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This is not the festive blog topic you may have been hoping for and that I had even hoped to write, but I can’t get this Penn State scandal out of my mind and it weighs heavy on my heart. So, this post is one that is very important as we go into the holidays and you think about the men you know and love, as well as yourself (if applicable).
By now, everyone has heard about the egregious behavior and massive cover-up at Penn State involving the beloved Joe Paterno and his heir apparent, Jerry Sandusky. Sandusky, as it is only alleged at this time (though there is a very compelling grand jury report,) is said to have sexually abused numerous young boys over multiple decades. This posting is not about whether Sandusky is guilty — I will let a court of law determine that and pray to God that justice is served.
This posting is not about Sandusky at all. However, while the flurry of 24-7 news stories on the scandal has decreased dramatically, there will no doubt be another deluge of stories with the most salacious and graphic details once the actual court case gets underway. And just this past week, two more men came forward accusing Mr. Sandusky of sexual abuse.
My biggest concern from the moment this story started airing was what it was doing to all of the men and boys across the country — and even the world — who suffer from undiagnosed and untreated trauma, especially those who have been sexually abused. Many of these men have no recollection that they have had such traumatic experiences. How many men were being triggered – and acting out in any number of ways as a result of the blast of coverage? It is hard to say what the true statistics are but I am confident that the majority of the estimated percentages for boys’ childhood sexual abuse are a far cry from the actual number of boys and young men who are carrying around the horrible scars of sexual abuse. Here are some of the different ways men could be affected:
▪ Increased use of alcohol or other drugs
▪ Relapse (back into active addiction – substance, sex, gambling, etc.)
▪ Those men who have been working through abuse histories could find themselves struggling with significant memories or emotional outbursts
▪ Isolation
▪ Exacerbation of mental health issues
▪ Abusive behavior, including acting out sexually in different ways including, unfortunately, sexual abuse
▪ Obsessive viewing and talking about the scandal, the people involved, and extreme opinions about the alleged perpetrator and/or victims
Our society has systematically pretended that boys and men don’t suffer from sexual abuse. We have this pervasive disparaging opinion about boys and men who suffer abuse and honestly express how it has affected them as weak and whining. That keeps a lot of men — especially those men regarded as ‘macho’”— silent and stuck in their suffering. And, as I have stated many times, when men suffer we tend to take our suffering out on others.
Here are five ways to support a man who has suffered abuse in the past:
▪ Help him find a forum for him to talk about it in a way that is safe for him, ideally with other men who have had similar experiences.
▪ If he is showing signs of problematic use of alcohol and other drugs, talk to him directly. Find an expert or someone in recovery to offer coaching on how to have the conversation or who can even be present with you as you have the conversation.
▪ Help him get help. Men can have so many barriers — many of which hit them at the core of their being and their masculinity — to seeking help. Do everything you can to see the strength and courage it takes to get help and reinforce that message to him.
▪ Watch the Oprah Winfrey episode from earlier this year where two hundred men came forward about being sexually abused while their loved ones, many of whom never knew, were in another room listening and watching. Watch the full show here.
▪ If the man has already done a lot of work through therapy, recovery, and/or his faith, honor him for his courage and strength and let him know how much you love and respect him.
It may be hard right now to see something like this scandal as a gift, but it is certainly up to us if we decide whether any good comes from it. If a tragedy such as this creates an opening for boys and men to be better able to talk about any and all kinds of abuse, then that is definitely something very good. While the Catholic clergy scandals have opened the door, the fact that this latest scandal took place in the domain of one of our country’s most hallowed masculine religions blows the door open — it shows that abuse and experiencing abuse are not about strength or some aberrant behavior of an aberrant population. They can happen to anyone, be perpetrated by anyone, and are more than likely happening all over the world right now, literally. The secrets keep the sickness alive and destroy the individual from the inside. It is time to end the silence once and for all but let’s make sure that men and their families are safe and supported in the midst of the cacophony.

By Yashar Ali
I don’t like to drink. I don’t like the taste of alcohol. And, outside of a handful of memorable, drinking stories that my friends and I repeatedly share with each other, I don’t get drunk and I don’t like to get drunk. I also don’t like the loss of time that comes with a hangover and the loss of control that comes with drinking.

And it’s not because I have a drinking problem. I never have. I just don’t like drinking alcohol; it’s simply not part of my life.
Even though I am in my early 30s, I still face this incredible pressure–by my peers –to drink. I am talking about the kind of pressure we’re reminded of when we think of teenagers, college students, or those in their early twenties, and how our friends, during this phase of our lives, were pushing us to drink.

Although we often think peer pressure in drinking is tied to a younger more footloose group, to those who are twenty-something and still finding themselves, I’ve discovered through my own experience and through learning about the experiences of my readers, that age and professional status really plays no role in whether someone will pressure or be pressured. Men and women in there 30s, 40s, and 50s are doing the pressuring.

It seems to me that social pressure to drink is more a cultural issue than an age issue.

I even have friends who claim they could never be in relationship with a person who doesn’t drink. Because that’s what they think a solid relationship is built on: consumption of alcohol.

In Western adult social culture, alcohol is a primary and important component of being part of a group, where people who are not interested in alcohol or dislike the taste, are subject to pressure to drink. They, in turn, are forced to find or create what are deemed “legitimate reasons” for not joining in with the drinking. Failure to drink creates a barrier between the drinkers and those people, who, for various reasons, choose not to drink alcohol.

Why are we judging and pressuring people who don’t drink? And why do we make them justify or explain their reasons for refusing alcohol?

