Guest Post:

Acupuncture: What Role Does It Play In Addiction Treatment?

For decades, medical professionals and therapists alike have struggled to find the cause and the cure for addiction. Scientists have studied it from both a genetic and an environmental perspective. Family and friends have tried everything they can think of. Even addicts themselves have tried one thing after another to try and get relief from the problem. They may try counseling, moving to a different state, punishing themselves, rewarding themselves, checking themselves in to rehabs or going to church. Some people seem to get to a point where they are done and after seeking treatment or making drastic lifestyle changes appear to overcome their addiction. Others struggle throughout their lives, eventually dying without ever getting the help they need.

What Works For One Person, Doesn’t Work For Another

So how do you overcome addiction? There doesn’t seem to be an easy answer. Some swear by rehab, others by twelve step programs. Still others insist that it is a behavioral problem that can be fixed with rigid self-control or willingness to change.

While willingness to change is certainly a bonus, there are plenty of people out there who are tired of using and who have the willingness to do something different, yet find themselves back to square one again and again. Then there are those who show not a shred of willingness, yet leave rehab free of cravings and somehow achieve long-term recovery.

Some respond well to the twelve step community, others to a structured rehab program. Then there are those who go to rehab after rehab only to relapse and come back again.

Traditional rehab settings use a combination of individual and group therapy, psychoeducational groups, behavioral therapy, a structured, protected setting and a focus on accountability to get results. This does work for some people, but does not work for many more. Many find a combination of rehab and twelve step programs helps them to stay clean and sober.

The Introduction Of Holistic Therapies In Addiction Treatment

Addiction treatment has yet to come up with a consistent, proven, effective formula to help those who are addicted. The quality of treatment programs varies widely, and many are not using evidence-based treatments, nor do they offer comprehensive services. There are plenty of good treatment centers, though, that offer evidence-based treatments, quality therapy, comprehensive services, and many that also offer holistic therapies for their clients.

Holistic therapies are simply those that address the “whole” person. This includes physical, mental and emotional health. Holistic medicine isn’t just about treating a symptom, it’s about treating the person, and delving into the root causes of problems. Holistic addiction treatment does the same, with therapies that help the individual on multiple levels. Also, holistic treatments often include alternative therapies, some that are relatively new, and some that have been around for over a thousand years.

Acupuncture In Addiction Treatment

Acupuncture is a traditional Chinese medicine that is used to treat a wide variety of both physical and mental maladies. It may be used to alleviate pain, improve digestion, aid in sleep, fight depression, and more recently, help people who are struggling with addiction or who are in early recovery.

The practice consists of using the acupuncture needles in 3 to 5 spots around the ear. These particular pressure points, when stimulated, are believed to help reduce cravings, improve sleep, and improve kidney and liver function. This can aid the body in the detox process.

While there are plenty of skeptics out there, many people swear by acupuncture for addiction treatment, and more and more rehabs are offering this service. Clients and addiction professionals alike are singing the praises of this time-tested practice, stating that it helps newly recovering addicts feel better during the early phases of recovery. This is pretty big, if you think about it, because it is during this early phase that people tend to be the most vulnerable. They are more likely to leave treatment prematurely and relapse if they can’t get their cravings under control, or if they are overwhelmed with symptoms like insomnia, fatigue and depression. These happen to be common issues in treatment, as the client is often going through post-acute withdrawal syndrome (PAWS) theses symptoms can be quite severe, and can interfere with the recovery process.

Other holistic therapies that have been shown to help recovering addicts include yoga, meditation, massage therapy and nutrition therapy.

So, does acupuncture for addiction treatment work? Many think so, and research is looking into the claims that it is an effective treatment. So far, the jury is still out. Again, it may come down to the individual. Some may respond well to this type of treatment, while others won’t. While no one is suggesting that acupuncture be the only line of defense against withdrawal symptoms and cravings, there are those that believe that the recovering addict needs all the help they can get. And, it really can’t hurt.

Personally I can say it made a huge difference in my personal journey into recovery.  I found that it helped significantly with anxiety and Post Acute Withdrawal Syndrome.  I also suffered from a lot of stomach pain and insomnia I found relief relatively quickly.  I would highly recommend that anyone at least try it once you may be surprised at how much it helps.

Would you try acupuncture? Or have you had experience with it in the past? Do you think that it is a good addition to rehab therapies, or a waste of time?

Rose Lockinger is passionate member of the recovery community. A rebel who found her cause, she uses blogging and social media to raise the awareness about the disease of addiction. She has visited all over North and South America. Single mom to two beautiful children she has learned parenting is without a doubt the most rewarding job in the world. Currently the Outreach Director at Stodzy Internet Marketing.

You can find me on LinkedIn, Facebook, & Instagram

The Possible Me

Okay, I admit it, when others post videos on their blogs or on the message boards I prowl, I usually skip right over them. But do yourself a favor, and watch this one. The name of it is Who We Are When We Are Not Addicted: The Possible Human, and it answered so many questions I had in my struggle to reach sobriety and so many questions I have right now.

I think the thing that hit me to the core is when Dr. Mate said that he is a firm supporter of twelve step programs, but he is uncomfortable when someone stands up and says, "Hi, my name is -----and I'm an alcoholic"  because that is not who that person is.

I identify myself as many things. I am a woman. I am a mother. I am a wife. I am a nurse. And I am an alcoholic.  But that is not really who I am. Those are roles that I play or have played and they have contributed to who I am.  But they have not made me into those things. 

When I was drinking, I can remember, time and time again, holding my head in my hands and saying, "This is not who I am. This is not me."  It wasn't. And I didn't want what I was doing to myself  to deform who I was. But I kept drinking and it did deform or reform who I am.

Who am I?

I can tell you who I think I am right now, but that still is not me at my essence.

I am someone who is good. I am someone who wants to make life better, for me, for others, for nature, for God. But I am still someone who relies too much on others opinions of me and it suppresses the real me.  I am still someone who is attached too much to approval and reward even when I'm doing what I think is good and right.

