And Then There Were Three

God has a warped way of giving you what you need. Here’s an example.

Mood music for this post: “Epic” by Faith No More:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ERTT_sv8sV0&hl=en_US&fs=1]

God has a warped way of giving you what you need. Case in point: He keeps sending me people to sponsor in my 12-Step recovery program. It’s as if He knows I’ve been walking a tightrope and need other addicts around to keep me in check.

Yesterday during work the BlackBerry went off. It was another guy from Haverhill. He saw my name on an OA list and called. He announced himself as a compulsive overeater and addict, and said he was in his fifth day of abstinence.

He had been around OA before, and had a food plan ready to go. I’d barely known the guy for five minutes and he was rattling off his food plan for the day. I was impressed.

My second sponsee is doing well, too. She’s been abstinent since the day she called me and asked for help on June 21. The first sponsee, who tends to disappear for long periods of time, is at least back to sending me his daily food plan by e-mail. That’s progress.

So here I am, clean from compulsive binge eating since Oct. 1, 2008, 65 pounds lighter but going through a rather dirty period of late where I’ve had to eat meals away from home without the little scale nearby. Yesterday I spent a lot of time in the car, my back in shambles (I’m going to the chiropractor for a fix at 4:30), feeling a bit low about having to borrow money from my father, and for a few milliseconds I contemplated stopping at a drive-through for some junk.

I came to my senses pretty quickly. I have way too much going on these days to fuck it all up with a relapse. But now there’s an added motivation to keep it clean:

If I screw up, I have to let these three people down. I’d have to stop sponsoring and sharing my story at meetings until I reached 90 days of back-to-back abstinence. Then one or all of them could go into tailspins.

So, you see, God has a funny way of doing things. To help me hold my recovery together he sends me people to offer guidance to.

The three sponsees are keeping me in check without even realizing it.

How strange is that?

Dirty Recovery

The author on how his recovery enters a sort of Purgatory around summer holidays.

Mood music for this post: “Locomotive” by Guns N Roses:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rvYWyPKZ5G4&hl=en_US&fs=1]

There’s a danger for a recovering addict around summer holidays like July 4th. It’s a rather obvious statement. But I’m feeling it from my own perch as a recovering binge eater.

I’m in a place I’ll call dirty recovery. My abstinence is intact. I have not gone on a binge. I’ve steered clear of all things with flour and sugar. But I’ve had a lot of meals lately away from the comfort of home, where I can carefully weigh out everything I put in my body.

The last month has been crammed with cookouts. The standard fare is hamburgers and hot dogs with the usual sides. The most recent event was my friend Chris Hoff’s birthday bash.

Birthday boy and cloud security guru Chris Hoff

The man knows how to throw a party, and it was a great time with friends from the security industry and their spouses and kids.

The event is known for its abundance of pork, mojitos and a lot of other stuff. When an addict like me sees a pile of bacon on flames like the picture on the right, the demon starts to roll around in my head.

Hoff is great about making sure their are a lot of veggie options on the table, and that helped me out tremendously. He was also generous in sharing his cigars. Since that’s one of the few items I will still indulge in, that also helped a lot. I’m also lucky because many of my security friends read this blog and are well aware of my dietary restrictions. God provides is many ways.

Still, when someone like me is at an event like this without my trusty food scale, perfect abstinence becomes all the more difficult.

I’ll pile up the plate with salad and coleslaw and try to estimate what LOOKS like 10 ounces. I throw in what I think LOOKS like 4 ounces of pork. But I can never be sure I’m not taking in MORE than what I should be having.

With so many cookouts lately, I’ve been dancing on this barbed wire quite a bit. I’m feeling slightly bloated this morning, leading me to believe my measurements have been off.

It’s still a vast improvement over the days where I’d get drunk and then shovel food down my throat until I couldn’t look down and see my feet because the gut was swollen and obstructing the view.

My head is still clear, which is the most important part of my abstinence and sobriety. I pursued recovery to end the mental insanity more than the weight gain.

