Carrie Armstrong2013-06-19T05:00:33-04:00Carrie Armstronghttp://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/author/index.php?author=carrie-armstrongCopyright 2008, HuffingtonPost.com, Inc.HuffingtonPost Blogger Feed for Carrie ArmstrongGood old fashioned elbow grease.The Mythical 'Rock Bottom' of Alcoholismtag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.34222612013-06-12T19:00:00-04:002013-06-12T13:04:34-04:00Carrie Armstronghttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/carrie-armstrong/
Tell me your "rock bottom" story.
There is not a chance you've made it through even the first tentative steps of recovery from alcoholism without hearing both of these sentences. Which is a real shame given what a pile of sh*t they both are.
"Rock bottom" is just another myth of alcoholism. One that is so widely received as true wisdom that we've accepted it as fact.
For a start there's no quantifiable "rock bottom". Somebody with money will hit financial crisis later than somebody without. A more physically robust individual will keep their health intact longer than a weaker one. Somebody pre-disposed to mental illness will stop functioning long before someone who is not. Every person has differing levels of tolerance to all these things. Irrespective to- and completely regardless of- the amount they of alcohol they consume.
When did you decide to keep doing something that is destroying you from the inside out?
Tell me the story where you just decided to simply exist through addiction.
Also there's the issue of "rock bottom" in itself. By definition it's the end . Done. Nowhere left to go from there. That's dead. Not near-death. Not clinically dead but resuscitated in A&E. Proper dead. Gone. End of.
Sober at last.
If you're reading this then you aren't dead. If I'm writing this then I'm not either. So that's at least two of us that didn't hit "rock bottom".
So let's stop telling our imaginary "rock bottom" stories now please.
There's a strong sense in recovery circles that if your "rock bottom" story isn't very impressive then it's a source of shame. I've heard a lot of people comment that they don't feel anywhere near "rock bottom" (thank f*ck), but they want to stop drinking anyway. Worried that "rock bottom" is the secret handshake they aren't privy to yet. Those two magic words that give us permission to finally stop this insane behaviour.
The myth of "rock bottom" holds a lot of people back from sobriety. It's a real shame. Very sad. When did we get like this? When did it start being normal to refuse to stop when something makes us unwell and unhappy. Robs the colour from our lives. Numbs us to the beauty that surrounds us. When did that stop being reason enough to start to change?
Why is there such a high tolerance for unhappiness in our society? When we have so many ways to experience happiness? So much time, so much opportunity and more and more so much information on how to live happy and fulfilled lives?
None of us have to be anywhere near a supposed "rock bottom" to stop hurting ourselves. Using the excuse that we've grown up around it or don't know any differently just doesn't cut it anymore-not with the whole entire world at our fingertips. Answers to every single question ever uttered. Solutions being formulated by someone somewhere at the other end of a screen before we've barely finished forming the question.
"Rock bottom" is not a fact. Nor is it an excuse. It's time to stop telling our sad tales of woe. Time to start making lists. Reasons to stay away from the bottom of anything. The bottom of a glass for a start.
When did you hit on the inspiration to get sober?
Tell me about the moment you started really living again.]]>Alcoholic Children: Britain's Self-Fulfilling Prophecytag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.33466442013-05-29T19:00:00-04:002013-05-30T03:32:58-04:00Carrie Armstronghttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/carrie-armstrong/
We like talking about it so much we gave it a name. Always worrying. Like we're inviting more of it in, and excusing it at the same time. We're pretty good at that. Labeling the problems we aren't too keen to fix but enjoy complaining about. It's become synonymous with gangs of children who are out of control. Violent. Destructive. Disrespectful. Ugly behaviour so publicly displayed. Terrible how distasteful our young people have mysteriously become.
It's' always drink-related. Always. Yet we aren't making the connection.
We have created a nation of children who have grown up around massive alcohol consumption. Huge. For at least the past eight years, social networking has made it irrelevant whether it takes place in their own home or not. Everyone has a platform to share learned behaviour with susceptible peers.
None of us were prepared for this.
We didn't even see it coming.
A nation of children who don't fear actions to consequences.
Because there are none.
A child can attack someone. Can even kill and not be held accountable for their actions - especially if their judgement has been impaired by alcohol. In our legal system alcohol has become the ultimate get-out-of-jail-free card for minors partaking in anti-social behaviour.
Actually let's just drop that label before we go any further please, shall we? Call it what it really is. It's not anti-social behaviour. It's 'drunk child behavior'.
And we made them this way.
We sell alcohol cheap enough for children to buy. We keep the stuff they can afford within incredibly easy access. If I suggested moving your medicine cabinet into your living room, removing the tablets from their bottles so your child can have a go at whatever takes their fancy, I assume your wouldn't be too thrilled. Why is your drinks cabinet any less lethal? Why aren't are there no child locks on spirit bottles?
If medication started being marketed in brightly coloured packaging with cartoonish labels on I'd be seriously f*cking concerned. So why are our alcohol bottles tarted up like it's happy hour at the playground? Who decided that was the decent thing to do? Since when did children become disinterested in wanting to have nice-looking things?
Even before we started hiding our cigarette packets behind closed doors - did you ever see them positioned right next to the checkout? The one place your child has to stand without moving. Why is it okay for the alcohol displays to be there? When was the last time you even consciously noticed it was laid out that way?
We are hurting our babies by allowing them to live like this.
