Cognizance of Addiction and Recovery

In recovery, I have the cognizance of my mind, where it once was clouded. In my mind, I have so many stories of old addictions, where they once raged like wildfire. In my heart, I have so many opinions and solutions, where there once was only confusion and darkness.

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History of Stigma with Addiction: Part 1

This piece comes from an article I wrote for It’s All Junk.  It is a fascinating piece of history, detailing the stigma of addiction.  Enjoy! And look for Part 2 tomorrow!

Dr. Vincent Dole, who died at age 93 in 2006, was considered the “Father of Methadone Maintenance Therapy.”  He was one of the original voices for recovery, pioneering Methadone Maintenance Therapy (MMT) in a time when addiction was viewed as a moral character defect.  Today, the majority of the population understands the disease model of addiction, viewing addiction as a disease of the brain, and not simply a moral character defect.  This shift in view has opened up a lot of doors for addicts, as well improving treatments for addiction.  This shift in view has also helped to decrease the stigma associated with addiction, but the disease now battles both the stigmas of addiction and mental illness vehemently.  The evolving history of this stigma, especially associated with opiates, runs deep into the history of our country, and it will likely take just as long to make a dent in eradicating it.

In 1914, the United States passed the Harrison Narcotics Tax Act, which regulated and taxed the production, importation, and distribution of opiates.  This act actually stated, “An act to provide for the registration of, with collectors of internal revenue, and to impose a special tax on all persons who produce, import, manufacture, compound, deal in, dispense, sell, distribute, or give away opium or coca leaves, their salts, derivatives, or preparations, and for other purposes.”  The courts interpreted this act to say that physicians could prescribe opiates for normal treatment, but not for the purpose of treating addiction.  One of the explanations for this was that opiates could not be prescribed to an addict, simply because addiction was not a disease. Previous to the act, opiates and cocaine derivatives had been legal and unregulated.

Crime had seemingly risen as a result of addiction to these substances, and it was estimated that one in 400 Americans, which was 25% of the population at that time, were addicted to opiates.  Many of these opiate addicts were women, who were prescribed these drugs by a legal physician, for “female troubles,” basically pain during menstruation.  It is estimated than between 2/3 and ¾ of all the opiate addicts in this time of our history were women.  I believe it is not merely a coincidence that the Harrison Narcotics Tax Act was passed at a time when women were fighting for their right to vote.   After several Supreme Court cases, the law determined that this act was constitutional, and opiate could not be used for maintenance purposes.

After the Act passed, many newspapers began to run sensational stories about addiction-related crime waves.  Congress responded by banning heroin in 1924.  The media’s sensationalistic interpretation of addiction played a huge part in establishing a stigma with drug use.  This began the demonization of drugs and became the foundation for which the stigma with all drugs and addiction is built on today.  We still see this media sensation today, just look at the explosion of bath salts stories after the Miami Cannibal chewed the face off a homeless man, and the rush to ban these drugs.  It is this kind of sensationalistic coverage that only helps to boost the stigma of addiction and drugs.  In the defense of the media, though, these sensationalist stories are what sell.  Readers want the sensationalism, the gore, and also the unknown element that accompany the media’s drug hysteria.  We do live in a capitalist society, and although one may find fault with the media’s portrayal of so many issues, I also have to commend them for making a viable business of the news, especially today, as newspapers are dying out and all media is changing dramatically.

The Harrison Narcotics Tax Act led to the incarceration of a number of doctors for prescribing opiates, and as a result under-utilization of opiates began to take hold.  Doctors feared prescribing them, and patients feared taking them, fearing that they could become addicted.  Often, morphine would not even be prescribed for a terminally ill patient in excruciating pain.  In the mind of those in this decade, dying a painful death was much better and dignified that becoming addicted to a medication.  Hence, the stigma with drug use blossomed.

Personally, I find it interesting that arresting a number of doctors really changed the ways drugs were prescribed back then.  I look at the world I live in today, where media reports have often surfaced lately, in regards to doctors being arrested for prescribing opiates.  Now, today, these arrested doctors are generally operating out of a “pill-mill,” or they are blatantly over-prescribing opiates and have several overdose deaths on their hands.  And the public also cheers these arrests on, as we are finally tackling the problem.  But, are these arrests making a difference in the way doctors prescribe opiates?  Are these arrests making a dent in the way pharmaceutical companies advertise for their painkillers?  And finally, are the patients in favor of these crackdowns?