So in the big picture, it’s mission accomplished.

But recovery is dirty of late, and I need to clean up my act and tighten the portions.

The reason is simple: Dirty recovery, if you let it go on for too long, inevitably crashes head-on into full-blown relapse.

Things You Do When You’re a Sponsor

The phone rings. It’s one of people I’m sponsoring in OA. Here’s the conversation that followed.

Me: “So how you doing?”

Sponsee: “Not so good. There’s a bag of potato chips in the house and I want them badly.”

Me: “I see.”

Sponsee: “I’m not sure what to do.”

Me: “Get the bag of chips and do everything I say.”

Sponsee: “OK.”

Me: “Open the bag and stick it under the kitchen faucet.”

Sponsee: “Uh, OK…”

Me: “Turn the water on and fill up the bag.”

I hear the water running, so I’m pretty confident she’s doing what I suggested.

Sponsee: “OK. I did it.”

Me: “Now those chips don’t look very good to eat, now, do they?”

Sponsee: “No. Not at all.”

Me: “Now you can move on.”

Sponsee: “OK. But that really hurt.”

Me: “I’m sure it did.”

Later that night, Sponsee calls again. It’s after 10 p.m. and I was half asleep. She was hungry and wanted to know what to do.

Me: “Go to bed.”

She did.

This gal is a trooper. She’s following my lead with complete abandon. She is ready for abstinence.

She has been through a lot. She’s been through AA, Big-Book 12-Step studies, and suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder. She’s been to hell and back more than once.

And she is relying on me to help her.

I wonder if she realizes she has a lot more recovery under her belt than I do — and that she’s actually a lot stronger than I am.

I hope I don’t let her down.

Mood music to end this post: “Love, Hate, Love” by Alice in Chains:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tPFGsGlHeos&hl=en_US&fs=1]

Careful How You Help Others

The author on the need for boundaries when helping people in need.

Mood music for this post: “Ten Years Gone,” The Black Crows with Jimmy Page:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vWovzhNH4TQ&hl=en_US&fs=1&]

Being someone who has benefited greatly from the kindness of others, I’m forever trying to pay it forward. One way I do this is by sponsoring people in my 12-Step Program.

But if you don’t handle this blade carefully, it will cut you deep.

That’s what I’m learning, anyway.

I’m new at this sponsorship thing. I’m pretty sure I still suck at it.

Here’s how it works: In a 12-Step Program like AA or OA, the person in search of recovery from their addiction needs someone to coach them along. In the case of OA, you find a sponsor who has achieved recovery (long-term abstinence from compulsive overeating) and ask that person how they are achieving it.

For this to work, the sponsee has to be willing to toss aside all their stubborn thinking about what’s acceptable in recovery and essentially do what their sponsor tells them to do.

In this case, the sufferer checks in with his/her sponsor by phone just about every day for 10 or 20 minutes. You tell the sponsor what your food plan is for the day and what meetings you plan to attend. You also talk about any anxieties in your head that might cause you to go on a binge. When you reach a more advanced stage of recovery, the check-in calls can be more about discussing the 12 Steps and other things instead of running down the daily food plan. There’s no one-size-fits-all approach.

The sponsor typically has all their sponsee calls set up over an hour or two-hour period each day — time set aside just for this. If a sponsee calls even a few minutes early or late, the sponsor’s schedule can get screwed up.

A bad sponsor can be a nightmare for someone trying to find recovery. A sponsor who casually skips call-ins or refuses to adjust to any special food needs their sponsee has because it differs from their own food plan can do serious damage.

A common tactic for OA recovery is to nix all flour and sugar. It’s not a requirement. The only requirement in OA is to stop eating compulsively. But it’s something that’s necessary for a lot of people, including me.

Some sponsors have real trouble sponsoring someone who does not give up flour and sugar. The sponsor typically fears that they might slip in their own recovery by guiding someone whose food plan is different from theirs.

