Monograph - 22
Mental Conflict:
DRUG CONQUERS MIND
At age 20, I was not even old enough to drink but I got arrested for drunk driving. At 21, after a change in colleges, my grades suffered, as alcohol became more of a priority. I recall feeling extremely anxious and out of place. I started to feel like everyone was looking at me and talking about me. I was so nervous all the time that an acute sense of paranoia had set in. To this day, I do not know if people really were talking about me or if I was just hearing it in my head.
I always had a stiff mannerism when walking but by now this got much worse and quite noticeable. When I walked, I had a gait with a very tight tension probably because the constant detoxing from alcohol made me stiff with anxiety. On many days, I needed a drink to feel just OK. The amount of alcohol that would get a normal college kid drunk just made me feel like I was on level ground. I had one arrest for drunken driving from the year before and then another arrest only about 18 months later. I didn't go to court for my hearing because of a hangover -- and I was still feeling quite loaded on my trial date from the night before. After missing a court date, I was on the run from the law with a warrant out for my arrest. I really needed to drink now. I remember when I turned 21, I wanted to stop drinking but I noticed I would sometimes get irritable or feel slightly sick after a day without alcohol. Besides, I felt I had to drink because of the stress that the problems from prior drinking had caused me. I got another arrest but this one was in another state, which did not affect my driving record in my home state. That made a total of three drunken driving charges by age 22.
Around the same time that all of this was happening, I moved in with my girlfriend in the downtown area of center city. Being away from my parents, I could now drink openly and have a reserve stash in the refrigerator. I began morning drinking, drinking before work, and drinking to get to bed. My insomnia was awful. I had to drop out of college and work full time. I could drink on my job because I worked in a small store where I was the only person on duty most of the time. I took on the graveyard shift so I could isolate myself in my drunkenness. That job only lasted a couple of months because the drive home was so long and reckless due to my condition, I had to quit. I had several different jobs, which I had to quit over the next few months due to my alcoholism. There were five months of my existence that is still a blackout. I cannot fully recall the details of how I survived or how I made money. All I know is my credit card bills were building up and my parents were trying to help me financially.
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I ended up getting arrested for the one outstanding drunk driving warrant in my home state by accident. I was briefly employed as a delivery person when I was driving up and down the same street looking for an address. A police officer observed me making several U-turns and just wanted to see what I was up to or what the problem was. The officer said that he wasn't going to give me a ticket for anything since I had a reasonable answer to my suspicious behavior. But he said he wanted to check out my license to make sure it was valid before he let me go on my way. Of course, I still had the arrest warrant for unanswered drunk driving charges. Surprisingly, I wasn't officially drunk at the time but I still had to go to jail. I was the youngest and the whitest guy in the psychiatric ward of the prison. I was placed in the psychiatric ward because they thought I was crazy. I also said I was suicidal and homicidal so they would put me in a cell by myself instead of throwing me in with the general prison population.
Prison was an indescribable hell. I was not only in prison, but I was among the insane criminals of the psychiatric netherworld that they called the M2 ward. Only someone who has been to jail knows the feeling of pure hopelessness combined with 100% lack of freedom and privacy. One who has been to jail never sees life quite the same way again, even if nothing particularly bad happened to them in prison. After a few days of jail, my court hearing came up. Since this was my second offense in the same state, I had to go to 26 days of inpatient treatment at a rehabilitation facility or go back to 26 more days of prison. I chose to go to an alcohol detoxification center.
I tried going to psychiatrists but their medications did not help. I denied that I had been drinking to my doctors. I remember their warnings about alcohol related anxiety and depression. They said to get alcohol out of my system first, and then to work on my other problems later. I did not want to hear that. I wanted a magic pill to cure me. After all, I knew I could not quit getting drunk. I had already tried that. I felt like I needed alcohol to think properly. Without the booze, my mind was a racing mess and my body was a nervous wreck. I couldn't relax or concentrate on anything. It's almost like alcohol had actually become part of my mentality. Alcohol had become a part of my mind.
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Monograph - 23
Institutionalization for Chemical Dependence:
WHAT IT'S LIKE TO BE IN A DETOXIFICATION
CENTER
A detox center reminds me of something like a cross between a jail and a hospital. I wrote quite a bit about it while I was a patient there. A whole book could be written on this topic but the format of this text will not allow me to describe all the lengthy details. The following is an account of some of my early experiences:
--- Wednesday (Day 3) Afternoon
Today is my third day of detox from alcoholism. It really sucks because there are no clocks in any of the rooms. You're absolutely not allowed to go outdoors at any time. You're also not allowed to have a pen or pencil in your room because they are very careful to prevent any suicide attempts. I stole a pen from the doctor's desk anyway. Belts and shoelaces must be removed, and then they give you a piece of string like dental floss to hold your pants up. I starved for two days due to lack of appetite. I also had no idea when or where they were serving meals because I was so foggy. I had no idea it would be like this! I figured it would just be a monitored environment where you weren't allowed to drink. There are no locks on any of the doors, not even the bathroom. Anyone could just walk into your bedroom or bathroom and they frequently did. What can you do when you're told you can't do anything except sit around all day? There is a lounge to watch TV but it's always crowded and noisy with rowdy addicts. The place is clean but everything is old looking. Actually, they are very anal about the cleanliness of the unit.
