Taking a break

I’m currently having a bit of a break from my three-meeting-per-week AA schedule because, to put it bluntly, I got the shits with it. I’m still talking regularly with my sponsor, members and friends, but the meetings were and are doing my head in.

Maybe I’ve been going to too many of the same meetings and hearing similar things from similar people too often?

It’s not that I don’t have anything to learn about my own sobriety and addictive nature, far from it. But, currently, it is the form and structure, the ritual and symbolism of AA, that I’m focussing on rather than the stories themselves. Maybe Antze was right all along?

The repetition of the same old tropes has me bleeding at the ears, when only a few months ago those same sayings (Keep it Simple! Easy does it!) were a salve for broodiness and fresh insecurities about the future. But, rather than chuck AA in the bin, I’ve just backed off my participation for the moment, and that’s ok

I’ve been particularly miffed at the religiousity of some members in AA. This is in addition to someone close to me purporting to have had a born again conversion while, at the same time, behaving like a bit of an arse.

Maybe its the recent, well-publicised shifts to the right in Australian political discourse, where a Prime Minister has been brought down in part by a government chasing the votes of disinfranchised, mostly white, Christian, poorly educated people living in rural and regional electorates in Queensland. This is a reflection of a broader shift internationally, where people who feel like they have not benefited from globalisation, who have lost their jobs to technology or competition, or who haven’t had a wage increase above inflation for years, are embracing populist candidates.

Leaders are appealing to humanity’s worst instincts, like nativism, and racism, whipping up unfounded fear and anger at African migrants in Melbourne, then cleansing their moral responsibilities at Church on Sundays. Our new PM, an evangelical, touted his role in establishing Australia’s inhumane refugee policy as a reason for his elevation. Like locking up decent human beings fleeing war and persecution, children and adults, with no release date on tropical gulags is a worthy credential for leading a nation.

I will say this: I avoided going out in Canberra last Wednesday and Thursday night in fear of encountering maruanding members of the Government’s Christian Right.

If you are reading this and suspect my God-botherer resentment is back, then you would be correct!

I’m not going to drink over it today. Someone else’s beliefs aren’t my business. But I live in a democracy and have a vote, and so do you (I hope) 🙂

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.

Anyway, I’m grateful to report that, after a bit of a tumultuous run, 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.

 

 

 

 

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.

 

 

 

 

 

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.

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’.

 

 

Book review: the science behind 12 Step recovery

Nowinski’s excellent popular science book If You Work It, It Works! The Science Behind 12 Step Recovery (2015) makes it pretty clear: AA only works if you participate.

Dr Joseph Nowinski’s name came up a bunch of times when I was doing research into international best practice in treatment and support for alcoholics and risky drinkers.  I was completing this work at the same time my drinking was at its white-spirit-worst and, because of that, I nearly lost the job for good.

In fact I’m pretty sure Nowinski’s Twelve Step Facilitation Therapy Manual: A Clinical Research Guide for Therapists Treating Individuals With Alcohol Abuse and Dependence(1999) was even on the shelf when I was poking around in the literature cupboard at my last rehab. By that stage I had decided AA was definitely some kind of cult. Why else would people willingly go out of their way to help perfect strangers? Surely they had some other motive?

It turns out they did have an alterior motive. But they weren’t trying to sell me salvation proportionate to my income. No, helping others made them feel better.

Nowinski

Project MATCH :/

Dr Nowinski contributed to Project MATCH (1989-97), the largest alcohol treatment trial ever conducted involving 1726 alcohol dependent volunteers over several treatment sites in the US. The aim of Project MATCH was to find out if different types of ‘alcohol abusing or dependent patients’ respond differently to the most widely used treatments for alcohol dependency: Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT), Motivation Enhancement Therapy (MET) or Twelve-Step Facilitation (therapists introduce patients to AA, explain some of the concepts and get them to attend meetings. The focus is on AA’s steps one to five).

