Alcoholic/drug addict, to be precise.
I’ve been saying that a lot lately. That’s what you do at AA and NA (Narcotics Anonymous) meetings.
Hi, I’m Dan, and I’m an alcoholic/addict.
“Hi Dan!”
You see it all the time on TV and in movies, and you often think: Do people really do that?
Yes. Yes they do.
And it’s not all that bad.
So yes, I’m a recovering alcoholic. And yes, I’m a recovering drug addict.
Here’s the story:
I have bipolar disorder, ADHD, and a wicked panic disorder. I’ve had a lot of what they call “depressive” episodes: crippled by tough clinical depression, excessively tired, upset, worried, guilty, and generally self-loathing. It’s debilitating, preventing me from working, cleaning, eating…doing things I need to do to survive. It’s quite possibly one of the worst experiences someone could go through. Nothing could be wrong…but at the same time, everything is wrong, at least in your head. And that really tears you apart.
I’ve also had “manic” episodes: high energy, reduced or obliterated inhibition, and intense feelings of confidence and excessive elation. Of course, it’s not all that peachy: racing thoughts, agitation, frustration, confusion, and paranoia tend to top off a manic episode, leaving you in a state of dire panic and uncertainty.
Then there are actual panic attacks: You completely lock up, physically frozen, fully aware of everything around you but completely incapable of responding. It’s a state of extreme terror; fear that anything you do will have terrible consequences. You start breathing rapidly, often leading to hyperventilation, which causes you to shake and sweat as if you were having a seizure. I’ve had panic attacks so bad that the people I were with called 911 because they had no idea what was wrong or how to fix it.
It’s not pleasant. None of it is.
I take lots of medicine to sort of condense the extremes, to keep me grounded and functioning as normally as possible. Of course, that doesn’t mean I’m “fixed”: I still experience some of these episodes and attacks, and I’m learning to cope with them as just facts of life.
An estimated 56% of people with bipolar disorder also have an addiction problem. I, unfortunately, am included in that statistic.
Prior to seeing a psychiatrist and taking medicine, I often turned to self-medication to deal with the depression. When I took my first drink — which was only in December of 2006, so it’s not like I’ve been drinking for years and years — a switch in my head was irreversibly flipped, triggering the chronic and progressive nature of the addiction disease.
I found myself wanting to drink more and more: once a week, twice a week, five times a week…hell, why not every day? I didn’t party either: most of the drinking took place alone in my darkened apartment. I’d go to great lengths to get a bottle of vodka, and when I couldn’t get my own, I’d fill a water bottle with alcohol from my dad’s liquor cabinet. And when that wasn’t an option, I’d just drink Listerine.
Yeah, I know. Gross.
The drinking was on-and-off for a year, even after regularly seeing a psychiatrist. I got things under control for a while, but there would be times when I fell back into old habits, again drinking alone for weeks on end.
Then pot was added to the equation. Once every few weeks. Once every week. Few times a week. Every night.
Now add Klonopin and Xanax, two prescription anti-anxiety sedatives I took to relieve chronic and debilitating anxiety I’ve had since I was little, and to curb the growing occurrences of panic attacks. These medicines are incredibly potent…not to mention incredibly addicting, and some of the most abused prescription meds in the country.
Throw in some Darvocet and Vicodin, and you’ve got yourself a drug problem.
It got to the point where I needed something — alcohol, pot, pills, anything — to relieve whatever malady I had constructed in my head. I spent all day planning for and looking forward to that time at night I had allotted for getting high. And whatever I had was never enough. I needed to be more drunk; I needed a higher high. One more drink, one more hit, one more pill.
In early December of ‘07, I was dealing with some complicated and upsetting personal issues. Things peaked on December 3rd, and I fell into depression and a profound bout of hopelessness. I responded by going on a two-day bender: alcohol, pot, Klonopin, Xanax, Listerine, Dramamine…the works.
I couldn’t think. I couldn’t eat. I could barely stand.
During that time, my friends started realizing something was wrong. They tried contacting me, but I had totally isolated myself. In the haze, I IMed my best friend, who figured out from my typing — the text equivalent of slurred speech — and behavior, and from my history with this stuff, that I was in a bad place and had gone overboard with the drugs.
He alerted other friends, and before long two of them started driving from the suburbs to my place in the city. They managed to get into the building, and found their way to my apartment.
The room was littered with pill and alcohol bottles. By the time they got there, I had cut up my arms, and taken a dangerous amount of Klonopin and Xanax and 7x the recommended dosage of Dramamine. I was trembling and barely conscious.
They called 911, and I was sent to the ER for overdosing. And since I was considered a danger to myself, I had to spend the night in the hospital’s psych ward.
A week later, I started an intensive out-patient treatment program, which I’ve been going to ever since. I relapsed once in the past two months (which I’ll write about later), but other than that I’ve managed to stay completely clean and sober. I continue to see a psychiatrist on a regular basis, and I’m on what seems to be an effective combination of medicines.
I’m writing about this because it’s become a huge part of my life. I spend 3-4 hours a day in rehab, and go to at least three AA meetings a week. This is part of who I am, and I feel it’s important that I be honest and open about it.
Besides, it’s like writerly gold.
I plan to keep writing about my experiences in recovery, and all the ups, downs, and bumps in the road. It’s been an adventure worth sharing, and I imagine the future will be full of surprises.
I’m Dan; I’m an alcoholic and a drug addict.
And I’m not going to let that destroy my life.
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