I found this video today while doing my daily exercise in avoidance of doing what I think I should be doing. I'd gone to youtube to find the playlist that is supposed to make me feel positive and energetic, the one I listen to when I try to write.  I happened to see a Russell Brand video of when he is talking to some legislative body about why he is against the decriminalization of drugs and that held my attention for a bit.  Then I happened to see the link to this video and followed it. Usually, when I see any video that is an hour long, I pass right by it, but I was in serious avoidance mode.

I'm glad I did. It validated so many of the things that I have found to be true in sobriety. That it does no good to reason with your addicted brain, that you have to tap into that inner you, the one that you know is there and screaming, "This isn't me!" That alcohol and addiction is just another veil we put up between us and the world. That we don't want to grow up and deal with the world. 

That the biggest loss in our life comes not from our parents not loving us enough or abusing us but the fact that we suppressed our inner selves, those selves that they did not love, so they would love us.

My parents loved me. I've never blamed them for my drinking. I blame the fact that I was a shy, awkward, smart kid that grew to be a shy, awkward, smart adolescent and we all know that our society does not honor this. We are expected to be outgoing and vibrant and witty. For awhile I did a pretty good job at acting like I was all those things, but it was an act. Then I found booze. Instant exuberance elixir.

And I stayed stuck right there at awkward and ungainly in my mind's eye, unless I was drinking, until I got sober.

Then the real me took a deep breath and stepped out onto the stage. I was terrified that no one would like me. That I wouldn't like myself. And you know what? There are things I don't like about myself. But I can't explain the ease of life and the rightness of it, now that I am living it as myself. 

I wish I was at the Possible Me. Someone who saw herself  as someone that has something to offer that no one else has. And that something is beautiful and shining just as it is. That it is just as good as what anyone else has to offer. That it  does not need someone else's approval or admiration to make it shine. 

That something is me!

This video gave me a lot of courage to become the possible me and the insight that if I don't allow myself to be the possible me, in the fullest most unbridled sense possible, I am depriving the world.

I'm obviously not there yet, because I really think I should go back and delete  the last five words of the last sentence.

But I'm not going to. So there.

Coming Clean: Part II...finally

It is the hour to rend thy chains,
The blossom time of souls. ~Katherine Lee Bates

Day 216 of Sobriety

So here is what happened.  The day before my birthday, the cap'n and I were sitting in a little courtyard restaurant in Merida for lunch.  Because I wanted to celebrate I ordered a daquiri limon sin alcohol con ron seperado. In other words in English, I ordered a daquiri without alcohol but asked the waiter to go ahead and serve the rum separate on the side.  I did this because they are going to charge me the same with or without rum and someone at the table will always drink that shot of rum. (Yes, it's usually the cap'n and yes, I know how to spell E-N-A-B-L-E-R).  Anyway, the drink came and I did what I usually do, I sniffed the drink. I've ordered a daquiri in this same manner before and the waiters or bartender, who just can't comprendo why someone would want a daquiri without alcohol, have still delivered to me a benign looking frosty drink loaded with enough rum to make my eyes water. In the past, I have always promptly returned these drinks back to the bartender and ordered a Coke-lite.  This time the sniff test had a negative result.

But when I tasted the drink, it tasted...uh, funny.  It didn't taste like rum but it didn't taste like a straight lemonade (which is what I should have ordered) either.  Was it possible, after all my safeguards, the bartender had still snuck in a little hooch? The feeling of elation that swept through me was intense, and I'm not exaggerating.  In a blink of an eye, I rationalized that I had done my part and, if this drink happened to have alcohol in it, I was absolved of any wrongdoing. And it was my birthday. And I was turning 50.  And that was special enough for a little transgression.  And no one would know.  And, after all, I had done my part.  And maybe I would just allow myself this one day to drink.

And instead of sending that drink back, I gulped it down and motioned for the waiter to bring me another.

Alas, the drinks had no alcohol in them and the only buzz I got was a sugar buzz and as we walked back to our hotel I had that sluggish, indolent feeling that too much food and sun gives you.  But those two bogus drinks had lit a fuse in my brain and I had all but made up my mind to give myself a  special 50th birthday gift.  I was going to let myself drink.  Just a glass of wine, okay maybe two.  Just for that one day.  

 I know. I know.  Cringe!

We got to our room at the hotel and I turned the key in the lock.

"Surprise!"

Our friends, Barbara and Jack, had driven up to share my birthday with me. 

Poof! There went the insidious birthday present I had planned for myself.  Because, while I knew the cap'n wouldn't support me in my plan to allow myself to drink, he wouldn't tell on me. He'd keep my secret.  But all my plans and schemes were now laid to ruin because my friends had showed up and I have too much pride to let them see me throw away everything I had worked for and they had supported me through. And they would tell everybody else.

Thank you, God!

That cliff is still right in front of me.  I'm not standing at the edge looking over anymore but I'm just a hop and a skip away.  I need to keep backing up. 

This week I am laboring to dig my well of compassion for others a little deeper, I still suffer the sin of condescension and I know when I get to thinking of myself being above others' transgressions my Co-worker is fixin' to give me a smack-down.  I need to remind myself that when I was considering that duplicitous birthday gift, I knew very well that booze isn't a gift that keeps on giving, instead it keeps on taking and taking and taking...and you never know what it's going to leave you with.

So today I'm just out there doing my best to keep on digging and backing up.

Coming Clean: Part I

 Men are not punished for their sins, but by them. ~Elbert Hubbard

Day 207 of Sobriety

I promised I would always be honest and I have a confession to make.  You might have noticed that lately instead of putting “Day # of Abs” up there on my day count I sneakily changed it to “Day # of Sobriety” and that is because I have drank in those 207 days.  Early in my sobriety, I think it was  in the first two or three months, I took four little sips of beer at four separate times.  Gasp!  It was early in my sobriety and I can remember that the days when I chose to imbibe in my four little sips were sunny and bright and warm, the kind of days for which cold bracing beer is just made and I just wanted that taste on my tongue for just an instant.  And that was it, that was enough.  I didn’t confess it to ya’ll at the time because I truly didn’t think it was significant, but then I read a post from a fellow traveler on this journey and he had taken a toast at a friend’s funeral and he was feeling very torn about whether to reset his sobriety date in AA and he was questioning the other members of the message board about what he should do.  From the responses he received, I realized that even though I might not attach much significance to those 4 little sips of beer, others do, and because I want others to recognize my sincerity and integrity and commitment in this vital venture of mine, I changed my Days to Sobriety Days instead of Abs Days and more importantly I quit taking sips of beer, or anything else.