Project Match’s data dissapointed a lot of people in the addiction and recovery field. It reinforced what many suspected: that matching the right treatment to individual alcoholics is difficult, and that treatment outcomes are similarly dissapointing across the board. In other words, Project Match didn’t offer a silver bullet for treating alcoholism.

Yet, the fact that a treatment protocol based on AA’s 12-steps – an unscientific, quasi-religious oddity – could achieve similar results as CBT and MET was notable, given that AA costs nothing to taxpayers and provides critical post-intervention (e.g. hospital E.R., detox, rehab) support in the community.

AA only works for those who take action

The title of If You Work It, It Works! is intentional because, as Nowinski points out, only half of us who attend AA stay active in the fellowship after three months.

I recently lost 20kg because I changed my diet and started running. Thinking about it didn’t get me healthy.

Nowinski analysed AA member surveys to find out what actions people take in AA to stay sober and found attending at least two and preferably three meetings a week, joining a home group, and getting a sponsor were the top three responses. These same three actions kept me sober in my early days of sobriety.

Nowinski examined a range of research on AA attendance and involvement, and treatments that encourage AA attendance. The results show that:

  • Getting into some form of counseling and starting AA at the same time is a winning combination if you want to stay sober.
  • Getting involved in the AA Twelve Step fellowship leads to superior results than simply attending meetings.
  • Identifying yourself as an AA member makes a positive difference.
  • Therapy that actively facilitates AA involvement is superior to treatment that does not include this focus.

He also notes that there is a spectrum of alcoholism and problem drinking and that, for some, controlled drinking may have its place after a period of conditional abstinence.  For those like me, who have tried and failed at controlled drinking and have ridden the ‘just one’, drink-drank-drunk *crash*, remorse cycle so many times the very idea of controlled drinking is laughable, Nowinski says that abstinence should be ‘the most appropriate goal’.

How it works

1. Social networks

Like me, Nowinski attributes much of AA’s value to the relationship between social networks and recovery. He uses a number of published studies to show how both involvement in AA, and the people in an alkie’s regular social network, are critical to long-term recovery. AA involvement seems to act as a buffer, particularly where a person’s regular social network includes frequent or heavy drinkers. Some people use AA as an alternative social network, particularly when there is always drink at home. I’m lucky that my immediate family are not huge drinkers and my best mates, while still capable of epic feats of party mayhem, are generally pretty sensible and respectful of my non-drinker status.

Interestingly, problem drinkers in a person’s social network exert a more powerful and negative influence on recovery than non-drinkers. In other words, surround yourself with drunks and you’ll probably end up just that – drunk. Surround yourself (at least some of the time) with AA members and you’ll probably stay sober. Dead simple.

2. Spirituality and sponsorship

As a scientist, Nowinski doesn’t engage in spiritual or theological argument. Instead, he presents published studies that have examined the role of spirituality in recovery. Obviously there are limitations in this data because concepts like spirituality are open to interpretation – particularly by sick people responding to surveys. The studies show that greater involvement in AA leads people to become ‘more spiritual’ over time, which is, in turn, positively associated with sobriety. This is not suprising, since AA is a program that emphasises the benefits of spirituality, particularly prayer and meditation.

The other aspect of AA’s spirituality Nowinski finds beneficial is the focus on personal values and self-reflection. He concludes that ‘spirituality, as it is reflected in AA’s emphasis on honesty, humility, and personal renewal, as opposed to formal religious observance, may be the key dynamic responsible for this change’ (p.148).

Nowinski’s message is clear: AA spirituality is not about joining a cult or a church. It’s about ‘pursuing a life of meaning and values. These include honesty, the courage to admit to shortcomings, humility, and altruism. Within the AA culture these values are demonstrated through action’ (p. 160).

Studies on sponsorship are pretty unequivocal: getting a sponsor early greatly increases your chance of not drinking again. However, this effect seems to decrease with time. Nowinski says that the adage ‘better late than never’ probably applies here, and I have to agree with him.