Alcohol (and drinking) is a part of the wide range of social pressures in our culture, and it’s part of the fabric of many people’s lives. However, it’s not an insignificant thing to ask and pressure someone else to drink.
I get that alcohol helps people loosen up in social settings, but it creates a barrier between people who choose to drink and people who don’t. And this barrier sets the tone for who talks to and who hangs out with whom. It’s as if alcohol is the social glue that keeps us together, and if we don’t have it and are faced with some people who drink and some people who don’t, things seem to get off-balance and uncomfortable.

The idea of someone who doesn’t drink is so foreign to some people that we sometimes falsely assume that the person who is not drinking has a past of alcohol abuse or we force these non-drinkers to constantly explain themselves.

Mindy, a reader from Chicago in her early 30s, often deals with new friends or colleagues who assume she was an alcoholic or member of A.A. because she chooses not to drink.

So when it comes to socializing, do we only have two categories for people: sober alcoholic or drinker? There are so many people that fall in between these two categories; they’re not really sober, but they’re also not active drinkers.

A friend of mine who works in corporate advertising commented on the pressure she feels when ordering a glass of water or lemonade at a restaurant with colleagues and everyone else is ordering wine or a cocktail: “I’m made to feel like I’m not an adult.”

Susie, a 38 year-old paralegal found herself being excluded from activities at work, because she barely drank.

“You won’t want to come out tonight because you don’t drink,” she would hear from her co-workers in an almost sympathetic tone. (She would always be included in activities that didn’t include heavy drinking.)
“I can still have a good time without drinking. It’s not like I’m standing there with my arms crossed at a bar, frowning. I just wonder if they feel judged if I am not doing shots with them and that’s why I’m not being included.”

For Susie and other people in her situation, the social interaction between colleagues, the same interaction that often aides people in their careers, is something that is stripped from her. Unless she’s willing to drink to intoxication, people just don’t feel comfortable having her around, and so Susie misses out on one part of professional networking.

My friend Erin, who is in her late 30s, found her second pregnancy to be the saving grace, in terms of alleviating the pressure that comes with drinking: “I find it a relief now that I’m visibly six months pregnant, because I can point to my belly and say, ‘Sorry, I can’t!’”

“It will be a drag when I have to go back to explaining to people, ‘No really, I just don’t like it.’”

Having an excuse, whether it’s an illness or pregnancy, seems to offer a reprieve to those who don’t want to drink. But it still doesn’t make sense to me. I understand (but don’t accept) the social pressure to drink during high school and college-age years, but why are adults so obsessed with their friends, family, and colleagues drinking?

And why do there seem to be real, social consequences for people who don’t care to learn the difference between a Chardonnay and a Cabernet?

Originally appeared at The Current Conscience.

Full Article & Comments: http://goodmenproject.com/ethics-values/wait-dont-you-want-a-drink-man/

The rushing call of Beaver Creek can be heard a mile away. It is early September after a heavy night of rain and the valley is shrouded in a gentle mist rising from the surface of rushing waters of the creek. The entire mesa feels different today as though everything changed during the humid night. When various sounds, sights, smells and all other sensations change so quickly it is as though the Great Creator wants us to become aware and prayerful. Some may think the river is just part of the landscape and although the unmistakable sound is truly remarkable, it is just another sound with no spiritual message. Others believe we are called from thoughts of the self and our immediate surroundings, to a higher level of spiritual awareness. So what is the river trying to say to us? Perhaps it speaks many languages to a variety of different people, according to their interpretation.

Red Jacket, who was a well known Seneca speaker during the formation of the Indian reservations in this country, once said this: “The Great Spirit will not punish us for what we do not know.” He was talking about the teachings of the European missionaries at a time when most American Indian people were just learning to speak English. Many serious misunderstandings and badly negotiated treaties came about as the result of a serious language barrier at that time in history. Today we are blessed with the availability of higher education, involvement with politics and the media, and many of these things are slowly being reconciled. Understanding one another can be a difficult journey at best. Also bringing reconciliation through negotiations can span generations and many people will pass on before recognizing the changes they hoped and dreamed for their children and future generations of native people. Still, the river sings and calls to us just as it always has throughout time. The song is the same to every nationality, Tribe and race.

We know that the river has the power to change the course of the land and that each drop combined with all the others can carve great change. The Grand Canyon was carved by the combining of some drops of water. Each drop contains it’s own story, it’s own history, but together they are a mighty force. We knew a young newcomer to recovery some years ago on the reservation. Once he was sober and his thinking began to heal, he decided to go visit his elder and try to return to his traditional Tribal ways. The language of his people was quickly disappearing. The elder told him to listen to the river and he would hear the songs of Creation in his language and the old ways would return to him. Many of us believe that the dances, songs and stories of our ancestors can be heard in the whisperings of the wind and the songs of the river.

However we learn to connect through the twelve steps, to a Power Greater than ourselves, we become healed. Just like Red Jacket said, we are not judged or condemned by a lack of formal training, a different language or knowledge of Creation. Good Orderly Direction (God) is free from the confines of organized religion or language. This spiritual fact sometimes brings us back to the religion or culture of our childhood with an entirely new perspective. We have the opportunity to understand with a enlightened heart, what we could never have achieved by our own will. Something truly divine has planted the understanding within us, that we have been healed by recovery, in ways quite supernatural. The sound of the fast-moving river this morning reminded me to pay attention to the Spirit of Creation within me, according to my own understanding. The song is one of peace and renewal.

http://frandancingfeather.com/call-of-the-river/

I started drinking when I was around eleven years old. I stayed with my brother and his wife just outside of Gallup, New Mexico. We were poor. The smell of beans and fresh tortillas symbolized home to me. I slept in a bed with three other children, where we huddled close to keep warm in the freezing winter. The snow was deep around us.

