Lost legs

I went back to visit my wife on the tiny island where she is working. I was anxious and had been wondering how things would go, with many things needing to be said. It was also a chance to have a much needed break from a job that I can’t decide if I love or hate.

The old guys at the market were still in their usual spots, drunk by 10am, same as always, lurching between bags of carrots and onions, swigging bottles of hopi, an island home brew. One poor sod lost his legs and then his bottle in a shattered mess of glass and man. Some people treat him kindly, like a sick brother. Most keep their distance. Some teenagers laugh.

It’s easy to feel that you’re losing your legs too after a day at sea, and certainly so after eyeballing a 15m animal underneath it, backed up by a posse of her mates.

They say people have two types of responses to seeing adult Humpback whales with nothing other than a bit of glass, some rubber and a plastic tube, flippering wildly. Some laugh. Others cry. I did both and simultaneously fogged up my mask and inhaled water: not recommended.

Then a 3m swell hit, I got some good waves and things felt good.

Inevitably, some conversations have to be had.

Try as I may to change, I am an Australian creature that thrives at home in routine.

I also realised I am distinctly not suited to the expat lifestyle and culture. We could say the alcohol doesn’t agree with me. But it’s more than that.

My wife and I grew apart and are now very different people to the ones who met a decade ago. We are no longer compatible and have separated.

AA taught me that I have no right to try to change other people, just as other people have no right to try and change me. AA does not say that recovering alcoholics have to roll over and appease people, because doing so creates resentments. I’ve realised that my tendency to want to please people, including those I love, erodes my autonomy.

Speaking of significant changes, my four-legged best friend became three-legged on Monday. He’s dealing with it well, doped to the eyeballs on Opiate Allsorts, having his every need attended to (including being hand fed poached chicken and rice by his very concerned human, omnomnomnom).

Poor bastard lost his leg chasing a tennis ball.

Things wear out as you get older. A snapped Anterior Cruciate Ligament in a knee became surgery and  a post-operative staphylococcus aureus infection that basically ate the knee joint from the inside out. These things happen in human surgeries every day around the world too.

If I were still drinking, these two things would have sunk me. Crab meat.

Instead I’m grateful to report that I seem to be still putting one foot in front of the other, with my three-legged mate beside me and lots of two-legged ones for support and company.

 

 

 

 

Ignition

February 2009, somewhere in regional New South Wales, Australia

Two streets back from the rows of neatly trimmed, middle class garden edges, we sit under a tree next to a rusted, wheelless HQ in an overgrown front yard and drink tea while little Mae runs about with the dogs.

The windows of the house have been broken and boarded up so many times that the frames are peppered with empty nail holes in between the flakes of peeling paint. The weatherboard cladding is pock-marked by age and a broken down-pipe hangs loosely from the corroded guttering above.

A scorching nor-wester spins dusty Willy Willies across the melting bitumen: little vortices of malevolent spirit seeking the wayward and unwary.

The boys (Mae’s first cousins) have been staying here for the past few weeks, waiting for things to settle down back home, an hour’s drive north. They were both on parole from juvie and ‘needed to keep their noses clean’ after a recent brawl, according to their old man.

But, trying to keep teenage boys away from trouble without giving them something else to focus their boundless energy on is like carelessly storing hay. Both have the tendency to self-combust as the result of a complex chain of biological events and chemical reactions.

The process, with both hay and teenage boys, goes something like this: exothermic internal reactions preclude thermal runaway (rapid acceleration to high temperatures) and finally, ignition. With hay, spontaneous combustion is the leading cause of haystack fires. Boredom-induced ignition produces similar effects in teenage boys, too often resulting either in time spent in juvie, or in an adult prison. The little marks on a rap sheet build up, like compounding interest, until a magistrate is convinced that the community is better served by one’s absence for a stretch of time.

Being locked up introduces teenagers and young adults to a pecking order based on indefinitely increasing personal capacities for violence and rat cunning. The system establishes a social order of institutionalised relationships that are mediated by what Pierre Bourdieu refers to as social capital – a range of actual or potential resources given value by the network of relationships in which they are embedded.

As teenagers grow up within the criminal justice system, the system itself is reinforced. Michel Foucault saw this recycling of people through the legal systems of Europe and observed that, while prisons punish unlawful activity, ‘delinquency is for the most part produced in and by an incarceration which, ultimately, prison perpetuates in its turn’.

New South Wales imprisons the largest number of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people in the country, and the state continues to lock up more every year. The social determinants of high imprisonment rates in Aboriginal communities have been well documented in countless government reviews and reports.

One of the key findings of the Royal Commission into Deaths in Custody (1991) was that ‘the most significant contributing factor is the disadvantaged and unequal position in which Aboriginal people find themselves in society – socially, economically and culturally’.[1] This situation has gotten worse, not better in the two decades following the Royal Commission. Incorporating a justice target in the Closing the Gap framework would appear a no-brainer, yet the current Coalition government continues to drag its heals on policy reform in this area.

There has been a raft of recommendations to governments over the years to keep Aboriginal juveniles and young adults out of the criminal justice system, with improvements mooted for education, health, wellbeing, access to employment and job-readiness. As is the case in most Aboriginal communities I’ve hung out in, Kooris here attach a healthy measure of cynicism as to whether there have been any real-world improvements.

The gaze of the casually interested State, one which levers layers of bureaucracy towards short-term funded programs and projects for short-term political gain, sweeps over regional communities in New South Wales from time to time, but never stays there long.

Kids get involved in petty crime, grog and drugs at a young age. There’s not much else to do, and when the older teenagers (one’s immediate role models) are doing it, it’s as much of a rite of passage to throw a brick through a window, get your head punched in (or punch someone elses’) as it is to get drunk on Fruity Lexia, or pinch Mum’s durries or yarndi.

This is not a race thing. It is socioeconomic and part of history.

It is practical too: the more you get in trouble, the more trouble finds you.

Before he passed away, Old Tom used to say that Willy Willies came into being when the spirits were angry with particular people. ‘The heat builds up in bushfire season, with the wind out of the north. The devils rise up from the dust and spin in the air. They find the bad young fellas and go for them to teach them a lesson. Right up their noses!’

I hear sirens echoing down through the valley – heralding a new brush fire in the escarpments? Smoke haze has been lingering in the hills for days now. Perhaps it was a police car, or an ambulance? Sounds are hard to distinguish in the buffeting wind. Mia and I jump on the roof of the car to look for signs of fire, but can’t see much except for an orange-hued stain across the afternoon sky.

The phone rings and I hear footsteps running inside and voices shrill with alarm. I can make out a few words amid the chaos:

Hospital.

Jai and Aiden.

Blood everywhere.