So why did I not think those 4 little sips were significant?  Because at none of the times that I took those sips did I believe that I was jeopardizing my sobriety. I didn’t and still don’t, believe that any one of those 4 little sips would send me spiraling into a relapse.  And they didn’t. The Catholic religion believes that the difference between a venial and a mortal sin is that when you choose to commit a mortal sin you willingly and knowingly turn your back on God.  Those little sips were venial sins against my sobriety, I didn’t turn my back on sobriety.  I believe it’s the significance that we place on things that give them their power.  If I had believed those four little sips would trigger a relapse, they could have.  If I believed cooking with wine could steal my control and have me pouring a glass while I cook, it might.  If I believed that if I continue to go to bars and parties, I would eventually, inevitably drink, I probably would.  But those are the beliefs of others, they are not mine, and that is why I have not joined with some of the established establishments in this field, because if I started attaching the importance they feel I should on some things that I don’t think are all that important, I may start to believe, as they do, that I am destined to fail. And I will.

Where do I draw the line?  What is the difference between a sip and a glass or two of wine if I don’t attach any significance to them?  I don’t know, I just know for me there is a difference. Why, if they were not significant, did I wait so long to write abou tmy 4 little sips?  My surface response is that I always thought there were more important things to write about, but I’m sure down deep under the surface there is some avoidance of the issue involved.  I don’t want to spend a whole lot of effort justifying those 4 little sips because, then again, I’m attaching too much significance to them and giving them too much power.  

You might have noticed this blog is just Part 1.  There was an incidence during my birthday weekend that I feel jeopardized my sobriety more than those 4 little sips but in my commitment to be more concise, I’ll save that for my next blog. 

So today I’m just out there doing my best to avoid the near occasions of sin, no matter the significance or insignificance attached.

P.S. Sorry for the confusion to the early readers of this post, I forgot to put my title in the title slot. Lo siento.

P.P.S.  I just read through this post again and noticed all the errors that were there.  It's kind of a confusing post anyway and it was even more so before I corrected it.  My excuse is that we had to run into Merida early this morning and I wanted to post this before I left, knowing that by the time I got home I would have brain drain.  Instead, my brain hadn't had it's fill of caffeine or daylight yet and was still on snooze mode.  Readers of  the earlier non-improved post probably thought I'd started sipping again. Ja Ja Ja

Fixin' To

"It's never too late to be what you might have been."

Overcoming Addiction Quote by George Eliot (November 1819 - December 1880)

Day 201

Another long absence to explain/excuse away, it’s such a relief to be able to be honest and not have to cover up my drinking anymore.  Last night we were supposed to go to yet another fundraiser and I just didn’t feel like it and called my friend who was throwing it to tell her that I wasn’t going to make it, a year ago she would have assumed that I was too drunk or hungover.  Not anymore.

I’ve been busy. Busy meddling in other people’s business and busy offering unsolicited advice.  Oh, and I didn’t have any internet service for three days which nettled me to no end.  And the internet provider didn’t even call to ask for my advice, which frustrated me even further.

You see, I’m a fixer.  I love to be given a problem and asked for a solution.  Okay, maybe I’m not asked for solutions all that often but I’m always ready with one if you do ask, or even if you don’t.  Except when it comes to my own problems.  Ah-ha!  I can remember sitting on my sofa in the dark, unkempt and miserable in the midst of shaky withdrawals and telling the cap’n how much I hated “this,” how I couldn’t do it anymore, how much I hated me.  He would reply, “Fix it.”

Oh God!  How simple that solution seems now but how insurmountable it seemed then.  If you’re just starting this journey, you’re probably saying, “Tell me how, tell me how.”  If you’re where I am, you’re probably saying, “Why did it take me so long.”  And if you’ve been sober for a while, your nodding and saying, “I told you so.”

The solution is simply quit drinking.  So I quit drinking and everything is hunky-dory, right? Wrong.  Drinking is like a big road block sign warning you that there is danger ahead and that you’re better off taking the detour then hazarding the potholes and dangers that lie ahead.  For years,  I kept taking the detours and they kept taking me further and further from my destination, in the end I didn’t even remember where I wanted to go, much less how to get there.

So now I’ve climbed over the drinking road block and I’m hitting different road blocks and I have decisions to make.  I can take another detour, or change directions, or try to hitch a ride with someone and go wherever they’re going, or I can just sit there and be stuck.  OR I CAN CLIMB OVER THE DAMN THING AND START REPAIRING THE DAMN ROAD.

So last week I was sitting at one of these roadblocks, feeling trapped, and considering my options. Okay, enough already with the damn road construction, I’m going to speak plainly.  I was frustrated with a certain situation (How’s that for plain speaking?) and I was feeling trapped.  I was so sick and tired of someone else deciding what my options are.  So I decided I need to go back to work.  I mean really, here I am bellyaching and worrying about not being able to afford to live in CO and here but I won’t get off my lazy ass to support the cause?  But the problem is my ass ain’t just lazy, it’s scared.  Probably more scared than lazy.  But my ass is tired of being scared and lazy.

So I contacted some travel nursing agencies and I was actually getting past being scared to being excited while I was filling out the application packets.  One of the jobs I was really interested in was in a state that I don’t have a license in. “Just a tiny speed bump,” I thought. “All I have to do is apply for a license in that state.” WRONG!  Come to find out, in order to receive licensure in that particular state I have to prove that I have worked 520 hours in the past two years in the state I am licensed in.  I haven’t.  Major roadblock.  But not insurmountable, all I have to do is clock some hours in my home state.