I had a hard time reading and understanding school work, so I skipped school every chance I got. My dad and grandma had told me the old stories about the longhouse and the travels of our people across the deserts and mountains of this country. I met a boy and together we ditched school and stole a truck. We drank tequila and explored the red mesas together. Sometimes we sat in the shade of the trading post directly across the street from the tracks. When the train rumbled through the dusty small town near the reservation, it promised glamorous places far away.

When I was fifteen years old, I arrived alone in San Francisco with a guitar, a small suitcase, and $30. I went to several taverns and coffeehouses in search of a job singing. I believed I could pursue a career as a performer. Three days later I found myself sleeping in a doorway to stay out of the rain that had fallen all day. I was broke and cold, and had nowhere else to go. The only thing I had left was my pride, which prevented me from trying to reach my brother by phone or finding my way back to the only people who ever really knew me.

Sometime in the middle of the long, restless night, a kindly middle-aged white man laid his hand on my shoulder. “Come on, young lady,” he said. “Let’s get you to someplace warm and get you something to eat.” The price he asked in return seemed little, considering the cold rainy night behind me. I left his hotel with $50 in my hand. Thus began a long and somewhat profitable career in prostitution. After working all night, I would drink to forget what I had to do to pay the rent until the sunrise brought sleep. The weeks passed.

I started stealing and robbed a gas station and a liquor store. I made very few friends. I had learned to trust no one. One night, around eight o’clock, a car pulled up to the curb just as I had settled myself, half drunk, against the wall of a building. I figured I had met my companion for the evening. We made the appropriate conversation to confirm the deal, and I got into the car. Suddenly I felt a deafening blow to my temple. I was knocked senseless. In a desolate area across town, I was pulled from the car, pistol whipped, and left to die in the mud with rain falling softly upon me. I came to in a hospital room with bars on the windows. I spent seven weeks there, having repeated surgeries and barely recognizing my surroundings each time I woke up. Finally, when I was able to walk around a little, a policewoman came and I was taken to county jail. It was my third arrest in two months. Nearly two years on the streets had taken its toll.

The judge said I could not be rehabilitated, and I was charged with eighteen counts of felony. I would not see the streets again for nearly twenty-six months. I was seventeen years old. The first few months I would have done just about anything for a drink. I knew I was powerless over the drugs, but I really couldn’t see what harm there was in alcohol. In the summer I was released. I wasn’t sure where I was going, but a nice cold beer sure sounded like a refreshing celebration of freedom. I bought a six-pack and a bus ticket.

When I got off the bus, I got a waitressing job in a bar. By the end of my first shift, however, I had enough money to get a bottle and a sleazy motel room nearby.

A few weeks later I saw him, the only Indian I had met in a very long time. He was leaning over a pool table when I came to work. I put on my apron, grabbed a tray, and headed straight for him to see if he needed a refill.

“Who let you off the reservation?” he asked. I was furious, humiliated, and embarrassed.

That man became the father of my first-born child. My relationship with him lasted only a few months and was the first of many mutually abusive relationships that would continue over the next few years. I found myself alone, drunk, homeless, and pregnant in a matter of weeks. Afraid that I would wind up back in jail, I went to live with my brother and sister- in-law.

My brother had gotten a very good job and moved to Hawaii. My son was born there, and on the day of his birth, I found my purpose in life: I was born to be a mom. He was beautiful. Straight black hair and dark eyes. I had never felt like this in my life. I could put my past behind me once again and move forward into a new life with my child.

After a year or so I became bored with my life in the islands and the guy I had been dating. I said goodbye to my waitress job and my family, and moved to California with my one-year-old son.

I needed transportation, but cars cost too much money. Where could I get lots of money? It did not seem appropriate to go back to prostitution in the same town where I was raising my son. I could take the bus to the next town, work all night, and come home in the morning if I could get someone to watch my little boy. The night job paid well. As long as I didn’t work close to home where my child would attend school, everything would be fine. Also, I could drink on the job. I kept the welfare, though, because it provided health insurance.

I did quite well financially. After one year I found a beautiful large apartment that had a view of the ocean, bought a new car and a purebred Collie dog. The social workers started getting very nosy. I could not figure out what their problem was. I led a double life. By day I was super-mom, and by night I was a drunken hooker.

I met a wonderful man at the beach, and we fell in love. Everything was like heaven on earth until he asked where I worked! Of course, I lied. I told him I worked for the government and held a top security clearance, which required complete secrecy. That’s why I had to work nights, undercover, out of town, on weekends. Now, maybe he would stop asking so many questions. But instead he proposed.

We moved in together and my working arrangements became nearly impossible to live with. So did my conscience. One night on my way to work, I sat in rush-hour traffic on the freeway. I broke down in tears and felt all the lies of my life burst open inside of me. I hated myself and I wanted to die. I couldn’t tell him the truth, but I couldn’t continue to lie to him either. Suddenly a great light came on. It was the best idea I had ever had. I got off the freeway at the next ramp, drove home, and told him I got fired! He took it well, and we celebrated with a huge bottle of wine.

It took a lot of booze to cover the nightmares of my past, but I was sure I could get around this small problem before long. I never did. The relationship broke up over my drinking, and I packed my little car and moved myself, my son, our dog, and three cats to the mountains.

This mountain town was a place I had visited as a child with Dad and Grandma. Memories of the stories of my childhood and our Indian people flooded in. I got a job cleaning cabins for a local resort lodge and got back on welfare. Shortly after our move, my son started school. By this time I was consuming nearly a fifth of tequila each day, and blackouts were occurring on a regular basis.