We live in a modern, capitalistic society, where making money often trumps everything else.  These pain clinics still want to make money, and it is a very profitable industry.  The doctors that prescribe these medications in a pain clinic make good money to do so.  In our society, that somewhat operates on greed, these seeming risks to run a pain clinic is certainly worth the rewards that will be reaped.   The financial gain for the pharmaceutical companies, the doctors, and even the insurance companies can even outweigh the fear of arrest, or any concern for the addictive properties of these medications.  I do not think this crackdown on doctors today will make much of the same dent on the prescription of opiates as it did in the past.

William S. Burroughs wrote extensively of the effects of the Harrison Narcotics Tax Act in his memoir, Junky.  As a heroin addict, Burroughs was most affected by this Act in regards to the law, and he was arrested numerous times under the guises and restrictions brought on through this act.   By the time Burroughs was using, the Harrison Act had been in place for nearly 25 years, and the addict was often demonized, forcing him to lurk under the cover of the darkened alleyways avoiding persecution from the police, and later to avoid the persecution of the public as a result of this widespread stigma associated with drug use, and opiate use, in particular.  Burroughs said of this stigma, “Our national drug is alcohol.  We tend to regard the use of any other drug with horror.”

I think that this statement still rings true today.  Alcohol is accepted in our society, and it not only something that is viewed as acceptable, it is almost expected in certain circumstances.  Today, the use of marijuana a prescription pills are also widely accepted, and these things do not carry as much of the stigma as it once did.  On the other hand, harder drugs still carry the stigma, and the stigma with addiction has remained much the same, even if the addiction is to prescription pills.

Look at the state of Alabama.  If a woman tests positive for drugs at the time of her child’s birth, that woman will be arrested shortly after.  She likely will end up spending months in jail, attending a rehabilitation program while her young infant is at home, without its mother.  Now, if child is born with Fetal-Alcohol Syndrome, or of the mother has alcohol in her system when the child is born, she will suffer no legal ramifications, and certainly will not be arrested.  Yet, Fetal-Alcohol Syndrome is much more damaging than any effects from drugs in utero.


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Letting Go…Poetry


I do not often write poetry, and when I do, it just seems to flow out of me like blood, bleeding all over the page and staining everything red with my confessions.  When I do write poetry, it is completely off the cuff.  I just put the pen to the paper, not even realizing what I am writing until I am finished and re-read it.  And honestly, I do not know that much about poetry, so i just leave it as it is.  I feel like it is a free-form expression, as the mind flows like liquid onto the page, so fast and fluid and fabulous.  Anyway, this is one of those off the cuff pieces. 

Letting Go…

 Sometimes, we just have to let go,

Let go, and jump…

Off the edge of a really tall building. 


Sometimes, we just have to let go, 

Of the resentment

And anger from the past, 

In order to heal. 


Sometimes, we just have to let go, 

Letting your fingers release from the catch hold,

Free falling with only your final faith,

Letting go of it all. 

Refocus, as I inhale deeply. 


Sometimes, we just have to let go, 

Whisper those secrets to another soul,

Or shout it to the world, if that is what you prefer,


Sometimes, we just have to let go,

Of the wheel,

Just get out of the driver’s seat,

And relinquish control. 


Sometimes, we just have to let go,

Of all the expectations,

Let go of what everyone wants us to be,

So we can shine as we really are.  

So we can come out of our cocoons 

Full of lies and secrets

To bask in the sunlight 

Of the divine. 

No matter what you wanna call it. 


Sometimes, we just have to let go,

Take a deep breath,

Looking straight ahead,

Relax, and let go,

Follow this path wherever it leads you

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Dark, Swirling Clouds

ImageRan into a post from a friend on Facebook, reminding us to think about what we are grateful for.  As a person in recovery, and as a person who is happy with her life, I scroll down through the comments, reading them carefully, thinking that for sure I am going to have something to add to this post here.

 I mean, I am grateful for a lot.  And I know that.  I look at where I was precisely seven years ago, fifteen days before Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans.  I look at my son and my husband, and my writing, and I know that I am grateful for it all.  I realize now, looking back on it all, that I am grateful for each and every thing that happened because I know now that it all happened for a reason, and all those little reasons are what brought me to where I am today. 