We are doing this - not them.
Now it is time we started fixing these broken children.
By adjusting our homes to protect our children from what's in them. Addressing how we conduct ourselves around alcohol. Accepting that we are being watched by our children all of the time. Realising that their behaviour is just a reflection of what they see.
Hitting companies who put profits before our children's safety right where it hurts - in their wallet.
By tightening laws on adolescent drunk-child behaviour.
Because the only thing scarier to me than these little ones running around being drunk children, is that it won't be long before they are grown ups.
Drunk grown ups are harder to fix than drunk children - and more expensive.
That's not even taking into account the children who wont make it to adulthood, the casualties of our epic alcoholic denial.
If we start now then we can still fix this. If we don't? Then I'm frightened for us all.
We need to start and provide the consequences for our drunk children's behaviour. Not have them be the consequences of ours.]]>Why There's No Such Thing as Relapsetag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.32512142013-05-12T19:00:00-04:002013-05-13T05:53:58-04:00Carrie Armstronghttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/carrie-armstrong/
I rail against this word. Hard.
Because it's not real. Because the idea of it destroys lives. Because it's the Emperor's New Clothes of all recovery. It is darkness and fear like no other, a formless terror that knows no respite.
It's also complete b*ll*cks. That's my main issue with it. Actually.
It corrodes a person, shrinking their world into a tiny, claustrophobic place where they are trapped within the parameters of their own beliefs.
It's the fear of relapse that wastes years, years of people's lives.
And yet the moment the fear of relapse is released, real authentic recovery is achieved.
Everyday I speak to someone who feels hopelessly addicted - whether they are drunk or sober -and every time the word they use is the same: relapse. The fear of slipping backwards. Returning to where they started. And it can't happen. It's not real.
None of us can go backwards. We make a decision to follow a course of action that leads us to a result here and now. Not in the past. And if we can't actually go backwards, but we refuse to move forwards? We are stuck. Permanently.
So then the idea of relapse is becomes a life of self-made Purgatory. Which would explain why 95% of addicts choose addiction over Purgatory. If I thought those were my only two options? I'd be joining them.
I understand why the idea of going backwards is an attractive option. If we pretend to go backwards then we don't have to deal with everyone else who is moving forwards. The past is a known entity. We have the nice illusion of being able to control it. It's such a useful lie really. But it is just that. A lie. A lie we liked the idea of it so much that we gave it a name, decided it was a technical term. Wrote books about it. Gave it a corner in every sobriety forum ever invented. Talked about it forevermore in our meetings. Gave ourselves and each other permission to ruin our lives as long as we want with it. Living in the shadow of this delusion. Letting our lives be defined by it.
A life where all is pain. All loss. All waste. It's completely unnecessary.
If you decide to drink today? You haven't gone backwards. You've made a new decision as an ever-evolving person. Give yourself some credit. You know more than you knew yesterday. You'll know more tomorrow -and you definitely know enough right now to stop drinking and keep doing it. You know it. I know it. Take the stupid labels off your behaviour. Stop justifying your actions by hiding behind terminology.
It's the lies that are killing us just as fast as the drinking is.]]>Make Sobriety Your B*tchtag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.31464072013-04-24T19:00:00-04:002013-04-24T12:47:16-04:00Carrie Armstronghttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/carrie-armstrong/ No thanks
Serenity does not bring sobriety. Needing to accept you cannot change your drinking is a lie. And believing either will almost exclusively lead you straight back to drinking. Make sobriety your b*tch instead.
Making sobriety your b*tch means you get to be in charge. No, you do not drink. No, you do not think about it. Do not entertain it as option. Your body is not going to go renegade and pour itself a drink. Become obsessed with sobriety. Why is it such a strange suggestion? When being obsessed with drinking is seen as totally acceptable in recovery circles.
We have all been there. Felt that despair, the fathomless, formless, horrific fear of uncertainty and doubt in our own recovery gnawing away at us constantly. Relentlessly. You think you can beat that fear with serenity? With acceptance? With neutrality? Not a chance. It takes an emotion just as strong as the fear to knock the fear out of us. Passion. Determination. Power. Absolute knowing. That's when sobriety is effectively maintained. When a strong, unequivocal feeling of being in charge is fostered and then consistently utilised. That's why making sobriety your b*tch works.
Give it everything - this desire to be in charge of your own sobriety. Make it your priority. Every second of every day can be dedicated to not drinking and being 100% confident in your own ability to do so. It's entirely possible. Right now. And if you think this is unrealistic?
I'm not sorry.
And if it makes you angry? The suggestion that sobriety is always in our grasp? That we get to choose today to get sober and stay sober? That we don't have to be separated from the world. The very act of separating ourselves from people is what guarantees failure in the first place.
Alcoholics are not morons. We don't need protecting from the suggestion that we are in charge of our own thoughts and actions. In fact every alcoholic who describes themselves as in recovery, but who suggests that the notion of self-empowerment in recovery is dangerous? They are wrong. And they are not promoting recovery. Just prolonging bouts in between relapse. And if you find that suggestion offensive?
I'm not sorry.
Being fed lies such as we must protect ourselves from life? Protect ourselves from other people's sobriety methods? Its bullsh*t. If someone tried it and it worked then it's definitely worth a go. And if it flies in the face of the majority? Of popular opinion? Of those who purport and expound the methods that almost exclusively ensure failure? That extoll the virtues of mediocrity in sobriety? Also bullsh*t
Make sobriety your b*tch. Live your sober life vibrantly. Do it publicly. Flaunt it unashamedly.