One day I got up as usual. The last thing I remember was feeling so shaky I could hardly stand up. I ate a tablespoon of honey, hoping it would give me the necessary sugar rush. The next conscious memory was the emergency room. They said I was suffering from malnutrition. I was nearly thirty pounds underweight. They had the audacity to ask me how much I drank! What could that possibly have to do with anything? I promised I would never do it again.

For the first time in my life, I tried very hard to quit drinking. After a few days of shakes and nausea, I decided that a shot of tequila wouldn’t hurt. I had managed to put on a little weight, but six months later I collapsed and was diagnosed with a bleeding ulcer. I was in the hospital for four days that time. They told me that if I didn’t stop drinking, I would probably die.

My son called his grandparents, and they traveled to the mountains to visit us. I had not seen them for years. We got along much better than I expected. The relationship they formed with my son was incredible. My dad took his grandson hiking in the wilderness, and mom helped out with looking after him while I worked. My health continued to fail. My parents wound up moving to our town in an attempt to help their grandson and me.

My dad and I decided to go to a Native American gathering. I hadn’t been to one of these pow wows since I was a child. When we heard the drums and watched the dancers, I felt some great passion well up inside me. I felt like an outsider. I wanted a drink. I wore my hair down to my waist and wore a lot of turquoise jewelry I had collected over the years. I looked like the people, but I certainly didn’t feel like one of them. I felt as if they all knew something I didn’t.

In an effort to prove I was getting better, I started hitting the streets again in order to make more money. I told my parents that I was going down the mountain to visit friends. I received my third arrest for drunk driving on one of the trips back, after working all weekend. The night in jail seemed a long time to go without a drink.

Weeks and months passed, and the blackouts continued getting worse. Then I met a man in a local bar. I didn’t like him very well, but he had quite a lot of money, and he sure liked me. He took me to nice restaurants and brought me expensive gifts. As long as I had a buzz on, with a few drinks, I could tolerate him.

One thing led to another, and we wound up married. The most powerful motive I had was getting out of the streets and being provided for. I had begun to think I did not have much longer to live. The faces of my doctors were looking more and more grim every time I went into the hospital to dry out.

The marriage was a farce, and it didn’t take long for this man to figure that out. Someone had told him about my past, and he demanded to know the truth. I was tired, nauseated, and drunk. I just didn’t care anymore, so I admitted everything. We fought every day after that, and my visits to the hospital became more frequent. One afternoon I decided I no longer wanted to live and got the gun from over the fireplace. I owe my life to the man I had married. He heard my child scream from out back and came running into the house. He grabbed the gun and wrestled it away from me. I was numb and couldn’t figure out what had happened. My son was taken away from me by the authorities, and I was placed in a locked ward for the criminally insane. I spent three days there on legal hold.

After I was released, most of the next few weeks was a blur. One night I caught my husband with another woman. We fought and I followed him in my car and tried to run him down, right in the middle of the main street in town. The incident caused a six-car pileup, and when the law caught up with me later, I was sent to the locked ward again. I do not remember arriving there, and when I woke up, I didn’t know where I was. I was tied to a table with restraints around my wrists, both ankles, and my neck. They shot heavy drugs into my veins and kept me like that for a long time. I was released five days later. When I left, there was no one there to drive me home, so I hitchhiked. The house was dark and locked, and no one was anywhere around to let me in. I got a bottle and sat in the snow on the back porch and drank.

One day I decided I’d better go to the laundromat and wash some clothes. There was a woman there with a couple of kids. She moved around quickly, folding clothes and stacking them neatly in a couple of huge baskets. Where did she get her energy? Suddenly I realized I had to put my clothes into the dryers. I couldn’t remember which washers I had put them in. I looked into probably twenty different washers. I made up my mind how to handle the situation. I would stay here until everyone else had left. I would keep whatever clothes were left behind, as well as my own. As the other woman finished her tasks, she was writing something down on a small piece of paper. She loaded her baskets and kids into her car, and came back into the laundromat. She came right up to me and handed me the small blue paper. I couldn’t make out what it said. I smiled politely and slurred a friendly “Thank you.” Later I made out the telephone number and the handwritten message below: “If you ever want to stop drinking, call Alcoholics Anonymous, 24 hours a day.”

Why had she given me this, and what made her think I was drinking? Couldn’t she see that my bottle was soda? Of all the nerve! I was mortified! I folded the paper neatly and put it in the back pocket of my jeans. As the next few weeks passed, I became sicker by the day. One morning I woke up alone as usual. I hadn’t seen my husband in a long time. I needed a drink, and the bottle on the bedside table was dry. I rose on my shaky legs, but they refused to hold my weight. I fell to the floor and began crawling around the house looking for a bottle. Nothing! This meant I had to leave the house and get to a store.

I found my empty purse on the floor, but I knew I could never make it to the car. I became terrified. Who could I call? I never saw any friends anymore, and there was no way I could call family. I remembered the number in the pocket of my jeans. I hadn’t even gotten dressed for several days. Where were the jeans?

I searched the house until I found them on the floor of the bedroom. The number was in the pocket. After three tries I managed to dial the number. A woman’s voice answered.

“I . . . uh . . . got this number from you . . . uh . . . Is this A.A.?” I asked.

“Yes. Do you want to stop drinking?”

“Please, yes. I need help. Oh, God.” I felt the fiery tears run down my face.