I have a problem with this, because if you have certain medical conditions, you need a specialized plan that’s inevitably going to differ from what the sponsor does. And I’ve met people struggling to find recovery who sink deeper into their addictive behavior because their sponsor was too stubborn to work with them.

This cuts both ways, of course. Sometimes it turns out the sponsee SHOULD ditch the flour and sugar, but they’re so desperate for those ingredients for their junk fix that they close themselves off to anything their sponsor is trying to tell them.

My first sponsor was brutally strict. But that’s what I needed — someone who would give me a deep kick in the ass.

But I was ready to do anything for recovery. Had I not been, I would have just lied to her on the phone every day about what I was doing. People like us tend to lie a lot, as I’ve mentioned before.

Right now I have two sponsees. One, in my opinion, should be off the flour and sugar, but he remains blind to that fact. I could be totally wrong about his needs, of course. But his behavior closely mirrors my own before recovery, and I’ve urged him to try ditching the flour and sugar to see how he feels for a bit. No dice.

My other sponsee is very responsive to my guidance. She has suffered enough that she is ready to do what she must. But boundaries are a problem. She sometimes misses the regular call-in time, then calls me several times later in the day. She’s the type that can suck the life out of you if you don’t set down some tough boundaries.

There are some people you try to help who will try to lean on you for things that are way outside your duty as a sponsor, like buying their groceries and running to their house at 2 in the morning because they’re having a bad night.

Am I screwing up as a sponsor somewhere along the way? Probably. I’m still pretty new at this.

My biggest fear is that instead of helping people, I’ll just make their damage worse. But I do warn those I take on that I’m not a doctor and any plan of recovery I suggest should be run by a real doctor and/or nutritionist.

So here’s why I’m bringing all this up:

Yesterday I went to pick up my sponsee to take her to an OA meeting. She has no car but lives only about 5 minutes from me so I was glad to do it.

But when I called her at the appointed time, she didn’t pick up the phone. I tried several times to no avail, then decided to just head to the meeting. I was almost there when she called. It turns out she fell asleep on the couch and didn’t hear the phone.

I wound up turning around and going to her apartment to talk over some boundaries I felt we needed to have. I was pissed about missing my meeting, but something still compelled me to change course.

I’m glad I did. Seeing this person’s environment was useful to me. And I turned the visit into a mini-OA meeting. During the course of the conversation, I set down some boundaries and she agreed to follow them. She is ready for the challenge.

Hopefully I am, too, because I’d much rather help this person get well than drive her further down the road to hell.

This business with helping others in recovery is tough stuff.

If I ever master it, I’ll let you know.

You Just Wouldn’t Understand (The Liar’s Disease II)

Addicts lie because of the shame. But there’s another reason for all the sneaking around.

Mood music for this post: John Lennon’s “Cold Turkey,” as covered by Cheap Trick:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5e04OBJzbvc&hl=en_US&fs=1&]

My boredom-induced brush with bad behavior Saturday night led to a conversation with Erin about the things I used to do when I was deep in the haze of my binge-eating addiction. She knows I lied a lot back then. I was a world-class sneak. Some of what I did still shocks her today.

She knew back then that I was spending a lot of money on junk and then trying to cover my tracks. She often found the empty fast-food bags under the seats in my car. Guilt bags, she called them.

Yesterday, during a conversation about something completely different — a friend’s enjoyment of chocolate — more of my past leaked out. The friend told Erin that he likes Kit-Kat and Hershey chocolate bars. This didn’t fit with her idea of good chocolate. She’s more of a Godiva Chocolate fan. It’s like me being a Starbucks snob and teasing those who settle for Dunkin Donuts and Maxwell House.

“I used to like Kit-Kats,” I said. “I used to like lots of ’em at one sitting.”

Then I mentioned how I would stop at gas stations and buy a pile of them to shove down my throat on the ride home. That’s when she said she still can’t believe what I used to do. It still makes her squirm a little bit.