And don't be sorry.
This is your life. Your will. Your body. You decide what happens next, no one else. And the suggestion that alcohol is so powerful that we don't even get to exercise this will? Quite frankly it's insulting. Demeaning. Feeling powerless is an horrendous emotion. We cannot get sober and stay sober feeling like that. So if the only reason you haven't made sobriety your b*tch yet is that you've been told it is impossible? Then I suggest you have a little rethink. Sobriety has been my b*tch for years. I like it much better this way.
And no - I'm not sorry.
And for those who stand in the chorus line and proclaim my danger both to sobriety and to alcoholics in general? Who would prefer me to shut up and go back to living in fear of drinking and simply surviving recovery step by miserable step?
I'm not your b*tch either.]]>Don't Admit You Have a Drinking Problemtag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.30613332013-04-12T19:00:00-04:002013-06-12T05:12:01-04:00Carrie Armstronghttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/carrie-armstrong/ Wrong.
Not even close.
The first step to getting sober is to stop drinking. The second step to sobriety is to keep doing it.
That's it.
Done.
We've got it all backwards. Horribly backwards. And its killing us. This awful catch 22 situation. If we wait to admit and accept we have a drinking problem in our society? We are waiting for end-stage alcoholism. Or alcoholic Alzheimer's. Or being arrested. Or being injured horribly. Because we have raised the bar of tolerance so high for alcohol abuse. Because It's now a problem so blatant and so obvious that we can't even see it any more.
And now we are a nation in crisis.
Stop drinking. Keep doing it. Then admit you have a problem. If you want.
No one is going to help you unless your problem is so severe it is life-threatening. No one is going to encourage you to seek help unless your behaviour is so bad during drinking sessions that there are severe social consequences.
If you are waiting for help?
It's not coming.
Stop drinking. Not because you admit you have a problem. Stop drinking. Just stop. Stop because something is wrong and you don't know what it is but you know it ties in with alcohol. You don't need to go any further than that. In fact any further than that and the justification begins; it is a disease, it is genetic, it is psychological. The more detail and labels and excuses we give this thing, this need? The more we open the door for denial. And then we are right back where we started. Overwhelmed. And what happens when we face an emotion too big too handle? We drink it away. Again.
It took me 10 months where I stopped drinking and kept doing it before I admitted I was an alcoholic. Ten months of sobriety. Having this conversation with myself on a constant loop:
Me: Don't drink right now/this minute/this hour/this afternoon.
Brain: Why?
Me: I don't know why. Just don't.
It worked. And yes now I admit I did have a problem. But admitting it wasn't an integral part of my recovery. And I don't have a problem any more. And I never will again.
Don't admit you have a problem and expect the drinking to stop accordingly. In fact the admitting we have a problem step is just a natural conclusion to the cycle of recovery. In the cold light of day, months and months down the line we are fully able to step away from our problem and see it for what it is. So then okay. Then fine, if you want to-take a pause, acknowledge you are ready to admit you have a problem. A problem you've already dealt with. Not backwards. Finally in the right order.
Then carry on with your sober life.
And never look back again. ]]>The Problem With Pretty-Girl Alcoholicstag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.29784482013-03-31T19:00:00-04:002013-05-31T05:12:01-04:00Carrie Armstronghttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/carrie-armstrong/ Nobody likes a pretty-girl drunk.
That's a deal-breaker right here. A pretty-girl who is a little bit tipsy? Cute. A pretty-girl a little unsteady on her feet? A bit giggly? Charming. But a pretty-girl who is a messy, sloppy, belligerent drunk receives twice the vitriol reserved for even the most unsavoury of drunken characters. It offends us, seeing this pretty girl displaying her internal ugliness for all to see. It's like taking a shop window display and covering it in garbage. Nobody wants to see that. Keep your window displays clean and bright. Keep your pretty-girl alcoholics in the dark where no one can see them. To see a girl who looks like a princess behave like a tramp feels wrong. Jarring. Confusing. Incredibly uncomfortable.
God forbid we should feel uncomfortable. Nobody wants that.
Actually the real danger for a pretty-girl alcoholic is when she tries to get sober. If we all look away in disgust when she is on a bender? We don't see her for what she is. So when she does try to get help she is often dismissed. Nobody likes to take a pretty-girl too seriously, spoils the fun of them a bit. So as much help as a pretty-girl gets in the world of door-opening and drink-buying, she will struggle to get someone to see her as an ugly alcoholic unless she is displaying that ugliness right in that very moment.
It's all just a big fuss over nothing really.
And if she does get help? Seeks treatment and decides to stay sober? Then she is a damaged pretty-girl. A girl in recovery. And there is something slightly irresistible about a damaged pretty-girl. She won't have to pick up the pieces of her life alone if she doesn't want to, (and seriously-who wants to?) there will be a queue of men who love damaged pretty-girls. Who want to be the medicine for her pain. And it's pretty impossible to achieve long-term sobriety whilst leaning on someone else for emotional support. It has to be an inside job. It takes real effort for a pretty-girl to turn a knight in shining armour away. To say "not yet, come back when I'm fixed please". Particularly as it will be the first time she's ever had to be alone in her life.
Nobody like a single pretty-girl. Seems a waste really.