 Yeah, yeah, yeah.  I know I have a lot to be grateful for, and I am.  But, some days…I just feel in a funk.  Some days, I just feel depressed.  I guess we all do.  Today was one of those days.  Hell, today still is one of those days, as it is only lunchtime.  And that is where I am today.  I am not here, most days.  Most days, I am not so pessimistic and dark, and also just so blank on the outside, yet roaring on the inside.  And I guess the only way I really know how to sort it out is to write. And I hope that some of you will share in this journey with me this morning, in hopes that some of your out there who walk in a similar pair of shoes will get this.  I am going to even put a little shout out to two of you inspired this post in one way or another, Drenda and Todd. 

 Drenda, because you posted the grateful comment that finally made me sit down at my computer and start to write.  Thank you, Drenda, for being my muse today.

 Todd, I know you will relate to this post, this feeling I am about to take you all through.  I hope that this message can reach those out there that have struggled with our own demons, too.  We are not alone, as we both know today.  But, I hope this message meets those people out there, like we both once were.  You are in inspiration, Todd.  You are making it all happen for yourself, and I know how good that feels.  Thank you for the inspiration on this post.

 So, here I sit, looking at this post, asking me to list something I am grateful for.  And my mind seems to stall for a moment, at just blank.  I think back to this week, this month, this fucking morning, in fact.  And it has been a fucking bitch lately.  And this morning, it all came tumbling down.  It all came tumbling down, and the tears came tumbling out, spilling out all over my cheeks, all over my kitchen floor, and all over my dear husband. 

 Seems this dark cloud has been growing, slowly it seemed at first.  The dark cloud began swirling, and spinning and swelling, it seemed to be following me around, This darkened, dampened whisper in the back of my head.  This dark cloud in the sky, swirling.  Something from within, and something from without. 

 And I am still pretty good at avoidance.  I guess it one of those old leftover habits, one that I practiced almost daily in my active addiction.  Something in the back of my mind still tells me that if I can avoid it, for just a little bit longer, maybe it will just go away.

 For so many years, I avoided everything.  When something would rise in the pit of my stomach, some piece of guilt or some piece of anger, frustration, whatever it be…I became really good at putting it on a shelf.  I became really good at pushing all these thoughts out of my head, thus avoiding all the responsibilities of life and also the truth of my addiction.  Avoidance is still a tactic of mine today. 

 Put it up on a shelf, and deal with it later.  Unlike the old days, when I put on the shelf I had another drink, maybe another shot of dope or line of coke, and I just went on with my life living in and out of a blur in various cities, today I am at least doing something productive with my time.  I have a million things on my plate right now, and all the sudden it seems that everything is catching up to me, and everything I have been avoiding is staring me right in the face.  And thus, the dark clouds swirls more in my head. 

 Driving down the curvy roads in Texas, with my music blasting in the car when I am alone, it seems even the white, fluffy clouds against the blue summer sky are becoming dark and harrowing.  It seems, sometimes, that my perception is narrowing, overwhelmed at all the things ahead of me.  Overwhelmed, at the realization that I am lost.

 And I look back at this Facebook, post, as I stare blankly at the comment block, trying to go over in my head something that I am thankful for, something profound, something deep, cause I know that I am thankful for a lot.  But, my mind just keeps coming up with all the shitty stuff.

 I see the food stamp office, and the local Workforce office.  I am in out and out of government buildings.  Once again.  And don’t get me wrong…I have done this all before.  When I first got back on my feet again, graduating from college, and taking a job…I was still on government assistance.  When my son was first born, I was unemployed, and I was always standing lines.

 But, over these years of sobriety, of being a mother, and of finishing my education, I was really proud to be able to get off government assistance, save for my son’s Medicaid, as I definitely cannot afford insurance.  It was a big milestone, in a lot of ways.  And so, here I sit, back in these government offices, with the dark cloud growing over my head.

 The lease on my car ran up.  I had planned on buying it, and I really thought I was going to be able to swing it.  But, things happen, and things change, and that is all a part of life.  Yeah, yeah, yea, we all know that.  But, that knowledge does not always stop that dark cloud from beginning to swirl again.  And suddenly, it seems all my hopes and dreams are shattered.

 Of course, maybe I am a bit of a drama queen about it all sometimes, but I think that is what can happen when the swirling dark clouds surround us once more.  But, it seems like one thing keeps falling, after another, after another.  Feels like the water is beginning to inch up to my ankles again, even in this dry, dry end of the summer heat in in Texas.