Exothermic thermal reactions producing thermal runaway and ignition. Little Mae runs inside crying.

Laying low for two weeks in the middle of the February heat (whilst being conspicuous in their absence from the trouble up north), the nephews ran into trouble down the street. A carload of enemy gangbangers had cruised south, blitzed on snow cones of methamphetamine and hydro cannabis.

The boys had seen the car parked at Woolies, heard the subwoofers pounding through the pavement.

Anger. Pride. Testosterone levels peaking. Adrenaline-fuelled thermal runaway. You can smell it in the sweat.

Ignition.

Two teenagers have been admitted to hospital with stab wounds in…{DELETED}…following an altercation in a supermarket car park on Tuesday afternoon. A man from …{DELETED}… has been charged with wounding a person with intent to cause grievous bodily harm, possessing or using a prohibited weapon without a permit, and affray. A second man from …{DELETED}… has been charged with affray.

Names have been changed to protect confidentiality.

[1] Commonwealth of Australia, Royal Commission into Deaths in Custody, 1991, Vol.1., p.1.7.1.

Don’t give Santa rum

December 2008. Somewhere in regional New South Wales.

I sit, roll a Champion Ruby, and wait for my coffee. To the left, a newsagent’s window display glistens with tinsel and Christmas baubles. To the right, a pharmacy promo poster has raindeer leaping through Winter snow. I’m sweating bullets and its only 10am. The table wobbles.

It’s early summer in south-eastern Australia. The heat and humidity is increasing and the flies return after winter to fuck and swarm. They seem to be attracted to my stink this morning, and I suspect my sweaty back is a seething brown-black blanket.

I remember some advice I heard about anthropological fieldwork that, when all else fails, a struggling researcher should just start counting stuff. So I count flies and, in doing so, begin to record other mundane details about the comings and goings on the street.

It’s Thursday, which is Pension Day. I call it Pokie Day. Plenty of people are out in the sunshine shopping and running errands, stocking up for Christmas and Boxing Day, when the shops will be closed. However, the Pokies carpark was already full when I drove into town.

There is a pre-Chrismas buzz in the air, but I don’t care much for smiling children and green and red faux lanterns this morning. I started drinking with an informant while fishing at the estuary jetty last night on dusk, which became a bottle of wine or two with dinner that became…what exactly?

All I know right now is that I need to be working rather than focussing all my energy on trying not to have a panic attack. Other people feel sick on a hangover. That doesn’t faze me too much as I’ve been hungover for mostly a decade now. It’s the spontaneous, crippling anxiety that worries me most.

Carols, playing on loop, interupt my thoughts and sour my mood each time the automatic door opens at the pharmacy. I close my eyes, breathe, and listen for other sounds in the street. Trucks, cars, seagulls, magpies.

The smell of cigarettes, exhaust fumes, grease (from the fish and chip shop).

A car horn blares, accompanied by two loud, echoing exclamations:

Farrrrrkooorrffff!

Cunce!

An Aboriginal man, who I have seen around town a few times since I moved here but haven’t met, wears a Santa Claus outfit, has the attention of a few dozen people, takes one last hit from a bottle of spirits in a torn brown paper bag and seizes his moment in the middle of the main street.

For the next fifteen minutes, or for however long it takes for the cops to drive around the corner from the station, Santa starts yelling and doesn’t stop.

It is a rambling, slurred monologue about the injustices of European colonialism and genocide, punctuated with more loud, echoing exclamations. It could have been epic, had Santa not been so righteously hammered.

Farrrrrkooorrffff!

Parents wheel their prams and usher children into shops.

Ten centimeters of ass crack is visible when Santa bends over to pick up his dropped cigarette.

Did Santa have official duties this morning? I suspect some community Christmas event might be missing out on their VIP, if that was the case.

Cunce!

The scene is stereotype, played out in 3D surround-sound stereo before my eyes and ears. I feel ill.

A woman walks past, mutters:

Bloody Abos.

I stare bleakly at my notebook. Yes, the date at the top reads 2008. No, not all whitefellas here are like that, I tell myself. Kevin Rudd just won office. Some Koori people said they feel more hopeful about reconciliation since John Howard failed to even hold his own seat.

Farrrrrkooorrffff!

Why am I even writing about this, its not like I’m going to put it in my thesis about *insertresearchquestion*? This is an outlier situation right?

And, what right do I have to take notes on public drunkness as a ‘dispassionate observer’ when I’m seriously considering rehab for my own drinking?

Bad Santa probably won’t remember much of this. Much like I can’t remember anything after the 7:30 Report finished last night.

Get off the road ya fucking alco!

To their credit, when the Police do arrive, they do their best to calm St Nick before escorting him quietly away. Or maybe that last slug of grog finished him off?


Some years later I met Santa outside an AA meeting. He was in plain clothes, picking up a friend. It turns out Santa isn’t an alcoholic. But he did love to drink when he had a wallet flush with cash, and freely admitted he sometimes took it too far and landed himself in trouble. When the doctor told him his liver was shot, Santa simply gave it away. Didn’t need AA. Didn’t need rehab. Didn’t even get the shakes.

Santa’s take on that December morning in 2008?

I had a full head of steam, felt the injustice clear and wanted to shout it from the rooftops. And Captain Morgan’s was on special. Problem was I forgot we had Christmas golf day! Didn’t even make it to the first tee! See. Don’t give Santa rum!

.

The Beagle

I guess I should probably explain my pseudonym. In AA, we don’t have pseudonyms and usually follow a standard form {First Name}{Last Initial}. Tenured academics don’t use pseudonyms because if they didn’t put their names to things they’d be out of a job. Publish or perish and all that.

But me? To write honestly about addiction, I need to be able to let it all hang out. Since some of the stuff that hangs out might not look so good on a resume or CV, I need a pseudonym for now.

Could it be a reference to HMS Beagle, that unassuming Royal Navy vessel that carried the naturalist Charles Darwin on his famous voyage that led to the development of his theories of natural selection and evolution?

No, not quite.

Truth be told, the Beagle is just an old nickname that I got given during my early 20s.

A quick whiff of the breeze and friendly dog at the customs counter knows what’s what.

Stop wagging your tail and get away from me you bastard.

This is not to say that all sniffer dogs are druggies – let’s not make rash generalisations. Neither am I.

But, since a young age I have always kept my eyes and ears open, and have been fascinated with how and why people seek to alter the way they feel. In short, I have always known who to ask for various things, but have never been shackled to other drugs like I have been to alcohol.

Also, I have always felt oddly at ease interacting with people who others find scary. That’s mostly down to my gender and physical characteristics. I’m big enough to make people think twice about violence, and disarming and friendly enough that nobody would ever try. Respectful? Tick. Discreet? Shh.

