In response to an article on The Huffington Post, “Rush People Who Have 1-2 Drinks to AA?” one person wrote: “I’ve been in recovery for seven years. Zero alcohol intake. I thought complete abstinence was the point. Have I been wrong all this time?”

The author, addiction expert Stanton Peele replied:

“You need to be a critical consumer of information for your own life. But, if your decision to abstain for life was based solely, or largely, on the idea that human beings with problems that qualify them as alcoholics never reduce their drinking – you probably should consider the scientific information that this idea is false.”

Peele was referring to the National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism’s (NIAAA) detailed study of 43,000 drinkers nationally , which found that three-quarters of alcoholics recover without treatment, and more than half drink safely.

It seems there’s some discrepancy over the use of the word alcoholic.

I’ve always thought (and many of my friends have fought me on this) that if someone was diagnosed as an alcoholic, the only “cure” or solution was to never drink again. I also felt, based largely on my mother’s experience, that it would be nearly impossible for alcoholics to quit drinking on their own, and that they need some combination of therapy, detox, and Alcoholics Anonymous meetings.

But I missed an important distinction. According to NIAAA, there are two forms of alcohol dependence: time-limited, and recurrent or chronic. As the writers at NIAAA put it, “In most persons affected, alcohol dependence (commonly known as alcoholism) looks less like Nicolas Cage in Leaving Las Vegas than it does your party-hardy college roommate or that hard-driving colleague in the next cubicle.”

Your party-hardy college roommate? Most likely, her drinking will ebb and flow as she goes through different ages and stages. Just because someone has a heavy-drinking stage of life does not necessarily mean they are a candidate for AA.

In my opinion, it’s confusing to label time-limited alcohol dependence as alcoholism.  I think that there should be a distinction made between heavy drinkers and alcoholics.

What do you think, readers?

We Want to Know…What Is Your Definition of An Alcoholic? Do you think alcoholics can safely drink again and/or recover without treatment? Should there be a distinction between problem drinkers and alcoholics?

By Jody Lamb

Jody Lamb is the author of Easter Ann Peters’ Operation Cool, a novel for tweens. Her experience in a family with alcoholics has made her a passionate advocate for children with alcoholic loved ones, a fan of life and a lady on a mission to change the world. By day, Jody is a corporate public relations manager. She earned a journalism degree from Michigan State University. Jody lives in metro Detroit in the beautiful Michigan mitten.

As a young girl, I thought my loved ones’ excessive, destructive drinking was a problem unique to our family. No one spoke of it, for it was a secret that once told, would surely shame us.

Finally, at 22, when my loved ones hit rock bottom in their struggles, I read everything I could find about alcoholism and its effects on families. When I discovered estimates that 10 to 25 percent of American kids live with at least one parent who abuses alcohol, I cried.

How can it remain such a family secret in the 21^st century? I looked for contemporary, relatable books for children on the subject, particularly for tweens. I found few. No wonder the cycle continues, I thought. That bothered me.

I found so many posts by tweens and teens on forums about loved ones’ drinking. They were desperate for answers and facts about addiction. What I read kept me up at night.

At age 26, with a pasted-on smile, I crashed into the waiting arms of depression. It was a bona-fide, serious quarter-life crisis. I longed for a sense of purpose and satisfaction in my robotic days.

One weekend, I read my childhood diaries. I cried recalling the grand plans and dreams little-kid me had for grownup me. The only thing I could think to do to make myself feel better was to write for fun, like I did as a girl. I enrolled in a creative writing course at my local community college.

Out quickly came a short story about a 12-year-old girl’s plan to make seventh grade awesome that’s derailed as she copes with and helps her depressed, alcoholic mother in a tiny lakeside town.

I realized I was meant to write for kids with alcoholic loved ones. On the weekends and at night, I wrote like crazy and was a sponge to everything that would help me create a better story. Before long, I had a whole novel manuscript. It is the story I would have been moved by as a child. Writing it was cathartic for me. My relationship with my alcoholic loved ones dramatically improved.

Over next two and a half years, I wrote three more whole drafts.

The novel was rejected 30 times by agents and editors. Then I met the founder of a small publishing company. She believed in the story and in me. Easter Ann Peters’ Operation Cool was released on November 6, 2012.

It’s the story of 12-year-old Easter Ann Peters who has a plan—Operation Cool—to make her seventh grade year awesome and erase years of being known only as a quiet, straight-A student who can’t think of a comeback to her bully. When the confident new girl, Wreni, becomes her long-needed best friend, Easter lets her personality shine. The coolest guy in school takes a sudden interest. But as tough times at school fade away, so does a happy life at home. Easter’s mother is drinking a lot, and Easter works double overtime to keep their secret in the tiny lakeside town. Operation Cool derails, fast, and Easter must discover a solution.

Here’s an excerpt from Easter Ann Peters’ Operation Cool:

At two thirty three a.m., my bedroom door creaks and opens halfway, sending a thick band of hallway light into my room.

I’m out of half-sleep land right away; I rub eyes so I can see in the light.

“Mom?” I whisper, even though I already know it’s her.

She takes a few steps forward, and from the way she moves—steady and gentle—I know she’s not drunk anymore.

Yoplait’s snoring stops and beside me, she flops her body over to confirm that it’s Mom and not some intruder like Drama Chihuahua or someone else not welcome here.

“Mmm hmm,” Mom says. It sounds like her. Nice Mom. The Mom I love.

I move my legs a bit so that there’s enough space for her to sit on my bed.

Mom runs her fingers over the spot and sits.

“What’s wrong, Mom?”

After about ten seconds, she says, “Nothing, sweetheart.” Though she tries to make it convincing, the words feel empty and untrue. “Just making sure you’re warm enough. Temps went down tonight.”

She pulls my comforter up over my shoulders.

“I’m fine,” I say as upbeat as I can. “But I haven’t been able to sleep real well lately.”

“Sometimes,” she says, looking away from me now. “It’s difficult to tell your body what to do. Sometimes you lose control.”

I have no idea what that means, so I don’t say anything.

“I’ll sit here until you fall asleep,” she says.

It’s just like when I was little.

So I turn on my side and face Yoplait, who’s already back to sleep. I can tell because her tail is wagging—just a little. That means she’s dreaming of yogurt cups and running Chihuahuas out of town.

Mom leans forward and draws on my back, just like she always did.

Hearts. Trees. Butterflies. Flowers. Ice cream. Everything happy drawn gently on my t-shirt.

And I sleep.”

Right now, my first young adult novel is in progress. I’m also currently writing non-fiction books for kids related to coping when loved ones are addicted to alcohol or other drugs. I hope to find a way to provide these books to young people for free.

If a kid ever says to me, “Hey, thanks for this,” well, those four words alone will be infinitely more meaningful to me than fifty years of success in the business world.

For readers with alcoholics in their lives, I hope my books remind them that they are not alone and inspire hope. For readers who do not have alcoholics in their lives, I hope they’ll gain a more solid understanding of what alcoholism is, how it affects others and sensitivity to what their classmates, teammates and neighbors may be coping with at home.