If she knew EXACTLY what I was doing back then, she said, it would have been very hard to take, because while she was aware of the shame factor, before all my treatment she just didn’t have the ability to understand the mind of an addict.

The comment is worth mentioning here, because it sums up another layer of the liar’s disease. Shame was the biggest part of it for me. But there was also the other part: People just don’t understand.

Recovering addicts understand. But the more “normal” among us simply don’t have the ability to grasp how our brains are wired.

That’s not a criticism. Deep-rooted stupidity is hard for smart people to swallow. Not that addiction is about being smart or stupid.

The worst addicts include some of the smartest people on Earth. But in the grip of the crazies, we become capable of grand acts of buffoonery.

The good news is that I’m deep in recovery today and I’m grateful as hell.

And if my openness can help a few people understand, it was almost worth going through it.

Boredom: An Addict’s Worst Friend

Boredom is one of the most dangerous things an addict can encounter.

Mood music for this post: “What’s It Gonna Take” by Motley Crue:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MHk7h-xik-E&hl=en_US&fs=1&]

Last night Erin was working, the kids were in bed and I had time on my hands. It wasn’t long before I started to feel bored.

Not good for someone with an addictive personality.

Boredom means the mind is free to start spinning. I feel uneasy and can’t settle on anything. Then I’m in the kitchen, looking through the cabinets.

I see a bottle of gin and consider taking a swig. If I do, surely no one will ever know.

I see the cupcakes Erin baked for Duncan’s kindergarten graduation celebration. Surely no one will notice if one goes missing. Or two. Or five.

For about 20 minutes, I’m standing there seriously thinking about breaking both my abstinence from binge eating and my sobriety. Erin doesn’t have to know. My OA sponsor doesn’t have to know.

Then I come to my senses and leave the kitchen. Instead of doing what I used to do all the time, I make a couple calls to fellow addicts in recovery, take a shower and go to bed.

When the addict in me stirs, there are usually reasons. A wave of depression. Stress over some family or work situation. Self loathing.

Last night none of those applied. Instead it was the boredom. Pure and simple. When I get bored, I start talking to The Asshole [Read about him in “Meet My Demon“].

I’m lucky these days. When I start listening to The Asshole, I’m able to snap back to reality and think of all the things I’ve accomplished in recovery. Breaking my abstinence and/or sobriety is just not worth the risk of everything crashing down.

There’s always the chance that I’ll relapse. That’s a danger every recovering addict lives with.

But it’s not going to happen today.

Since recovery is about taking it one day at a time, that’s a huge victory for me.

Still, last night was a good reminder that boredom can be lethal for someone like me. That’s why I write so much. That’s why I chose a demanding profession. That’s why I fill up all the remaining time in my days with activity, whether it’s something at church or various security industry meet-ups. It’s why I traveled 10 hours to and from Washington DC in a cramped RV with nine other people last February for the ShmooCon security conference instead of taking a 90-minute flight.

I don’t ever want to be bored.

That’s when the bad stuff happens.

Writing to Save My Life

The author on why he became a writer and how it shaped his recovery from mental illness and addiction.

People often ask me how the hell I do so much writing every week, between the three-to-four pieces I do for my employer, CSO Magazine, this blog and a book I’m writing on the side. They also ask how I’m able to write so fast, especially during security conferences.

At the Security B-Sides event in San Francisco in March, one friend marveled that I was able to write and post an article on a talk she had just given within minutes of the presentation ending. My friend Jennifer Jabbusch explained it well when she said, “That’s his job. It’s what he does.”

So, I figured it’s time I wrote something about writing.

When I was a kid, everyone expected me to become an artist because I was constantly drawing. In fact, I went to Northeast Metro Tech for high school to study architecture and was well on my way to settling on that for a career. Then, as my passion for metal music deepened, I became obsessed about poetry and the lyrics people like Nikki Sixx, Phil Lynott and James Hetfield were writing. So I started trying to BE them. I do still use the architectural skills when I write, so it wasn’t a waste of studies. When I write security articles, I usually approach it the way an architect approaches each new blueprint.

