FIRST THE MIND, THEN THE BODY

2002

A friend rhetorically asked after my last post, “How does it start?” Holy Guacamole! THAT is what I spent 6 years thinking about. Last post I focused on the chemical beginning. I believe that everything happens in the mind before it happens in the body.  Spiritually put, everything happens in the spirit before it happens in the flesh.  The following is my opinion about myself; so technically, I can’t be wrong…misinformed or amiss, perhaps, but definitely not wrong. 

Addiction is not the problem. It is only a symptom of an underlying, unresolved issue or issues.  Addiction is the nausea that accompanies the flu.  It is the runny nose that accompanies the common cold.  It is the acute fever and vomiting of blood that accompanies The Plague.  It is an outward manifestation of an inner virus or bacteria.  Unfortunately, we fixate ourselves on the ugliness of the outward symptoms and are unable to see or focus on the real pathogen that lies deep within us.  This is especially true for the “functioning” addict. 

Motorcycle accident 1988

I don’t believe it is just the chemicals that whisper sweet nothings in your ear until you succumb, at least not the first time.  I spent over 9 months as an inpatient in the hospital after a severe motorcycle accident.  During that time I was given enough opiate pain medication to render an entire parade of elephants comatose.  When I left the hospital as a naïve 22 yr. old with relatively few “issues” in life, my body went through physical withdrawals, but my mind was free of psychological withdrawal. I was fixated on spiritual things and the blessings of life. I was preparing to leave for a two year mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.  Later in life, at the age of 35, I had a few more life experiences and disappointments on my hard drive.  This time I rebooted vastly different.

My uncle spent 32 years as a full-time career Firefighter/Paramedic.  He retired (the first time) at the same rank where he began in the 1970’s. He was my “go-to” guy for all things medical, spiritual, and work-related.  I called him after I had performed CPR for the first time on a 76 yr. old man while going through EMT school.  I called him again during paramedic school after a losing the battle to save a 16yr. old girl who had been shot in the chest. The effect of the first incident caused me to wonder if I was cut out for this type of work. His response to me was comforting and unsettling at the same time.  He said, “Good. It should bug you. That means you’re normal. It’s when it doesn’t bug you that you know you are in trouble.” On one hand I was assured I was not overreacting. On the other hand, it made me realize that I would reach this crossroads many more times on my journey as a paramedic.  The opportunity to veer left or right was always just one more call away.

One young medic

He also gave me a greater understanding of my “baggage” in a simple metaphor.  He explained that every time we see something horrible, ugly, or stressful, we quickly stuff it in a mental duffle bag and put it out of sight in order to perform as a competent professional.  Sooner or later our duffle bags get full.  In this profession it is not popular or common to talk to people about things that “bug” us on the job. The macho majority says, “Just deal with it, Nancy!”  My uncle taught me that every now and then you have to talk to someone, perhaps a professional, and “empty your duffle bag.” It’s not to impress. It’s to express.  Anybody in law enforcement, EMS, or the military could unload a barrage of “Gore Stories” without having to think for more than 2 seconds.  If we shared it all to a mental health professional, every cop, firefighter, and veteran would be on mandatory lithium. But we aren’t “normal.”  We have “rescue” personalities.  We can’t see chaos and NOT try to mitigate it.  That’s why these men and women are so good at what they do. We deal with it; some even thrive on it, I dare say.  It doesn’t make us stronger than anybody else, just…different. We deal with our issues largely with dark humor.  We make light of tragedy.  Death, pain, and mutilation are topics open for sarcasm and levity (except when it involves children). It lessens the sting. I’m not sure if it heals or conceals.  Perhaps that depends on the individual.