A pretty-girl alcoholic has to take her drinking problem very seriously. Because honestly no one else will. As much as they are an affront to public decency, they are still a problem we would all very much like to wish away-without having to do anything about it personally. Which is a shame because we are killing our pretty-girl alcoholics with our double standards and our need for beauty to remain beautiful.
She's really pretty, until she opens her mouth.
If you are a pretty-girl alcoholic, today would be a very good day to confess your ugly secret. Bravery is beautiful. So is honesty. And you won't be alone if you can find both of these things inside yourself and get help.
Recovery is Beautiful, I promise.]]>It's Not Okay - But...tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.29034462013-03-18T18:33:52-04:002013-05-18T05:12:01-04:00Carrie Armstronghttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/carrie-armstrong/
Some people do not live with a drunk.
The elephant in the room. Tip toeing around it so it does not rouse. Walking on eggshells. Biding your time. Listening out for tell-tale signs that the ticking time-bomb is about to go off. Again. Knowing that the only real calm that exists is straight after one episode as it buys you at least a little time before the next build up reaches its climax.
It's not ok to live like this.
But if you were raised by a drunk, married a drunk or have one as a child then you've perhaps grown totally accustomed to this being your life. I know you won't take my word for it. Some people do live in nice calm homes where they do no have to train themselves to walk into a room and immediately judge the mood of it without using words. People do it everyday. You are allowed to want this too. It's not shooting for the moon.
Living with a drunk is essentially living with a stranger. Take the label of father/husband/son off them during their drinking because this label does not apply. It puts you in danger. Lulling you into a false sense of security whereby you feel you know their personality enough to judge how far their behaviour will go. Instead treat this person like a stranger in your house. Protect yourself accordingly.
It's not ok to have a drunk volatile stranger in your house.
But if you are too afraid to kick them out. If you fear that they will end up dead on the floor of a bar after another altercation, or choking in a pool of their own vomit in a strange part of town. If you are so afraid this will happen you prefer to keep them in your house? Then at least put a lock on your bedroom door so you can sleep at night during their binges. This is especially important if you are a women living with a drunk man. Un-PC? Probably. Accurate? Unfortunately. A man in a black-out drunk is able to overpower a woman very easily. Their strength is terrifying actually. And they aren't conscious of their actions. You can't reason with them. Make them stop.
If you think that you are safe because the drunk in your life has so far only verbally abused you during binges?
It's not okay to let anyone verbally abuse you. It's also nowhere near the massive leap you think it is for it to turn physical. And odds are they won't remember doing either- so they will never learn from their "mistake" -no matter how sorry they may seem when confronted about their behaviour once sober.If they don't remember it won't count. If it has happened once it will happen again.
But if you do get into a verbal altercation with them out of sheer frustration. If you do insist on treating your drunk stranger like the sober person you know? Try and do so in a room that has two exits, so they don't block your one chance of leaving if it does get too much. Always have your phone and keys on you so you can get out or call for help if things get out of your control. Because things do escalate very quickly as binges gets worse and black-outs get longer.
There is no excusing a drunk's behaviour if it is making you feel unsafe or hurting you.
It's not ok to try to deal with this on your own.
But you may feel too ashamed to ask for help. Don't be. None of this is your fault. It is frighteningly common. So have a person you can tell. A safe person who will not judge you. A sister, best friend. Someone who you can go stay the night with if it gets too much. Who you can go to if the stress gets too much to bear. Nobody should have to live in isolation with a person whose addiction is making you feel unsafe. It's not supposed to be like this.
What I want to do is tell you to call the police. What I want to do is come round to your house, pack your bags for you and beg you to consider that by refusing to go you are refusing to let there be consequences for this person's actions. That this is what the heart of enabling an addict is. Hurting ourselves out of fear they will be hurt instead.
It's not ok for me to tell you what to do.
But I'd really like it if you reached out to somebody today and told them how life really is for you. Break down that first barrier of silence. Start protecting yourself. Start doing it. Start reaching. Start talking.
Until your world feels like the safe place you deserve it to be.]]>Recovery Is Recovery Is Recoverytag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.28544932013-03-12T19:00:00-04:002013-05-12T05:12:01-04:00Carrie Armstronghttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/carrie-armstrong/never touch that stuff, no matter what. Picturing what life would have been like if I'd listened.
Or the me that lay dying on my bathroom floor, terrified, alone, utterly confused by how life can change so quickly. Telling her it will be fine, not yet, but soon. Just to hang on.
Skipping past the bed bound me, the wheelchair me even, Going straight to the shell of a person that was trying so desperately to navigate a world she had been isolated from for so many years. Telling her one day she would be able to walk without concentrating on every step, That she would be able to stand tall, look someone in the eye, laugh even, hold a conversation again. Make friends, love, and be loved. That it was all on its way.
I've had so many recoveries. It's been my life so it always felt normal to me, but I know it's not. I'm 32. I've started over and over and over again. Every time from nothing. Scratch. Square one.
I recovered from alcoholism when I was able to stop drinking. Finally. I recovered from being disabled when I was able to maintain walking again. Consistently. I recovered from the years of isolation when I was able to live back in the world again. Joyfully.
So many recoveries. All totally different. Addiction is nothing like being disabled. Truly, it's not. I only know that because I've done both. Physical bodily recovery is nothing like putting together the shattered remnants of your confidence, in yourself and those around you mentally. Not even a bit similar. Yet all three felt the same in their conclusion. Finished, Done. Over. Leaving nothing behind but total elation as a reminder they had ever happened at all.