Five minutes later she pulled into my driveway. She must have been some kind of an angel. How had she appeared from nowhere that day in the laundromat? How had she known? How had I kept her number all that time without losing it?

The A.A. woman made sure I had no more alcohol in the house. She was very tough on me for a long time. I went to meetings every day and started taking the steps. The First Step showed me that I was powerless over alcohol and anything else that threatened my sobriety or muddled my thinking. Alcohol was only a symptom of much deeper problems of dishonesty and denial. Now it was a matter of coming to grips with a Power greater than myself. That was very hard for me. How could all these white people even begin to think they could understand me? So they brought a sober Indian woman up to work with me for a day. That was a very powerful day. That Indian woman cut me no slack at all. I will never forget her. She convinced me I was not unique. She said these white folks were the best thing that ever happened to me.

“Where would you be without them?” she asked. “What are the alternatives? You got any better ideas for yourself? How many Indians do you know who are going to help you sober up?” At the time, I couldn’t think of any. I surrendered behind the tears of no answers and decided to do it their way. I found the Power greater than myself to be the magic above the heads of the people in the meetings. I chose to call that magic Great Spirit.

The Twelve Steps worked like a crowbar, prying into my dishonesty and fear. I didn’t like the things I learned about myself, but I didn’t want to go back where I had come from. I found out that there was no substance on the planet that could help me get honest. I would do just about anything to avoid working on myself.

The thing that kept me sober until I got a grip on honesty was the love in the rooms of Alcoholics Anonymous. I made some friends for the first time in my life. Real friends that cared, even when I was broke and feeling desperate. At twenty-two months of sobriety, I was finally able to complete an honest inventory. The Fifth Step enabled me to see my part in my resentments and fears. In the chapter “How It Works,” in the Big Book, I was shown some questions. The answers to these questions provided me with knowledge about my reactions to the conditions in my life. Every response to every resentment, real or imagined, had been sick and self-destructive. I was allowing others to control my sense of well-being and behavior. I came to understand that the behavior, opinions, and thoughts of others were none of my business. The only business I was to be concerned with was my own! I asked my Higher Power to remove from me everything that stood in the way of my usefulness to Him and others, and to help me build a new life.

I met my current husband in an A.A. meeting. Together we carry the message to Indian people on reservations all over the country. I started at the fifth-grade level in school when I had been sober nearly two years. After college I started my own business. Today I publish the books I write. Our daughter was born during my early sobriety, and she is in high school now. She has never seen her mother take a drink. Our family has returned to the spirituality of our ancestors. We attend sweat lodges and other ancient ceremonies with our people on sovereign native land. We take panels of sober Natives into Indian boarding schools and institutions, and share about recovery.

My life is filled with honesty today. Every action, word, prayer, and Twelfth Step call is an investment in my spiritual freedom and fulfillment. I am in love and proud to be a Native American. At an A.A. meeting on an Indian reservation, I heard the words “Sobriety is traditional.” I stand at the top of the sacred mountain, and I listen to the wind. I have a conscious daily contact with my Creator today, and He loves me. Everything is sacred as a result of the Twelve Steps and the love and recovery in Alcoholics Anonymous.

http://frandancingfeather.com/listening-to-the-wind/

Let these words from Native American poet, Joy Harjo sink deeply in. She writes from her personal experience of fear. Change the details to match your experience, but keep the essence of her message.

I release you, my beautiful and terrible fear.

I release you.

You were my beloved and hated twin, but now, I don’t know you as myself.

I release you with all the pain I would know at the death of my daughters.

You are not my blood anymore.

I give you back to the white soldiers who burned down my home, beheaded my children, raped and sodomized my brothers and sisters.

I give you back to those who stole the food from our plates when we were starving

I release you, fear, because you hold these scenes in front of me and I was born with eyes that can never close.

I release you, fear, so you can no longer keep me naked and frozen in the winter, or smothered under blankets in the summer.

I release you I release you I release you I release you

I am not afraid to be angry.

I am not afraid to rejoice.

I am not afraid to be black

I am not afraid to be white.

I am not afraid to be hungry.

I am not afraid to be full.

I am not afraid to be hated.

I am not afraid to be loved, to be loved, to be loved, and fear.

Oh, you have choked me, but I gave you the leash.

You have gutted me but I gave you the knife.

You have devoured me, but I laid myself across the fire.

I take myself back, fear.

You are not my shadow any longer.

I won’t hold you in my hands.

You can’t live in my eyes, my ears, my voice my belly, or in my heart my heart my heart my heart.

But come here fear. I am alive and you are so afraid of dying.

The idea of six degrees of separation is that anyone on the planet can be connected to any other person on the planet by a chain of no more than five acquaintances. In 1967 the American sociologist Stanley Milgram created a test called “The small-world problem.” He randomly selected people in the mid-West to send packages to a stranger in Massachusetts. They were told only the recipient’s name, occupation and general location. They were instructed to send the package to someone they knew only on a first name basis, who would then send it on to another, and so on until the package finally got to the recipient. While it was expected that the chain would be at least 100 people long, Milgram actually found that the range was from 2 to 10, with 5 being the average. His study inspired the phrase, “Six Degrees of Separation.”

Various forms of the theory have been tested and confirmed in the decades since. Most recently, Microsoft analyzed 30 billion Instant Messenger conversations in one month in 2006. They claim that they captured about half of the whole world’s IM communication for that month. They confirmed that the average chain of connection between IM users was 6.6. Yahoo and Facebook are now creating their own test of the theory.