***

Keep in touch with Jody through Facebook, Twitter, and her blog. Have a tween in your life or are you a tween at heart? Pick up a copy of Easter Ann Peters’ Operation Cool at Amazon or BN.com or in the Kindle store.

One night, Julie Kroll, a thirty-nine year old mother, stumbles away from a minor car accident, leaving behind her eight-year old daughter… and an open container of alcohol. As darkness descends, she disappears.

Julie’s story is the centerpiece of a new documentary, Lipstick & Liquor, about suburban women battling alcohol addiction. The film will have its Los Angeles premiere today at 3pm during the REEL Recovery Film Festival at the Laemmle Monica4-Plex in Santa Monica.

We caught up with the film’s Emmy award-winning director, Lori Butterfield, to ask her some questions about this groundbreaking documentary.

Drinking Diaries: What drew you to the subject of women and drinking? 

Lori Butterfield: My interest in raising awareness about women’s alcohol abuse and alcoholism began with the story of Diane Schuler.  In the summer of 2009, Diane made headlines after killing eight people, including herself, while driving the wrong way on the Taconic Parkway in Westchester County, New York. Toxicology reports revealed she was both drunk and stoned, but her family vehemently denied that Diane had a problem.  How could someone hide their alcoholism so well that their own family had no idea?

In November of that year, I was working on a production project with the Ad Council about Buzzed Driving and read a startling statistic –the number of DUI arrests for women had shot up more than 30 % in the last decade while the rate for men was going down. Binge drinking for women was also on the rise.  Something was clearly happening in our society, but I hadn’t yet connected the dots.

I didn’t know Julie Kroll, who is our main subject in Lipstick & Liquor.  I read about her death in the Washington Post in late December 2009. The article took up two nondescript columns in the Metro section and no photo was attached.  Yet her story struck me on a deep, emotional level. As I read about this sad and senseless tragedy, I knew something profoundly larger was at play in our culture. There seems to be a double standard for women and an even higher standard for mothers who can’t control their drinking.  The judgment and hostility towards women who drink create a terrible stigma that keeps many of them from seeking treatment and recovery.  This is what compelled me to make this film.

Did making the film change your own attitude towards drinking?

Yes, the making of the film has definitely made me more aware of my drinking habits and those of others. Alcohol seems to get a pass in society as far as being more socially acceptable than say, prescription drugs or illegal drugs, but I think many women aren’t aware of what it means to overdrink and how harmful alcohol can be.

I am now very aware of what I call “cocktail creep,” which is something I see happening at social functions.  The conversation and drinks start flowing and we lose track of how many drinks we’ve had.  I always considered myself a moderate, social drinker but binge drinking is clearly on the rise, especially among women. I think it’s critical to get accurate information out about what moderate drinking actually means (1 drink a day for women and no more than 7 drinks per week.)

What did you learn over the course of making the movie that you didn’t already know? Was there something that surprised you or shattered your preconceived notions?

Before Lipstick & Liquor, I can truthfully admit, I was someone who had a tendency to silently judge women who couldn’t control their drinking, especially mothers.  How could they endanger their children? Why can’t they stop drinking? Don’t they know better?  I’m a mother and I drink responsibly, so it was hard for me to understand. But through the making of the film, after meeting women in recovery and talking to experts, I now have a much better understanding of alcoholism and what is at stake for those who struggle with the disease.

Julie’s friends and family say (in the documentary) that what Julie did was wrong and there was no excuse for it. But judgment and condemnation are not the answer.  Women need understanding and support so they can get sober and find recovery.  The stigma is what causes many mothers to feel shame, to hide the true extent of their drinking, and to refuse seeking treatment.  One fact I learned through the making of the film: according to the NIAAA, women are 12 times more likely to resist seeking treatment than men.

How is women’s drinking different from men’s?  

In the last 50 years, women’s roles have changes tremendously. As more women have moved into the workforce, they have more access to money, power, status, opportunity and financial freedom as never before in history.  Lipstick & Liquor focuses on the emotional and psychological issues that seem to impact many women today, from the intense pressures of modern life (pressure cooker jobs, marriages, children, caring for aging parents) combined with a relentless perfectionism that we bring upon ourselves.  The women in the film all said they suffered trying to be the perfect wife, the perfect mother, the perfect daughter, the perfect employee.

I think because alcohol is so socially acceptable and readily available, it’s an easy option for women who are feeling stress or going through a difficult time, to reach for a drink to cope or to relieve boredom. At first, alcohol works, but for some women, drinking leads to alcohol abuse or worse, and the impact can be devastating.  Alcoholism is a progressive disease. There’s evidence that they become addicted faster than men and suffer alcohol-related diseases sooner than men.  According to the CDC, alcoholism is the third leading cause of preventable death among women between the ages of 35 and 55.

How did their husbands/partners/children deal with their drinking?

Because the topic is so broad and so complex, I chose to focus more on the women rather than partners or children.   However, Julie’s husband, Jerry, is featured prominently in Lipstick & Liquor and his love and devotion are so clearly evident throughout the 13-day desperate search by her family and friends to find her.  Despite the fact that he did everything he could to get Julie the help she needed for recovery, in the end, her alcoholism was too powerful to overcome and the disease killed her. Jerry is a real hero in my mind.

How did the women function in their every day lives? For how long did they function? Did anyone around them notice or tell them they had a problem? 

With all the women we profiled, it was amazing to see how much effort they put into covering up their drinking and denying there was a problem.  That’s why Lipstick & Liquor is about “secrets in the suburbs.”  Women often become “kitchen drinkers”–they hide the true extent of their drinking in the isolation of their homes. That’s one of the hallmarks of this disease. It plays tricks with your mind and magnifies our abilities to rationalize our behavior.

Mary is one of the women we profiled in the film who talks about sitting in a Taco Bell parking lot having a vodka screwdriver before she went home, just knowing that she didn’t want to go home without some sort of alcohol in her.

Dr. Anita Gadhia-Smith is a psychotherapist and author featured in the film and she has a great quote.  She says many women feel shame when they drink. “There is a difference between shame and guilt. Guilt is about something that you did. Shame is about who you are and I think for women, there is a setup to feel shame when you are an alcoholic.”

What’s the best piece of wisdom you received from these women’s stories? 

Through the making of Lipstick & Liquor I’ve learned that a woman’s greatest gift may be the very thing that will save her from a life of alcoholism, pain and suffering. By nature, we are drawn to communicate and connect with each other and it’s the power of this sisterhood that I hope to share with others.  Women need to understand they are not alone, there is hope, there is treatment and that ongoing support, compassion and understanding through friendships with other women is what can provide the best hope for sustained recovery and sobriety.

Here’s what I learned from the women who were profiled: Most alcoholics know that they are alcoholic long before they share that information with anyone else or anyone else finds out and they have a deep sense of self loathing and self hatred that stays with them all the time. And, the only thing that relieves that sense of self-loathing is more alcohol.  