3. Neurological factors

Alcohol kills brain cells. That bit we knew already. But, if you drink like I did, it also greatly increases your chance of suffering from depression and/or anxiety, as well as PTSD and schizophrenia. The point is that most alkies seem to have some sort of psychiatric comorbidity or dual-diagnosis to party with their alcoholism and other addictions.

Nowinski reviews the evidence on recovery for alcoholics with dual-diagnosis and finds that, as long as people work their AA program, these illnesses ‘do not appear to consitute a major barrier to recovery’ (p. 181).  He concludes that recovery (and particularly Twelve Step recovery) has healing powers of its own.

Is it worth reading?

In a word, yes. Nowinski’s book is:

  • a much needed kick in the pants for alcoholics like me who forget to put in the action each day. Treatments for diabetes and heart disease are never effective 100 percent of the time, because they are dependent on whether or not a patient follows the treatment recommended by their doctor. As Nowinski puts it: ‘the best we can say, then, is that these treatements are likely to work if the individual works them’; and,
  • an excellent introduction to the medical literature on alcoholism and recovery, which shows that AA has some good, recent scientific studies supporting its approach to recovery.

Working with others

Alcoholism is a chronic, relapsing condition that, if left untreated, can be fatal. The main treatment I and millions of others around the world find effective is to work with fellow alkies and follow a few very simple principles based on honesty and respect for others. But, for me, it’s primarily about a unique human connection – one that is based on empathy. Or, as the old timers say, ‘the magic happens when one alcoholic works with another alcoholic’.

A great example of this is found in the AA Big Book in chapter 11 (pp.156-8). The story refers to Bill and Bob’s first visit to a guy who would become AA’s third member; a visit that resulted in AA’s first group at Akron, Ohio in 1935.

Bill W and Dr Bob had only just figured out that they needed to ‘keep spiritually active’ by working with other alcoholics, so they called up a local hospital and spoke to the head nurse:

They explained their need and inquired if she had a first class alcoholic prospect.

She replied “Yes, we’ve got a corker. He’s just beaten up a couple of nurses. Goes off his head completely when he’s drinking. But he’s a grand chap when he’s sober, though he’s been in here eight times in the last six months. Understand he was once a well-known lawyer in town, but just now we’ve got him strapped down tight.”

…Two days later, a future fellow of Alcoholics Anonymous stared glassily at the strangers beside his bed. “Who are you fellows, and why this private room? I was always in a ward before.”

Said one of the visitors, “We’re giving you a treatment for alcoholism.”

Hopelessness was written large on the man’s face as he replied, “Oh, but that’s no use. Nothing would fix me. I’m a goner. The last three times, I got drunk on the way home from here. I’m afraid to go out the door. I can’t understand it.”

For an hour, the two friends told him about their drinking experiences. Over and over, he would say: “That’s me. That’s me. I drink like that.”

The man in the bed was told of the acute poisoning from which he suffered, how it deteriorates the body of an alcoholic and warps his mind. There was much talk about the mental state preceding the first drink.

“Yes, that’s me,” said the sick man, “the very image. You fellows know your stuff all right, but I don’t see what good it’ll do. You fellows are somebody. I was once, but I’m a nobody now. From what you tell me, I know more than ever I can’t stop” At this both the visitors burst into a laugh. Said the future Anonymous: ‘Damn little to laugh about that I can see.”

The two friends spoke of their spiritual experience and told him about the course of action they carried out.

He interrupted: “I used to be strong for the church, but that won’t fix it. I’ve prayed to God on hangover mornings and sworn that I’d never touch another drop but by nine o’clock I’d be boiled as an owl.”

Next day found the prospect more receptive. He had been thinking it over. “Maybe you’re right,” he said. “God ought to be able to do anything.” Then he added, “He sure didn’t do much for me when I was trying to fight this booze racket alone.”

Bill and Bob continued to work with the man, and after three days he had become ‘willing to do anything necessary’, including to give his life to the ‘care and direction of his Creator’.

That afternoon he put on his clothes and walked from the hospital a free man…He never drank again. He too, has become a respected and useful member of his community.