I went to the website of the hospital in which I worked for 20 odd years and yes, there was an opening in the OR.  Great, right?  I wasn’t so sure.  The OR director is the same one who was my boss for a few years and we always had a good relationship….I think.  The last time I inquired about working there a few years ago, she told me that they didn’t need me, that their surgery schedule wasn’t busy enough.  That was true, but as an alcoholic, I always get to wonder if my drinking had anything to do with it.  Let me make it clear, I never went to work impaired, not unless you count hangovers, in that case I was impaired for 20 years, but I’m sure the apt description, “She’s a damn good nurse, but you know she’s a drinker” that I had heard applied to several of my esteemed colleagues was applied to me as well through the years.

I could have detoured around the discomfort of applying for a job back at this facility and applied at another facility in the state, but I really wanted to refresh my skills in a place that I was familiar with, plus, I needed a good reference from this supervisor to apply for other jobs.  So,…gulp…I emailed her about my situation and prepared to wait for the verdict.

I didn’t have to wait long. She emailed me the next morning, “I’ve been thinking about you,” she wrote, “I could really use you while some of the new staff is training”.

Alleluia! One more roadblock kicked to the ditch along with one more fear that my drinking had left more potholes to fill.

So I’m fixin’ to get my lazy, scared, old ass back to work.  There are a lot more roadblocks to get rid of before I can go back to work, and going back to work is just one more leg of the journey, but God it feels good to be back on the road. 

Damn good!  

So today I’m just out there doing by best to keep jumpin’ those roadblocks, fillin’ in the potholes and fixin’ the road that lies ahead.  I’m fixin’ to get to where I’m goin’.

P.S. In reference to the picture above, it doesn't seem to matter how far I go, I always end up back in KS.  Can someone tell me how to delete the "No Place Like Home" app in my ruby red slippers?

Beach Boogie

Day 185 of Sobriety

I had other plans for my blog today, actually I was torn between writing about newfound honesty or my plans to go back to work but I guess my Co-Writer decided nobody wanted to read about that sh%$ because when I decided to take a walk to more fully formulate my profound thoughts on the matters, he hit me right between the eyes with a “sign.”

I hadn’t gone far, actually I had just reached the end of my calle, when right in front of me was an older man making his way to the beach.  He was using a walker with wheels and you could see his legs were stiff and strictured and his progress was slow in the soft sand. Now I could stop right there and make this a whole blog about perseverance and not giving up and living your life in spite of your infirmities and burdens.

But that’s not the point.  I haven’t given you the full picture yet.  

Hanging off the front of the walker was a white plastic chair, one of the flimsy ones you see everywhere, the ones down here usually have the Modelo or Sol beer logo on the back of them.  Now I could stop here and write a blog about stopping in our struggles to take a moment to sit in the sun and enjoy its warmth on our face and know that all of the pain and hardship is worth it.

But you still haven’t got the whole picture.

Because hanging on the side of the walker was a boogie board and don’t you just know that as he pushed that stubborn sumbitch of a walker in that unrelenting sand his eyes were focused on that cool water that lay in front of him and all he could think of was that soon he would be able to move effortlessly in its merciful buoyancy and when he had swum as far and fast as he could go the waves would send him racing back to shore.  

I’m not sure of the lesson in that, I’m lazy today and I’ll let you come up with your own instead of supplying you with yet another one of my sophomoric analogies.

Oh, you still don’t have the full picture.

He was wearing a Speedo.

I’m not sure what the lesson is there either, but the complete picture makes me smile.

So today I’m just out there doing my best to get my boogie on and strut my stuff, infirmities be damned!

Cock-A-Doodle-Do!!!

Day 145

Up at the ungodly hour of 5 am this morning, I wish the neighbor could convince his damn rooster to sleep in on Sundays.  Hey wait a minute, my neighbor doesn’t have a rooster.  That must have been me crowing.

The cap’n and I and our friends, Yack (That’s how our friend Gaby pronounces Jack, and it fits) and Barbara, decided to go down the Bull Pen yesterday evening for “Beer Friday On Saturday” (I’ll explain that in another post sometime).  We all promised we would only have one since we vowed to get home and cook dinner and stay at home for a change.  When we got there, a couple that rents a casa down the calle from us, Peggy and Joe, were sitting at a table up front.  We said, “Hi” and the cap’n stopped to chat with them while Yack and Babs and I took a table next to them.  I’ve never really warmed up to this couple, one reason is they don’t seem to associate with many of the expats from our village, instead they hang out with a group of fellow Canadians in Chixculub.  But the big reason is because last year, a couple weeks after New Year’s, we ran into them at the Bodega in Progreso (that is the main grocery store), we’d just walked into the store and Joe was standing at the service counter.

“I heard about your New Years Eve,” he boomed to me in decibels loud enough to be heard across El Gulfo to Galveston.

“Oh really,” I asked, trying to find an escape route through the crowd maneuvering their shopping carts through the entrance.

“I heard you were plastered!!” boomed the human foghorn again.

Suffice it to say, I’ve been giving them a wide berth ever since.

We stayed true to our word yesterday and only had one drink each, as I was getting in the car to leave I realized I was carrying the glass from the bar.  When I went back in to return it, Patrick, the owner, was at Peggy and Joe’s table.  I went over and sat the still half-full glass down on their table.

“Has that got rum in it?” Joe boomed. “If it does, I’ll drink it.”

“Nope, just Coke-lite,” I replied nonchalantly.

“No rum?” the crestfallen Joe asked in bewildered disbelief.

“ ‘Fraid not.” I patted his hand and left.

My neck’s a little sore this morning from the strain of holding it up so high.

So today I’m just out there doing my best not to get too cocky and praying for low humidity (I’ve put my elf outfit back on and I’m making peanut brittle to sale at a bazaar to build up the kitty for next Christmas’s toy drive).

Ask And You Shall Receive

I have been driven many times to my knees by the overwhelming conviction that I had absolutely no other place to go.