Alcoholics are under the impression that they should never be uncomfortable. And that’s just not the case. In order to experience the joy and the beauty of life, they also have to experience the pain and the suffering. But going through all of it will bring women to the full experience of humanity and that’s really what living sober is all about.

What do you think is the secret of women who get and stay sober? Did these women share their secrets with you?

Hayley, one of the women we profiled, talks about staying sober in the most poetic and powerful way. “It’s joy that you can’t even put into words. The fact that I show up for people, I’m a great friend, I’m a really good mom, I know how to communicate, I know how to set boundaries, I know how to take care of myself, that all comes from loving myself and that all comes from being sober.”

“To any woman out there who is struggling with this disease, just give it a shot, like call someone right now and reach out and just let them know because the shame in continuing what you’re doing but the real joy and real win in this is when you can finally let it down, get that crap off your body and just start to live…  I was living in a prison and I know that women out there can relate to that because you are literally living in your own prison and you are so scared to step out of that box… They talk about a comfort zone, it’s very comfortable staying in your disease because it’s what you know. But, once you change that and shift it and come out of it, you’re a butterfly, you know, it’s fantastic.”

Whose story inspired or affected you the most? 

The women featured in Lipstick who are sober now are absolutely remarkable.  Emily, Hayley, Jodie and Mary were so open and honest about their struggles with alcoholism and their recoveries and I deeply admire them for their courage. They are amazing role models.  Emily writes a blog (Emilyism.com) that serves as an online community for sober women and Hayley has launched a successful clothing and accessory line called “Sober is Sexy.”  Jodie has more than 25 years of sobriety and has helped scores of other women over the years stay sober. Mary is part of a group of women working to organize a major rally for recovery in Washington next year.

Of course, Julie’s story affected me the most because she was the one who didn’t get the chance to experience sustained recovery and to live a long and happy life. I think often about her beautiful daughter, her husband, Jerry and her family and friends. It’s a terrible tragedy that shouldn’t happen to anyone.

It’s my hope that Lipstick & Liquor will help to shed the stigma surrounding women who drink and change the conversation with families, friends, and the medial community. We need to understand that alcohol dependence is a disease that if left untreated, can kill you.  My hope is that this documentary will inspire this new conversation and help women find support and treatment.

To learn more about Lipstick & Liquor and for a list of resources for those who want help, you can visit the website and  Facebook page.

Lori Butterfield spent more than a decade creating documentaries and television programs at National Geographic Television & Film and at Discovery Networks (including Discovery, Animal Planet, Travel Channel, Military Channel and Discovery Science). She won an Emmy for her work at National Geographic.   Currently, She works at Home Front Communications in downtown DC, producing video content for a range of non-broadcast clients on multi-platforms.

By Linda Jane Riley

Linda Jane Riley is the creator of the blog, “The Immortal Alcoholic,” about what it’s like being a non-alcoholic person married to an end-stage alcoholic. In her own words: “I’m an ordinary woman of a seasoned age who is faced with a difficult challenge–and I will not allow that challenge to destroy the happiness in my life or anyone else’s life.” She is the author of The WorkbookforCaretakers OfEnd-Stage Alcoholics.

Following is an excerpt from her blog, in which she addresses the frustrations of readers of her blog who wonder why she chooses to take care of her husband Riley, despite the enormous daily struggles.  

I welcome everyone’s comments even if they may be a bit hostile or negative. Each of us has a right to an opinion and a right to voice that opinion. In fact, one commenter says I’m a “sick f***” and that I would drive a person to drink if they weren’t already an alcoholic. So this post is dedicated to all those who think end-stage caretaking is a form of amusing entertainment for sadistic Nurse Nancy’s and bitter spouses.

Why don’t I just… put Riley in a long-term care treatment facility?

No matter how sick a person is, if he is not declared incompetent, that person cannot be forced into any alcohol treatment facility. Even then, most of those types of facilities would not accept an individual that has been forced in a facility through an incompetency hearing. Recovery just doesn’t work that way.

As for a regular nursing, physical rehab or long-term facilities – they will not allow the consumption of alcoholic beverages on their grounds. They offer no detox care, so they are not equipped to handle an end-stage alcoholic. Most end-stage alcoholics have been through the detox and rehab process many times, with the end result being a return to drinking. Because of that statistic, it is extremely difficult to find even a rehab center that will take on a multi-relapse end-stage alcoholic. The reasons for that are that they want to invest their time in people who really desire sobriety and also to eliminate a risk of injury on their premises. After the last detox episode (when Riley had a stroke) there was no rehab facililty of ANY type that would accept Riley as a patient within a hundred miles of our local area. He was too big of a risk for a potentially fatal fall.

Why don’t I just… have him declared incompetent?

That’s not as easy as it sounds. Riley is incompetent to handle his own finances or any other legal matters. But, he is aware what a competency hearing is all about. He knows what he is supposed to do to pay bills and buy groceries, etc. He has no ability to follow through on those tasks–and that is hard to prove. He often will appear to others as being perfectly capable of managing his own affairs. Outward appearances are deceiving, and he has the ability to “pull the wool over the eyes” of medical professionals who are not truly trained in alcoholism.

Being an end-stage alcoholic is degrading enough all by itself. Having your spouse, parent, partner or whoever declare that you are incapable of the simplest things–like choosing what you want to eat for dinner–is beyond degrading. It’s not my job to make him feel any worse about himself. He does that on his own.

I have full power of attorney, which gives me the ability to act on his behalf over everything that is relevant. It’s all I need for now. I’m fortunate because Riley doesn’t usually cause me problems that would require court intervention. The only issue we don’t seem to be able to resolve is his desire to drive drunk.

Why don’t I just… let him drive?

OK. Well… now… that’s just a stupid question. Drunks should NEVER be allowed behind the wheel of a 4000 pound potential lethal battering ram. Anyone who has to ask that question is not someone I would want on the road when I’m running my errands.

Why don’t I just… pack him up and send him on his way?

I took on this task as a means of preventing my daughter or grandson from becoming Riley’s caretaker. If I sent him on his way, he would find his way into their homes and thereby create insanity in their lives. I am his legal spouse. He is my responsibility. Many years ago I took a vow that said something about “sickness and health.” This is the sickness part and I will stand by that vow.

If a family member were sick of some other disease – Leukemia, Alzheimer’s, Stroke, etc – I would not pack them up and send them on their way. I would do the best I could to provide a safe haven. Riley has suffered a stroke as a result of abusing alcohol; he can’t remember simple things like how to get a message off the answering machine or to remove a pan from a hot burner. If he lived on his own, how soon would it be before he burned down his house? I don’t know, but I’m not willing to take that risk.

He’s not my prisoner. He’s my sick husband who would not survive in the real world.

Why don’t I just… pick him up when he falls?

I’m an old lady who is not even five feet tall and I don’t have a lot of physical strength. Riley isn’t a huge guy, but when he falls he is like dead weight. He has no muscle mass and cannot (or will not) assist in any effort to get himself upright. Even my daughter has failed at attempts to pick him up after a fall. But, because he won’t “push” or “pull”, even she has stopped trying to come to his aid.

