Binging – By Kyczy Hawk

    Binging – when the feeling from doing something exceeds the reason for doing something. KH I am in recovery, I don’t’ smoke, drink alcohol, rely on relationships for self worth, or use intoxicants in any form. At least not traditional intoxicants. I have become more and more aware of my inclination to binge. The concept of “binging” has taken on a lighter more humorous meaning as when we say “I was binge watching This is Us all day Saturday. It refers to a relatively harmless indulgence in a neutral pastime. But when this passtime becomes all the time or a time of avoidance, then the activity is not so funny. I can binge on just about anything – I can become consumed with the importance of mopping up crumbs or tidying the house – not one thing can be out of place and the “things” that are seen… Continue reading

Flash to Bang – By Christine Beck

“No! Are you fucking crazy?  Put that down, right now! You’ll blow us both to kingdom come!” I couldn’t believe what I saw: my husband reaching up to the chandelier above our dining table, oil can in hand, getting ready to pour oil on lighted candles.  I imagined the coming firestorm. How could he be so stupid? He froze, turned to me and in that instant, I could see that he was not about to be challenged.  The hatred in his eyes was fierce, as if I was the enemy back in Vietnam. I fled.  Ran down the front hallway and started up the stairs, glass of wine in hand, miraculously not spilled.  He caught up with me in an instant, grabbed my arm. “Don’t you walk away from me!” Normally, I’d try to placate him, calm him down, minimize the issue.  How important was it after all? Nobody got… Continue reading

What Part Of “Fatal Disease” Don’t We Understand? – Kyczy Hawk

I identify myself as a person in recovery. For years I identified myself with naming my disease (ADDICTION) but I am now “Kyczy, a woman in recovery from addiction, alcoholism, and a few other “isms’ as well.” But the lead is I AM A WOMAN IN RECOVERY. I know this isn’t according to Hoyle, or the customary practices of introducing ourselves at twelve step meetings, but I believe in creating mental habits of healing. The husband of a dear friend, someone with multiples of years sober, forgot that he was in recovery. He forgot to go to meetings, his sponsor had become an occasional friend, one he seldom reached out to anymore. He became isolated; he forgot that addiction is a disease of separation. He forgot that he couldn’t stay well alone, he forgot his spirituality and eventually he forgot that he wasn’t a drinker. Dead after twelve days: found… Continue reading

Pink Elephants, But No Snakes in My Boots ((A little tango with denial) – Mark Masserant

Yikes! It was the third time this week, and it was still Tuesday. “Dude, you’d better get off the booze.” It didn’t matter where Dishonest John went—it followed him everywhere. Dammit, at least his bowling team was supposed to be on his side, wasn’t it? Sheesh! He pointed at a few nearby barflies in protest. “Whoa, now! What about them?” His familiar Budweiser accent boomed, rattling the establishment’s stemware. “Get off my back! I ain’t that bad!” After the outburst, he snatched his bottle and slipped back into his comfort zone directly across from the barmaid and his blurry reflection in the tavern mirror. “… Ain’t that bad…,” he grumbled to anyone who would listen. Meanwhile, legions of dipsomaniacs who populate bars and easy chairs everywhere are singing the same old tune. Many will succumb to despair if they don’t cease their deadly dance with denial. Twelve Step Recovery shops… Continue reading

Life in the Moderate Lane – By Andrea Wachter, LMFT

It didn’t take long for me to notice that I was different than most of my friends. (At least the ones I was constantly comparing myself to!) Beginning in early adolescence, I noticed that my friends somehow seemed to be able to have one or two drinks, one or two bong hits, one or two late nights and one or two cookies. Not me. One or two of anything typically led me to overdo everything. I will spare you the long, detailed saga, but suffice it to say that my inability to be moderate with substances led me down a path of addiction and depression that would last for many years. To other people, I was the one who could handle the most shots, the most partying and the most all-nighters. But internally, my soundtrack was grim. I hated myself. My blackouts were getting more frequent, and my secret life… Continue reading