In the Wee Small Hours of the Mourning

I think the Amish might be onto something.  Weirdly, in a world where people LOVE to criticize each other and have multiple platforms to do the criticizing publicly, the Amish are mostly left alone.  To be fair, they do an excellent job of keeping to themselves and doing no harm, so what is there to insult?  I think a lot of people falsely believe that the Amish disregard for technology is based in some sort of hysteria; that the federal government is listening through the car radio (they totally are), that lightbulbs cause cancer (everything causes cancer, so, not untrue), or that the devil lives in the refrigerator (that’s who forced me to eat that entire tube of cookie dough while sobbing).  From what I understand, they refuse even the simplest machines because it takes work away from the individual, and the individual needs work to be fulfilled.  Idle hands leave room for needless curiosity and pleasure seeking which can only lead to trouble.  Try as I might, I cannot find fault with that belief.

Another false belief of society about an individual group is that all addicts came to addiction the same way.  Clearly, we all woke up one morning and said, “I think I’ll ruin my life and make everyone I care about hate me today.”  Or, that we were all dumb enough to put a needle in our arm for the first time while thinking, “this oughta be fun and present zero consequences.  I’ll do this.”  Every addict has their own demons and walked their own path, but I bet most of us could boil our origin of using down to a time when we had idle hands.  Again, we weren’t dumb enough to use because we were bored and had nothing else to do… but if you have idle hands, you probably have an idle mind.  An idle mind with momentum can go to any number of dark, dark places.  A mind in a dark place will reach for almost anything that looks like a light.

Speaking of dark places, I’ve been struggling with one in particular.  My room.  At night.  It’s a literal interpretation of a “dark place,” but a dark place none-the-less.  It’s obvious that I am a victim/advocate of mental health, but its not just enough to be aware of mental illness.  Other victims and advocates need to understand that there is a process involved with addressing the ailment.  First, you have to admit you have a disorder.  Then, you have to accept that you need help.  Then, you have to reach out for help.  All of that feels like enough of a blow to your existence, but then comes the trial and error.  For some people, therapy and holistic approaches are enough and that’s wonderful.  For others, medication is necessary and that presents a whole mess of problems on its own.  Every person reacts to medication differently.  The major problem is that the side effect of a lot of psychological drugs is that they can exacerbate the symptoms that you are already having.  An anti-anxiety drug can often cause increased anxiety.  Antidepressants can cause suicidal thoughts.  Antipsychotics can make you go a little psycho.  The only way to navigate this period of finding what works is with an immense amount of self-love and patience.  That being said, I’m getting really impatient.

I was taking something to help me sleep, and it helped me sleep.  Too much.  Way too much.  If I were laying in a glass coffin in the middle of a forest leisurely dozing until a Prince came to kiss me and take me away to his castle, it would be one thing.  But I’m not a fairytale Princess, I’m an adult homo sapien existing in the year 2021.  I have shit to do and calories to burn.  Going to bed at 7pm and waking up at 9am, being groggy for all the hours in between was not sustainable.  However, if I don’t take the meds that help me sleep, I don’t sleep.  I’m sure Silicon Valley entrepreneurs are envious of my ability to multiply my conscious hours. They would make great use of the auxiliary time by inventing and contriving… whereas I use the time to simply toss and turn, perturb the cat with three legs that likes to sleep between my two legs, and obsess about things that I have no control over.  You know, like an anxiety-riddled alcoholic.  Call it a stereotype, but I call it brand loyalty. 

As addicts, we drank and we used to escape from the recesses of our mind that terrified us.  Without drugs or alcohol, we still have the fearsome mental caverns, we just don’t have a way to evade them.  A lot of times, living a sober life means sitting in a literal dark room and panicking about what could be behind every door in that long, dim, psychological hallway.  In the daylight, there are tasks to keep our hands busy, projects to keep our minds busy, places to go, people to call, drives to take, walks to go on… but in the wee small hours of the morning, you are nothing but a case of insomnia, surrounded by four walls with nowhere to run to.  I live in a studio apartment, I barely have a toilet, let alone the space to get away from myself.  Even if you are secure in your sobriety, you still have it in the back of your mind that you are just one drink away from escape.  All you have to do is snort four Xanax and your mind will stop racing.  It’s late, but I can’t imagine the dope man keeps Church office hours, so he’s waiting for you on the corner and his product can give you peace.  The liquor store may be closed, but the grocery store is open- all you need is a bottle of wine and you can finally rest.  You may be snoozing in a puddle of your own vomit, but sleep is sleep, am I right?  Can I get an addict’s Amen?!

No. Wrong. That’s not the way, and we know that.

But think about how often an addict in recovery just sits and festers in their own darkness because the only way out is to use… and they still don’t use.  I can’t speak for other addicts but every night that I don’t drink away the darkness is a lesson in unmerited miracles.  For those of us who live alone, who never get calls in the middle of the night unless someone is deceased, there is a good chance we could drink or use our way out of the sullen trench, and no one would have to know about it but us.  We still don’t drink or use.  That is a lesson in mined integrity.  It’s said that an addict will only stop using when they want to stop.  It’s said that an addict has to recover for themselves.  Its true, but it is so much more complicated than any non-addict can imagine.  If an addict could only be motivated by what we want for ourselves then there wouldn’t be bitter coffee brewing in multiple churches, multiple times a day in every city and town around the world, because none of us would ever feel the need to change.  And yes, around the WORLD- addiction is a global, universal, galactic matter.  Admitimos que éramos impotentes ante el alcohol.  Nous récupérons.

We may have to have a tinge of self-motivation to get sober, but mostly its because we are sick of hurting other people.  Smash cut to 3am and there are no other people. Our two options are drink/use or claw our own skin off… an addict in recovery reaches for the carrot peeler.  We may be isolated at the moment, but we know what one night of drinking alone is putting at risk and we don’t want to risk it.  As someone who is currently nocturnal, not by choice, the nights get really bad.  Bad enough that, if it were just about me, I’d be drunk again.  While I may be physically and dreadfully alone in the moment, I know that I’m not alone in the world.  I don’t break because I have a sister.  I have a mother.  I have a nephew who holds my heart in his tiny, albeit very sticky hands.  I have close, enduring friendships.  I have people that I don’t want to lose.  So much so that it wouldn’t be worth drinking, even just once.  Even alone.  Even if it would give me a moment of much needed peace.  Even if no one would know.  I would know.  It doesn’t matter the circumstances, if alcohol is involved, I’m not capable of being my best self.  Those people deserve my absolute best.  When I think about the ones I love, seeking sleep doesn’t seem so important. 

Whether the night brings rest or just darkness, I’ve found that the sun will always rise in the morning.  The sky will pinken up, the birds will chirp odiously, the coffee will brew slowly, and life will go on.  I understand- believe me, I understand - that having to go on with your day after a sleepless night is incredibly frustrating.  It’s fine to feel frustrated, as long as you are still determined.  The torture can’t possibly last forever.  Those demons of the darkness and those monsters of the night hours may leave you weary, but unlike addiction, they won’t leave you for dead.