I could call 911 and the paramedics would race to my door and get him back into his chair. The problem is Riley falls multiple times during the day and I truly believe the EMT’s might have people who are in urgent need of assistance. Someday, I’m going to need them to come running – quickly – so I don’t want to be the little girl who cried wolf.

Why don’t I just… make him use a walker or wheelchair?

Using a cane, wheelchair or walker, in Riley’s opinion, is an indication that he is old or not physically fit. In Riley’s mind, he is perfectly fit and is young. He mocks the seniors at the local senior center and laughs at the frailties of the aged. He wants no part of anything that would make him appear to be more “seasoned” than he wants to be.

In order to use any devices that would aid in his mobility, he would need some upper body or arm strength. Riley has no muscle strength from which to draw.

Why don’t I just… make him wear a diaper?

See the above answer. Same thing applies here. Diapers are for babies and old people.

Why don’t I just… stop buying him booze?

Taking away Riley’s alcohol would throw him into a self-induced detox, which could be fatal. Detoxing without medical supervision is extremely dangerous and it becomes more dangerous each time it happens.

By the count of the centers listed in the workbook that I keep on Riley, he’s been through five – FIVE – medically supervised detox experiences. Each one was worse than the last in terms of the actual process, causing seizures and strokes. None of the detox sessions ever led to long-term sobriety. After the last hospital stay, I promised Riley I would never push him into detox again. I do, however, encourage him and ask him if he wants to go. But, I don’t insist and I don’t push.

Why don’t I just… take him to AA or get him some help?

For Riley, AA is just a social activity. He would go all the time if they would just stop harping on the drinking thing. Because they don’t stop, he won’t go. He knows there is help there. He was very active in AA for many years, but now he just wants nothing to do with the “brainwashing” of any 12 Step program.

You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink. It’s the same way with alcoholics and counseling. While I think it would be one of the best ways for an alcoholic to recover, it requires pure, unbridled honesty. Most active alcoholics are incapable of being completely honest. Many drink to cover their true feelings. I think it’s unrealistic to expect a counselor to take on the impossible of task of getting a drunk to tell how he/she really feels.

Why don’t I just… stop laughing at him?

To read the rest of Linda’s post, click here.

Photo Source

by Martha Southgate

I met Whitney Houston once, briefly.  She was, as everyone says, absolutely stunning, truly startling in her beauty.  It was 1995 and I was a contributing writer at Premiere magazine, doing an article on the making of Waiting to Exhale. While I’d been granted a fair amount of time with the other three principals (Angela Bassett, Loretta Devine, and Lela Rochon), catching up to Whitney on my behalf had proved more of a challenge to the on-set publicist. But a meeting was finally arranged, under strict time limitations; I was given 10 minutes, as I recall. Here’s part of what I wrote:  “She seems to come closest to telling the truth about her life when she looks out her trailer window, her eyes distracted yet steely, and says, “My world just keeps going. This movie is just one small section of it.” The Whitney Houston business, it seems, is enough to make a diva out of anyone.”

Tragically, we now know the full extent of the torment that comprised her world. She was, as they say, “difficult” during the making of this film and she does not come off well in the article, though I reported only what I saw and heard. Reading my words now, it is heartbreaking to know what made her so difficult.

Whitney Houston was an extraordinary artist who had a God-given gift that very few receive. Like many great popular-music singers you could name (Judy Garland, Etta James) she was addicted to a number of substances for much of her adult life. It is almost certain that that’s what killed her. Addiction is a brutal, brutal beast that some are simply unable to beat; she was one of them. These are the only things that can be asserted with certainty in relation to her life and death. There has been a great deal of speculation about how she got started on drugs, how it’s all Bobby Brown’s fault, how her gift was too much for her to bear, how, how, how. Because of course, we all want to know how or why someone with such a remarkable talent would live in a way that destroyed it—and ultimately destroyed her.

But we never will know how, and really, it’s useless to speculate. That is one of the savage truths of addiction; no matter how or why you start, it ends in only one of two ways: you stop or you die.

What it takes to stop is an almost inconceivable amount of strength, particularly for someone in Whitney’s position, which entailed so many other pressures and a constant return to the people, places and things (as they say in the 12-step programs) where her addiction began. Like Michael Jackson, she broke under the pressure. And like Michael, she was African-American and unimaginably wealthy.

As I researched addiction and alcoholism for my novel, The Taste of Salt (which is in part about the effects of alcoholism on an African-American family) I read many memoirs by addicts and alcoholics. Memoirs by white alcoholics and drug addicts are a dime bag a dozen—but when it came to African-Americans writing about the same subject, I found next to nothing. If the work is available, I couldn’t find it—the only other novel I’m aware of is Carleen Brice’s Orange Mint and Honey.

I believe that this is reflective of a larger issue—that there is still reluctance in parts of the African-American community to air our “dirty laundry” in public. But that reluctance leads to there being too little public conversation either within the African-American community (or outside of it) about the workings of addiction among wealthy or middle class African-Americans and the best, most culturally sensitive ways to treat it (An aside: I am well aware that no matter what your race or class, the state of drug and alcohol treatment in this country is a mess—no room to talk about that here, nor do I have the expertise to do so). There is no way that all of the addicts in the black community are beat down, broke crack addicts or homeless bums. But that’s the primary image you see. There are more stories to tell—and we can tell them.

One tiny bit of good that might come from Whitney’s death would be if we in the African-American community used it as an occasion to further acknowledge the reality of addiction across all class lines. Be honest about the costs, don’t focus so much on why or how it happened or whose fault it is; don’t assume it only happens to some people.  The important thing is that it’s happening. While the only person who can ultimately stop an addict is him or herself (though most need the help of a 12-step program and/or other support), we can admit that addicts in our community, at all levels, are not aberrations, are not people to be ashamed of or accused, are people who need help. It’s a small step, but an important one

We will never know what complex factors forced Whitney Houston to succumb to her powerful disease, nor will we ever know how hard she tried to stop or who tried to make her stop. But perhaps more honesty and openness—and perhaps more storytelling—could help someone who isn’t famous, isn’t as gifted, is just a person loved by friends and family, take that first difficult step toward getting clean.

Martha Southgate is the author of four novels, most recently, The Taste of Salt. To read an interview with Martha, click here.

photo source

Recently, I wrote a post about the origins of the Drinking Diaries for a new website, Better After 50. When the founder and editor asked me to write an essay about how the Drinking Diaries got started, it provoked me to think about the evolution of this blog and how it morphed from a seed of an idea into a gratifying partnership and a forthcoming book–due out in October 2012!

Here’s the piece that originally ran on Better After 50–a site worth checking out even if you’re not yet the big 5-0 (which I’m not, but will be in a few years…).

Cheers to Us–and the Drinking Diaries

by Caren Osten Gerszberg

Leah & Caren, Drinking Diaries co-editors

Do you really need to check your blackberry again?” I ask repeatedly.

