love and addictions

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Addiction, Alcoholic beverage, Alcoholism, Centers and Counseling Services, Cocaine, Drug, Health, Substance abuse

How hard is it to love someone who has an addiction? Whether it be gambling, drugs, or alcohol an addiction changes the person you love into someone else. I know this first hand because my father is an alcoholic. He was a functioning alcoholic who hid his drinking when we were growing up. It was not until my brother and I were in our twenties that we realized fully the extend of our own fathers drinking. He was a man we never saw hold a casual drink in his hand. He never had a cocktail or beer socially. All of his drinking was done secretly, and from my perspective today it was a way of self - medicating his own pain and depression. He was a man never cut out for parenthood. Perhaps not even for relationships. This might have all been changed if he sought medical counseling, but he kept secrets and secrets are at the heart of all addiction.

I loved someone too that had an addiction, clean for 12 years he began to use drugs again. What I witnessed was a repeat of behaviours I saw in my childhood; lying, secrets, and changes in personality. The person you love is a different person than the addict. The addict is a liar, a cheat and sometimes a thief. The addict is not the person you love, he or she is a different person. Ultimately it is hard to reconcile the two. When I was growing up with an alcoholic father I saw a quiet man in the morning. He was quiet, kind, somewhat gentle even. After he had his few drinks he became vicious, mean and vindictive. My brother and I made a pact, we would never go to his home after 3pm. Because after 3pm he had too many drinks to be nice and kind. The sad part is the only person that can help the addict is himself. He or she has to make the decision to change and get help. No one can do that for him or her. In my father’s case he was lucky, or should I say unlucky because he has a new wife that was willing to enable his drinking and his vile temper once alcohol took hold. I often wonder if she had put her foot down and said get help now how different things might be for him now. Sadly that never happened.

I know someone intimately who is struggling with an addiction. An evil one. Drugs are the devil, and I do not refer to marijuana, I mean the hard stuff, crack, cocaine, barbituates etc. they sink their claws into you and will not let you out of their grip. I believe this person honestly loves me. But his addiction and desire for his drug is more powerful than his love for me.

The one question that nags at my mind is whether or not addicts can ever change? Can they, with help and counseling give up their drug? I don’t know the answer to that. I do know however that places like CAMH (Canadian Centre for Addiction) have success stories. How many I don’t know. I just hope that my once best friend can get help there.

“If, therefore, any be unhappy, let him remember that he is unhappy by reason of himself alone.” (iii.24.2)

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Stoicism

The above quote is from the first century Greek philosopher Epictetus. Epictetus was a former slave, who obtained his freedom and turned his mind towards the teachings of philosophy. In his teachings in Discourses he laid out the foundation of his system of beliefs. One being that all events that are external to us are not only beyond our control but have already been determined by fate. Thus that that is beyond our control must be accepted with calmness. He does go on to teach that all individuals are responsible for their own actions which they can also control through self discipline, and that suffering arises from our attempts to control the uncontrollable. He also mentions that as humans it is within our duty to care for our fellow human beings and that by following these simple rules happiness can be achieved.

Epictetus

In today’s New York Times, Nancy Sherman, documents the story of James B. Stockdale a senior Navy pilot shot down over Vietnam and who spend five years in the Hanoi Hilton (Ho La Prison). As he fell into enemy hands, she writes, that he muttered to himself, “Five years down there at least, I’m leaving behind the world of technology and entering the world of Epictetus.” While senior Navy Pilot’s resilience and will became legendary during his four years of solitary confinement it is also an example of ancient philosophy in action today. Sherman writes that ” even those who have never laid eyes on a page of Epictetus, still live as if they have. To suck it up is to move beyond grieving and keep fighting. The Stoic doctrine is essentially about reducing vulnerability.”

With in all due respect to the suffering of those in the military who face death on a daily basis it seems that the doctrine of Stoicism was made for them. Yet, Sherman goes on to write that in her more than 30 interviews that she conducted with soldiers that returned from our present, long wars, the desire to let of the Stoic armor. That in fact they wishes to feel and to finally process the loss, pain and suffering. ” One retired Army major put it flatly to me, “I’ve been sucking it up for 25 years, and I’m tired of it.”

