Having all these feelings that I have
numbed myself from … well, quite franky, it sucks and I hate it. I would love
to take some pills and hide away from the world for a bit. Forget that there
are things that make me sad, or angry, or hurt, or upset, or jealous, or
guilty. But I am enjoying being able to think clearly. I am enjoying waking up
in the morning and feeling truly awake. And alive. Even when being alive is
hard.
I am here. This is my story. And I am owning it.