Yesterday, I climbed out the window in my room and went outside for a very illegal little walk. Getting out wasn't that hard but getting back in was a little more difficult. I was extremely paranoid. I perceived the staff that worked there as guards or police. However, the extent of their authority was only social work and counseling.
Most of the people in here are heroin addicts. One addict got caught shooting up in his bedroom. The staff kicked him out as they said to him, "Come back when you really want help!"
Phones are almost entirely forbidden. I think there is some kind of special pass you need to get if you have to use a phone. Other people get to use the phone a couple of times per week because they have worked their way up on the privileges list. All I know is I want to get out of here as soon as possible.
My medications really suck. I am more uncoordinated than if I had drank two or three 40-ounce containers of beer. I am overly sedated and I can't stand it. Other people in here say they like to be on these medications because it helps them feel better. I've never been on them before so maybe I'm not used to them or something.
There are zombie-like junkies walking around everywhere. There are two guys in each room and there are about 20-30 rooms in the detox. My first roommate was a heroin addict who had a few days off drugs. After my second day in the detox, they had to take him to the mental hospital for suicidal thoughts and depression. He was about my age. I could tell from the moment I met him that there was something very wrong besides his drug use or detoxing.
My second roommate, Pete, was 32 years old, and this was his seventh time in this detox center. He has a wife and three kids. He says he is addicted to several different things including alcohol, heroin, and cocaine. Pete was an OK guy otherwise. I got to thinking to myself about how I would never pick him out of a crowd as a drug addict. You would never know he was a junkie by looking at him or talking to him. He education and maturity level seemed much greater than mine.
One of the medications they are giving me is called Librium. They say it takes away the shakes associated with an alcohol detox. I was also told that it would take away my craving to drink during the first few critical days. I guess it works well. However, I think it feels like it causes permanent brain damage.
I think that after this whole thing is over, I will never regain my full 100% capacities. I will be a little slower; I will have less balance; names, faces, and places will be a little less memorable; my education will be less; I will be less of a philosopher. I will never be my old self again. However, there is a 90% chance I will not return to alcoholism. [In reality and in hindsight, everything in this paragraph turned out to be opposite of my predictions.]
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--- Thursday (Day 4) 5:30 AM
A loud male staff member came through the hallway and opened each door to wake everyone up. I could hear him yell into every room because I was already awake. I don't think I slept at all. I'm not sure. He came into my room and said, "Mike! Pete! Time to get up and get your vital signs and medications."
He was more annoying than an alarm clock. We would be called for medications and vital signs at 5:30 AM, 9, 12 Noon, 3 PM, 6 PM, 9 PM, and before bed. Then we would start the day all over again at 5:30 with the same routine. You go down to the nurse's station where they take your blood pressure, take your pulse, take your temperature, and sometimes prick you will a needle. Then, the nurse would ask you a series of questions like: Do you have any nausea? Do you feel agitated? Do you feel aggressive? Are you seeing things or hearing strange things? Are you hearing voices in your head? Who are you? Where are you? What day is it? Etc., etc., etc. Then they give you pretty little pills in a pretty little cup. I guess the Librium pill began to help me now. Up until recently, I couldn't even write anything with my stolen pen because I was shaking so much.
--- Thursday (Day 4) 2:30 PM
I just made a run for it to go outdoors with my pen and notebook in hand. I wonder how long it will be before they catch me. It's freezing out here. I didn't think it would be this cold. I'm now hiding behind a wall in this giant formal garden they have here. It looks like something out of a movie. I wish it were a little warmer. Ooh oh... a guard!
--- Back inside
It didn't even take three minutes. All they do is return you to your room and tell you not to leave the unit. I guess I'll just wait until night time... Wait. Forget that! I'm putting on warmer pants and going back outside. [Looking back, I think I was experiencing the beginnings of Delirium Tremens. DT's sometimes cause awful feelings of agitation and hallucination.]
--- Outside Again
I just left again. Let them come and get me! I'm sitting in a beautiful formal garden with my pen and notebook. I can't believe they don't let us outside to see it. I think if you stay here a long time, you get some type of 'grounds privileges' that allow you to go outside. I don't know. I feel like I'm going crazy. They treat me like I'm some kind of retard in there. Out here, there are big stone walls with ivy vines all over them, bonsai trees, a little wooden bridge that goes over a small pond, fountains, statues, meticulously trimmed grass, flowers with little tiny signs below them that name each plant. I feel like I'm in a daze. I can't even begin to pronounce the names on the little signs. Across from me is a wooden archway with old stone steps underneath. I can see the guards up by the building if I peak around the wall. They aren't paying any attention to my escape so I guess they figure I'm just too damned determined. I think since they already warned me, their butts are covered. So, I think I'll wander down the road a little and see the surrounding countryside.