“Any new sales you need to vet on Gilt today?” Leah retorts.

On any given day, sitting and working at my round kitchen table—our computers lined up side by side—these are the kinds of quips that pass between me and my co-editor, friend and neighbor. Minutes later, the bickering behind us, we giggle proudly over our triumphant reworking of a long, twisted phrase we’ve teamed up to unwind.

Together, since June 2008, Leah Odze Epstein and I have been co-editing a blog called the Drinking Diaries—a website covering anything and everything related to women and drinking. From celebration to revelation we like to say. A place where there is no judgment, where the stories we and other women share range from comical and celebratory to sexy and despairing. Where we offer news, profiles, research and opinions—all about women and their relationship with alcohol.

Drinking Diaries was conceived, sadly, as a result of my own mother’s drinking. Well into her sixties, my mother’s wine habit went from socially acceptable and culturally expected (she’s French) to deeply problematic. A child survivor of the Holocaust, my mother began using alcohol to numb her pain. I watched in fear and bewilderment as her dependence on alcohol—something I’d never before been faced with—accelerated with warp speed.

Leah, also the child of an alcoholic, whose mother has been sober for over 35 years, was the person I turned to. In my spiraling confusion, I would sit on Leah’s front porch, lamenting about my mother’s drinking which worsened when my father was diagnosed with stage IV colon cancer. Then, over a Friday night dinner with our husbands, Leah and I decided that there was no place for women to share their stories—the sad, happy and everything in between—of drinking and the effect it has on their lives. We would provide that place.

In an effort to discover who the readers—of the future book we hoped to publish—would be, we started the Drinking Diaries blog. We queried women authors to do Q&A interviews, and let out shrieks of jubilation when we got a “yes” from accomplished writers like Joyce Maynard, Jackie Mitchard and Julie Powell. They all had tales to contribute. We went to blogging conferences and writing workshops, asking women along the way to share their stories. Sex and drinking. Parenting and drinking. Work and drinking. Family and drinking. Culture and drinking. Health and drinking. Nearly three years later, it’s all there.

Somewhere along the way, Leah and I were deemed “experts” on the subject of women and drinking. We’ve been interviewed for radio shows and TV-news programs, and featured on various blogs. Recently, I was asked to write an article, “The Art of Mindful Drinking,” and do a related podcast for a national magazine.

Last March, our efforts continued to pay off. We got a book deal from Seal Press (Perseus) and the anthology of essays we are currently working on, Drinking Diaries: Women Serve their Stories Straight Up, will be published in Fall 2012. Our list of writers is impressive, but more importantly covers a fascinating array of experiences, ages, backgrounds, perspectives and cultures.

Both mothers of three children each, Leah and I start our twice-weekly work sessions with a catch-up walk through a beautiful Long Island Sound-lined park before returning to our office—my kitchen. Over mugs of tea and handfuls of almonds, we bicker like an old married couple over grammar, her blackberry addiction, and my roving attention toward shopping websites. Some stories make us laugh hysterically like two teenage girls. Others hit very close to home. And when we “score” an interview or get a response from a high-profile person we never expected to get, we high-five like football players.

When we’re not working together on the forthcoming anthology, we are working independently from home on new posts for the blog, which we update every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. We touch base via email and phone several times a day, basking in glory on a day when the blog has a high number of hits, and sharing frustration when a writer fails to turn in a piece that she swore was coming yesterday.

This journey has grown from seed on Leah’s porch, to stalk with our blog, to blossoming flower next Fall, when the book hits the shelves—both virtual and in bookstores. Leah and my partnership is a labor of love more than a business venture. The stories are there. We are just asking women to scratch the surface and let them out.

For those of us who have watched–and enjoyed–the epic frat party film, Animal House, it’s easy to see that these boys are having one good, drunken time throughout. According to a recent study, the alcohol-induced male elation is not purely fictional.

The study, published in Biological Psychology, shows that men experience greater pleasure form drinking alcohol than women do. Apparently, liquor triggers the male brain to release a higher amount of dopamine, a neurotransmitter that causes euphoria and pleasure.

When the high subsides, however, it’s not all fun and beer pong. Researchers say that the additional dopamine may help expain why men, especially those who can hold their liquor, are twice as likely as women to become alcoholics.

“It’s not just that people who release more dopamine like it better,” says John H. Krystal, chair of the Yale University psychiatrity department and one of 11 authors of the study. “They also learn to want it more.”

On two separate days, the researchers tested how the brains of 21 young social drinkers reacted to alcohol. On one day, the men and women were given juice mixed with a tiny amount of alcohol. Then the researchers used PET scanners to measure the dopamine release in the subjects’ brain. They expected the effect to be minimal, Krystal says, and it was. But they wanted to control for the possibility that people would feel euphoric just because they thought they were getting drunk. On the second day, when the subjects were given stronger drinks, dopamine levels were higher–and the men’s brains released more than twice as much dopamine as the women’s.

The researchers’ goal is to develop ways to “damp down” dopamine release in the brains of people predisposed to alcoholism. With the use of medications and other treatments, young drinkers with a family history of alcoholism may be able to lessen their chances of becoming problem drinkers.

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Should the second “A” in AA be dropped? A.A.’s 11th Tradition states, “We need always maintain personal anonymity at the level of press, radio and films.” To clarify—it’s okay to identify yourself as “sober” or “in recovery,” but it’s not okay to identify yourself as a member of A.A. or other 12-step groups.

But is this anonymity a throwback to another era, when being an alcoholic was a disgrace? A debate is raging in the media and on the internet, and it’s worth examining both sides.

Last week, the New York Times ran a story by a recovering alcoholic, “Challenging the Second ‘A’ in AA.”  The author, David Colman, calls anonymity a “collective fiction.” At the meetings he’s attended over the years in Manhattan, the people he hears telling their stories are often people he knows–people from work, or well-known authors and actors.

Why should AA be so secretive, Colman and others argue, when that only reinforces the idea that being an alcoholic is shameful? People should be able to share their stories publicly, as many celebrities (Pink, Eminem) and memorists already have (think Mary Karr, Susan Cheever, Caroline Knapp, James Frey).

Maer Roshan, editor of The Fix, a new site aimed at the recovery world, compared the anonymity of alcoholics to gay people being in the closet. “Having to deny your own participation in a program that is helping your life doesn’t make sense to me…You could be focusing light on something that will make it better and more honest and more helpful.”

In a piece for The Fix, Susan Cheever, also a recovering alcoholic, who has written a book about Bill Wilson, the founder of AA writes: “We are in the midst of a public health crisis when it comes to understanding and treating addiction…A.A.’s principle of anonymity may only be contributing to general confusion and prejudice.”