As I searched for the “it” in HOW DOES IT START, I don’t think I stumbled on the missing link.  I think I just stumbled on one of several links that created the chain that bound me.  Here is an excerpt from my journal dated 2/23/07. I had been locked up for just over a year. (Remember, this is not a post or a paper. They were the thoughts of my mind and heart as they spilled out)

…I wrote her [my wife] a letter letting her know how hopeless at times I had felt. I had even contemplated “throwing in the big towel”, thinking perhaps my family would be better off without me and all their pain and disappointments I seem to bring. Rebuilding at this stage of my life sometimes seems futile. Not too long ago, I truly was a different man.  For someone who was in the business of “saving lives” for so long, it seems ironic to give up on myself and not even desire to save myself.  I did the math and it comes to between 15,000-20,000 emergency calls over my career.  In all of those calls I seem to have been “privileged” to partake of death and bloodshed much more than life and “rescue”. I have heard of medics who have delivered upwards of 300 babies in their careers.  Not once did I deliver a live baby into this world.  It seems I never got to escort life into this world, only out.  How many people were “blessed” to see my face as the last image before they left earth? I know I was (and still am) a damn fine medic, an excellent one.  Then why did I get so much death and tragedy disbursed to me over my career?  It certainly doesn’t seem fair, to say the least.  For being in the business of “saving lives”, the payoff seems too small and too far between.  I threw my emotions into my calls.  It was my biggest strength and, ultimately, my biggest reason for burnout (and self-medication). 

I remember one young medic bragging that he had experienced 4 cardiac saves over the period of a week.  I honestly don’t remember 4 in my entire career!  As I look back, I don’t remember many “feel good stories”, but I can unload an endless amount of “blood and guts”, gory death stories.  I knew I shouldn’t have gone back to the job after my first Rehab in Dec. ’03.  There was one stretch in 2000 when my partner (nicknamed the “Black Cloud”) and I went 3 months together and had someone die on us, or we found someone dead every shift. At least one, usually two dead guys per shift.  The other crew printed out a skull and crossbones on the computer and taped it over the city emblem on the doors of the ambulance when we started our shift.  What all this has to do with my current situation, I’m not sure.  Maybe I didn’t deal with it well, or properly.  Maybe after having such high hopes as a young medic and then after serving the community for 15 years, the least they could have done was live more often than die. Hell, I would have even taken a 100:1 loss ratio!

We all have baggage. We all have our own personal duffle bags filled with issues, incidents, and insecurities.  We zip them tight and hold them close to our body so there is no risk of anybody else discovering their contents.  Some days when we’re all alone, we open them up and examine these extremely personal artifacts and internalize them. Relive them. Remorse or regret them.  Some things in our duffle bag were placed inside because of our behavior, or lack thereof.  Some of the things we perceived about ourselves as children and were stuffed  in there long ago. Some things are in our duffle bags because we HAD to put them there in order to live to see the next day. We all have them in varying capacities and quantities. This is life. I am still learning how to handle my baggage. The question is: Do we deal with the things in our duffle bags in a HEALTHY or UNHEALTHY manner?  Do we spend too much time brooding over the contents. Do we proudly hoist them high on our shoulders for all to see? Do we pretend we don't even have a private bag of woes? We should examine each issue, incident, or insecurity that is impeding our happiness, address it, then place it where it belongs...For me, that is at my Savior's feet.  HE will take out our trash and place it in the dumpster of "Things learned."

HEY MISTER...YOU'RE IN TIMEOUT!

Prison would have been great if it weren’t for all the people.  I was PENALIZED and incarcerated to be PENITENT. Incarceration was designed to keep you from harming society and to be penitent or humbled, hence the term PENITENTIARY.

Not everybody is given the opportunity to have a 6 yr. “timeout” to think about (and fix or redirect) his or her life.  What a wonderful blessing it was for me. Yes, blessing.  I know I would have ended up dead if given the opportunity to continue on my self-destructive path.  I tried to look back and find the most infinitesimal choice or decision I had made to start me down that path.  A conference talk from Deiter F. Uchtodrf explains it better than I ever could.  It was a matter of a “few degrees”.  As a jetliner begins to stray off course by just a “few degrees” it may not seem very significant at the beginning of the journey, however, over time, uncorrected, you will find yourself thousands of miles from your planned destination.  He also states:

“The longer we delay corrective action, the larger the needed changes become, and the longer it takes to get back on the correct course—even to the point where a disaster might be looming.”