The mind boggles. It’s a small world, but as comedian Steven Wright said, “I wouldn’t want to paint it.” You can do your own Six Degrees of Separation exercise. When you’re at a party or work function, strike up a conversation with someone you don’t know, and find out how many degrees of separation there are between you. Ask questions about where they live, where they exercise, hairdressers, doctors, schools, what town they grew up in etc. until you find a common acquaintance.

The idea of six degrees of separation is incredibly empowering. That elusive answer you’ve been looking for, the guidance, connection, support, inspiration, are all closer to you than you imagine. Sometimes you have to step out of your comfort zone and connect with someone new or some new place just to remind yourself that you live in an awesome universe that is open and generous, and that sometimes strangers or unlikely acquaintances bring you surprising gifts. There is enormous value in connecting with a diverse group of people and traveling to new places. It expands you and your experience of life. It reminds you that you live in a small but miraculous world and there is always more to learn.

Six degrees of separation is also motivating. If you understand the power you have to influence others, you can choose what you want to share. Because studies now show that happiness is literally contagious across your extended network, up to three degrees of separation. One study showed that if you are happy, your friends are 25% more likely to be happy as a result and your friends’ friends are 10% more likely to be happy even if they don’t even know you. So, given that we are all connected by six degrees of separation and happiness reaches across three degrees of separation, two people at opposite ends of a social network should be able to pass happiness back and forth among the network like a vibrating chain. Choose to share happiness and optimism. Spread it like a virus for good. Interconnectedness is not just a human experience.

“All differences in this world are of degree, and not of kind, because oneness is the secret of everything” Swami Vivekananda

Copyright 2010 by Ian Lawton. All rights reserved.

By Missy Wilkerson

Described in the Alcoholics Anonymous Big Book as “cunning, baffling, powerful,” addiction often seems as inscrutable as the human mind itself. Its reach is widespread: Else Pedersen, executive director of Bridge House, estimates 10 to 15 percent of the population has an addiction. “We all either have this or have some strong primary connection to it,” she says. “This is everywhere, and it needs to be dealt with like the medical issue it is. We need to give it the same attention we give other diseases that are progressive, pervasive and potentially lethal.”

Last month, The American Society of Addiction Medicine (ASAM) made a big step toward widespread recognition of addiction as a medical issue rather than a behavioral issue or moral failing. It released a new definition which states addiction is a chronic, underlying, largely genetic brain disease.

“The disease is about brains, not drugs,” former president of ASAM Dr. Michael Miller stated in a press release. “It’s about underlying neurology, not outward actions.” Miller oversaw a four-year effort by more than 80 addiction experts and neuroscience researchers which yielded the new definition.

Dr. Ken Roy, medical director of Addiction Recovery Resources Incorporated in Metairie, calls it a game-changer.

“This is a definition based on a consensus of expert opinion and scientific literature that changes the understanding of addiction from a choice or a self-treatment to a condition of brain structures that basically compels behavior outside the ability to choose,” he says. “It’s also pivotal in the sense that it equates a compulsion to use chemicals with compulsions to have other kinds of behaviors such as food or gambling or sex. (It is) the same disease state. Addiction is not a choice.”

The new definition reveals addiction to be a primary disease, much like diabetes or cardiovascular disease. It can be a root cause behind other behavioral, social and psychological problems like depression, cognitive distortions, social isolation and anxiety. According to ASAM’s definition, “genetic factors account for about half the likelihood that an individual will develop addiction” — meaning if one of your parents is or was an addict, you are genetically predisposed to developing addiction.

Since addiction has physical, neurobiological causes, one would expect the brains of addicts to function differently than the brains of non-addicts. This is exactly what happens, says Dr. Howard Wetsman, medical director at Townsend, a network of local outpatient addiction treatment centers. Many (not all) addicts have a morphology (or mutation) in the genes associated with the production, release, reuptake and metabolizing of dopamine, a neurotransmitter associated with pleasure and reward. Wetsman refers to the intricate factors governing normal dopamine levels as “dopamine tone.”

“Generally, people who have a low dopamine tone are not able to make great attachments and feel rewards from normally rewarding activities, and that is when the drug or behavior comes along,” he says. ” Our society likes to think that drugs cause addiction. It’s actually the other way around for most people with addiction. The addiction causes the drug use,” he writes in his book, QAA: Questions and Answers on Addiction.

The genetic factor is so pervasive that Wetsman has instituted genetic testing as part of Townsend’s intake procedure. “The test identifies two dozen genetic mutations in the brain that relate to symptoms of addiction,” says John Antonucci, an intake coordinator at Townsend who also is recovering from addiction. “This information helps fine-tune medical interventions, and it is amazing when you take a patient and their family members, and they realize it really is a biological brain disease. I like to equate it to seeing the X-ray when you have a broken arm. And I have seen family members break down and cry when they realize all this time, their kids weren’t doing this to spite them. They were doing it because they were sick.”

Though Antonucci says nine out of 10 of Townsend’s patients report addiction in their family trees, there are some addicts without a family history or genetic indication of the disease (but because addiction can express itself through many different compulsions, from overeating to compulsive spending, it can sometimes be hard to trace, Wetsman says). New Orleans native, Xavier University alumnus, father of five and recovering addict Darryl Rouson, now a Florida state representative, had no known family history of addiction.

“My mother was known to cut her beer with 7-Up, and my dad drank three or four times a year,” says Rouson, who began drinking and using cocaine in the ’80s. “I wasn’t drinking for the social nature, I wanted the effect, and I wanted it quickly, and for a long time. For me, it started out filling what I thought were voids in my life, low self-esteem: I never thought I was cute enough, strong enough, athletic enough or smart enough, and I was always doing things to compensate for these lacks.”