--Abraham Lincoln

Day 124

The wind blew me off the beach this morning and onto the beach road which is a little more sheltered.   I soon found myself at the village square and since it was Domingo I wandered into the church.  I tried to shush my mind long enough to just listen but I’m not very good at that.  I found myself thinking about the mantra I used to repeat to myself on those tortured nights when I couldn’t sleep and I was trying to force myself to stay in bed and not go down those damn stairs and open that damn bottle of wine.  Some of those nights I really thought I was going to die.  When I’d worn out the “Hail Mary’s” and  I’d gone through all of the remnants of prayers that I could remember,  I would repeat this mantra over and over hoping it would lull me to sleep.  Sometimes it worked, more times than not though, the wine won the battle.

The mantra I made up for myself was a simple plea,

Dear God,

Please help me to

Be Better

Live Better

Love Better

This morning in the church I realized he had been listening.

Message From Afar

love builds up the broken wall

and straightens the crooked path.

love keeps the stars in the firmament

and imposes rhythm on the ocean tides

each of us is created of it

and i suspect

each of us was created for it”

--Maya Angelou

Day 120

Some miracles can be buried and lose their shine in the razor sharp sands of time that wash in and pile up in a short 24 hours.  I wanted to write about yesterday’s miracle while it was shiny and new but because of a shortage of that shifty thing called time, I didn’t.  Now I find myself doubting that it was even a miracle at all and I’m frantically brushing off the sand and spitting and rubbing trying to bring it back to its original  luster.

I was walking my strand of beach yesterday scanning the sand for treasure, I’m not really a shell collector but I always manage to return back to the casa with one arm an inch longer from carrying a bag of sea junk.  Up ahead of me was a Mexican man also carrying a mesh bag and poking around in the sand and rocks, this was strange because he didn’t look like a “spit and polish” Meridian here for a holiday, instead, with his sun faded, frayed clothing and weathered face, he looked like one of the local fisherman.  Believe me, those poor souls don’t have time to play shell seekers.

I watched from afar as he prodded and dug at something in the sand until finally curiosity got the better of me and I walked up to see what he was so intent on digging up.  As I approached I saw him digging along the edge of a large buried slab of concrete.  He looked up at me and smiled and I tried idiotically to pantomime that the chunk of concrete would be too big for his bag and too heavy to carry.  He went back to digging and I continued on along the beach.  I hadn’t gone far when I heard him approaching from behind me. 

“Senora,” he called.

I turned and he held out his hand to show me what he had been digging for.

It was a starfish.

Now if you’ve read through all of my blogs, you know that starfish hold a certain significance for me.  Almost exactly a year ago, I wrote about a starfish I found on the beach and I blogged about my mother and told about the priest calling her a Starfish Thrower in his homily at her funeral. So when the fisherman showed me his treasure, I knew it was special.  I knew it was a miracle.  I just didn’t know what it meant.

This morning I think I’ve figured it out.

As I grow older, I grow more and more comfortable with and proud of the similarities between my mother and me. For years I tried to deny them but one glaring similarity that couldn’t be ignored is the fact that both of us are married to “drinkers”.  Although I would never say that I was scarred by my dad’s drinking, I was definitely affected by it.  It was always there in the background, laced through all the years of my childhood.  Though not constant, the arguments about his drinking were frequent enough and frightful to me as a child. That may explain some of the fear I’m feeling these days.    I’ve been browsing the message boards lately in search of a means to bring a resolution and some peace to my turmoil in dealing with the capn’s drinking.  I’ve read a lot about detachment as a means of survival.  I don’t like how detachment sounds. It scares me. I don’t want to detach from anything.  I feel like that was what I was doing when I was drinking.  I tell myself that the cap’n and I love each other too much to end up like the testimonies that I’ve read.  I’m scared that those women told themselves the same thing.

 My dad never quit drinking, but in the last few years of Mom’s life there seemed to be less turmoil about it and there was a peace in their marriage.  Maybe Mom finally learned to detach herself, but I don’t think so.  I never knew that woman to detach from anything, we worked in the same hospital every day and she still called me nightly to check up on me. That’s how I viewed her phone calls then, now I think maybe she was just lonely.  I get that.

No, I don’t think she detached.  Instead I think Dad was one of her starfish.  I’m sure that sometimes the same starfish strand themselves over and over on the rocky shores and you have to keep picking them up and tossing them to safety.  Hopefully every time you fling them, your arm gets a little stronger and they end up further and further until they are finally far enough that they no longer feel the pull of the perilous coastline.  Or at least you get some respite.

I think Mom was just trying to tell me not to give up.  Or maybe she was just letting me know she’s still checking up on me. Lol

I tried to hand the starfish back to the fisherman but he shook his head and pointed to me.  It was a regalo.  A gift.

We parted and walked opposite ways on the beach.  The starfish curled up one of its legs in my hand.  It was still alive.  I looked over my shoulder to make sure my new friend wasn’t watching and I flung that little starfish with all my might into the outgoing tide.

Today I’m just out there doing my best to keep my miracles spit and polished and pumping my little two pound barbells as hard as I can.  The cap’n better watch out, who knows where I might fling him.

P.S.  There were some incidences I was involved in on the message boards last night that I’m not feeling particularly proud of this morning.  Some of God’s creatures that get flung from the sea onto the beach are not as benign or beguiling as the starfish.  Some of them are like the blue “Medusa” jellyfish that I also find on the beach.  You need to give these creatures a wide berth because even though they may look dead and harmless their long tentacles that are buried in the sand can still cause you extreme harm.   As malevolent as these creatures may seem, they may just be scared, too, and are using the only line of defense that is left to them.  There is no need to poke at them with your pointy stick and cause them even more misery.  I am sorry.

Bearing Gifts From Afar

The Nativity in our village church.  My blanket is folded up neatly in the corner.  I guess Baby Jesus got too hot.

Yesterday is history.  Tomorrow is a mystery.  And today?  Today is a gift.  That's why we call it the present.  ~Babatunde Olatunji, also attributed to Alice Morse Earle

Day 116

Good Morning!  I know it’s another “Act Like I’m Not A Drunk Saturday” but I’ve decided to do a regular blog today because I’ve been kind of busy/lazy this week and haven’t written much, plus I can’t think of anything to write that is worthy of ALINADS (Act Like I’m Not A Drunk Saturday) status, plus it’s my blog and I can do anything I want with it.  So there.