My life could never have been the satisfying, exciting, ecstatic experience it is for me now everyday, had I not experienced recovery-full, lasting, permanent recovery from all three. Three totally different scenarios. None of which there is ever supposed to be lasting recovery from. Not one.
Daily I am told to expect relapse from any and all of the above. Daily there is someone who informs me that it cannot last forever. Daily I know the truth of it.
That I'll always be fine.
Recovery is Recovery, is Recovery.
It is all the same, maintaining sobriety, staying physically recovered. Feeling emotionally invulnerable to relapse in any form. And when its achieved, suddenly the past just becomes a massive springboard to catapult us from a life we were existing through, to a life that defies description in it's wonder and beauty.
Sometimes when I cannot sleep at night, I imagine going back to talk to myself at different moments of my life. But I can't. So instead I tell myself my truth, Even when it's hard to speak my heart and do justice to the blessings I feel every single moment of every day. I feel my truth.
Recovery is Recovery, is Recovery.
It is all the same at the end.
It is all achievable. So really the sooner we take the labels off what it is we are recovering from. the faster we all come together and just Be The Recovery as a unit. The quicker we will all get sober. Get happier. Get stronger. Get our lives back. Stop trying to achieve in splinter groups or in isolation what we could all be doing in public, together. Because all recovery is the same. Maintaining recovery is identical. And there's no way I would ever have figured that out, had I not spent so much of my life doing it. Over and over and over again.
I tell myself this. Then I wait for the sun to come up and show me the miracles the next day will bring...]]>AA and My Nantag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.28074252013-03-05T19:00:00-05:002013-05-05T05:12:01-04:00Carrie Armstronghttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/carrie-armstrong/
My nan is all kinds of great. She is strong. She had six kids in nine years. She worked. Raised a big family on very little. She's seen a lot of life and she never judges anyone.
For these reasons if I have a problem I go see my nan. She is the head of the family. She's been around the longest. It's long been known-you need an ear, you go tell your nan and it goes no further. She is the one in charge. The most trusted.
Problem is though as strong, wise and resourceful as she is - my nan's not actually that old, is she - and whilst she is wise, I wouldn't base my life on all of her teachings. I do seek guidance elsewhere. There are some problems outside her realm of experiences these days. So as much as my nan remains my favourite person, she's not always the most relevant.
Oldest is not always best.
AA has helped countless alcoholics since 1935. It is a safe place for anyone seeking refuge from temptation-no matter where in the world they may be. It's sister organisation Al-Anon has provided support too innumerable to measure for families of alcoholics. It is the biggest, most commonly recognised network an alcoholic has. The longest established. When an alcoholic begins their journey of sobriety this is where all of their received wisdom comes from.
I think that's where the problem lies.
I find it troubling that all of the AA teachings have become exclusively synonymous with successful recovery. It worries me we take as gospel that we must fight the demon drink. That the journey is hard and long and filled with trial. That an alcoholic is never recovered. Is always vulnerable to relapse. That they suffer from an illness or a disease.
That we do not question the information handed to us as law by support groups and rehab centres. I think another way is worth considering. Especially given the current 95% failure rate we find ourselves with.
We are a nation in a drinking crisis right now. The problem is getting bigger, more dramatic. Yet our most accepted solution is less than 8 decades old. It's a solution both too old to be totally socially relevant to today's addict- and too young to be taken as the only answer to build all alcoholism treatment on.
We need to be more adaptable, more accepting of other methods of recovery. The world we live in does not consist of the 99 men and one woman Bill Wilson used to found his organisation. There is such a thing as total recovery from alcoholism. Of a fulfilled, happy, secure recovered alcoholic. It happens. Yet it's largely unacknowledged.
Why?
A life after alcoholism is not just a better life, it is a life that bears no resemblance to the nightmare of addiction. I find it unbearably sad that we are conditioned to expect the total opposite.
I'd like us to start opening ourselves up to the possibility of other options. Working together, pooling our knowledge and success stories. Telling the story of our empowerment. Of our strength. Of our eagerness and excitement. To really start living our recovery not just going the motions step by 12 step.
I think we could start as soon as today.
Think what we could build together in the next eight decades.
Regardless of which decade we belong to.]]>Please Don't Give Up Drinkingtag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.27607422013-02-26T19:00:00-05:002013-04-28T05:12:01-04:00Carrie Armstronghttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/carrie-armstrong/
I don't like it because it doesn't really work.
It's not about sacrifice. The very term "giving up" alcohol I take issue with. Nobody "gives up" drinking, the same way nobody gives up at a traffic light when it turns red. You just stop. Can you imagine if we used this type of terminology whilst driving? Spending hours a day giving up to and from work? We'd all be permanently knackered. Defeated by our own journeys. Is it not slightly worrying that we give more care to the language we use in relation to the vehicles we drive than we do to our own bodies?
Stop Drinking. Stop. It's not even an action is it? It cessation of action, It's switching focus. Replacing the old action of drinking with other new actions. Giving up does more than simply imply that we have stopped a course of action. It infers that there is no more action to come. No stop, so no start. And that is where we are going about recovery in a horribly wrong way. From a massively flawed premise. I've given up drinking so my life is over, versus I've stopped drinking so therefore I'm deliberately starting living instead.