Then came the rebuttals. Mary Elizabeth Williams wrote a piece for Salon–“Can AA survive our tell-all era?” She argues that you can’t really compare celebrities, writers and other people in creative professions to others. Not everyone has the freedom and clout to come clean. Entertainers like Eminem and Russell Brand are supposed to run wild and free—admitting their alcoholism only contributes to their mystique. But what about doctors or teachers, or people who don’t live in ultra-liberal Manhattan? As Williams writes, for these people, there could be “profound social and career repercussions” if their colleagues and clients “know that a year ago, [they were] getting obliterated before work.”

Williams also points out that telling people you’re in AA opens you up for criticism, skepticism and debate, which might weaken your chances for recovery.

Yes, anonymity may seem old fashioned in this era of reality TV, but still—as Williams writes: “AA’s business model of having no official spokesperson and of attraction rather than promotion…is not for everybody, but you’ve got to give it props for its refusal to turn itself into TLC network, quick-fix shlock.”

It’s easy to understand both sides of the debate, but I say, if you want to write a memoir or come out of the closet as an alcoholic, that’s fine, but don’t make it policy that everyone should have to do the same.

If they dropped the anonymous part of AA, millions of people who could have been helped will turn away from the organization because they don’t have the desire to share their sobriety with the world—or their neighborhood.

Anonymity also protects children of alcoholics. If I ever asked my mom, “Who goes to your AA meetings,” she would explain AA’s code of anonymity, and how important it was for people’s information to remain private. I, in turn, felt secure that the other people at her local meetings wouldn’t be blabbing all over the neighborhood about the personal information my mom shared. What if some kid in my class got hold of that information?

I shudder to imagine some reality TV show, “My mom, the alcoholic,” where the camera goes inside an AA meeting, the recovering alcoholics performing for the camera. Just because the parent agrees to reveal personal details of his or her life, doesn’t mean the child is ready to deal with the repercussions of those revelations.

by Patty Nasey

Life is different today/I hear everybody say

Mother needs something today to calm her down.

She goes running for the shelter of a mother’s little helper

And it helps her on her way/Gets her through her busy day.

~Rolling Stones, 1967

Just in time for Mother’s Day, a California-based winery recently filed a lawsuit in federal court asking a judge to declare that its MommyJuice Wine does not infringe on the trademark of rival vitner, Mommy’s Time Out.  When it comes to wine, MommyJuice’s attorneys say, there’s no monopoly on the word ‘mommy.’

Both wines promise harried caregivers a respite from the demands of motherhood.  Mommy’s Time Out offers a “well-deserved break” although, judging by the picture on the label, this “break” involves sitting alone with a bottle in a corner. It looks like more of a punishment than a reward. The MommyJuice imagery is a little more inviting, featuring a cute cartoon of a mom with four arms, sitting in the lotus position while juggling a house, a computer, a spatula and a teddy bear.  The website offers a “gift set” with a bottle of wine and a baby onesie that says: “When I whine, Mommy wines.” And the copy on the label reads: “Being a mom is a constant juggling act, so tuck your kids into bed, sit down and have a glass of MommyJuice.”

“Sexist!!” was my first reaction to this latest development in the Mommy Wars.  I have plenty of male friends who suck on cigars while watching their kids, but I doubt they’d smoke a stogie called Daddy’s Binky or Papa’s Paci. Of course they wouldn’t!  So how is that not one but two vintners are fighting for the right to put Mommy on their label?  Maybe it’s because we really haven’t come such a long way, baby.  Our moms had Valium; we have MommyJuice.  Why not just call it Mother’s Little Helper and end the lawsuit.

“Why are you so angry about this?” a friend asked as I shouted from the top of my feminist soapbox.  Indeed, I had no problem
with National Mom’s Nite Out, a series that took place last night all across the country. But something about those mommy wines got me in a rage.  “You know,” she said, “if it’s hysterical, it’s historical.”

And then I remembered Veronica.*  She and I got married and pregnant around the same time. I watched in awe as Veronica transitioned gracefully and effortlessly into her new role as a wife and mother.  When my daughter was just 10 weeks old, I couldn’t wait to get back to the controlled environment of my office while Veronica stayed home, organized play groups (I used to send my nanny) and breast fed for a year.

My apartment looked like a war zone; Veronica’s was spotless. I bought Gerber’s baby food; Veronica mashed her own.  I was still carrying a few pounds of baby weight when I got pregnant with my second child; Veronica did Strollercize in Central Park every morning and looked better than before she was pregnant.  She was my go-to mom who could juggle it all like the lady on the MommyJuice label, while I felt like balls were dropping all around me.  And then her second child was born.  She started smoking again, the apartment got a little messier, the food took longer to make, it was harder for her to find time to exercise. After she weaned the baby, she started having a glass of wine once the kids went to sleep. Within two years, the glass at night had turned into a bottle; the cigarettes had become marijuana. The “I deserve a break” message she had told herself had insidiously evolved into “I can’t do this without a drink.”  And Mommy’s “time out” became an all-the-time habit.

When her kids were only 3 and 5, Veronica went to her first rehab. When her husband came alone to social events or playdates, he covered for her saying she was home taking a nap or feeling sick. I just assumed she was exhausted like the rest of us. She returned from rehab only to relapse within the year. She tried a second rehab where she met a recovering Crystal Meth addict. She relapsed again only this time she got hooked on Meth. After several failed attempts to get clean, she ended up leaving the country, granting her husband a divorce and giving up custody of her kids.

I bumped into her just before she moved away. She was almost unrecognizable — a fragile, hollow shell of her former beautiful self.  I had been so angry at her when I learned what had happened, but that day I  just hugged her as we stood on the sidewalk sobbing. Six years later, I still can’t look at her kids without breaking down and crying.

Of course, there are plenty of moms who can safely enjoy a “time out” with a glass or two of wine. and will celebrate on Sunday with a well-deserved drink. But seeing the word “Mommy” on not one, but two wine labels reminds me of my friend — and of the millions of women who won’t be spending Mother’s Day with their children as they battle the powerful disease of addiction. These mothers don’t need another “little helper.”  They need help. And on Mother’s Day and everyday, I hope and pray that they may find it.

*Names and minor details have been changed.

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A new gene variant that may protect against alcoholism was recently discovered at the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill School of Medicine.

The results of the study report that 10 to 20 percent of the population carries a gene variant (called CYP2E1) that makes them get drunk more easily–and therefore makes them less susceptible to alcoholism.

According to an article in USA Today, Dr. Kirk Wilhelmsen, the study’s lead author, explained that the finding, “potentially changes the paradigm about how we think about how alcohol affects the brain.” While the finding doesn’t yet have any treatment application, he says, “my expectation is this is actually going to lead somewhere.”

Wilhelmsen and colleagues collected hundreds of pairs of siblings, all at college-age and all with at least one parent who was an alcoholic. The study participants were given a mixture of grain alcohol and soda that was equivalent to about three drinks that they drank at regular intervals. They were asked to answer questions describing how the alcohol made them feel: “I feel drunk, I don’t feel drunk; I feel sleepy, I don’t feel sleepy.”