This was the course of my life and I was determined to find out when and where that course deviation originated. 

A STARTLING REVELATION: My chemical addiction did not begin at age 35.  That is when the abuse of chemicals began, specifically, opiate pain medication.  While incarcerated, I immersed myself into the SCIENCE and SPIRITUALITY of my addiction. Scientifically speaking, the seed of my addiction was years before.

I had left for Marine Corps Boot Camp just 11 days after graduating high school at the age of 17.  After four years of honorable service I was preparing to exit the service and serve a mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.  48 hours before my release from active duty, I collided with a city bus on my motorcycle. I proved the theory that solid matter cannot pass through solid matter.  I was on the losing end of what I simply call, “The Law of Lugnuts”; basically, he who has the most lugnuts, wins. I shattered my right lower leg in 8 places, separated my shoulder, fractured my right upper arm and chipped most of the teeth on the right side of my mouth. A helmet saved my “squash” from getting “squashed.” In a nutshell, I spent almost a year in the hospital, faced amputation of my leg twice, learned to walk again, and ultimately recovered with a few deficiencies.  The 6 reconstructive operations would be painful beyond belief.  I was treated at the Naval Hospital and was given a powerful pain medication 33 times more powerful than Morphine.  When I finally left the hospital months later I went through a week of flu-like symptoms, joint and muscle pain, with fever and chills.  In my ignorance, I had no idea that I was going through classic opiate withdrawal symptoms.  I just thought I got sick.  I left the hospital weighing a meager 125 pounds and walking with a cane.

Shortly thereafter, I left for my mission to Buenos Aires, Argentina at the age of 22 and just never looked back. I immersed myself in spiritual things.  I handled life with it’s joys and disappointments.  I married, became a Firefighter/Paramedic, had children, and launched my new career.  I had always considered myself an athlete and had healed to the point where I could teach Physical Training in the Fire Academy. Life was life. Ups and downs, joys and sorrows.

Then it happened.  14 years after my motorcycle accident, I injured myself while trimming a tree in the backyard. I strained or tore a muscle in my chest.  I was prescribed pain medication…and I couldn’t put it down…for years! My medication use skyrocketed to an alarming level in a relatively short amount of time.

Why?  What malfunctioned in my brain to cause me to latch on so hard to this vice? WHY? WHY?  WHY? I could not stop. I tried. I failed. I tried again. I failed again. All of the voodoo that comes with chemical addiction began to show up in my life.  Did I suddenly become this “bad person”? I know that as I made choices to feed my addiction shame and guilt came flooding in like a tsunami on steroids. WHY? WHY? WHY?

It would be years later while serving my prison sentence that some semblance of understanding would reach my mind. The Christian in me needed to find out what happened spiritually.  The paramedic in me needed to find out what happened physically.  It would take years of SPIRITUAL recovery to understand the physical SCIENCE of what had taken place. From strictly a scientific point of view, I was enlightened.  (I feel the spiritual enlightenment led me to this discovery.  I will speak of my spiritual enlightenment later.)

Times Square on New Years Eve

Times Square

A book was gifted to me from a dear friend titled, “Healing the Addicted Brain.”  I can only keep it simple right now for the sake of time.  Our brains create an “Opiate Memory.”  When we use opiates our brains pleasure center lights up like Times Square on New Year’s Eve! There is quite the party going on up there with massive releases of serotonin and dopamine. Over time it takes more and more “fireworks” to excite us.  Before we know it, we need the release of these chemical messengers (neurotransmitters) just to keep us on an even keel.  Euphoria becomes elusive. We put more and more into our bodies just to function.   If we stop for a day or even for years, our brain will always remember what it needed AT ITS HIGHEST DOSE to function and will quickly “ramp up” your need to the highest level.  We don’t get to start over at zero with abstinence.  Thus comes the saying, “One is too many and a thousand isn’t enough.”

