Kijun Times

It’s easy to immerse yourself in the bubble that is the recovery community. Suddenly you look around and everybody you know or date is in a 12 step program.  Sure, they “get” you and your insane compulsive thought processes.  And yes, they don’t judge your checkered past because they also have one.  (Granted there’s nothing like dropping “Well...I have a warrant out for my arrest.” and hearing back the two most reassuring words: “Me too!”)  And best of all, you get to toss around all those well-worn program slogans and catchphrases that only those in the secret club would know.   But the problem is it’s not reality.  It’s not the real world.  The real world is full of “normies” (non-addicts) and people who still believe that addiction is an issue of weak will power, some antiquated cousin of vice.  The real world is full of people who will be horrified that you shot cocaine into your feet or that you were in a dozen rehabs.  The real world is full of people that don’t really want to hear the details of your harrowing childhood abuse 10 minutes into meeting you.  And it’s only when you step outside the safe comfy confines of the program microcosm that you can you really see some things about your alcoholism/addiction.

1) It’s all you ever talk about.

Dating a non-addict has made me aware of how much I talk about the program and my alcoholism and my addictive tendencies.  It manages to find its way into almost every topic, every conversation. And honestly, I didn’t get sober to have my addiction still be the epicenter of my life.  I got sober to have it take a back seat.  Or better yet, get in the trunk.

2) It’s not an excuse.

Alcoholic thinking and all the self-obsession and myopia that it entails might be your predilection or natural state. But newsflash!  Nobody cares WHY you’re a jerk or a psycho, only that you ARE.  You don’t get a pass because you have “alcoholism”.  “So sorry I slashed your tires.  My character defect of vengefulness resurfaced.  My bad. I will call my sponor.”

3) Not everything has to be pathologized.

Not everybody who drinks a lot is an alcoholic.  Not everybody who sleeps around is a sex addict.   It’s important to acknowledge our own addiction but not everybody who takes Adderall has a problem and needs a meeting.  Marinated in the program, we tend to see everything through the lens of an “ism” and it’s annoying , illogical and unfair.

4) We are fiendish and it’s nothing to be proud of.

My boyfriend got into my car where I was blasting music, chain vaping and drinking a 5 shot latte.  The extremism was not lost on me.  He said, “Oh my God, your people need CONSTANT stimulation.”  The vigor and speed with which I drink ANYTHING is notable.  My absolute terror if I run out of coffee or nicotine is laughable. The way I now channel the compulsivity of my addiction into exercise or binge watching "The Knick" or even just thinking is downright creepy.

5) Relapse is terrifying for other people.

In the beginning of the relationship I was told, “If you relapse, I’m out of here.”   That morphed into “If you ever relapse I will find you and kill you.”  And that finally became “You’re never going to relapse again, right?  Promise me.”   The reality is I hope I don’t but I don’t know.  And I acknowledge that anybody getting into a relationship with me (with my spotty sobriety) is taking a risk.  It’s like buying a car whose breaks have failed multiple times but the mechanic tells you,“Hey I think we fixed the break problem but no promises.  There’s always a chance you could be driving along and wham!  They go out again. But good luck, brother!”

 6) They don’t see you as a renegade.

Normal people aren’t impressed that you stayed up for 17 days on meth.  They don’t see you as some Olympic champion of narcotics and stamina.  They see you as somebody who had a problem and thankfully, miraculously, overcame it.  It’s not romantic or cool that you shot speedballs or came out of a blackout on a plane to Belize.  It’s scary and sad.  For so long, I cloaked my shame about my addiction in some weird bravado, proud of the insane destructive stuff I did.  But normies don’t view it that way.  They view it as a measure of your illness, of how far off the rails you went, not how punk rock you were.

Dating a non-addict has given me balance and made me cognizant of the fact that I’m not JUST an addict. I don’t need to be ashamed of my addiction history but I don’t need to lead with it either.