The 10 to 20 percent of the population that carry the gene variant typically avoid drinking often or in large quantities because they can’t “hold their liquor.” As a result, they are less likely to become alcoholics in the long run. The new finding offers hope for a treatment of alcoholic if scientists can develop a way to modify the gene or copy its effects.

“We have found a gene that protects against alcoholism, and on top of that, has a very strong effect,” Wilhelmsen said in a statement. “But alcoholism is a very complex disease, and there are lots of complicated reasons why people drink. This may be just one of the reasons.”

The findings are published in the online version of the journal, Alcoholism: Clinical and Experimental Research, and will appear in print in its January 2011 issue.

“One Step at a Time” is a series of original essays we will be running monthly. We are excited to have writer and mom Patty N. share her fresh perspective as she embarks on the road to sobriety.

STEP FOUR

by Patty N.

The Fourth Step – a searching and fearless moral inventory – is not so much a step as it is a personal fact-finding mission, a sort of self-guided tour of the past designed to help us figure out why we drank.  Just after my 90^th day of sobriety, a clue appeared in my Inbox.

Doug Harrison* wants to be friends on Facebook.

I clicked on the link expecting to see the freckle-faced boy I knew in high school. Instead, a middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a face I no longer recognized greeted me. But just seeing his name  – Doug Harrison – sent me right back to the summer of 1981.

I was fifteen years old, heading into my junior year of high school and had absolutely nothing to do – no job, no camp, no family vacation, no responsibilities. Bored and a little lonely, I spent my days at the country club pool where my best friend, Amy, was a life guard. Doug, also fifteen, worked at the club as a golf caddy, and he would come swimming every day after work. One evening, he showed up with two cans of Budweiser for the three of us to share.  I hated the taste, but I loved the buzz. That was my first drink.

Soon after, Doug invited me to go tubing down the Truckee River with his brother, Steve – a senior – and a group of his friends.

“Are you kidding me?” I asked. Steve Harrison was the most popular guy in high school. He was the star of the basketball team, dated the head cheerleader and drove a brand new Camaro Z-28.

“Steve told me I could bring a friend,” Doug said. “And I want to bring you.”

A couple days later, Steve’s Camaro roared into my driveway.

I can’t believe I’m in Steve Harrison’s car, I thought. It smelled like new leather and Coppertone. Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believing” blared from the cassette deck.  Steve’s blue eyes met mine in the rear view mirror.

“Welcome aboard,” Steve said. “Do you know Deb?”  He nodded toward his tan, buxom girlfriend, who was dressed in a bikini top and cut-off shorts.

Of course I knew Deb. Everyone knew Deb. But she had no reason to know a geek like me.

“Hi,” she said, flashing her bright white homecoming queen smile.

“Hey,” I said, flashing my mouthful of metal. I self-consciously crossed my arms over my flat chest.

As we drove toward Truckee, Steve tossed two Mickey’s Big Mouths into the back seat. I studied Deb, her polished toes resting on the dashboard, as she effortlessly drank her beer. When I took a sip of mine, I actually gagged a little. Beer tasted bad enough and this cheap malt liquor was even worse. But I forced it down anyway.

I was definitely lit when we got to the river and, by the time we finished tubing, I’d had at least two more Big Mouths and a bag of green grapes. I stumbled into the back seat of Steve’s car.  Everything was spinning. Then, knowing I’d never make it to the bathroom, I leaned out the window and vomited on the door of the Z-28 in front of Steve, Doug, Deb and all of their friends.

They all started laughing and chanting, “Grapes! Grapes! Grapes!”  That’s the last thing I remember before I passed out.

I woke up just as Steve was pulling into my driveway. My head was pounding and I felt so humiliated that I’d thrown up in front of the popular kids – and on Steve’s car!

What if my stomach acid ruined his paint job – I’ll never be able to go back to school, I thought.

“Sorry I got sick,” I said, unable to make eye contact.

“Hey, that’s okay,” Steve said. “It was pretty funny.”

“Yeah,” Doug said, “It was fun.”

My mom was in the kitchen when I went inside.

“How was it?” she asked.

“It was fun,” I said.  “It was really fun.”

The next day at the pool, Steve and Doug cheered, “Grapes, grapes, grapes” when they saw me.  I was still a little embarrassed, but I loved the attention.

“Wow,” Amy said, “It sounds like you had a good time.”

My definition of fun became distorted that day on the Truckee River and, as I dig deeper into this personal excavation that is the Fourth Step, I’m able to see how often I confused self-destructive and even dangerous drinking with fun. Being the center of attention, making people laugh, and joking my way out of uncomfortable feelings – all of these became staples of my drinking life for the next 30 years. I denied my disease and dismissed my behavior, choosing to believe I was just a fun drunk. But nobody goes to A.A. because they’re having fun; we go because we can’t pretend anymore.

Doug Harrison wants to be friends on Facebook. CONFIRM or IGNORE.

I wanted to just click IGNORE and get rid of that thumbnail sized reminder of my embarrassing summer of ‘81.  But A.A. promises that if we thoroughly follow each Step, “we will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it.” Or in my case, throw up on it.  I knew what I had to do – I had to click CONFIRM.

*Names has been changed.

To read Patty’s earlier entries on Drinking Diaries, click here.

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“One Step at a Time” is a series of original essays we will be running monthly. We are excited to have writer and mom Patty N. share her fresh perspective as she embarks on the road to sobriety.

STEP TWO

by Patty N.

Albert Einstein said, “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.”  That pretty much sums up my relationship with alcohol, especially in the past 5 years. I’d drink moderately, then get drunk, then beat myself up, then quit drinking, then decide I could control it because I’d been able to stop, then start drinking again, then get drunk, then quit, then start all over.  It was insane. I was insane.

But there was something about A.A.’s Second Step – the idea that I had to buy into this “Higher Power” thing in order to get sober — that made me a bit uncomfortable.  Not because I didn’t believe – I was raised Catholic, I converted to Judaism in 1996, I certainly believe in God.  It just sounded a little too much like “Jesus Saves” which totally freaked me out.  Because I had been “saved” once before — and it was scary.

When I was 12, my friend Roberta invited me to Wolf Mountain, a weeklong sleep away camp located near the small Northern California town where we lived. She told me it was co-ed so we could meet boys (not like the all-girls Catholic camp from which I had recently returned).  She told me it was “Indian Camp” so we would sleep in giant tee-pees.  She did not tell me, however (maybe she didn’t know) that the camp was run by fundamentalist Christians.  Every night at the campfire, Running Bear or Spotted Wolf (all the staffers had Indian names) would announce the campers who had accepted Jesus Christ as their “personal savior” that day.  I had no intention of adding my name to the list. I’d had my First Communion, I went to confession regularly, I was going to be Confirmed in the coming year. I assumed I was on the fast track to Heaven.  Then on the last night, all the campers were herded into a barn-like auditorium to watch a film about the Rapture. The film depicted, in terrifying detail, the moment when all of the “true Christians” would be gathered together to meet Christ upon His return, leaving all of us fakers behind to die a lonely, miserable death on Earth. It scared the crap out of me. Afterward, I sprinted back to my tee-pee, dropped to my knees and begged my counselor, Little Duckfeet, to save me, too.

