Back in the old days - and I'm talking pre-industrial revolution
here - alcoholism was widely regarded as a product of demonic
possession. Alcoholics lucky enough to have ties to the Catholic Church
would often receive a house call from their local priest or pastor who,
with a sign of the cross and a couple dashes of holy water, would
attempt to exorcise the demons from his or her body. But, if after the
bible was packed away and the rosary was untangled, the alcoholic still
went for the wine locked away in the tabernacle, then he or she was
regarded as simply having weak moral fiber. As a result, alcoholics
were, and in large part remain, the objects of scorn and derision.
It
wasn't until 1935 when Robert Smith and Bill Wilson cofounded
Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) that the paradigm shifted and alcoholism went
from being viewed as a moral deficiency to a medical illness. The way
Bill and Bob saw it... alcoholism was an illness or an allergy to the
body, and just as people weren't responsible for contracting Polio,
neither were they morally responsible for their alcoholism.
This
was great news for the alcoholic. For one, they no longer had to worry
about Father O'Malley coming over and trying to give 'em an exorcism,
because they actually had a place to go and get real medical treatment,
like a Betty Ford clinic. It sure beat being strapped down to a bed by
your wrists and ankles while some rotund, rosy-cheeked priest doused you
with holy water.
The only problem was, and still is, that even
though AA helped to eliminate the "sinner" label associated with the
alcoholic, it replaced it, in my opinion, with an even more debasing
label of... well, the "alcoholic."
Go to any AA meeting or
"twelve-step" rehabilitation center and you'll get a dose of the central
tenet of Alcoholics Anonymous, which says that alcoholism and addiction
are incurable, chronic, and primary diseases. Well, shit. That's not
very promising, is it? Not only do I have a disease, but it's also
incurable? Hell, at least with cancer, I'd actually have a shot at
eliminating it with some radiation therapy. But, according to my AA
sponsor, even if I stop drinking I'm always gonna be an alcoholic. This
strikes me as a real problem. If you tell people they have an incurable
disease over which they're powerless, you're not giving them much hope
for recovery, are you?
Now, I do understand the rationale behind
it. (I'm no a complete idiot.) If you view alcoholism as an allergy then
there's really only one solution, which is abstinence. This is helpful
for people early in their recoveries, who are still holding on to that
obsession that they can drink like a "normie". If you tell them that a
sip of alcohol will kill them, then there less likely to take that first
drink, right?
But, what about the people who have already
surrendered their obsession, and are now actually trying to get to the
root of the problem? Are you just gonna label them as an "alcoholic",
tell 'em to go read the Big Book, and pray to their higher power for
just one more day of sobriety? What good will that do? Sure, they won't
be drinking. But are they gonna be living a happy, worry-free existence?
Probably not.
Fortunately, the paradigm is once again shifting.
Experts in the medical community are now realizing that people who abuse
drugs and alcohol are doing so in order to compensate for an underlying
chemical imbalance, which can be the result of anything ranging from a
mental disorder to a traumatic event from childhood. They're realizing
that people don't just lock themselves in a closet and drink themselves
silly for no reason. They do so, because they're compensating for some
unresolved issue.
As a result, addiction or more accurately,
chemical dependence, is no longer being viewed as the problem itself,
but a symptom of a much deeper issue. This is evident by the increased
number of "dual-diagnosis facilities" popping up all around the country,
which are staffed with certified psychologists and psychiatrists who
can identify mental disorders and administer the proper therapy and
medication.
I was fortunate enough to be a patient at one of these
facilities after my parents, fed up with my failed attempts to stay
sober in a traditional twelve-step environment, dug deep into their
checkbooks and sent me to a place called, Foundations in Memphis.
Foundations, unlike the previous rehab I had attended, actually had
real-live psychiatrists who didn't just label me as an "alcoholic" and
tell me to go pray and read the Big Book, but actually took the time to
find out who I was and what I was feeling. Together, my doctor and I,
dug pretty deep into my human psyche. We looked at things like my
unhealthy obsession with self-achievement and my tendency to isolate
from friends and family in pursuit of that obsession. What we realized
is that I suffered from an overactive cingulate system, which as Dr.
Daniel Amen describes in his wonderful book, Change Your Brain, Change
Your Life, is the part of the brain that allows us to shift attention
from one thing to another. When the cingulate is working properly, we
are more flexible and able to adapt to different circumstances. But,
when impaired or overactive, we have difficulty shifting attention and
tend to get stuck in ineffective behavior patterns. It's no wonder
people with obsessive-compulsive behavior are characterized as having
overactive cingulate systems. They get stuck doing things that seem
silly to an onlooker, like excessive hand washing or flipping of the
light switch.
Now, I didn't quite fit the criteria for
obsessive-compulsive behavior, but I did show hallmark signs of someone
with an overactive cingulate system. For example, when I was a kid, I
had an unhealthy obsession with the game of basketball. And when I say
unhealthy, I don't mean the occasional pick up game with friends at the
neighborhood park. I mean, two hours of dribbling drills up and down the
street I grew up on, followed by two hours of shooting on the hoop in
my driveway. And that was after practice. I probably spent seven hours a
day trying to become the next Michael Jordan. The only problem was I
was a 5'-7", 110 pound slow white kid from the suburbs. I couldn't
compete with most of the other athletes, especially the inner-city kids
who could do front flips over me. But that didn't stop me. I still put
everything I had trying to perfect my skill set.
I remember
specifically not allowing myself to go in for the night until I made at
least 20 out of 25 free-throws. Sometimes I could do it right away and
there'd be no problem. Other times, I'd be out there all night, cursing,
crying, throwing fits of frustration.