It is important. It is really important. Because when we feel like we've given something wonderful up, that our life will not be as good as everyone else's, those lucky ones who get to still participate in something we have denied ourselves? We harbour feelings of entitlement. That now we have decided to stop f*cking our life up with our drinking we are owed something in return. That the world should give us a break. Be nice to us. That we are suffering and should be rewarded for our gallantry. It won't happen. It can't happen. Because it isn't true. This realisation can be very disappointing. And that disappointment? Just brings a bigger sense of lack and emptiness. Until giving up on giving up seems the only available option. A very easily excused and readily justified option too. And so back to drinking we go. Relapse in full swing, ready to begin that vicious cycle again. And again.
Unless we die obviously. There's your stop without lack. Or is dying too strong a word? Would we prefer "giving up" living?
Recovery is not a sacrifice. It is empowering. An exciting and wonderful journey. The most amazing thing a person can do for themselves. And I never expected it. Never knew it could feel like this. Certainly nobody told me it could be this way. Alcoholics waste years on drinking. On being anesthetised by our drug of choice. We've missed so much of life. All of us. Recovery does not have to be about missing out on even more by spending our new sober life either commiserating with other people who also think they are also missing out, or by spending it shut away from the world out of fear. Fear that our self-discipline is not strong enough to fight the need to drink. More mistaken thinking. Nothing about being recovered needs to be about lack.
My heart breaks for people who have felt the need to "battle" with sobriety. Whether they have lost the battle and gone back to drinking like the 95% we are so often told do. Or whether they continue to battle-like the elusive 5% who stay in recovery-but still feel vulnerable to relapse, or bereft without alcohol. Never feeling fully free and really, truly alive when it is so very easy to do so.
I do believe being recovered is beautiful. And permanent. I do believe we can all have it. Easily. Joyfully. Comfortably. I believe in a world where recovered people are happy. I think we all deserve it. And I think it starts with something as simple as the words we use. Giving up nothing. Choosing more. Choosing a life of passion. Of reaching beyond everything we've ever assumed was possible. A miraculous life filled with inspiration. With love, fulfilment. To me that's what recovery is. And who wouldn't want live in a place like that?
Home.
Finally.]]>Alcoholism Is Not a P*ssing Contesttag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.27125672013-02-19T19:00:00-05:002013-04-21T05:12:02-04:00Carrie Armstronghttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/carrie-armstrong/ Not all alcoholics are created equal.
I had a friend called Karen. Karen didn't look like John. Karen couldn't drink like John. Karen had what we might, (mistakenly) refer to as an alcohol abuse problem. Sometimes she could control it for a few weeks at a time. Sometimes she could not. Karen went on yet another binge. Not that unusual but it scared her. She wanted to stop. She was frightened. She sent her friends a message telling us she was definitely through this time. That it was over. That she was done. That her dad was going to come get her so she could go stay with him for a while and then begin her life teetotal. She took time of work, cleaned her flat and was going to get an early night before he came.
Karen's dad arrived the next day to find she'd died in her sleep. Turns out she was right. She was done. Her body couldn't take it anymore. Karen was 40.
This is how it happens.
I don't frighten easily. I lived in a constant state of fear for so many years that it takes a lot to reignite it and take me to that dark place now. But when I see people using end-stage alcoholics to measure their own drinking against? It frightens me. When I see the media latch onto one person, the exception to the rule that has been able to subject their body to horrendous amounts of alcohol abuse and still just about function? It frightens me. Alcoholism is not a p*ssing contest. There is no glory to be had in being further up the sliding scale than these individuals. Yet we all do it. We all have our own example of someone who drinks more than us. Alcoholics do it too. And when this person dies? We find another one. And another.
John was not always John. End-stage alcoholism is not the full spectrum of alcohol abuse. Once upon a time John had a John to compare himself to and feel safe in the knowledge that he was not there yet. Karen had a John. It did not save her.
I had a John. It did not save me.
The way I drank, my actions when I did drink- how many people did I keep in a place of alcohol abuse because they looked at me and assumed they were clearly fine by comparison? How many lives did I effect by participating in my own p*ssing contest with my own John? Why are the tolerance levels for alcohol abuse so high in our society? If someone is hurting themselves and those around them by their alcohol consumption we cannot wait until they are at the end stages of alcohol abuse to say something. Because the truth is most people die before they get there.
Rehab centres are full of people who are not yet at end-stage alcoholism. Would it surprise you to know that many people suffer a mental breakdown way before a physical one due to alcoholism? That this is why they seek treatment? Or that our hospitals are filled with people whose bodies have given up on them way before end-stage alcoholism?
So are our morgues.
There are many stages before John. There are many stages before Karen. And yes, before me. No one has to get to the points any of us were at before asking for help. To win this particular p*ssing contest you have to actually die. Today someone will. And it will have taught us nothing. And I'm frightened for all of us when I think about that.]]>But Why Do You Drink?tag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.26148912013-02-05T19:00:00-05:002013-04-07T05:12:01-04:00Carrie Armstronghttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/carrie-armstrong/
I loved you from the moment we met, it was sudden and total and all-consuming, when you were there? No one else in the room. No one else existed for me. When you weren't there I missed you with a need so intense that all I could do was count down the hours until we could be together again. The only time my life made any sense at all was when I spent it with you.
Not true of course.