 The date slips up, closer and closer, and I think about how many times the dark clouds swirling around me those days.  Some times I wonder if it was these days that began the dark clouds in my mind.  And many other times, I think the clouds were always swirling, but I was just too fucked up to realize it. 

 Looking at the grateful list, and all the religious quotations, and recovery thoughts, and beautiful things in this world, I couldn’t help to only think of dark.  I think that is just how it is for me sometimes.  I look at the grateful list and say fuck it, while I retreat to my darkened bedroom, where the clouds seem to swirl faster and faster.  And I just want to go back to sleep. 

 I just want to go back to sleep.  I just want to let it all ride, leave it all alone, and I just want to go back to sleep.  I would by lying to say that I never imagined not waking up.  Although…I guess I am grateful that these dark days do not dare dance around my life today. 

 Still, the rage inside of me.  The depression.  The overwhelming feeling of nothingness.  I know that sounds ludacris to some out there, and really it is rather of an oxymoronic term, but you would know what I am talking about there, if you have ever been there. 

 That overwhelming feeling of nothingness.  I sit, sometimes, watching my life around me, with a blank face, and a blank feeling for it all, like an onlooker, like a nobody, but inside all the thoughts are swelling and swirling, and running all around.  But, it is all inside of me, a million jumbled ideas, thoughts and feelings, as I try desperately to put it all together, and all I get is blank.  And nothing comes up anymore.  Just that overwhelming feeling of blankness that leaves me watching my life like a television episode, happening right in front of me.  Much like, the view I once got from dope.

 The swirling clouds, spinning above, as I retreat to nothingness.  Overwhelming nothingness.  Especially when we want there to be something so desperately.  But, we put it up on a shelf.  I guess I am also thankful that I know something’s should never go on a shelf. 

 I have lost a lot of people, a lot of things, a lot of respect and trust, over the years.  Even more so with my openness about my addiction.  (Once again, I said ‘Fuck it.’)  But, one thing I have realized is that I will never lose those people again.

 I am thankful for that realization.  And even more grateful for the wonderful people I have in my life today.  And I know that in time, the swirling clouds will fade once more, and those people will be the ones that are still there. 

 Maybe, I am even grateful that the clouds do swirl.  Forcing me to look at the darkness that is inside of me, and then learn to attempt to embrace the light.  Sometimes, I still want to be dark, but now, I hope to walk in the way of the light.  Maybe I am thankful that the dark clouds swirl, forcing me to take a look back at the insides once more, thus no longer using the avoidance tactics of my past. 

 And I am also grateful that I can allow myself to have a day to say ‘Fuck it,’ and look at the world with angry eyes.  I am grateful that today, I can allow myself to wallow in the mire of it all…and that I can move on the very next day, often times even that afternoon.  Sometimes, I just need a little time to stew.   It is all about how I handle it.  That is what it is all really about anyway, making decisions. 

 I am grateful that I make decisions today, and that I no longer simply ride by the tails of my addiction, or even the chaos surrounding me.  I am so, so thankful that I no longer live in a life surrounded by chaos.  And I chose that.  I made the decisions to be exactly where I am today. 

 Are there things I would change?  Well, hell yeah.  At the present moment, I would like to be gainfully employed.  And I would like to have bought my car.  Hell yeah, I would like to not be facing these dark swirling clouds of one of life’s curve balls.

 But, I look back, at all the places I have been, and all the things I have done, realizing that each and every detail put me in Texas today.  Each and every tiny thing that happened, shaped my life in some way, and the trajectory of it all is the only way I would have ever come into my husband’s arms again.  All those tiny details ingrained my path in the writer’s life, leading me to tell the stories of my addiction.  And now, I also tell the stories of my recovery.  I see all that, clear as a bell.  And, in my head, I know everything happens for a reason, as I pick back through all the devastation in my past. 

 Still, I cannot help but wondering why sometimes, as I scramble to lift these dark clouds from my sky.  I know this is not the end, my beautiful friend.  Even though it feels that way sometimes. 

 And I am also so grateful for the ability to write.  Through that, I always see the clouds lifting, and the sun can be seen, even if it is far on the horizon.  Through my writing, I am always able to sort out the details, figuring out how to look for the signs.  I am grateful that people read my words today, and grateful to have a venue, my mind, and my muses.  And I am also grateful that my words may reach some of you, while you find yourself saying, “Yeah, me, too!” 

 So, I guess I really do have a lot to be grateful for, even on the days that I say, “Fuck the World.”