So now in a more charitable timbre, yesterday was el Dia de las Reyes Mago,  or Three Kings Day down here which celebrates the day that the three kings arrived bearing gifts for the Christ Child.  It is a day of great celebration here in a country that finds a reason almost every day to throw a party.

Anyway…I had my own gift I wanted to give the Christ Child yesterday, it wasn’t frankincense, myrrh, or gold, although I did try to talk the cap’n into throwing a gold coin in the coffers but let’s just say he doesn’t possess the same generous spirit that I do.  My gift was a baby blanket that I had knitted a couple of years ago.  The blanket’s pattern is called the tree of life and it includes bare branched trees on both ends of the blanket and rows of tulips in the middle. More tulips with their twisting stems and leaves border the entire blanket.  It’s an odd theme for a baby blanket with its stark naked trees and spring tulips, but I guess it is supposed to signify the cycles of life and birth.  I do know that it’s the most difficult thing I’ve ever knitted and I learned a lot of new stitches and techniques through trial and error and demonstration (Thank you, internet and KnitWitch youtube videos)while I was completing it.  I did a lot of rip-outs and redo’s and I actually abandoned the whole thing for several months.  When I picked it back up, it almost seemed easier to rip the whole thing out and start over but instead I decided to go back, figure out where I had left off, find my mistakes, correct them and go on.

I didn’t realize until I was writing this how much that little blanket represents my life.  It seems like a worthy gift for a King.

So I went to our little church yesterday morning to present my gift.  I wanted to do it in secret, but there was a senora in the front row.  I decided to wait her out so I let the kneeler down and decided I’d have a little chat while I was waiting.  The kneelers in our simple little church are narrow and they are not padded so for me there is a tendency to keep my reflections short and when I saw the senora stretch out her arms along the back of the pew (she was sitting) and kick off her shoes, I decided I would continue my stealthy (I don’t think that’s a word but, again, this is my blog and I can do what I want)vigil across the square at my favorite taqueria.  After dos tacos I ventured back across the square and into the church.  It was empty.  I carefully picked my way through the assortment of barn animals that include a rearing stallion and a flamingo and gently placed my blanket over our Baby Jesus who is of grande proportions compared to his Mama and Papa (poor Mary) and is sporting eyelashes a young calf would covet and a knitted jumper and ski cap.  It’s been chilly down here.

Now he has my blanket for additional warmth.  As usual I like to attach an inordinate amount of importance to any gift I give and I wonder if years from now, the senoras of the altar guild will lovingly spread the blanket over the Baby Jesus and tell of its mysterious appearance on el Dia de las Reyes Magos many years ago.  Or will my humble little blanket be appropriated (aka stolen) for another poor baby in meager surroundings to be swaddled in.  I hope it’s the "latter"!!!! (If you read this before 11:17 pm CST, it mistakenly said  "former." It must be those last traces of alcohol still floating through my medulla oblangata.  Thanks for pointing it out Lulu, I'd rather have real baby slobbers any day.)

So today I’m just out there doing my best to keep spreading my gifts and watering that tree of life.

P.S. I'm going to a memorial mass for a friend's mother this morning and I'll get a pic of our Baby Jesus and the blanket.  If it's still there.

Every Little 'Ting's Gonna Be Alright

...there isn't a guidebook for setting boundaries. Each

of us has our own guide inside ourselves.  If we continue

to work at recovery, our boundaries will develop.

They will get healthy and sensitive.  Our selves

will tell us what we need to know, and we'll

love ourselves enough to listen.

--Beyond Codependency

Day 112

There was a moment on New Years Eve that I had my own private little celebration.  Even though I was surrounded by people dancing in the sand,  I was alone in my sobriety.  The band was from Texas,  the sand was in Mexico, and the music was from the islands.  All of these places hold a piece of my heart and people that I love.  I raised my eyes and my arms up to the stars in the dark sky and I swayed with the palms.  My heart sang along with the band, "Don't worry 'bout a 'ting, Cuz every little 'ting's gonna be alright."

This what I know.  God has never abandoned me on this journey.  He has rewarded me all along the way.  I know that "every little 'ting is gonna be alright."  I don't know what "alright" looks like yet, but I know it's gonna be beautiful.

The cap'n got up this morning and said, "I'm not going to drink anymore."  I know it's not that easy. I know he loves me immensely.  I know that's not enough.  But I know love can be a great motivator.  I know it was for me.

I know I'll keep moving forward with or without him.  I said some things last night.  I've said them before.  But before they were threats, this time they were statements.  "I will not live like this anymore.  You have a choice to make."  Before I was not strong enough to back these threats up, they were empty.  Now I am and we both know it.

From the Language of Letting Go,  January 3 (My apologies to Melody Beattie for stealing this but I just had to.  Buy the book, it's ability to speak to your needs on any given day is uncanny)

"What do we need to do to take care of ourselves?  Listen to that voice inside.  What makes you angry?  What have you had enough of?  What don't you trust?  What doesn't feel right?  What can't you stand? What makes you uncomfortable?  What do you want and need?  What do you like?  What would feel good?

In recovery, we learn that self-care leads us on the path to God's will and plan for our life.  Self-care never leads away from our highest good; it leads toward it.

Learn to nurture that voice inside.  We can trust ourselves.  We can take care of ourselves.  We are wiser than we think.  Our guide is within, ever-present.  Listen to, trust, and nurture that guide.

Today I will affirm that I am a gift to myself and the Universe.  I will remember that nurturing self-care delivers that gift in its highest form."

So today I'm just out there doing my best to put one foot in front of the other and love myself every step of the way.

All Is Not Lost

And yet, I suppose you mourn the loss or the death of what you thought your life was, even if you find your life is better after.  You mourn the future that you thought you'd planned.