In hindsight, I wasn’t very good at it. But I persisted. The more music I listened to — and as an employee of Rockit Records, I had access to an endless supply — the more lyrics I wrote.

A lot of what I wrote became the lyrics for songs I would write with the band Skeptic Slang. The lyrics were mostly negative reactions to life at the time. In fact, if I were at a party with the me of the late 1980s-early 1990s, I probably wouldn’t like the younger me very much. I would dismiss him as a whiny little punk. But I was just a product of my experiences up to that point. Those who have read this blog from the beginning will understand. Those who don’t can get the back story here.

Finding those old notebooks full of Skeptic Slang lyrics has become a mini obsession of mine.

As I was ramping up the music writing, I was pursuing a parallel passion for journalism. In college, I dove into it relentlessly, writing for the Salem State Log and slowly earning myself a degree in English (the major) and Communications (the minor). I also helped edit submissions for Sounding’s East, the college literary magazine edited by a beautiful redhead who I eventually married. If you really want to know how to write effectively, check out her blog here.

I had my first reporter job  before I graduated, covering the Swampscott, Mass. school district. From there I got a full-time reporting gig  in Stoneham, then started editing for papers in Lynn, Billerica, Chelmsford and Westford. I was not a fast writer back then. Thanks to the OCD, I would slowly outline each story and, after writing the first draft, I’d read it back aloud, again and again, polishing one paragraph at a time. I would annoy many a colleague doing that, especially when I became night editor at The Eagle-Tribune.

Things started to go wrong in the latter job, because that’s when the surface cracks of my OCD started to appear and I started falling apart. One of the lessons, in hindsight, was that it was a mistake to go into all editing with no writing. I lost sight of why I got into the business when I became a full-on editor.

My entrance onto the information security scene was a result of my craving to write again. The security beat at TechTarget was my way back in, and I haven’t stopped since.

Some things have changed, though.

My writing is much faster today. I don’t do outlines of each story and I don’t read ’em back to myself aloud. I just do it and send them off to an editor. That’s partly the result of experience and partly the result of bringing the OCD under control, since the over polishing was an obsessive-compulsive action.

The result is that I don’t mind having several projects in play at once. In fact, I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I need to write every day for mental exercise. The action of typing is now a soothing action for me. I love the sound and feel of my fingers pounding away on each key. It’s like the music I listen to while I write.

I am a two-fingered typist, by the way. I’m proud of that fact.

When I started this blog it was because I was ready to share my experiences so others might be compelled to come out of the shadows of mental illness and addiction. Hopefully I’ve had some success there. But regardless, this particular writing has become a critical tool of my own recovery.

By writing about the experience, I get them out of my head and can move on.

It’s no embellishment to say I’m literally writing to save my life. Writing HAS saved my life.

The 12-Step Survival Guide of Life

For those who need a 12-Step Program, here are a few lessons from the author’s personal experiences.

Mood music for this post: “Rise Above” by Black Flag:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S7Y4iUfktOo&hl=en_US&fs=1&]

When you follow the 12 Steps of Recover as I do, you discover the little things in ways you never could before. Yesterday was another example.

Erin, Sean, Duncan and I went deep-sea fishing with my parents and had a wonderful afternoon. One of my favorite places to be has always been out on the ocean. That’s where my roots are. I grew up sitting at the water’s edge in search of peace that always eluded me.

Water's edge next to Gibson Park, Revere. I came here often to ponder my troubles.

As for yesterday, a lot of things were different because of my recovery. It used to be unbearable to spend time with my parents. It’s not there fault. It’s just that I could never stop walking on egg shells because I would be waiting for the critical comments that my paranoid, people-pleasing mind expected.

Now I can simply enjoy everyone’s unique personalities and suck in the moment. For someone with OCD, being able to live in the moment is absolutely huge.