Eight decades have passed since two alkies working together became three, then four, and now millions worldwide. And yet, the story remains relevant.

Aside from my wish to resurrect the phrase ‘as drunk as a boiled owl’, this is one of my favourite sections of the Big Book because it provides hope to those of us who are still suffering and can see no way out.

Most of the people I know in AA who have been to a rehab or detox have also drunk either on the way home from their treatment, or soon after. Just like our formerly-respected-lawyer-Anonymous #3. I did too, on two separate occasions. When we discuss these events we speak of unnatural, sanitised environments that do not prepare us for life after our time in confinement is up, certainly not if we return to our communities with no lifelines (I have many AA members’ numbers in my phone who I can call on at any time). This phenomenon – the relapsing nature of the condition – continues to challenge the medical profession and policy-makers alike.

But, for eight decades, AA has been keeping people sober on little more than a pay-it-forward faith in something more powerful than the individual.

The Big Book likes to call this something God. Today, AA teaches that it just has to be something other than ourselves. Even the AA group – a thoroughly humanistic Higher Power if ever there was one – can be this special something.

But, most of us have found that we can’t just rely on gods and goddesses to get us well. We have to put in some work too.

 

One day at a time (still)

Kermit

I had to come home early from my planned trip away because I needed to get my back fixed (official story) and my head fixed (most importantly). You see, if I drink again I’ll end up back on the couch passed out most of the time, which is about the worst thing you can do for a crook back.

The back took 35 minutes with the physio.

The head? I’ve been to a bunch of meetings and spoken with other alcoholics. I’ve gained a fresh perspective and have become right sized again. Not a mean, small little man who is resentful when things don’t go his way. Or the grandiose, obnoxious oaf. Just right sized.

I have also finished an inventory and have realised a few things:

1 I am still an alcoholic and even if I don’t drink today, my addiction is still there lurking. Like a fucking lurker. If I don’t treat it, I turn into an asshole and nobody needs that.

2 The symptoms of my untreated alcoholism, for example feeling restless and irritable seem to increase as I take more things for granted. My sponsor said to start doing a gratitude list again, so I have. Right now, I’m grateful I’m not dead in a ditch, am living in Australia where I don’t have to worry about getting shot walking down the street, and for mangos. Mangos are amazing.

3 When I’m not working my program I tell more people, more regularly, to fuck off. This is unfair to them and marks me as someone incapable of polite conversation. I will also busy myself taking other people’s inventory: I’ll believe it is my right to find the error in someone else’s ways and (worse still) I am arrogant enough to think I can change them. Rather, I should concern myself with cleaning up my side of the street in personal relationships. After all, the only person I can really change is myself.

The other night I went to a meeting in a small coastal town, which was unlike any other I have ever been to. It seemed to be operating more like a personality cult than a healthy AA group, with one guy completely dominating proceedings, including sharing and questions and answers from the floor. I heard that the group doesn’t encourage newcomers to share, with the message they have nothing useful to contribute. What a load of crap.

I believe newcomers are the lifeblood of meetings. I still attend meetings every few days, when I can, to remind myself that I can’t take my eye off the ball. Don’t get me wrong, newcomers aren’t like poverty porn. There is no voyeurism in AA. I just need to hear their stories and see their shakes to remember my own worst moments. To feel my own worst moments.

I also believe AA is at its best when its traditions are observed, particularly the principle that the group is more important than the individual and that no-one is ‘in charge’ in AA. Still, I bit my tongue: it is up to the group to work it all out.

I just wish I could bite my tongue more when I speak to loved ones and people that piss me off in the street.

In sum: AA is not just about putting down the bottle. It’s about learning to live without alcohol. I need to be willing to change the way I think about things and how I react to situations.

(In)dividuality

Walk into an AA meeting on any given day or night, in a library or church hall, pretty much anywhere in the world, and someone will probably attribute their failed attempts at 12 step recovery on their prideful individuality. It is likely they will say something along the lines of ‘I wasn’t ready to get sober because I was terminally unique’. This means that a member was not ready to accept that the methods others had used to get and stay sober could also work for them. I have heard all kinds of reasons for this e.g. I am an atheist, I have done too many awful things, I’m too broken, or I’m not broken enough. However, I suspect any excuse is as good as the next if it shortens the distance to another drink.