Librarians love me too. I have niche demographics.

That said, I did have a loaded shotgun pulled on me once during fieldwork when I forgot to ring ahead before visiting someone for an interview. I got the interview.

These attributes of course were mostly a front. That self-confidence and fearlessness crumbled to dust when the alcohol stopped working in my late 30s.

Alcoholics, as we say in AA, are chameleons. We are attracted to other drinkers, and situations where heavy drinking is normalised because it allows us to blend in, which also helps us to convince ourselves that our own drinking is fine. My success as a chameleon meant that my alcoholism went untreated until the wheels completely fell off.

Absolutely fine. Nothing to see here. *Crash, clunk.*

But, it’s not about how we fall down. It’s how we get back up again. Which is why I started this blog.

So, there you have it. As pseudonyms go, it’s a bit shit, but necessary all the same.

 

 

 

 

 

Growing up (un)gracefully

I haven’t written a Social Drinking blog post for a while because I have been going through disturbances in my personal life. This means that I needed to sort out my own emotions and thoughts about a whole bunch of things. Now I can report back, like I do in AA meetings, with new insights about my alcoholism. It has been a rough but extremely beneficial few months.

In my last post I was reflecting on, and coming to terms with, the process of separation from my wife, which was heading towards divorce. I think the gravity of what we were about to do finally sunk in when we got to see each other face to face and we finally had some conversations that we probably should have had many years ago. We have decided to press ahead, and I’m feeling much more optimistic now about our relationship.

I have also had to take stock of my own behaviour during this period of disturbance. AA has this rule that I think should sit alongside ‘don’t be an asshole’ as a solid guide to good behaviour: ‘every time we are disturbed, no matter what the cause, there is something wrong with us’. Of course, in human relationships, there probably is something wrong other people who we interact with as well. But, that is not our responsibility.

I’ll give you a tip: if you want to win friends and influence people, don’t criticise them. Don’t take other people’s moral inventory and then feel it is your right to explain to them their personal failings when you feel they have done you wrong. You might get a punch in the face. Or you might hurt someone you love. This is one of those lessons I should have learnt years ago. Instead, I’ve come late to the party of understanding.

I have also been seeing a new shrink to help me deal with some mental health issues that have never really resolved, despite years now of sobriety and antidepressants. The diagnostic finger is pointing squarely at a couple of traumatic incidents that have been giving me visual/auditory/smell/taste flashbacks and making sleep difficult for nearly 20 years. It seems I may have developed a post traumatic stress disorder. The good news is, I probably don’t need to be on the antidepressant anymore, which means byeeeeeeee to side effects 🙂

Anyway, onwards and upwards. Dance like nobody’s watching. Vacuum the house in your underpants. Run up a hill past grass-chomping kangaroos listening to Biggy’s Hypnotise. You get the drift.

Pills, booze and the devil’s lettuce be

We humans are constantly doing things to change the way we feel: for example, through exercise, sex, food, meditation, prayer, alcohol and other legal and illegal drugs. Each of these things produce chemical changes in our brains. But, despite knowing that a good run can be the best way to ease stress and anxiety, we only refer to legal drugs as ‘medicine’ while singing songs about sexual healing. People drink wine with dinner to take the edge off. So did I, until there was no edge.

The more I write about my own relationship with alcohol, the more I realise that I have always used a range of substances to produce changes in myself. I am not the only person who does this. I still use a stimulant daily (strong, hot and black), and despite my best intentions to quit smoking via Nicotine Replacement Therapy (NRT), I have simply transferred one disgusting habit to another – chewing nicotine gum. I also take an antidepressant, which I am hoping to cease in the next few months in favour of a more natural alternative.

On the surface, NRT (like methadone and buprenorphine for opiate addicts) is marketed and recommended by doctors as a pathway to quitting. However, nicotine chewing gum is extremely addictive and has a pleasant minty taste. Methadone and bupe, so I’m told by people who know, are far less tasty but no less addictive.

On another level, NRT is an example of harm reduction through substitution, in this case replacing the harmful method of drug delivery with a safer one. In buying a pack of NRT gum at the supermarket, I am no different to my peers who line up outside our local AoD outpatient service on sub-zero mornings for methadone and bupe to ward off crippling opioid withdrawal for another day.

Nicotine triggers the release of dopamine in the brain, meaning that it can provide short-term feelings of relief to people experiencing withdrawal from other substances, including heroin and alcohol. This is true even in the smoke-free* rehabs of the public health system, where nurses dole out NRT to calm nerves and prevent unnecessary nicotine withdrawal, along with benzos (also highly addictive) to prevent seizures.

Bio-power and harm reduction

I’ve mentioned previously that Philippe Bourgois and Jeff Schonberg’s book Righteous Dopefiend (2009) presents some powerful ideas about heroin addiction, drawn from the theories of some of social science’s heaviest hitters (Marx, Bourdieu and Foucault). Righteous Dopefiend develops a theory of abuse in which power is misused in people’s relationships with the state, and each other, by gender, race and socioeconomic class.

One key term Bourgeois and Schonberg introduce from Foucault is ‘biopower’. This is about ‘techniques for achieving the subjugations of bodies and the control of populations’.** Biopower is partly about the state turning us all into good, tax-paying, law-abiding citizens who make rational decisions. Because, if we don’t comply, the government has instruments of control (for example, family services or the cops).

Bourgeois and Schonberg note that, while Foucault did not examine illegal drug use, it is ‘ideal terrain’ for many of his ideas including ‘a critical application of biopower, governmentality, and the deconstruction of knowledge/power discourses.’ ***

Bourgeois and Schonberg’s theory also implicates neoliberalism in class-based abuse, which helps explain why poor and socially marginalised people bear a greater health burden from addiction, which in turn generates self-destructive thinking and behaviours (subjectivities).

In relation to methadone, Bourgeois and Schonberg suggest that the ‘radical, user-friendly intentions of harm reduction activists’ has been captured to some extent by a ‘logic of governmentality.’**** They argue that harm reduction operates within a middle-class public health discourse that promotes disciplined citizens capable of regulating their own behaviour and making rational decisions.

Bourgeois further develops his ideas about how power relations shape drug treatment in the United States by showing how a methadone clinic is an unhappy compromise between competing discourses: a criminalizing morality versus a medicalizing model of addiction-as-a-brain-disease.*****

Bio-power is about real power too, and in the so-called real economy, power equals money and money equals power. A real-estate tycoon and former reality television star is now President of the United States. If Obama showed African-American kids that they truly could be anything, then what message is being sent by Trump? Money buys votes and votes make laws.