Since my recovery program is essential to the life I’m now Blessed to have, I thought I’d share posts that deal specifically with the program:

How a Binge Eater in Recovery Packs for a Trip

The author’s program of recovery from addiction makes travel more interesting. Here’s how.

The Gratitude List

Some of the folks who have helped the author survive along the way.

The Healers (Adventures in Step 9)

Tripped on Step 9 many times. But I got back up. Here’s what happened next.

Forgiveness is a Bitch

Seeking and giving forgiveness is essential for someone in recovery. But it’s often seen as a green light for more abuse.

Pouring Gas on the Fire

People in recovery often go into hyper mode, making up for time wasted in the grip of addiction. Mix in some OCD and here’s what happens…

Hitting Bottom

The author didn’t hit rock bottom before he got help. He hit several bottoms.

The 12 Steps of Christmas

The author reviews the 12 Steps of Recovery and takes a personal inventory. There’s really no Christmas theme here, other than that the author found the headline catchy.

Sobriety Vs. Abstinance

Whenever I share my experiences with OCD and the related binge-eating disorder [See: The Most Uncool Addiction], there’s a word I always refrain from using if I’m outside the safe confines of my OA group: Abstinence. I don’t hate the word. But I don’t like it much, either. Nevertheless, it’s an important word in my recovery vocabulary.

The Case for Self-Deprecation

The author on why self-deprecation is a handy tool for controlling his demons.

Power of Sarcasm

The author explains why humor wrapped in sarcasm is one of his favorite coping tools — even though the edge of the knife can be too sharp at times.

Red Bull Blues

The author learns once again that when he puts one addiction down, he picks up another.

Have Fun With Your Therapist (The Shrink Stigma)

Mental-illness sufferers often avoid therapists because the stigma around these “shrinks” is as thick as that of the disease. The author is here to explain why you shouldn’t fear them.

The Angry Years

The author can’t say his temper was a direct result of OCD, depression and addictive behavior. But dealing with those things did make it go away. Mostly.

Running from Sin, Running with Scissors

The author writes an open letter to the RCIA Class of 2010 about Faith as a journey, not a destination. He warns that addiction, rage and other bad behavior won’t disappear the second water is dropped over their heads.

The Case for Multiple Personalities

The author embraces the multiple personalities in his head. Here’s why.

Insanity to Recovery in 8 Songs or Less

The author shares some videos that together make a bitchin’ soundtrack for those who wrestle with mental illness and addiction. The first four cover the darkness. The next four cover the light.

How Metal Saved Me

Heavy metal music is one of the author’s main tools of recovery.

Someone to Watch Over Me (Desk Junk)

It’s true. The junk on your desk can be a tool of recovery.

Rest Re-Defined

The author finds that he gets the most relaxation from the things he once feared the most.

Just a Little Patience

I recently stumbled upon this live version of GnR’s “Patience” and wanted to post it here because it’s always been an inspirational song to me.

Being an OCD-wired control freak with a knack for impatience and  endless attempts at recovery before I finally pulled it off, patience was a virtue I simply did not possess. It would be a stretch to say I’ve mastered it at this point in my life, but I at least appreciate it more than I used to.

I used to drop F-bombs to myself while driving every time I saw those bumper stickers that say things like “Easy Does It,” “One Day at a Time” and “Let Go and Let God.” Already seething in whatever traffic jam I happened to be sitting in at the time, those sayings would raise my anger level into orbit.

Years later, I understand those sayings and appreciate them in a way I never thought possible. My favorite is “Let Go and Let God,” just as the Serenity Prayer is one of my favorite prayers.

Anyway, I hope you get as much out of this song as I do:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gjto02iDNZA&hl=en_US&fs=1&]

Pills Can’t Kill Pain at the Source

The author has written much about his binge-eating addiction, but not so much about the pills — until now.

Mood music for this post: “I Don’t Like the Drugs But the Drugs Like Me” by Marilyn Manson:

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6EefPcht54c&hl=en_US&fs=1&]

A fellow addict in OA recently asked me how pills fit into my overall haze before I found recovery. She asked because when sharing my story I mention how taking Prednisone as a kid for Crohn’s Disease started me down the road to a food obsession.