--Lynn Redgrave

Day 89

Hey gang!  A year ago having me MIA for a week from this blog would have fostered ominous foreboding but I am happy to report that all is well down SOB (South of the Border).  I feel like I hit the tarmac running and I just now have a chance to catch my breath.  I had planned to go to Merida this morning but the weather is not cooperating, there are very few days in the Yucatan when I wish I had a fireplace but today is one of those days. Blustery, and rainy and a chilly 71 degrees Fahrenheit.  Boy, I sure do acclimate quickly, I’m still sitting here in my shorts but I’m just about ready to go upstairs and pull on some sweats and socks just like everybody that lives down here full time has been wearing for a few days. 

This week has been a week of revelations and while I have all day to write about each and every one of them, I know you, my loyal readers, would take one look at the length of the blog and decide you had better things to do, like read War and Peace.  So for today, I’ll just tell you about yesterday.

I sent the cap’n off to the airport in Merida at 5:00 am yesterday morning.  I gave him a kiss, pushed him out the gate, waved him off and turned around and faced the coming day like a big birthday gift I had been waiting weeks to open.  You see, I can probably count on one hand the number of days, in my entire life, that I have had completely to myself.  To try and envision three whole weeks of such days is just too overwhelming, so, as I have become quite adept at doing, I’m taking it one day at a time.

First I piddled around the casa for a couple of hours, I spent some time contemplating the Christmas tree lights, I drank some tea, I visited the message boards, drank some more tea, looked at the lights some more and then I went outside to piddle around in the garden for a bit.  Saturday is the day that the “plant guy” comes to the square in our little village, and I decided I needed to replace some plants that hadn’t withstood my desertion of the last couple months, so around 9:30 am I drove down to the square to see what the “plant guy” had to offer.  He wasn’t there so I settled in at my favorite little cocina economica and had a couple of tacos arrecharra with salsa and crema.  Pretty soon I saw a battered old scraped up van chug around the corner.  The plant guy had arrived.  I waited as he unloaded and then he and I began our pantomime attempt at communication.  I ended up with 4 poinsettia’s, 1 eucalyptus, 1 bougainvillea, 1 oleander, 1 vine of some sort, 2 rose bushes, and 2 tiny cacti for 480 pesos (about $35 US).  My friend Shelli puttered up on her scooter and together we found the nerve to haggle the price and the plant guy knocked off another 10 pesos (73 cents). That should teach him to try and take advantage of this gringa.

I hurried home and unloaded the plants.  A new Italian restaurant in Progreso was donating the entire day’s profits to the toy drive and a couple of my elf buddies and I had volunteered to help them out.  I picked up my fellow elves and we headed over the bridge to Progreso but before we started our afternoon of chopping and peeling vegetables we stopped off at the Progreso Mercado and meandered among the produce and flower stalls.  Each of us bought a bunch of bright purple bachelor buttons with the intentions of harvesting their seeds to plant in our stingy flowerbeds, then we sniffed appreciatively at the romero (rosemary) plants and tried to figure out why none of us have been able to get one to survive down here in a climate in which it seems they should thrive.  With a “never say die” bravado I bought two more sacrificial offerings.

We spent the afternoon helping Progreso Pasta’s proprietors prepare for the special evening of Christmas music and the “impossible to find in the Yucatan” delicacy of filet mignon.  They had to ship the beef in from Monterrey, them Yucatecan cows ain’t got no meat on their bones.  Now if we could just get russet potatoes and good corn, we’d have all of the comfort food of home.  The rumor that Mayan corn is good is a myth, I don’t know what corn god they were praying to but it was the wrong one.  They must have been worshipping the god of corn not fit for human consumption.

And now for the most important part of the day.  I bet you thought I’d never get here.  This blog reminds of a story one of my guests’s was telling last night, he paused in the middle of it and said, “Now, to make a long story short.”  And I thought, “Too late for that.”

At 4:00 pm I said “Ciao!” and headed home with my containers of lasagna, ravioli, and alfredo and five pieces of Drunken Deutschman cake.  I had invited a couple of couples over to eat take out.  I iced down the beer and I swear I never even considered having one.  It didn’t even cross my mind.  As my friends drank their beer and wine throughout the evening, I sipped on my sparkling cider and sat back, happy to be a spectator and participant and not the one woman act I always felt driven to be when I was drinking.  None of my friends seemed to take notice of my not drinking, if they did, they didn’t comment on it and it sure didn’t seem to deter them from their drinking.  There did seem to be something missing (other than the cap’n) but I don’t know if anybody noticed it but me. There was the same jostling to be the first one to get a word in, there was the same amount of laughter and hilarity, but missing was that escalation into brash awkward drunkenness that seemed to permeate my parties of the past and when  my guests left to get in their cars or stroll down the calle to their casas they seemed to leave with a sense of comfortable well-being instead of the riotous, on edge, over the top, out of control (do I need to go on?)desperate hysteria I remember. I have full confidence that all awoke this morning with good memories of the evening.  Their heads might have ached a little but there was no pain of regret gnawing at their innards.  One more thing that I had mourned as lost when I gave up drinking, good times with good friends, is resurrected in a new and much improved form.

I cleaned up and went to bed with the same sense of well-being and it wasn’t until this morning that I realized that I didn’t even consider having a glass of wine to wind down, even though there was half of an open bottle left on the counter.

So to make a long story short, you don’t have to give up everything you love when you quit drinking, but you do have to give up the drinking.

So today I’m out there just doing my best to be more succinct and making the most of the 19 days, 8 hours, and 32 minutes of alone time I have left.

P.S.  A year ago, I would have allowed myself to have one or two celebratory glasses of wine when I arrived in Mexico and by this time a week later I would have been in the depths of withdrawal and a day like yesterday wouldn’t have been in the realm of possibility.