Legal, illegal

We live in a world where some substances are regulated by states: they are tested, trialled, approved, taxed, scheduled, prescribed, administered, served, sold, distributed and consumed. Other substances are banned and fall outside of the state apparatus, or at least to systems of citizen control (law and order).

While the plants Coffea Arabica and Robusta enjoyed a celebrated status in the 20th century, Cannabis Sativa and Indica have been synonymous with the illicit. ‘Marijauna’ (a word with dubious etymology) was used to campaign against the plant’s use in the United States and elsewhere, in a series of early 20th‐century moral panics that led to cannabis’ demonisation as the devil’s lettuce. More recently, cannabis is enjoying gradual liberalisation. But, not in Australia, where policy reform remains some way off.

The United States, like Australia, is in the grip of an opioid crisis as the dried latex of Papaver somniferum, the opium poppy, continues its march across the world. This latex is made up of morphine, which is processed to make heroin and other synthetic opioids for medicinal/legal or recreational/illegal consumption, and other opioids including codeine.

In West Virgina, a media  investigation found that from 2007 to 2012, drug firms poured a total of 780 million opioid painkillers into the state:

  • Number of oxycodone dosages shipped to West Virginia pharmacies between 2007 and 2012: 224,260,980
  • Number of hydrocodone dosages shipped to West Virginia pharmacies between 2007 and 2012: 555,808,292

The unfettered shipments amount to 433 pain pills for every man, woman and child in West Virginia.

The region includes the top four counties — Wyoming, McDowell, Boone and Mingo — for fatal overdoses caused by pain pills in the U.S., according to CDC data analyzed by the Gazette-Mail. Another two Southern West Virginia counties — Mercer and Raleigh — rank in the top 10. And Logan, Lincoln, Fayette and Monroe fall among the top 20 counties for fatal overdoses involving prescription opioids. One of the drug companies implicated in these shipments was H.D. Smith, which made $4.0 billion from drug distribution in 2016 alone.

But, it seems, these legal drug dealers have killed the goose that layed the golden egg. Legal proceedings involving the major hydrocodone distributors are ongoing and a consolidated case is expected to yield an unprecedented settlement from manufacturers and distributors alike. McKesson and Cardinal Health, in the past two years, agreed to pay the federal government $150 million and $44 million, respectively. It was recently announced that AmerisourceBergen, Miami-Luken, and H.D. Smith have agreed to pay $16 million, $2.5 million, and $3.5 million, respectively, to West Virginia’s government, among other penalties and settlement agreements.

While opioid manufacturers and distributors are on the nose with regulators, legislators and the public, many investors are pouring into medical and recreational cannabis businesses. A century of prohibition has meant that scientists have only very recently begun to unlock cannabis’ vast therapeutic potential and there has been a real chance of a bubble emerging in cannabis-based company stocks, most recently in Canada. Even in laid-back Colorado, Silicon Valley entrepreneurs are fighting for an ounce of the action. Is there not some irony in headlines like High Hopes Ride on Marijuana Amid Opioid Crisis?!

Exercise as treatment

Like drugs, sex and exercise stimulate the release of happy hormones in the human body, with the two activities not being mutually exclusive. Again, is it any surprise that some addicts swap their drug of choice for a sweaty sex addiction? Or become adrenaline-chasers and gym-junkies?

In May 2018, a group of Australian cancer specialists launched a ‘world-first’ position statement calling for exercise to be prescribed to all cancer patients as part of their routine treatment. Cancer patients who exercise regularly have fewer and less severe side effects from treatments like chemotherapy. They also have a lower risk of cancer recurring and a lower chance of dying from cancer. Dr Prue Cormie, Chair of the Exercise and Cancer Group within the Clinical Oncology Society of Australia, writes:

If the effects of exercise could be encapsulated in a pill, it would be prescribed to every cancer patient worldwide and viewed as a major breakthrough in cancer treatment. If we had a pill called exercise it would be demanded by cancer patients, prescribed by every cancer specialist, and subsidised by government.

I too consider exercise to be an important part of my treatment for alcoholism. Not only does exercise provide an alternative healthy activity to drinking and other addictive behaviours, it has been shown to improve mood and psychological wellbeing. But, as we know, exercise requires a person to be active in their treatment. You have to want to get fit and enjoy doing it. For this reason, treatment with exercise is more likely to succeed when you are free to choose the type of exercise you enjoy. For me, this is surfing and more recently, trail running.

Research as treatment

If you hang around rehabs and AA long enough you’ll realise that many recovering alkies and addicts dream of getting a job in social services, particularly drug and alcohol support. This makes sense, since those of us who stay alive long enough to get sober and stay that way have become subject area specialists in our own personal recoveries. We have been through many different rehabs, tested and trialled and failed various pharmacological/psychological interventions, chewed through piles of literature, browsed countless websites and spent hundreds of hours either in quiet self-reflection, or conversation with other novice-experts.

I mentioned previously that I completed a PhD in anthropology around the same time as my alcoholism and other addictions were reaching crisis point. My PhD research was not about why and how people use pills (of various descriptions), booze and yarndi/cannabis. Regardless, the seeds of my present understanding of these things were first laid bare during fieldwork.

My research was also an example of anthropology at home. I did research in the same location as I spend most of my time when I’m not working. It is a type of Australian ecosystem in which I feel most at home (i.e. it has great waves and lots of gum trees). As much as I wanted to treat the ‘site of my research’ as a distinct spatial-temporal entity, it just simply wasn’t and isn’t.

In practical terms, my research ended with my PhD. This includes the funding and the research ethics agreement. Plus, I now work in the public sector for an employer that doesn’t support individual publishing. My circumstances have changed, and this doesn’t allow me to do formal research.

But, my ‘field’ has not shifted. It hasn’t gone anywhere. If anything, it’s become bigger, and more all-consuming. My focus shifted from *insert research question* to finding similarities between my experience and those of many of my informants and friends.


* For an excellent anthropological analysis of how the social, moral, political and legal atmosphere of ‘smokefree’ came into being, see: Simone Dennis, SmokeFree: A Social, Moral and Political Atmosphere, 2016, Bloomsbury Academic, London and New York.

** Michel Foucault, The History of Sexuality, Vol. 1, 1976, p. 140.

*** Philippe Bourgois and Jeff Schonberg, Righteous Dopefiend, 2009, University of California Press, Oakland, CA, p. 19.

**** Philippe Bourgois and Jeff Schonberg, Righteous Dopefiend, 2009, University of California Press, Oakland, CA, p. 106.

***** Philippe Bourgois,  ‘Disciplining addictions: the bio-politics of methadone and heroin in the United States’, Culture, Medicine and Psychiatry, 2000, 24, pp. 165–95.