You who I burned for, with a longing so fierce it consumed me in its entirety, you who made the rest of the world disappear glass by glass. Who made the bad go away and put a beautiful filter on the world that accentuated the good. You who understood me, who never questioned me. How could words even begin to describe what we had? Nobody else could ever understand what we meant to each other. They just didn't get it. They weren't capable of loving this way.
Lies. Obviously.
We belonged together. It was just that simple. It didn't matter what other people said about you. About how bad we were together, I just wanted you.
I didn't want you. I thought I needed you to survive. Big Difference.
It took years for me to realise it was all one sided-that you never loved me. That I meant nothing to you. That I was just a vessel. That you weren't the life raft I was clinging to-you were the current pulling me under.
Love is not supposed to damage you physically or mentally.
I really thought I would die without you. It just felt so wrong I didn't understand how anyone could, why they would want to? Who would choose a life without you after experiencing it alongside you? When we ended I never knew a loss like it. I really thought I would never love again-how could anything come close to the way you made me feel?
You made me feel nothing in retrospect. Numb. Empty.
I loved you so much. For a decade you were the only thing I could see. And now I never think about you at all. You took everything I had, everything I was. Stripped me away piece by piece- but I built myself back up. Put myself back together again. And yes, truly, I never think about you. And I know how to really love now. And this love is so different. This love gives back. To me, to everyone around me, it's so real and pure and true. It makes you pale into insignificance.
Imagine if I'd known that, all the wasted years I spent trying to make you my love story of the century.
I see you now with other people-and I feel nothing. I barely notice you are there most of the time. I don't even miss you- you who were my all. Bigger than my pride. my sense of self-preservation. You who fulfilled my every need and want. Everything I'd ever wished for- in you I found. And it's gone. My longing, my desperation. Turns out you weren't the one for me after all. My love story with you was quite average in the end. Not so spectacular after all. Nothing special about us. Very mediocre compared to the love I am capable of experiencing these days, actually.
Turns out it's only love if you can feel yourself being loved back.
The false premise of addiction is not something you can inject reason into from the outside. Or use rhetoric to navigate. There is nothing you can do to help someone who thinks they love something this much. It is down to them and them alone. Even though this love is based on lies-to the addict it still feels true. It is still the most real thing in their existence. And until the cracks start to show in this belief? They won't want to change a thing. And if you are walking around carrying the guilty burden of feeling you failed the alcoholic in your life? Failed to get through to them before they killed themselves with the object of their affection? Let me say it again; there is nothing you could have done, or said, or been. There is little consolation in knowing you had to share a mother or a wife or a daughter with a false love and need like this. But please do not blame yourself because honestly? You didn't stand a chance. You did everything you could. Nobody can do a thing more than that.
Put that burden down.
Take it off.
Let it go.
No more whys.]]>Alcoholism Is Uglytag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.25638862013-01-28T19:00:00-05:002013-03-30T05:12:01-04:00Carrie Armstronghttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/carrie-armstrong/ Alcoholism is ugly.
I'm lying on the road. It's the early hours of the morning in a part of town that no one wanders about alone. A taxi stops. A man gets out, picks me up and lays me on the back seat. He must have found my phone because he gets me to my house. Carries me through my front door. He is crying. Telling me over and over that he has a daughter my age. Won't take any money from my flatmates (also crying). I crawl up the stairs, hit my head on the bath tub and pass out.
Alcoholism is ugly
I am in a pub. It's night-time, (hard to tell in this sort of place because the curtains are always drawn but it is night-time) and I have been drinking for around 12 hours. I am with my boyfriend. He is angry at me because I am very drunk, and apparently embarrassing him with my lack of control at this late point in the day. He shows his displeasure by dragging me across a table full of empties. Our empties. Obviously. Blood everywhere. Days later I'm still picking shards of glass out of my skin.
Alcoholism. Is. Ugly.
There's nothing unusual about any of these excerpts from my early twenties- other than the fact that unlike so many incidents I can actually remember them. It is often quoted that an alcoholic negatively impacts five other people with their drinking. I can tell you my drinking affected way more than these mysterious five. My family. Kind hearted taxi drivers. Pub landlords. Long suffering, terrified flatmates. And yes even horrible abusive alcoholic boyfriends.
Alcoholism is ugly. And though only the drinker feels the physical impact of the drinking - the pain of the self-inflicted injuries - the toxicity of our lifestyle tarnishes every single person we come into contact with. And yet nobody will talk about it. Everybody looks the other way. Because nice girls are not alcoholics. And if you aren't a nice girl-or at the very least clean your act up enough to do a decent approximation of one? Then no one will want you. And you will stay ugly and alone.
I have been sober for seven years now, but the chaos and damage that my drinking has caused will never leave me. I'm not proud of any of these tales. I have no excuse for my behaviour. But it did happen. And it is happening right now. Probably no more than a few feet from where you work and live. Young girls dying slowly from the outside in. And it will keep happening until we realise that alcoholism is something that also happens to girls in pretty dresses. Is it embarrassing to have these incredibly ugly confessions in print for anyone to see? Yes. Do I wish my story was prettier? Yes. But the secret ugliness of addiction is destroying young women. Slowly. Horribly. Enough is enough.