Dr. Dreadful's Miraculous Recovery Elixir

Miracles are a retelling in small letters of the very same story which is written across the whole world in letters too large for some of us to see.” --C.S. Lewis Day 81 I thought the birds deserved a special treat on this snowy morning so I drizzled some honey on the rolls I baked last night and I’m getting a giggle watching their feet stick to the plate.  Some days life is just a giggle.  I’ve been assigning myself the task of finding a miracle in every single day and my miracle yesterday was giggling back and forth on the phone with my grandson yesterday when we were discussing his Christmas list.  He wants a Dr. Dreadful Zombie Lab which is bad enough but what set us off giggling was the accessory toy, Dr. Dreadful’s Snot Shot and Wax Snax kit.  I’ve got to get those for him, it will drive his parents crazy. What a miracle to be able to be silly and giggly without drinking.  I used to think only drunk Grandma could do that. The other task I’ve assigned myself is a little more difficult, at least it is more difficult to discern.  I’ve set myself to creating a miracle every day.  Sometimes my miracles are planned and orchestrated but sometimes, like yesterday when I was tired and cranky, it’s kind of up to my miracles to start the creation process on their own and only when I glance back looking for them and they show themselves, am I able to imagine them into the miracles they could be. Confused yet? Let me try to explain.  This morning when I sat down to write my morning pages, I went in search of any trace of miracles I might have caused yesterday.  I thought about my congratulatory response to a friend of mine on the mmabser's message board who had announced her one year sobriety anniversary, but, in all actuality, my congratulations was just acknowledgement of the miracles that she has wrought in my and so many other’s recovery with her zany wit and no bullshit counsel.  You are a guitar destroying rock star, Lulu. Then I thought about the 144 princess dolls, 50 sock monkeys and 50 pounds of Play-doh I packed for their trip south to be part of our little village’s toy drive.  Each one them a little miracle for a child whose parents won’t be able to afford anything else this year and I am so thankful to be a part of this that it too makes me feel as if I am on the receiving end of these tiny miracles that I am packing so carefully. Then I thought about the request that I put on the toy drive facebook page asking for volunteer “elves” to help us with an upcoming fundraiser and I remembered when a woman named Star, (yes, that is her real name.  Kind of symbolic, huh?) asked me to help with the toy drive.  I was new to the expat community, and I so badly wanted to start anew, to become known for something other than being able to drink 20 sailors under the table, to be respected.  That extension of trust from Star, her willingness to see through my jolly drunk façade, saved my life because the toy drive became one more thing, or 900 little things (kids) I needed to get sober for. So maybe I didn’t start that miracle either but yesterday I passed it on.  Maybe someone will grab it and use it as a lifeline like I did.  I wrote a letter to Star early this morning to thank her.  Maybe that will be her miracle for the day…or maybe she’ll think, “Old Kary must be hitting the bottle early this morning.” LOL Get on out there now and find your miracle for today and start a few of your own.  If you keep yourself busy miracle making, you’ll be too busy to drink. So today I’m just out there doing my best to dream up some more miracles and keep finding something giggle worthy. Maybe I'll order me the Dr. Dreadful Scabs and Guts Game. See! It works, just typing that made me giggle.

Resilience

"It's the constant and determined effort that breaks down all resistance, sweeps away all obstacles."
Overcoming Addiction Quote by Claude M. Bristol

Day 79

Okay, here’s my scenario.  I am supposed to be on a plane headed to Mexico bright and early Monday morning with 100+ pounds of toys for the kids in our little village.  I had a whole two weeks to get packed and get the house cleaned up for the winter, so of course me being me, I procrastinated until this week.  Then I decided I needed a new computer which entailed a trip to Denver and an overnight stay to get it all set up.  But that’s okay, I still had 5.5 days to pack and what idiot would dust her house before leaving it for six months? Then the cap’n got a call to work one day this week in a small town in the north part of the state which would also require one, maybe two, overnight stays and since we only have one car and I don’t relish being left up a mountain without transportation I would have to go with him.  He could have turned the work down but I have a new computer that has to be paid for.  I still had 3.5 days to pack. Plenty of time.  Then a blizzard decided to visit and it doesn’t look like I’m getting home until Saturday sometime, and we have to drive to Denver on Sunday because we fly out early Monday. 

You know what?  It will be okay.  There is always this mad dash when we are getting ready to head south for the winter.  No matter what happens, I know this year is going to be easier than ever before because I’m sober.  Would you like to hear about my experience last year at this time?  I didn’t blog about it because I was too ashamed but I can write about it now, even if it still turns my stomach and makes me want to cry.

Last year I decided to squeeze in one last visit with my precious grandson because I wouldn’t see him for 6 months.  My son, his dad, was stationed in Iraq and my daughter-in-law was at some sort of special training in CA and her stepfather was staying with my grandson while she was gone.  The capn and I drove up to see him for a couple of days.  I was lit when I got there.  I had been hungover when I got up that morning and I nursed Jack Daniels during the four hour drive to his house (the cap’n was driving).  But I was still functional, or so I thought.  We played cards all night, and I was hilarious and fun, or so I thought.  At about 3 am, I woke up and, of course, was sick.  I took Stanley, the blind killer bichon, out to the backyard to do his business while I knelt down on all fours behind their garage and puked my brains out.  I must have made some commotion because my daughter-in-law’s stepdad came to the back door to see what was going on.  I mumbled something incoherent as I pushed past him into the house.  The next morning my grandson had a soccer game and he was so proud to have me there, he’d turn around and wave at me in the stands about every 10 minutes and I’d try to smile and wave back.  I went down to the bathrooms twice to get sick.

The cap’n knew I was ruined and after the soccer game was over, we made some sorry excuse about why we had to leave suddenly.  I hope my grandson was too young to figure out the real reason why, but I know the step-granddad knew.  I was so ashamed and heartbroke over this (I still am), I swore I would never drink again.  But I did.

But I’m not drinking now.  And that’s what is important.  I made it on a plane south a few days after that visit.  I made it through a year of relapses, separated by longer and longer periods of sobriety.  I’ve had four visits with my grandson since then and I didn’t drink a drop.  I’ve made it through 79 consecutive days without alcohol. 

This ain’t that bad.  I’ll make it.

So today I’m just out there doing my best to persevere through rain, and snow, and dark of night and waiting for a break in the weather.