Rationally, I knew that A.A.’s traditions were nothing like Wolf Mountain’s salvation-by-intimidation approach.  Still, around my 40th day of sobriety when my sponsor wanted to meet to review the Second Step, visions of Little Duckfeet danced in my head.  I told her I needed more time.

That same week, I was invited to an event at the very trendy Standard Hotel in New York City’s Meatpacking district. Some of my former Conde Nast colleagues had rented the terrace overlooking the High Line with panoramic views of downtown Manhattan.  As we got off the elevator, a young, good-looking waiter greeted us with a tray full of champagne.  I watched enviously as my friends lifted the gold-filled flutes, clinking, toasting, and drinking.  Then my insanity came knocking.

I can have one drink.

I have been so good, I deserve it!

How can I not have a glass of champagne?

Everybody else is drinking, why shouldn’t I?

I walked toward the bar.

“Champagne?” the bartender said as he popped the cork on another bottle.

I imagined the bubbles in my mouth, tickling my palate at first and then becoming sweet and smooth as my troubles melted away with each sip.  I wanted to say “Yes” so badly, and had I been trying to get sober on my own, I probably would have.  But I thought of all those people I had met in my A.A. meetings — unfailingly honest, day after day, sharing their experience, strength and hope with me. They’d given me their phone numbers, invited me for coffee, clapped and cheered when I announced my sober day counts: 12 days…23 days…36 days…41 days.  As the waiter filled up the glass, I imagined calling my sponsor to tell her that I’d have to forfeit those hard-earned days of sobriety and start over. I pictured myself telling all those people who had been rooting so hard for me that I “went out” over a glass of champagne.  I couldn’t do it.

“Just a Perrier with lime,” I finally said. The waiter handed me the unfamiliar drink and I winced as the bubbles stung the inside of my mouth. It was a lot to swallow – this unsatisfying champagne substitute, this strange state of sobriety, this saying no when I wanted to say yes, this Second Step. But I did it.  While physically I was at a glamorous Conde Nast event, mentally I was in a church basement with these strangers I’d come to know, trust and rely on for help. Together, they formed a power that was greater than myself. Together, they helped rescue me from my own insanity.

In the book, Twelve Jewish Steps of Recovery, Rabbi Kerry Olitzky writes, “It doesn’t matter if God has a long white beard, what matters is there’s someone beyond you and beside you.  You just have to connect with it.”  I realized that day that it’s irrelevant whether I am Catholic or Jewish; Born Again or Atheist. What’s most important is that I’m not alone.

Read Patty’s first post of this series here.

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by Lauren King

And then I was born…. and the cycle continued.

My name is Lauren and my dad was an alcoholic.  Watching him drink was as normal as breathing.  I can remember the daily progression of his love affair with alcohol.   From the time he stopped at the gas station to pick up his twelve pack of beer, to the quick onset of the slurring of his words, to finally passing out to the point that not even an earthquake could wake him up.  All of this was very confusing for me as a young girl but there was one thing that I was sure of.  I knew his drinking took precedence and that was because he was an alcoholic.

The one truth that I carried with me into my teens was that I never wanted to grow up and be like my dad, a drunk.  What I found out once I started drinking myself was that I had an uncontrollable desire to drink just like my father did.  The best way I can describe it is that I craved alcohol like a vampire craves blood.  I needed it to sustain me.  I needed it to help me cope with my feelings.  I needed it to converse with others.  I needed it to feel normal in my own skin.  The big question was, how could I hate my father’s alcoholism so much, yet end up with the same addiction that he was battling?

My addiction came hard and fast.  Starting at fourteen it progressed to the point that at the age of seventeen I found myself standing at a crossroads in my life.  Get sober or die.  I knew that if I didn’t get sober that I was going to end up overdosing or going to sleep one night and not waking up from all the damage that the drugs and alcohol were doing to my body.  Standing at that fork in the road, one path looked dark and the other had a light at the end of it.  It was the light of hope.  As I chose the path of recovery I knew that I wanted the cycle to end with me.  I now have two beautiful girls of my own and know that I may one day face the fact that this disease may slam right into their generation.  As a family we are now armed with information along with hope, which are two of the most important tools to have in our arsenal to help us fight against this disease from ravaging our family once again.

Lauren King the co-author with her mother of ADDICTED LIKE ME, A Mother-Daughter Story Of Substance Abuse and Recovery (www.addictedlikeme.com), has spent the past twelve years living a sober life. She is currently pursuing a degree in Chemical Dependency. She lives in Surprise, Arizona, with her husband and two daughters.

by Karen Franklin

My father’s alcoholism was an embarrassment.  Some families had their dirty little secrets but my dad was so extreme with his drinking that I felt like everyone knew, which made it feel even more humiliating.  My family lived in a two-story house with my mom’s brother and family upstairs.  I imagined what they must have thought as they listened to my father’s drunken rages against our family.  I hated everything about alcohol; how it smelled, how it tasted and how my father behaved when he drank it.

So how did it happen that I too touched the bottle to my lips at the age of thirteen and became an instant alcoholic?  I was smarter though because I didn’t need to drink every day, only when I felt I needed it.  I moved far away and married a man who was a quieter version of my father and we started a family.  His increased drinking and abuse of drugs soon disillusioned me.  If he was the problem, why did I still feel so empty after I divorced  him?  I curtailed my partying as I took on the role of single parent and breadwinner while creating an illusion that my life was under control.  That worked well until the addiction started to show up in my young teenagers.

When the pain of watching my children being consumed by addiction became greater than my occasional need to self medicate, I knew that it was time to break the cycle.  I understood that my family was once again being destroyed by addiction and it was time to take action to stop this legacy of pain.  I became willing to take whatever action was needed. My sobriety date is one month behind my daughter Lauren.

In a way… I guess you could say we saved each other.

Karen Franklin, the co-author with her daughter of ADDICTED LIKE ME, A Mother-Daughter Story Of Substance Abuse and Recovery (www.addictedlikeme.com), has spent the past twenty-one years recovering from the legacy of her family addiction. She resides in Phoenix, Arizona, with her husband and has committed her life to helping others in their personal recovery process.

Just in time for the holiday season, so full of liquid temptations: a new drug called naltrexone was approved by the FDA for use in the treatment of alcoholism. If taken daily, naltrexone can curb the urge to drink. The drug works by blocking the effect of drugs, known as opioids, on the brain. While it is not meant to take the place of AA, psychotherapy and other treatments for alcoholism, naltrexone–which is generally used for a 3 month period–can lessen cravings for alcohol. In clinical trials, patients using naltrexone to curb cravings were twice as successful as patients taking a placebo.

Time Magazine named Naltrexone as one of the health highlights of 2009. And given the statistics on alcoholism–in the U.S. alone, 14 million residents are battling an alcohol addiction–naltrexone will most likely be welcomed as a powerful weapon in the battle against this tough disease.