Why does this ugliness not have a face? Why could I never find one woman alcoholic on the television or in newspapers who looked like me? Who I could identify with? Who shared my ugly secret, no matter how hard I searched during my years of alcohol abuse? Why can I still not find her now after seven years sober? Where is this ugly girl who looks just like me? Because Alcoholism is ugly. I lived this ugliness for a decade. My drinking past is horrible. It is disgraceful. And there is nothing I can do to change it. But I know a secret now that I am standing on the other side of it. A secret that I want every other ugly alcoholic girl to know too. And it's a secret I'm going to start shouting now, and keep shouting until everyone has heard it.
Alcoholism is Ugly.
But.
Recovery is Beautiful.
I'd like to see some more beauty now please.]]>Why I'll Always Love Lance Armstrongtag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.25127722013-01-20T19:00:00-05:002013-03-22T05:12:01-04:00Carrie Armstronghttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/carrie-armstrong/
I don't care.
And I don't mean I am disinterested. I'm not. Far from it. I mean that I don't care. Not because I encourage massive amounts of deceit as part of a healthy-balanced lifestyle. But because the man is my hero. Always will be.
I remember reading It's Not About the Bike when I was first able to use my hands, lift my head off my chin and sit slightly upright. I don't have words to tell you what it felt like. To feel the power and determination leaping off the page. To be that mentally and physically worn down and desperate- and to feel like he was talking right at me. To then be able to see this man, on this bike. Alive, well, thriving. Hope and health personified. Words don't do it justice. It certainly got me through some horrendous moments. The times where there was no reassuring myself. When all was hurt and pain and loss. Where the present was unbearable, the past was too painful to look back on and any future seemed terribly unlikely at all.
Oprah had 112 questions she prepared for Lance. I've been preparing mine for years. There's so much I want to know; like how the hell did he ever learn to trust his body again after it took him to the very edge and made him peer into the precipice? How can he love so fearlessly in relationships and be able to lean on another person like that? Bring children into a world he knows has every chance of letting them experience the pain he has suffered physically? How did he manage to cultivate such a sense of unshakable certainty in all aspects of his life? Does it come naturally to him? Does he have to work it like a muscle? Is it part of his training - as vital as the physical components?
I find it remarkable a body that has suffered as much as Lance Armstrong's can do any of the things he has been able to do physically over the years. But not as remarkable as I find it that he can get up, leave the house everyday, go to work and not be completely paralysed by fear. That he doesn't live his 'what ifs' on a constant loop. Doesn't continually scan his body for signs of illness returning. That he really is future focussed and is so free of the past that he can inspire thousands of people with his story by telling it continuously, without having to relive it every time he does so.
How did he do it? And then consistently keep doing it? What kind of strength must that take? I find it astonishing. That the fear does not come to haunt him in the night. That he is able to live his life 100% free of vulnerability. Because that's what he did. Pushed his body in ways we are really just coming to discover. All in total trust that he could handle it. Without ending up peering into the abyss again. Without being plunged back into the darkness. Into that nameless, formless terror. That defies description, but is felt all too well.
Lance can give back his sponsorship money, his titles, his many accolades. But he will never be asked to erase the hope he has given to so many of us. Nobody knows why some people recover from illness and some do not. We are no closer to understanding why this is. And to hide Lance Armstrong away, to try to erase the memory of who he is, and what he has achieved - it just makes the journey to our finding out how and why some do recover so spectacularly, all the longer. And that scares me. I'd like to know so much more about the way Lance Armstrong's mind works. What he tells himself. What his inner story is about his own body. What he does to reassure himself. I want to know it all. Because I think Lance Armstrong is a genius at wellness. And no one will ever be able to take that away from him.
Just like nothing will ever take away what has work has done, and continues to do for me to this day. And the rest of the story? The scandal? The untruths?
I won't ever care.]]>Tell it Anywaytag:www.huffingtonpost.com,2013:/theblog//3.24419012013-01-09T19:20:54-05:002013-03-11T05:12:01-04:00Carrie Armstronghttp://www.huffingtonpost.com/carrie-armstrong/ Tell it anyway.
The truth cannot convince you of your beauty when you know your ugliness is showing for all to see. It cannot be a physical barrier between you and the disappointment that may face you today
Tell it anyway.
It cannot soothe the fears that come to taunt you, or whisper comfort into your ear when the world becomes dark.
Tell it anyway.
Tell it and open the door for anyone who needs to go. Tell it and keep telling it - even if the only ones left to hear it are you and your truth, alone, together. Speak it until you feel like the person you were always meant to be. Own it until you don't fear the consequences of it anymore.
Speak it knowing that the truth cannot make you the centre of its universe. Cannot hold your hand for the world to see. Will never shout your achievements from the rooftops. Shall never announce to the world "This is my person, my someone and I am proud of them". Knowing it won't. It can't. It can only be what it is. A fact. An open admission. Nothing more. Nothing less.
Say it and discover that there is a power to the truth. A solid certain sureness. A stabilising quality that keep us sure of the ground beneath our feet. Voice it and realise it is a comfort within itself. A reassurance that another cannot provide us. A deep, true, core, foundation that so many lasting things of real substance can be built upon.
Say it and feel the comfortable easy knowing. The rightness within ourselves. The sensation of finally fitting into our own skin.
Mark it and finally know peace. A peace that inevitably comes with acceptance. Acceptance of who we are, a deeper sense of trust in where we are going. A reassurance that all is fine.
The truth cannot stroke your hair until you fall asleep at night. It cannot entwine itself with your body because it feels there is no other way for it to rest until morning. But it can ensure that you are closer to finding the person that will-maybe closer than you've ever been in your entire life. So;