I asked myself why I couldn’t put down the meds.  What did I lack regarding my moral fiber? Why wasn’t my will power enough?  The more destruction I saw in my life, the more I self-medicated to hide from it.  It is a ruthless cycle that perpetuates it’s own energy. It is rarely conquered alone.  This is why an addict MUST hit bottom before seeking help.  Unfortunately for some, that bottom is death and help doesn’t come in this life. You create your own diabolical hurricane of self-destruction.  Just as a hurricane grows in intensity, the only way it begins to diminish is by an outside immovable force…this is usually landfall.  Its self-perpetuating energy must be obstructed in order to break the cycle.  My landfall was State Prison.

WHAT IS A "FUNCTIONING" ADDICT?

 Just what is a “Functioning Addict”?

When people think of your standard issue “drug addict”, I believe they picture someone curled up in the fetal position in a crack house that has been on a binger for the last 5 days; possibly, someone unkempt, disheveled, and generally in need of some personal hygiene. Employment and contributions to society are either non-existent, or minimal. To me, this is definitely someone “non-functioning”.

As a functioning addict, I arose on time, shaved, went to work every day, and from the perspective and perception of all outside spectators I was a law-abiding citizen and contributing to society in a positive manner.  I went to church every Sunday, paid my taxes, got the kids ready for bed, mowed the lawn, and worked on my “honey-do” list on the weekend.  Was I a better person and less addicted then the aforementioned? Absolutely not.

In fact, I would argue, I was worse. I was living a life of deception and surreptitious behavior. At least the non-functioning drug addict, consciously or not, had the decency to commit themselves 100% to their debauchery.  I, on the other hand, was expending colossal amounts of energy hiding my addiction and attempting to live a double life, pretending that “all is well” in Garyland.  Oh, it worked for a while. As I lost touch with the reality I projected, and more deeply embraced the true and absolute reality of my addiction, I couldn’t see that everyone around me knew I was chemically aloof.  I actually believed I was pulling it off. I began to isolate from my family and be a recluse at work. I stopped answering or returning phone calls.  I lost my ambitions and never made plans or set goals.  I literally lived from one dose to the next. My job performance plummeted, and my once busy social life began to slide into lethargy. People just knew I wasn’t “me” and didn’t want to be around me.  This perpetuated my isolation and anti-social behavior.  I was physically where I needed to be when I needed to be there, but all sense of purpose and desire to do so was absent.  All of my motives changed.  I could “act” friendly for small increments of time but only to gain trust or intel on how I could use the relationship to continue in my addiction.  It was a terrible shift from light to dark while passing through many shades of grey.

This terrible shift did not begin when I was 12; it began when I was 35! My consummate pursuit of professionalism and respect were replaced with the only worthwhile pursuit in life…chemically altering my mind to hide from feeling emotional pain, guilt, shame, and remorse of the soul.  I knew I was hurting others, but I came first. My addiction. My friend.  My ONLY priority in life was to ensure that I had enough “pain management” to get me through the next day.

I have learned that there are so many of us that are self-medicating to hide from our underlying issues and struggles in life.  We will continue to do so until we have tallied up enough bad karma and life decides to call our tab due. We are skilled professionals.  We are educated.  We are soccer moms.  We are civil servants.  We are housewives.  We are church members.  We are leaders in our careers and our community.  We are family and friends.  We are in pain and we hurt others. We are sorry.  We love you. We are cracked and breaking and running out of duct tape.  We need help, not scorn.

                  We are “FUNCTIONING ADDICTS”.

WE ARE ALL TAKING A DIFFERENT TEST

QUESTION: What comes at the end of a sentence?

MY ANSWER: An appeal.