A case for cannabis legalisation

Prohibition has made criminal syndicates rich and little else. The legalisation of cannabis will drive quality and variety, further blurring the lines between medicinal and recreational use.

On 17 April 2018, the Leader of the Australian Greens, Senator Dr Richard Di Natale, launched a drug reform campaign aimed at legalising recreational cannabis use for all Australian adults. The Greens propose creating a tightly regulated cannabis market, overseen by a new statutory body:

The Australian Cannabis Agency would be established to issue licenses for cannabis production and sale, act as the single wholesaler of legally accessible cannabis, carry out a program of monitoring and enforcement of premises of production and sale, and conduct ongoing review and monitoring of the regulatory scheme to ensure it is functioning optimally.

We would also establish retail stores to sell cannabis. These stores would require ID to enter and ban sales to anyone under the age of 18, sell only plain packaged cannabis (with visible health warnings) and require staff to undertake a responsible sale of cannabis course.

Growth of six plants at home for personal use would be permitted, but strict penalties would apply for unlicensed or underage sales, or driving whilst under the influence of cannabis.

The Greens argument, which I strongly support, is that prohibition has failed:

Criminalisation of the production and use of cannabis has caused multiple harms, including forcing people to live with criminal records for possessing only a small amount of weed, pushing cannabis users to purchase from drug dealers and consume a product of unknown strength and quality, and diverting money into the futile law enforcement response and away from drug and mental health treatment and education.

Federal Health Minister, The Hon. Greg Hunt MP came out and called for the Greens to dump the policy, stating that cannabis is ‘a gateway drug’ to methamphetamine and heroin use.

Dr Alex Wodak AM,  president of the Australian Drug Law Reform Foundation and one of the most respected AoD researchers in the country, argues that ‘cannabis taxation and regulation is an idea whose time has come’. He says that, ‘like the debate about same sex marriage, the idea will seem strange to some in advance but once the reform has been completed we will wonder why it took us so long.’

Dr Wodak provides a brief history lesson to show that the decision to ban cannabis in the 1920s was, at the very least, devoid of evidence. ‘There was no careful root and branch review of the evidence. Instead, Australia was represented at a League of Nations meeting in Geneva in 1925 where delegates from several countries decried the dangers of cannabis.’ Dr Wodak cites Robert Kendell in his 2003 article Cannabis Condemned:

“A claim by the Egyptian delegation that [cannabis] was as dangerous as opium, and should therefore be subject to the same international controls, was supported by several other countries. No formal evidence was produced and conference delegates had not been briefed about cannabis.”

Dr Wodak remarks:

Accordingly, the Commonwealth wrote to the states after the meeting instructing them to prohibit cannabis. This is the quicksand upon which the mighty edifice of cannabis prohibition in Australia was constructed.

From an international perspective, the Greens’ state-controlled proposal is similar to the model adopted by Uruguay in 2014, in which Uruguay legalised growing up to six plants at home, as well as the formation of growing clubs, a state-controlled dispensary regime, and the creation of a cannabis regulatory body.

By comparison, Colorado in the United States legalised the sale and possession of cannabis for non-medical uses in 2012, including private cultivation of up to six  plants, with no more than three being in flower at the one time. Colorado established a commercial market for consumers aged 21 years and over, as well as regulations for the commercial cultivation, manufacture, and sale similar to alcohol, for recreational use.

The prohibition effect: limited knowledge, quality and variety. Rich bikers.

Australian consumers’ knowledge of cannabis has been shaped by their experience of prohibition and is, in general, unsophisticated by international standards. Many Australians have experienced cannabis smoked through a bong with tobacco or rolled into a joint. Combustion, however, is only one way in which people consume cannabis products. Some Australians may have eaten decarboxylated cannabis in a cake or brownie. Comparatively few know that cannabis can be vaporised or used in concentrated forms such as dabs. Along with edible products, personal vaporisers have emerged as a preferred method of delivery for medicinal cannabis patients because there is no evidence they adversely affect the respiratory system.

The average Australian cannabis consumer might distinguish between two types of cannabis: ‘hydro’, a catch-all term describing high-potency, indoor-grown hydroponic cannabis that can sometimes have a strong chemical odour and taste; and, ‘outdoor’ or ‘bush weed’, which is more commonly found outside of the major city centres. This is a false dichotomy.

In communities where both cannabis markets and consumer knowledge is more advanced, consumers choose between sativa dominant or indica dominant strains. These categories relate directly to the two major species, Cannabis sativa and Cannabis indica. A third species,  Cannabis ruderalis, is mainly used to breed autoflowering hybrids because of its unique ability to flower without a photoperiod cue.

Cannabis plants produce a unique mix of terpeno-phenolic compounds called cannabinoids. There are over 100 different cannabinoids that have been isolated from the plant, including the two most prevalent: the psychoactive delta-9 tetrahydrocannabinol (THC), and cannabidiol (CBD). CBD is not considered psychoactive and is being offered by doctors in the United States for its ability to reduce nausea and anxiety, among other things.*

In jurisdictions where medical cannabis is legal, dispensaries fill prescriptions for specific strains of cannabis – for example, strains that stimulate the appetite and suppress pain, or relieve anxiety and stress. Medicine Man, a family-run business in Denver offers over 40 different medicinal and recreational strains, all varying in THC/CBD content and ratio, with wildly different terpene profiles.

Differentiation between medicinal and recreational strains is relatively arbitrary: popular medicinal strains such as G-14, Liberty Haze, Super Sour Diesel, Jamaican Lion and Girl Scout Cookies are equally, if not more, popular with recreational consumers.

Dispensaries offer strains specifically bred to taste of citrus, tropical fruits such as mango, berries, pine and even cheese. These plants are bred for particular concentrations of naturally occuring terpenes in their flowers. The four most common terpenes found in cannabis are Myrcene (found in hops, mangoes, lemongrass, citrus, thyme and bay leaves), Pinene (found in conifers and some citrus), Limonene (found in citrus rind, rosemary and peppermint) and Linalool (found in mint, bay leaves, lavender and cinnamon).

In Australia, most of the hydroponic cannabis bought on the streets is produced by criminal syndicates, predominantly outlaw motorcycle gangs. These producers favour fast growing, high-yielding, high-THC strains with next to no CBD content.

The chemical taste associated with ‘hydro’ is caused by producers pumping as many nutrients into the flowering plants as they can to maximise their yield per watt of electricity used. Outlaw motorcycle gangs are not known for their subtlety. They do not take the extra week needed to ‘flush’ their plants with fresh water prior to harvest, which leads to the excess nutrients remaining in the plant’s flowers and leaves producing an unpleasant taste. It is this high-potency, foul-tasting, low-medicinal-value product that most Australian cannabis consumers are introduced to, often by the same people selling methamphetamine, pills of dubious consistency masquerading as MDMA, prescription drugs (Xanax and Oxycontin) and heroin.