This post reflects on what I’ve learned in AA about individuality and what it means to be an alcoholic, to own the past and not repeat the same mistakes in the future. Individuality, here, means much more than just being ‘terminally unique’ as we like to say in AA. It is about how we conceive of ourselves as being distinct from others, and even distinct from earlier versions of ourselves, even if we think these ‘versions’ are nothing more than a chin-stroking possibility. Am I the same person sane and sober, compared to when I was a clearly insane drunk (insanity measured by repeating the same mistake daily)?

The idea of individuality is even murkier when we consider the distinctions we make between mind and body, consciousness and unconsciousness, memory and forgetting, the spiritual realm of the sacred and the mundane world (Durkheim’s ‘profane’), ideas of a separation at death between physical self and soul, or between parts of our personalities (e.g. ego) and our total, composite selves.

AA’s concept of the individual is located in the present rather than the past or the future. In AA meetings, we share our experiences of what it was like when we were drinking, what happened, and what life is like now. The emphasis is on the present, with the past providing context and a resource for learning what not to do. According to AA, the future is a place best left well alone. This temporality, the value AA places on focussing on the present, is best explained by the old AA trope: ‘I had one foot in the past, one foot in the future, and I was pissing on the present.’ It is believed that meditation/prayer, attending meetings and working with other members can assist an AA member to anchor themselves in the present.

Anthropology has always focussed on communities of people, anthro- (people) -ology (study), rather than individuals per se. However, it has lots of really interesting things to say about the nature of individualism, given a person’s ethnicity, culture or religion. For example, Mark Mosco, an anthropologist who has spent considerable time in Melanesia, writes that anthropologists have conventionally thought of Christianity, including the versions spread by various missionaries throughout the Pacific, as being unrelentingly individualistic. Mosco (2015:371) instead writes that many Christians conceive of themselves as composite beings consisting of a physical body and a soul that is a ‘detachable sacred part of the total Christian person’.* Through this, Mosco suggests that ‘dividual personhood’ and agency might actually be more common to the human experience than the so-called possessive individual of modern capitalist society.

On reflection, the ideal ‘possessive individual’ probably doesn’t exist, or if it does, he or she is most likely to be found inside an investment banker’s cocaine den on Wall Street. Too often we remove the grey scale to make black and white distinctions. Regardless, my point is that it’s ok to feel weird, fragmented, or torn between conflicting desires for stability and risk or autonomy and relatedness, because that’s all part of the human condition.

It’s ok to be weird

One of the great things about working in the public service in Australia is the generous working conditions that are a legacy of past, strong unionism in the public sector. These conditions include flexible work hours, ergonomic furniture and the ability to take plenty of leave, including medical leave to get sober.** The public service also throws buckets of money at staff development and training, and this week was my turn to learn about resiliance. I also learned that I am apparantly ill-suited to my workplace!

A consultant walked our class of mid-level public servants through a few quick personality tests that outed me as THE ONLY YELLOW, amid a wiggle*** of blues, reds and greens. We even had to stand on a Twister-style mat on the floor in our respectively coloured sectors. I proudly occupied a whole quadrant in solitude. Apparently I was the only ‘risk taking, artistic, always-asking-why, big-picture type’ amidst a sea of perfectly-suited procedural mandarins. I find this both appropriate and fucking hilarious.

17952961_10155313650430087_7588816092396863954_n.jpg

Nice Digs! Setting up a wombat mange control dosing station under old farm machinery.

There was some good discussion of things like mental toughness, post-traumatic growth, dealing with difficult people, wellbeing, thinking skills, positive psychology strategies, and action planning. All of these things are a familiar part of my AA toolkit, so it was good to see that ‘normies’ can access similar tools as we alkies, albeit transmogrified into the language and neoliberal logic of business psychology.