Truth is, I never think of pills as part of my core problems in the past. But in hindsight, they certainly do play a role.

In addition to the mental pain I’ve had my share of physical pain. Migraines have been a frequent companion. So has back pain.

A lot of my troubles on those fronts were in my head; anxiety attacks and depression made me feel all kinds of aches and pains, including migraines  and sensations in the chest I was convinced were heart attacks. They weren’t, but I could believe just about anything when the fear and anxiety took over.

The back pain was very real. One time in 2003 paramedics had to cart me from my house because I was in so much pain that I couldn’t get off the sofa in our third-floor loft. I spent much of that week out of work and on the couch. The OCD and depression were already starting me on the deepest slide of my life and I was missing a lot of work anyway, but that’s the only time I can remember taking a ride in the back of an ambulance.

I would spent a lot of time incapacitated from lower-back pain, and one specialist after another would fail to pinpoint the problem until I found a chiropractor who within a day had pinpointed the source of my problem to three rogue vertebrae in the mid-back that kept closing shut on the nerves that are threaded through the middle. The pain would collect in my lower back, which left other doctors looking in the wrong place.

Since then, I go to the chiropractor every other week. He mashes the vertebrae back into place with his elbow and it’s all good from there.

But during the worst of the back pain I was on all kinds of pain medication. And naturally, they were addicting.

The doctors had me trying so many things I can’t remember most of the names, though one was Celebrex and another was Flexeril. The former was basically the equivalent of four Advils and the latter was a muscle relaxer. Taken together, they send you to la-la land.

At one point, I was on those two pills and a third, the name of which I can’t remember. I’d drive to work before taking them, because I noticed that when taken together with coffee, the mixture was buzz the hell out of me. It was a functional buzz that allowed me to do my work, but like all buzz-inducing fixes I found I needed it long after the drugs stopped working on the back pain.

I gave myself what in hindsight was an amusing panic attack once when, during a morning of house cleaning, I thought it would be an excellent idea to make the best of having to do chores by downing a Celebrex with two glasses of wine. I was buzzing nicely by the time I was scrubbing the counter in the upstairs bathroom. Then I remembered that there had been recent news reports about Celebrex carrying a heart-attack risk.

I freaked out, convinced I was going to be found dead on my bedroom floor. Erin was at her friend Sherri’s house at the time, and I called over there, remembering that Sherri is a nurse. I told Erin what I did and she asked Sherri for an opinion. Sherri said I’d be fine and to get back to cleaning. That’s what I did.

After going on Prozac I had some surgery on my throat to control snoring that was fed more by my obesity than my any problem in the throat. They gave me Vicodin do get through it and I would lie on the couch in bliss while under it’s spell. But I learned something that week: Pain meds can screw with the Prozac and keep the latter drug from working.

That led to a couple bad months of depression that took me into the Christmas season, which always screws with my head without chemical help.

I often wonder how much of the pain was depression induced — in my head, as my father-in-law might say. The reason is that in recovery I haven’t needed any of those pills.

In fact, one day I decided to clean out the cabinet where we keep most of our medication and I found several bottles of the pills I had been given for back pain. One of them had morphine in it, and when I chose to stop taking that one I remember lying on the couch in agony with withdrawal (and that was only after a couple weeks of taking it). The pills I found were mostly expired. Throwing them in the trash was a wonderful thing. It was like breaking out of a cage I never thought I’d be able to leave.

Today I only take one drug: Prozac. Yes, it works for me, though I believe it wouldn’t be working as well had I not gone through all the therapy and development of coping tools first.

Which sort of summarizes the big lesson for me: You can fill the hole in your soul with all the food, booze and pills you can get your hands on and the numbing part feels nice at first. But then you learn that nothing can dull pain that starts in the soul for long.

The only way out is to take the fight directly to the source of that hole.