Competitive markets drive quality and variety in produce. Uncompetitive markets, such as bikie oligopolies, do not. Cannabis prohibition in Australia has succeeded in enriching organised crime and little else.

Jimmy

‘Jimmy’s a good kid’, scrawls my handwriting under a brown tea stain, ‘looks after his mum and little sister, working a shit job for worse pay. He always seems to be down on his luck’.

I met Jimmy in 2008 while I was doing ethnographic research in a New South Wales country town. As luck would have it, Jimmy and I also crossed paths in an alcohol rehab several years later in another country town about six hours drive inland.

Jimmy went to juvie in his teens after committing a bunch of minor misdemeanours culminating in significant time away from his family. His last crime was purchasing and being caught by the cops with a quarter ounce bag of cannabis.

Jimmy didn’t go back to school after juvie. When I met up with him years later, Jimmy was a shell of what he once was. He had broken both legs in a car accident and had become hooked on opioid painkillers, washed down with whatever was on special at the bottle shop. Jimmy was in rehab as a circuit-breaker for his ongoing legal and family problems. Still, we shared old stories and some laughs; hit the weights together and snuck cigarettes at the AA meetings.

Jimmy took his own life later that year.

Rachel

When I met Rachel she was 29, trying to establish her own small business. Rachel smoked bongs, which she believed helped her anxiety. She refused to take the new antidepressants prescribed by her doctor because she said her first prescription didn’t help her anxiety at all and caused what the pharmaceutical companies call ‘discontinuation symptoms’ when she stopped taking them. Rachel said that these symptoms, including vertigo, severe headaches, nausea and heavy sweating, left her in a constant state of panic and made it impossible for her to leave the house for a week.

Rachel preferred to grow her own bush weed because she was terrified of the people who deal hydro. When she was younger, living for a while in Redfern, she was scoring  from some guys in the Cross. One night, they asked her to come to a pub for a drink. She woke up many hours later looking down the barrel of a video camera documenting her rape by multiple assailants.

Gateways and other hyperbole

Minister Hunt’s response to the Green’s policy proposal is unfortunately characteristic of much of modern Australian politics which appeals to emotion first and intellect a distant second. Hyperbole works only when people do not question the underlying assumptions being proposed.

It is true that cannabis prohibition can be a gateway to other drug use precisely because it forces consumers onto the black market. Consider Rachel’s horrific experience of having the date rape drug, Rohypnol, slipped in her drink by her dealer. Or consider that Jimmy maintained his opioid addiction long after his doctor stopped prescribing him Oxycontin because he already had access to a black market network.

The majority of people who use cannabis do not go on to use other, so-called ‘harder’ substances that are physically addictive (including alcohol, which is legal). In the United States, the 2014 National Household Survey on Drug Use and Health found less than half of Americans aged over 12 had tried cannabis, while less than 15 percent had used cocaine and less than 2 percent had used heroin. In general, only 10 to 20 percent of those who try alcohol and other drugs get hooked.

While cannabis may cause cross-sensitisation to other drugs, alcohol and nicotine also prime the brain for a heightened response to other drugs and are, like cannabis, also regularly used prior to a person progressing to other, more harmful substances.

There is a growing body of research supporting an ‘anti-gateway’ hypothesis, which proposes that cannabis use can provide a way out for people suffering from physical addictions to alcohol, and other recreational and prescription drugs. One recent study surveyed medical marijuana users in Canada,  and found that 87 percent of participants used it to replace alcohol, prescription opioids or other recreational drugs. 52 percent reported that cannabis helped them reduce alcohol use, while 80 percent reported using less prescription pain medications.

Final word

As medical cannabis reform gathers pace there will be increasing pressure on the government to open up its very restrictive regime to a wide variety of medical conditions. Indeed, the line between medical and recreational use is arbitrary, and does not reflect the reality of how people consume cannabis: most self medicate with the same substance they use for recreation.

If we turn to the the potential benefits, legalisation in Australia would reduce the costs of drug enforcement, taking the pressure off police, courts and prisons, and customs. It would limit the income of black market cannabis suppliers, including outlaw motorcycle gangs, and would raise substantial revenue through tax receipts at a time when the Commonwealth is struggling for tax revenue. Lastly, legalisation would create a functioning market in Australia, providing quality and variety, and a safe way for consumers to purchase their drug of choice.

NOTE: Names have been changed to maintain confidentiality.

 

*Caroline A. MacCallum and Ethan B. Russo,  ‘Review Article: Practical considerations in medical cannabis administration and dosing’, European Journal of Internal Medicine, 2018, 49: 12-19. Available for free: http://www.ejinme.com/article/S0953-6205(18)30004-9/pdf

In the latest edition of the European Journal of Internal Medicine, researchers argue that the ‘legal prohibition, biochemical complexity and variability, quality control issues, previous dearth of appropriately powered randomised controlled trials, and lack of pertinent education have conspired to leave clinicians in the dark as to how to advise patients pursuing such [cannabis-based] treatment. With the advent of pharmaceutical cannabis-based medicines (Sativex/nabiximols and Epidiolex), and liberalisation of access in certain nations, this ignorance of cannabis pharmacology and therapeutics has become untenable.’ As a correction, they provide the most up to date data on cannabis pharmacology, methods of administration (smoking, vaporisation, oral), and dosing recommendations. Suggestions are offered on cannabis-drug interactions, patient monitoring, and standards of care, while special cases for cannabis therapeutics are addressed: epilepsy, cancer palliation and primary treatment, chronic pain, use in the elderly, Parkinson disease, paediatrics, with concomitant opioids, and in relation to driving and hazardous activities.

 

 

FYI: relationships are hard

Getting sober is not always raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens. Sometimes being an adult really fucking hurts.

Earlier this month, my marriage of seven years came to an end a week shy of our eighth wedding anniversary. While this was not unexpected (one cannot plumb the depths of alcoholism and addiction without it wreaking havoc on close personal relationships), my wife’s decision has knocked me off balance. However, I refuse to harbour any ill feelings towards her and am committed to ending our marriage as we started: as best friends. To achieve that goal, while staying away from alcohol, I need to Do The Next Right Thing (or DTNRT, if you like acronyms).

DTNRT

The million dollar question at this point is: How do I know if I am responding to a situation in the right way? In AA’s Step 4 we conducted ‘a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves’ and then admitted all our bad behaviour and character defects to another person in Step 5 (and God, if you believe in one). These steps are important because they allowed me to identify the qualities I admire in others, to reflect on my strengths and weaknesses, to identify situations and relationships that place me at risk of relapsing, and to learn when I am behaving in a way that doesn’t reflect my personal values.