These days, my boss knows my AA meeting schedule as well as I do during the week. He understands that, like him, I need to go to the gym at lunch to boost my endorphins and keep my stress levels in check. But I also have to get to a few meetings as an additional ‘non-negotiable’. This is part of the natural give-and-take of a high functioning work team and is as it should be. Unfortunately, not too many alkies I know get this degree of flexibility and support at their place of work.

Pride and individuality

Gregory Bateson, social science’s MacGyver, was curious why we alkies are so proud that we are literally willing to drink ourselves to death before we ask for help.**** Bateson (1971:446) suggested this principle of alcoholic behaviour has roots in the strange epistemology characteristic of Western capitalist civilization. For Bateson, the wordview of the ‘West’ or the ‘Occident’  is means-to-an-end driven and hyper-competitive and, if he were alive today, he would probably point to Instagram’s platform of hyper-individualised personal branding and marketing as a shining example of a world gone awry.

While the active alcoholic seeks only to satisfy her or his own immediate needs and wants, primarily alcohol above all else (including the needs of loved ones), Bateson suggests that the alcoholic who wants to get sober tilts even further towards the extreme end of individualism. Bateson (1971:447) writes that sobriety, at this point, is no longer the appropriate context for the individual’s pride. Rather, ‘It is the risk of the drink that now is challenging and calls out the fatal “I can. . . .’

For me, this explains well my stepping off point from so-called functional alcoholism, to disastrous drunk. The whispered challenge that, on this occasion, things will be different and that one drink would be safe, set me on course for week-long benders of self destruction.

Bateson also noted that ‘A.A. does its best to insist that this change in contextual structure shall never occur.’ He explains that:

…they [AA] restructure the whole context by asserting over and over again that “once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic.” They try to have the alcoholic place alcoholism within the self, much as a Jungian analyst tries to have the patient discover his “psychological type” and to learn to live with the strengths and weaknesses of that type. In contrast, the contextual structure of alcoholic “pride” places the alcoholism outside the self: “I can resist drinking.”

Tragically, we alkies and addicts are like the kid who touches the hot stove again and again to check that it is hot. Rather than acknowledging the folly of our own behaviour, Bateson saw that we alkies instead get resentful at the stove, or the universe:

It is all very well to test once whether the universe is on your side, but to do so again and again, with increasing stringency of proof, is to set out on a project which can only prove that the universe hates you.

These days, I don’t have a voice whispering things like ‘just grab a beer, you’ll be right after three years’, because I own my alcoholism daily. I go to meetings to remind myself of this simple fact, and I try to volunteer and engage in random acts of unsolicited kindness as often as possible. AA teaches that the best way to get over yourself, and your own selfish needs and wants is to do something nice for someone else. When in doubt? Pay it forward! Sometimes all this has to be is a phone call, out of the blue, to another AA member to say “how’s it going”? If they are having a rough day, they’ll appreciate it.

AA allows isolated individuals the opportunity to re-engage with society and relearn how to have healthy social relationships again. It teaches that no person is an island, and that even the worst of us can change and make amends. We learn, through reviewing our behaviour and motivations, that we are happiest when we are part of society, not apart from it.

*Mark Mosco, ‘Unbecoming individuals: The partible character of the Christian person’, HAU Journal of Ethnographic Theory, 5(1), 2015, pp. 361-93. Note: italics are his emphasis.

**It is no revelation that these favourable conditions are currently being eroded by prolonged slow wage growth, an ideological war by conservative governments to quell the influence of unions in the economy, and low union membership by historical standards.

***A ‘wiggle’ seemed to be as good a collective noun as any. Also, a group of wombats is a wisdom. See here for more info about ACT Wildlife Volunteers’ program for treating mangey wombats.

****Gregory Bateson, 1971, ‘The Cybernetics of Self: A Theory of Alcoholism’, Steps to an Ecology of Mind: Collected Essays in Anthropology, Psychiatry, Evolution, and Epistemology, University of Chicago Press,  pp.440-56.