Rouson says he has been through eight treatment programs and is well-versed in the genetic component of addiction, but he has never been tested for the morphologies. Though genetic testing can provide clarity to a diagnosis of addiction, and a basis for what medications will best normalize individuals’ brain chemistry, neither testing nor medications are necessary for recovery. “There are millions of people who have gotten sober by going to 12-step meetings (like Alcoholics Anonymous or Narcotics Anonymous). For some people, that works,” says Jo Cohen, clinical director of New Orleans Bridge House and Grace House. “We support the science, but like everything else in treatment, it’s an individualized approach.”

Although people do not choose to become addicts, they do have choices over how they manage the disease. Addiction requires ongoing treatment, which varies from person to person — some may benefit from ongoing use of medications like Suboxone, some may require long-term inpatient treatment, others may stay sober simply by attending 12-step meetings. Antonucci stresses that a strong routine of recovery-related activities like meetings or volunteering helps people maintain sobriety, as does access to help from addiction doctors. “This is a chronic disease like diabetes or hypertension,” he says. “If you are diabetic, you get exercise and take insulin, but there are times you need to check up with your endocrinologist.”

Rouson manages his addiction by attending 12-step meetings, sponsoring other recovering addicts, reading Alcoholics Anonymous literature, and giving back to the community by sharing his story at prisons and recovery centers. He will speak at Xavier Wednesday, Sept. 14, to celebrate National Recovery Month.

“One of the critical reasons why I got clean was I was given a choice,” he says. “(My wife) Ruby was dead and I had taken her $80,000 life insurance policy and spent $60,000 on cocaine. I was in a courtroom with my wife’s family and they were trying to convince the judge to take my four-year-old son. The judge said I could either choose Daniel or drugs, but after today, I would not have both. I chose my son.”

Antonucci and Rouson both say their community outreach work, which is a tenant of Alcoholics Anonymous (the 12th step states, “Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all our affairs”), is essential to their ongoing sobriety. And though there may seem to be a disconnect between the scientific, biologically based addiction definition and the spiritually based 12-step programs, ASAM’s research scientically supports the activities recovering addicts undertake in 12-step recovery programs as ways to maintain sobriety.

“Our medical approach to addiction dovetails very nicely into 12-step recovery, because there is a scientific basis behind how it works,” Antonucci says. “Part of my recovery is, I serve food to homeless people every Saturday night, and afterwards, I feel great. Why do I feel great? My hedonic tone has gone up. Doing something really healthy for the community has changed my brain chemistry.”

Wetsman agrees that engaging in charitable activities can normalize dopamine levels. “You get dopamine lowering from being isolated and feeling less-than,” he says. “You can’t feel isolated and less than when you help somebody else — dopamine receptors actually physically gain in number. The receptors are much more plastic than we think.”

Pederson, Antonucci and medical professionals across the board hope the new definition of addiction will serve to remove much of the shame and stigma surrounding the disease, which in turn will facilitate recovery for the millions who suffer from addiction.

“When people have a strong understanding about the disease, that’s when the miracles happen, and treatment can be extremely successful,” Antonucci says. “Don’t be afraid to get better. This can work for you, too. Give yourself a chance.”

RESOURCES:

Alcoholics Anonymous: 838-3399 (24-hour helpline); www.aa-neworleans.org

Addiction Recovery Resources: 4836 Wabash St., Metairie, 780-2766; www. arrno.health.officelive.com

Bridge House: 4150 Earhart Blvd., 522-4474; www.bridgehouse.org

Grace House: 1401 Delachaise St., 899-2423; www.gracehouseneworleans.org

River Oaks Hospital: 1525 River Oaks Road W., 734-1740; www.riveroakshospital.com

Townsend: 888-504-1714 (24-hour patient line)

3600 Prytania St., Suite 72, 897-5144; 4330 Loveland St., Metairie,

Suite A, 454- 5172; 19411 Helenberg Road, Suite 101, Covington, 985-893-2522; www.townsendla.com.

Thank you Oscar for coming forward.

From an interview with Teresa Rodriguez

Three months ago, to everyone’s surprise, former boxing champion Oscar de la Hoya confirmed that he    had checked into a treatment center to battle addiction. Almost immediately speculative reports about addiction to alcohol, drugs, even sex, began to swirl.

Since that shocking day, De la Hoya has spoken to Teresa Rodriguez, host of Univision’s ‘Aqui y Ahora (Here and Now)’ to open up publicly about his decision to hide his alcohol addiction, which began at 9 years old, from fans, friends, even family, and his abuse of cocaine, which he began two years ago. De la Hoya also shared how his wife, Millie Corretjer, and their five children, forced the boxing champion to cling to life. Here we share what boxing’s once “Golden Boy” confessed to the journalist, and the world.

“It was my secret. I felt so invincible just drinking and doing those bad things … But I also found myself crying and feeling alone. I acknowledged my addiction. I come from very good values and a good family. That monster that grew strength came from within me.”

“At 9 years old I started drinking. At times there are family parties. The men are with the men and the women are in the kitchen. My uncles would say, ‘let’s ask Oscar to bring us some beer,’ I’d go and open the beer, have just a taste, and they wouldn’t scold me for it. After 20 to 30 times of making that trip to the refrigerator, I was drunk.”
“My mom did scold me, hit me, but I thought it would be the last time.

However, it wasn’t, and that’s how it was for many years. I came to need it. Because I was an athlete, I didn’t drink every day, only when I could and when I could hide it. And that’s how my life was for many years. There was a void that was eating at me inside. And that was the love and affection that a child needs from his mother, his father.”