I believe $18 million could keep me living comfortably for a while. Conditions are not suitable. [Unknown why I wrote that. Most likely, an alcoholic detox delusion, in hindsight]
I guess I was outside for about an hour when I decided to return. A guard caught me trying to sneak back inside. He said if they have any more problems with me, they are notifying the police. I sarcastically said, "Oooo, the police, I'm scared."
He took my pen and returned me to my room. I went over to the nurse's conference room and retrieved another pen. I guess I understand why we can't just go out and wander the streets. We are their legal responsibility but I have my feelings too. I can't stay inside for days on end without even knowing the time or how many days have passed.
Abby's Sexual Health |
Doors slamming, wall banging, patients arguing with nurses, doctors arguing with nurses, nurses arguing with nurses, patients arguing with doctors, patients fighting with patients, cops, ambulance drivers, lawyers visiting clients, screaming junkies, and me! I don't know how anyone could work here.
I climbed underneath my bed because I wanted some privacy and because too much sunlight was coming in through the window, which was hurting my eyes. The nurse came and was appalled. She called the doctor who made me come out from under the bed. He said, "In all the 19 years I have worked here, I have never met anyone that squeezed under a bed like that. I'm taking you to a mental hospital young man! You are delirious from DT's."
I explained the situation and came out from under the bed. He took the paper clip off my finger and politely asked why my shoes do not match. Without answering the shoe question, I said, "Would you like to see me do something cool with the paper clip?"
He laughed and said, "Not really."
I told him how I could stick a paper clip right through the center of my tongue. I took another paper clip out of my pocket and showed how I could stick it right through the center of my tongue and make it come out the other side. I could do this because I had my tongue pierced at one time and the hole was still there from the tongue ring. The doctor was disgusted. He searched me for any more paper clips and warned me to behave. Both the nurse and the doctor left the room in disbelief.
The food really sucks, but if you don't eat it, you get sick from the medications. There is nothing to look at outside my window except a small parking lot and a small empty field. At night, the only thing that keeps me amused s the little blinky thing on the smoke detector or whatever the alarm looking thing is on the ceiling.
--- Later that day
The doctor says I am progressing well with my detox. However, he said it is not the end because I need to enter more rehabilitation. I hope I can leave soon. I also hope the best for all the other brain-dead-zombie-drunks and addicts stumbling around the hallways in this place.
--- Escaped outside again
I have no idea how much longer I will be here but I'll make sure it's not forever. If they try to keep me here forever, I will escape once and for all and won't come back. Right now, I'm just lying low from the guards. It's a beautiful day and nobody else comes outside because it's forbidden. Most people anywhere are like lemmings. They just follow all the others over the edge of the cliff but I am one that stops just before the edge.
--- Day 4-5? (Late night - early morning)
I realized after the first day that they give everyone in here a drug called Phenobarbital. I took it once and it caused me to lie in bed as if I was overcome by a lazy stupor, barely able to move. The next day everyone else took their Phenobarbital like good obedient fools. I, on the other hand, told the nurse to take one herself first. She looked at me in horror and then told me to take it because it would make me feel better. I said, "No."
Strangely enough, I was also the only one with the guts to escape from the 'place-with-rules', which everyone just complained about and stayed locked up in.
Alcohol takes three days to leave the body entirely. Why was I still being asked to take other medications almost five days later? The nurse gave no reply. However, I know what the dollar sign looks like -- $. I think the longer you're in here, the more of your insurance money they get. They want to keep me in here a few days longer.
I continued to hide my pen between the cushions of the chair. Four crayons were the only things they would give me to write with so I drew pictures until the medication wore off. I then asked to see the head physician and asked for a discharge to leave the clinic. I will say most doctors and nurses had a genuine caring attitude towards my well-being.
As far as alcohol goes, it's easy to quit altogether and possibly fall off the wagon. It's also easy to overindulge and drink like crazy. However, moderation is the most difficult goal we should strive for. When moderation is not moderation, then we must have elimination of it entirely.
<> Epilogue <>
The above text was written during my first stay in a rehabilitation facility. I stayed sober for two weeks after I was released. When I relapsed, everything got worse just like they said it would. I thought I learned so much from my first detox. But little did I know, it was just the beginning of any hope to get sober for good. Over the next couple of months, I found out that I didn't have all the answers on how to quit drinking. In fact, I knew nothing about drinking or medications or rehabs. Half the people I thought were doctors and guards in the above story were actually mental health technicians, addiction counselors, and social workers. It took me a long time to admit I was not as knowledgeable as I assumed I was. It took a long time to get sober because I wouldn't let anyone teach me or help me. I knew so much about so many other topics but I truly knew nothing about addiction and treatment for it.
I ended up going to more rehabs after the one I wrote about above. It seemed now that I simply couldn't stop drinking even though I really wanted to quit altogether. I made solemn oaths to quit for good but I only picked up the first drink time and time again. Somehow, I was missing a key part of the solution. Promise after broken promise caused me to question my own credibility in every aspect of my life. I had to go to court with lawyers to plea my drunk driving case to a lesser charge. All this stress made the alcohol problem multiply.
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