When I was at a low point last week I rang someone close to me for support and, instead of finding a sympathetic ear, I received two full barrels of anger, a torrent of abusive text messages and nine missed calls while I was at work the next day. Unsurprisingly, I was angry and upset by this person’s behaviour. Fortunately I had the smarts to call my sponsor. We decided I should block the offending phone number until temperatures returned to normal, and to resume the relationship when I am on a more solid emotional footing.

Sometimes doing the next right thing is as simple as not responding to anger with anger, or attempting to find a point of agreement in an argument. At other times DTNRT is pausing when agitated or not having the final say in a conversation.

In the case of my marriage breakdown, DTNRT is about me being supportive of my wife’s decision, and to accept that she needs to grow in her own way, even if it causes ripples in my present circumstances. After all, I owe my wife my life. If making this transition in our relationship easy is what I need to do to make an amends for the harm caused by my drinking, then that is what I need to do.

No person is an island

Given the set of circumstances described above, my first instinct is to withdraw from social relationships. There is sadness there, and quite a bit of grief. That is understandable. But, if history is any lesson, I don’t fare well when I withdraw from society and attempt to do life as a solitary organism. We humans just don’t work like that.

When I was drinking and times got tough, I would dream I was marooned on an island with perfect waves and a never ending supply of rum. Instead, I found myself lying in bed at 4pm on a Tuesday afternoon with a cask of wine wondering if I had any relationships left.

The point is that, as social creatures, we need human contact.

So, instead of fleeing down the coast with a dog, a tent and a surfboard, I stuck it out this weekend and went to a bunch of AA meetings. I even went to a punk rock gig on Saturday night, drank soda water and laughed my head off with another AA member. It was good. The best thing was that I woke up Sunday morning with no regrets.

Oh, and real footy’s back. Not that thing with the round ball and the play acting. Or the other things where large men run straight at each other. No, Australian Rules! Go the mighty Cats!

Take your medicine: how a spiritual program can work for atheists

Q. How can an atheist follow a spiritual program of recovery without his or her head exploding in a puddle of existential goo? A. Start by accepting you don’t have all the answers and then fake it till you make it.

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I’ve mentioned previously that, when I first encountered the fellowship of Alcoholics Anonymous, I saw the word God scrawled across the calico banners on the wall and pretty much ran screaming into the sunset. Well, that might be a slight exaggeration, but you get the drift. Contempt prior to investigation is probably closer to the truth.

One would have thought that as an anthropologist – someone who is trained to identify their own cultural biases, and who is fascinated by the human condition in all its forms – I would have had a more open mind about this. But no, I chose to put my preconceptions ahead of sobriety and it nearly killed me. After all, I hadn’t believed in a God in more than two decades. Why start now?

I was baptised Anglican in a rural community. I went to Sunday school, youth group and was eventually confirmed as a 13 year old kid with pimples who could eat the flesh of Christ and drink his blood. It was about the same time that we were being introduced to biology at school, including the legendary story of Charles Darwin’s journey of discovery in The Beagle. Needless to say, the story of how finches evolved on remote islands seemed more plausible to me than any of the magical horseshit I was hearing or reading on Sundays. Still, the Minister had a drop-dead-gorgeous daughter, so I hung around the Church like a bad smell until I discovered beer and Saturday Nights.

Later, I nurtured resentments against ‘the Church’ for a whole swag of reasons, real or imagined: Religion is a drug that keeps populations subjugated; Christian people are duplicitous; Catholicism is institutionalised tax evasion and child abuse; etc., etc., etc. Worse still, I looked down my nose at people who believed in something spiritual and sometimes got into heated, drunken debates with Christians, armed with so-called reason and a quick, nasty wit.

Then I plunged headfirst into rehab and received my first real introduction to AAs 12 Steps, half of which appeared to exclude athiests:

  • We need a ‘Power greater than ourselves’ to cure our insanity (Step 2)
  • To get well, we have to ‘turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him’ (Step 3)
  • After all that, we then had to admit to God all of our wrongs (Step 5), become willing to have God remove all our character defects (Step 6) and humbly ask Him to remove our shortcomings (Step 7), and
  • Practice prayer, every single day (Step 11).

Unsurprisingly, I spent most of the long hours in rehab wrestling with AA’s God concept figuring out how I could bypass the spiritual aspects of the program. While I didn’t have a religious experience, rehab did give my body and mind a chance to dry out, and my loved ones a break from having to deal with my bullshit.

It took three weeks for me to bust after rehab, which took my tally of sober days up to 60. This was the longest I had been without alcohol in my system for more than two decades. I suppose we could call that a success.

Willpower?

If you’re reading this and you don’t have a problem with alcohol, you may think that alcoholics just suffer from a lack of willpower. In response: imagine you wake in the morning after one of your best friends’ weddings in a resort town. You have spent a considerable amount of money to get and stay there, and it was a rare chance to see your old mates together again before they run off and breed. You were so excited to see everyone that you got completely carried away drinking expensive wine and can’t remember anything after the sun went down. Your partner, who will not speak to you for many hours yet, eventually informs you that you were found by the police half stumbling/half crawling down a road in an 80km/hr zone. You’d probably vow off the grog for a while, if not for life. And, you’d mean it too.

This exact situation happened to me. I vowed off grog and I meant it too. Like AA’s founder Bill Wilson, I woke up and meant business:

This had to be stopped. I saw I could not take take so much as one drink. I was through forever…

Shortly afterward I came home drunk. There had been no fight. Where had been my high resolve? I simply didn’t know. It hadn’t even come to mind. Someone had pushed a drink my way and I had taken it.

While recovering from drinking to blackout and being rescued by the police, I went out with one of my mates to get groceries. Ten minutes later I had a can of ‘Dark and Stormy’ in my hand, the first of many hangover cures consumed that afternoon.

Like Bill, my best efforts kept achieving the same result and it never took long for the wagon wheels to fall off.  For example, while I was on medical leave to ‘sort out my drinking’, I’d give my partner all my cash, credit and debit cards before she left for work. When she returned, without fail, I would be falling-down drunk.

I spoke to my best mate the other day – a prodigious and regular drinker – but not an alcoholic. He just had a month off the grog and he said it suprised him how easy it was. I was dumbfounded. I asked him if he had trouble sleeping or was irritable. He said no more than usual. I congratulated him, but not before telling him I thought he was an alien from outerspace.