My parents knew that
something was wrong with me, but simply dismissed it as drive and
determination. Meanwhile I spent most of my childhood teetering on the
brink of insanity. I let my entire self-worth be defined by how well or
how badly I played on game night. If I played good, I was on top of the
world. If I played bad, I was so depressed I could barely drag myself to
school in the mornings. Sometimes it got so bad, I even contemplated
suicide. I figured anything had to be better than the personal hell I
was in. I was a complete mess; an obsessive-compulsive, suicidal
monster. I could barely even eat, my stomach was so knotted with stress
and worry.
I eventually grew out of it when I went off to college.
Of course, there I found a whole new thing to become obsessed about;
academics. Once again, I let my self-worth be defined by my personal
achievements. The only difference was, instead of a basketball, I used a
calculator. And it was no walk in the park, let me tell you; chemical
engineering isn't just a major, it's a frigging vocation. I spent many
sleepless nights perfecting my knowledge of thermodynamics, while all
the business majors were out partying and hooking up with one another.
Now, I'm not saying that studying and getting good grades isn't
important. It is. It's just not worth isolating yourself from your
friends and your family, which is what I did. I wasted a lot of good
years hunkered down in my bedroom, reading page after page of
engineering textbooks. I didn't have many friends. I rarely went out to
parties. The only "fun" I had was drinking by myself in a dark, lonely
apartment.
Of course, the drinking eventually took on its own
maddening obsession, which brings me back to my stay at Foundations. As I
told my assigned psychiatrist all of this history, I saw a light bulb
suddenly go off in his eyeballs. He told me my problem was mostly likely
a deficiency of serotonin, a neurotransmitter in the brain responsible
for modulating mood, emotion, sleep, and appetite. As he explained,
people with low serotonin levels often display emotional rigidity,
meaning they get "stuck" on a single idea and are unable to shift
attention. This would explain my unhealthy obsession with
self-achievement and my predilection towards harmful, repetitive
behavior like say... alcoholism. Alcoholics often suffer from low
serotonin levels, which they try to combat by "self-medicating" with
alcohol. Unfortunately, the increase in serotonin levels is only
temporary, and overtime, the natural production of this neurotransmitter
is depleted. This is why alcoholics who suddenly stop drinking,
experience heightened irritability, not to mention uncontrollable
shaking and seizing. Since their natural levels have been completely
depleted, the only way to get back to a normal level or "homeostasis" is
by taking another drink of alcohol. Of course, this only propagates the
deficiency, which explains why alcohol is so damn harmful. You end up
having to drink more and more just to feel "normal", when, in reality,
the alcohol is slowly deteriorating your brain and liver.
So, step
one for me was obviously to stop drinking, and step two, was to get my
serotonin levels back up to normal. To do this, my doctor put me on a
drug called Sertraline (a.k.a Zoloft), which belongs to a family of
anti-depressants called Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors
(SSRI's). The way these drugs work is by inhibiting serotonin's reuptake
into the presynaptic cell, resulting in a natural increase in the level
of serotonin.
I felt the results almost immediately. In fact, my
rehab roommates said that I was a completely different person. Almost
overnight, I went from keeping my nose buried in a book, not talking to
any of the other patients, to making friends, telling jokes, even
speaking up in group therapy! I wasn't as stressed out and sick with
worry. I felt almost relaxed, even comfortable with my surroundings.
I
continued taking the Zoloft after my discharge and even went on a
"serotonin-rich" diet, which included foods rich in tryptophan.
According to Dr. Amen, tryptophan is the amino acid building block of
serotonin, and by eating foods rich in it, like chicken, turkey, and
salmon, you can actually increase your levels of serotonin. This makes
perfect sense. I don't know about you, but I always feel sleepy after
eating my Thanksgiving turkey dinner. That's because the tryptophan in
the turkey is being converted into serotonin. The result is a calm, sort
of sedated feeling.
Exercise is also a good way to promote
serotonin levels. According to Dr. Amen, "tryptophan, a relatively small
amino acid, has trouble competing against the larger amino acids to
enter the brain. But, during exercise, more of the larger amino acids
are utilized to replenish muscle strength, which causes a decrease in
the availability of these larger amino acids in the bloodstream. As
such, tryptophan can compete more efficiently to enter the brain and
raise serotonin levels."
No wonder I always feel so relaxed after
running. The serotonin in my brain must be skyrocketing! With all of
this, who really needs alcohol? I can feel just as relaxed and
worry-free with the right combination of diet, exercise, and medication.
I don't find myself obsessing about personal achievement like I used
to, and I certainly don't let mistakes hurl me into a deep, dark
depression. Today, I'm much more relaxed and flexible, and I enjoy a
healthy balance of work and recreation.
I've even started going
back to AA meetings. Yeah I know, from what I said earlier, it sounds a
little hypocritical. But the way I feel about AA, is the same way I feel
about the Catholicism. I may not agree with all of its
tenets-especially the one about being powerless over the "disease" of
addiction-but I do appreciate the support and community. And now that
I've tackled the underlying chemical imbalance, I actually want to be
part of the community, instead of just isolating.
For more information on substance abuse and addiction-related issues please visit Andrew Seaward's blog at:
http://www.portraitsofaddiction.com
And
don't forget to check out Andrew's new book, Some Are Sicker Than
Others, a harrowing journey into the insanity of the addicted mind. Now
available in both eBook and paperback on Amazon, Barnes&Noble, Kobo,
and WaveCloud.
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B007B7GJGE