“On many occasions I would cancel fights, or I would fake injury so that I wouldn’t have to fight because I was out partying. I needed it by choice. At times I would drink a tequila before a fight, and as an athlete you can’t do that. This addiction ruined me. All the while, I would hide to do these things.

No one knew anything. I never did it in front of friends, not even my family, no one. It was my secret. To try to maintain a business, be a father, husband. I was sick and tired of having to keep up the lie after partying the night before with friends, only to arrive at 3 or 4 in the morning, then go run at 5, was difficult. At 23 one could do that, but by 32 I noticed a physical change as a result of alcohol.”

“I’m very ashamed to say, but I did fall into drug use. It happened about two years ago, and I almost died. The cocaine, the partying, my supposed friends … It was a very bad life. I didn’t want to think about my kids, my wife, my family. I just wanted to party in my addiction.”

“In 2009 I overdosed on cocaine and alcohol and wound up hospitalized. They didn’t say anything. I figured they would give me some medication and that I’d be released. I wasn’t going to tell anyone, but I couldn’t continue. I was going to end up dead, or in jail.”

“I got out of work, called Millie at 1 in the morning, crying, with a bottle of tequila in my hand, telling her that I didn’t know why I was doing this. She told me to throw away the bottle. I came home and slept in another bedroom. The next morning, Millie was at the stairs. I approached her and said, ‘I’m done. I can’t do this anymore …’ I was tired of asking her for forgiveness all the time. I said to her ‘I’m leaving. I’m going to do this for me because I have to’ and I checked myself in.”
“I remember that when I entered the center, for the first days, I didn’t want to be there. I was having second thoughts. The monster that used to wait for me at the first door to my house was talking to me again. During the first days they let you rest and give you many medications to sleep, then the process begins after three or four days. It’s a 30-day program, but I stayed an additional three weeks because I didn’t feel I was ready. I was afraid to walk out that [rehab] door. I felt so safe in the center. I don’t know what it’s like to be in heaven, but that’s how it felt to me. Everyone wanted to be your friend, truly your friend.”

“I’m super in love with her. She’s the love of my life. There’s not another woman I could ever think of and I love her with all my heart.

I don’t want to talk details but, yes, I was unfaithful, but I want to take this opportunity to say: “Please, forgive me …’ because we’re, I don’t want to say we’re fine, but Millie is a very good person and it hurts me a lot …

We separated for a time. I was coming to the house to visit my kids. We were trying to work it out for our kids. There was a point where she had her attorneys, she was ready. But she very much believes in God, in [the sanctity] of marriage, and thank God she forgave me.

I made her suffer a great deal and really, I’m very thankful that she stayed by my side. We’re both going to therapy, both individually and together, but it’s not easy because every day I have to work to show her that I want a life with her.”

“Yes, it was me … I’m tired of lying about it, of lying to everyone including myself. In the photo I was under the influence of alcohol and drugs. It was the first time I did that. I now know that I need the alcohol more than the drugs, but I got involved in some very bad things. There were women, drugs, alcohol. That’s all true. I’m remembering everything now because I think

Those nights when I was drunk and on my own, I asked myself, ‘Is it really worth continuing to live?,’ and then your kids come to mind, your wife and those that love you. I’m incapable of doing something like that, but I did think about it.”

“Now, I honestly feel as though I was born again. I’m living day by day. And I feel better than ever. I’ve abstained from drinking for 109 days and from cocaine for 110. I thank God that my mom is taking care of me. That’s how I feel. If she were alive, things would’ve never gotten to that point. She would’ve straightened me out with the famous sandal. It would’ve been a different life. Addiction is going to be the hardest fight of my life. Day and night I feel as though someone from above gave me a second chance in life, and I’m going to take care of it to be a better person. This is sort of like training for a fight that never comes.”

We are all story tellers and that innate ability has helped many of us share about ourselves and uncover truths, as well as assist others find keys to their own recovery.

Your anonymity will be protected. We do request that you tell us something about yourself to help us qualify you as a prospect for this project and a way to contact you.

There will not be any fees or dues associated with your submissions. We only want to tell stories to help others in their recovery.

Love and Tolerance.

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The functional alcoholic (not in recovery) is still attempting to control his own life and manage his secret addiction. He is a willing subject of King Alcohol. Therefore he hasn’t hit “bottom.” He is not ready to consider getting help even though he suspects he drinks too much and too often.

Why all this insistence that every A.A. must hit bottom first? The answer is that few people will sincerely try to practice the A.A. program unless they have hit bottom. ~ Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions 2011, p 24

In other words, the functional alcoholic is able to maintain denial of the problem. In fact, only those closest to him have any idea that he is held captive in the grips of alcoholism. You may have a family member or coworker who is a functioning alcoholic and not be aware of it.

In practical terms, here is an example of the behaviors of a functioning alcoholic:

• Preoccupation with the next time they can drink
• Only willing to eat where alcohol is available
• One drink always leads to a craving for the next, and the next
• Habitually drink before going out for meals or to the bar
• Increasing memory lapses or black outs
• Surround themselves with heavy drinkers
• Reputation for being able to ‘hold their liquor’ better than most
• Reluctant to leave an unfinished drink
• Cannot imagine life without alcohol
• Setting drinking limits and breaking them
• Exhibit personality changes when drinking
• Able to be dry for periods of time, then quickly increasing consumption again
• % of alcoholic content becomes increasingly important in drink choice
• Quickly become defensive if confronted about their drinking habits

PS: Are there other behaviors that you would add to the list?

How many of the above behaviors does it take to qualify as a functional alcoholic? Any 3 should be a red flag.