We alkies have plenty of ‘willpower’, the problem is that it is directed towards drinking. Take away our wallet and access to money, we’ll still find a way to get drunk. A recent review of neurobiological advances from the brain disease model of addiction shows that addictions have not only changed our brains’ reward and decision-making centres, they have increased our reactivity to stress and given rise to negative emotions and dysphoria (researchers call this an ‘antireward system’). This means that, ‘in addition to the direct and conditioned pull toward the “rewards” of drug use, there is a correspondingly intense motivational push to escape the discomfort associated with the aftereffects of use. As a result of these changes, the person with addiction transitions from taking drugs simply to feel pleasure, or to “get high,” to taking them to obtain transient relief from dysphoria.’ So, its not a question of willpower, we just aren’t like normal folk.

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Gift of Desperation

Apparently fate had decided that I needed to become broken just enough to come back to AA with an open mind: I needed to become desperate enough to suspend my preconceptions about the program, including the fear I might get infected by some virulent strain of Godbotheryitis and turn into Ned Flanders.

In AA, we call this the Gift of Desperation (G.O.D. – see the theme here?! )

The following extracts from my journal provide a pretty good indication of my headspace before and after I arrived at my personal rock bottom. For context, the first extract from August 2014 was written by an active alcoholic who has just had a major relapse at work, and was looking to get his employer off his back by having the AOD doctor write a letter of support. The treatment plan included relying on an alcoholic self-administering a drug that causes life-threatening side effects when it is mixed with alcohol. The second extract, recorded three months later, was my first attempt to write about my rock bottom, still shaking after five days in blackout.

12/8/14

Appointment with Dr XXXXXXXXXX today. I need a plan of treatment and support and a letter to Human Resources after my last bust at work.

After appointment: plan is:

  • Six months of self-administered Antabuse (Disulfiram) 250mg daily.
  • No benzos, opioid painkillers or any other sedative style or potentially addictive drugs.
  • Regular counselling.
  • Engage with and attend AA.
  • Daily diary and journaling (i.e. this)
  • Check out SMART recovery – good for athiests?
  • Read, write and learn more about WHY I drink like I do.

Feel like a big weight is off my shoulders now that I have spoken to the doc and have the letter for work. Back in the pool swimming today!

 

5/11/14

First day sober, shaking, fearful of my own shadow, jumping at the groan of trees in the wind. Sweating buckets haven’t eaten. Lost litres of fluid in tears. Probably should hydrate.

Stopped taking Antabuse around the 31st and had a light beer but immediately had acetaldehyde reaction, got flushed, heart palpitations, etc. so backed off. Relapsed proper on the 1st and all hell broke loose. From then, piecing together events gets too hazy: at least three bottles of vodka, two boxes of cask wine…who knows what else? I didn’t turn up for work again Tuesday 4th (Melbourne Cup Day) and got my formal, final written warning from work this morning.

Somewhere in there I had a massive argument with XXXXXXXXXX and fear that relationship is over. I also seriously considered stringing up a rope in the garage, but was way too pissed to even make it that far. Fear is pretty much all I’m made of today.

I’m done.

Acceptance

Soon after I penned the above entry into my journal I walked into a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous and haven’t had a drink since. What changed?

Quite a few things actually. I’ve written previously that I needed to own my alcoholism before I could even think to  change my maladaptive behaviours. This acceptance meant that I  walked into that meeting knowing, without a shadow of a doubt, that I am an alcoholic and that my life had become unmanageable. I knew then, as I know now, that everything good in my life could be taken away in the blink of an eye if I have another drink. This is another way of saying I had succeeded in taking AA’s first step.

Second, I did the opposite of everything I had done before when I attended meetings. Instead of sitting in the corner and not making eye contact with anyone, I shook the hand of the first person I saw and when I was asked to share, told everybody present about what a horrid fucking mess I was in, cried some tears and humbly asked for their help with snot running down my chin. I walked out with a bunch of phone numbers and got a sponsor shortly after.

Third, when people said I didn’t have to believe in any Gods or Goddesses to succeed in the fellowship, I listened to them. I asked them how they interpreted AA’s steps to make meaningful changes in their lives and did what they suggested.

Fourth, I kept going back to AA meetings. I learned to appreciate Nestle Blend 43 freeze dried coffee and Arnott’s Assorted biscuits, and realised that the more I listened to other people’s stories, the less I spent worrying about having another drink or losing my job. In the process of doing this, I stopped isolating and became a human being again. Time, as they say, is a great healer.

Lastly, I learned to meditate and *gasp* pray. Not the ‘Sky Daddy strike down my opponents so I can win the tennis tournament’ type of prayer. No, these prayers are all about forcing a change in perpective in me. If I’m feeling resentful at someone, it was suggested to me that I ‘pray’ for them: visualise all the good things that I would wish for myself, and then project those feelings onto the other person – e.g. that miserable, stinking bastard who cut me off in traffic. If I do this for long enough, sometimes through gritted teeth, the feelings of anger and resentment slip away.

Final word

Australia is a proud, successful multicultural society whose religious beliefs have become more diverse over the past 50 years. While half of Australians identify as Christian, other faiths like Hinduism, Sikhism, Islam, and Buddhism all increasingly common religious beliefs. The Australian Bureau of Statistics reports that, in 1966, Christianity (88 per cent) was the clearly the main religion. By 1991, this figure had fallen to 74 per cent, and then to 52 per cent in 2016. Catholicism is still the largest Christian grouping in Australia, accounting for almost a quarter (22.6 per cent) of the Australian population. Those reporting no religion was higher than the number of Catholics in 2016 at 30 per cent.

The fact that there are now more atheists than Catholics in Australia is notable, reflecting a trend that has been happening for decades. Those reporting no religion increased from 19 per cent in 2006 to 30 per cent in 2016.

It is within this context that a number of secular, athiest, agnostic, humanist, and freethinker AA meetings have sprung up in the eastern cities, offering hope to people like me who use their athiesm as another excuse to keep drinking. This is a welcome development in Australia and elsewhere that shows that the fellowship is being responsive to Australia’s changing community, in line with it’s first tradition that ‘the only requirement for membership is a desire to stop drinking’.

 

 

Muddy boots

We struggle in the mud of last night’s rain,

While fearing the long dry season to come.

We move in forgotten spaces. In long grass,

Behind corrugated iron sheets brown with rust.

The rumpled mess in the doorway on a congested street.

Would a coin help or hinder? Would it really matter,

When the next drink is as inevitable as the last?

Some keep tip top, topped up by day,

Comatose at night. Absent to loved ones, but resolute.

Denial is a river in India. Oh how we laugh,

Then cry as we hide the bottles under the sink.

We can’t live without it, live with it or live at all.

The choice seems simple, but the path so worn and furrowed,

Leads us, guides us towards the status quo.

We all have to make a choice: whether to run,

Or turn and face life on life’s terms. So come with me,

Let’s get those muddy boots off. The kettle’s on.