First Day in State Prison (after 9 months in County Jail)

When you are obligated to disclose, at times, that you are a convicted felon people have a tendency to raise their eyebrows and politely, or otherwise, “distance” themselves from you socially or professionally.  I think it’s just easier to put people in a neat little box and keep them there, never allowing them to change and grow.  You can call it categorizing or stereotyping but to me it’s all the same.  It’s following the path of least resistance because it takes no effort to exercise empathy, compassion or attempt to look beyond the surface of their circumstances. 

On the other hand, I don’t believe in the absolute translation of  “Judge not, that ye be not judged”.  It is absolutely imperative that we all “judge” to some extent.  It is for our own survival and the safety of those we love.  We must judge many times a day what we consider to be right or wrong.  Our decisions and subsequent behavior is based on our own personal verdict. 

I prefer the translation of; “Judge not unrighteously, that ye be not judged; but judge righteous judgment.” This type of judgment is not a foolish or hasty stereotypical judgment. A wise friend once told me it is best to be “Wise as an owl, yet gentle as a lamb.”

I learned after over 6 years in State Prison that there are many good people locked up. There are also many people I feel should never get out. We were all there based on somebody else’s judgment of our behavior, be it jury or secular judge. Some have permanent chemical imbalances; some were temporarily chemically imbalanced; some are just wired for criminal behavior, and some just had ONE really bad day.  All of my poor choices were made while temporarily chemically imbalanced due to my own selfishness.  Once the fog of addiction began to lift, I was able to see more clearly that what got me there was not my natural or default persona.

STORY TIME:  I was sitting with a group of fine, upstanding fellows in my “Gated Community” discussing various topics of life and life incarcerated.  A certain inmate, suffering from severe narcissism, spoke up with a rather copious amount of “righteous indignation” and arrogantly stated, “I have never done a single drug in my entire life.  You guys are here because you’re a bunch of drug addicts.” Oh, how easy it is to justify yourself by comparing yourself to others. This is a dangerous position to take, especially when you are all in the same place, wearing the same clothes, within the same walls. My response to him was direct and framed off of his own pretentious statement. “So, what you’re telling us is that WE are here because we demonstrated poor, unlawful behavior while our brains were chemically altered.  YOU, on the other hand, are here because you demonstrated poor, unlawful behavior while stone cold sober. Which one of us is the real criminal?”

First Day Out!

The simple fact is that we are all here on earth.  We are all supposed to deal with life and the trials that accompany it.  Tragedy, heartache, sadness, joy, and success are disbursed to all, however, not equally.  Remember this before you judge someone: WE ARE ALL TAKING A DIFFERENT TEST! We are all unique individuals with different tendencies, propensities, strengths, and weaknesses.  Problems arise when we start to grade somebody else’s paper. We place our expectations of them on their trials not knowing the complete chemical and internal makeup of the individual. Oh, we think we do. We feel we have all the necessary information to judge or condemn. For me, the only one who has ALL of the information, thus the right to grade our tests in life is our Father in Heaven.  HE knows us completely.  No mortal possesses all the variables factored into our judgment.  Would you place an Olympic athlete and a Special Olympic athlete in the same 100m race and declare one the “winner” and one the “loser?”  They both did their best with what they were given. What is expected of them in the SAME RACE is vastly different. Thus, it should be with our own trials of addiction, divorce, death, mourning, depression, anger…the list is endless. We can help our brothers and sisters by uplifting and helping them achieve their “best effort”.

Not all trials in life are to be overcome decisively and triumphantly; conquering our tribulation, then celebrating on the shoulders of our friends and family to the sounds of cheering and a ticker-tape parade.

The hard truth in life is that some trials were placed in our lives for us to merely survive.  Broken, beaten, fatigued, bloody, alone…but alive. Just getting through it.  We are scored simply as a PASS or FAIL.  As Gordon B. Hinckley stated, “We only fail when we STOP TRYING!”