This article in todays NY Times reminded me of a conversation I had recently with a friend as we spoke of our childhoods. As a young boy he was told during periods of pain, hurt or anger, to “suck it up, be a big boy.” The day my father left us for good for another woman, I saw him cry, and I too began to cry, I was scolded, I was told to “Just stop crying and get on with it.” As parents I wonder if we realize what we are asking our children to do when we was them to stuff their emotions back down inside themselves. Do we realize that that pain will emerge later? In the form of anger, addictions, and other destructive behaviors? I am not suggested that all children be allowed to run loose in the supermarket unattended, children need our protection and they need rules to live by and to learn from. However, they do need to be taught how to feel, how to process their emotions. If they are angry or upset maybe it is okay for them to be angry or upset, but as parents it is our job to allow it and to allow them to process those feelings safely.

As a young girl, my daughter, when she experienced feelings of anger of frustration, wanted to tear paper (Odd I know) but it brought her some relief from her frustration that perhaps she could not verbally express. I allowed her to do this and would give her paper to rip up and tear as she liked. Stoicism has its place, perhaps in the Hanoi Hilton to be sure. But as my friend said as a little boy he was not allowed to process or experience his moments of pain, and he wonders if that today has led him to places he would rather not be.

It is a very special birthday today!

Ringo the giant chihuahua who has the moods of a manic-depressive, turns six today. Happy Birthday my little man. Plus he was featured on the Dogster walk of fame today: a very special place where Ringo runs his website from and which features all dogs on their birthdays.

Yes dog love is different from any other kind of love, mainly because well, they just do not talk. Imagine if they did? It would be all, “where is my food”, “what too you so long when you were out” , “I am bored eating the same food”, I want another walk right now”, “you do not understand what it is like to be held hostage and only be able to pee when it suits someone elses’ timetable”, “why are you eating that delicious, banana cream pie and I get kibble” and of course the constant, “rub me, rub me here, no not there, I said here, behind the ears, no you are missing the spot.” And of course that is why we love them, they do not talk, or watch porno on the pay per view channel, or use your credit card or come in late with the smell of alcohol on their breath. Now that I am 49 I have decided to count my age in doggie years, thus on my next birthday I shall expect gifts geared towards 7 years olds. I am now 7 years of age. Woot Woot. (I wonder though why my skin has wrinkles?)

So Happy 6th birthday Ringo my interspecies life parter! Visit his dogster site and leave him a bone.
http://www.dogster.com/dogs/677845

And now for the doggie birthday hall of fame Voila:

Ringo's Birthday

Moi

People have been asking what i look like…and god I am camera shy. Honestly.
These are awful but they will give you a general idea. Some are of me and some of the chihuahua , you try to figure out which ones are which. Do take time to admire me with the Obama’s, although I did find them a bit stiff. Oh and one is of a me age 4. Its a pretty good idea of what I will look like age 84. Sans teeth and big fat cheeks. I am not very photogenic so I usually run from the camera.

Friends

You know the old saying that men come and go but friends are forever. Without friends we are nothing. We have no support, no shoulders to lean on and most importantly who would we go have a mani-pedi with? Through all the ups and downs life throws us the one thing that is constant is the need for friendships. Someone to have coffee with to talk over our problems with someone who objectively listens when your husband/boyfriend/partner is not enough or is letting you down.

Studies show that people who have networks of friends and supports suffer less stress and less depression in their lives. Sure it is sometimes not easy and our own demons overcome us, but in the end it is our friends who are there for us.

In a recent study in The New England Journal of Medicine our social networks can be both positive and negative. The key is to find common and healthy social norms that you share with friends and a lot of our beliefs including how we vote, our smoking and our eating habits are influenced by our friends. It would seem the key is healthy relationships all round add to our life and happiness.

Just my thought for today.

Friendships

I never promised you a rose garden…

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relationships

Lynn Anderson's Rose Garden

So has anyone really mastered the art of ending a relationship? I mean according to online “scientific studies” apparently most of us are mature about ending our relationships. We apparently end our relationships harmoniously (I read that online) and we go about ending our relationships in a grown up fashion. No throwing of shoes (not that I would ever throw my brand new, Jeffry Campbell clogs, not because I might get convicted of murder because of the damage they could cause but it might hurt my lovely shoes. Oh and the murder thing. That would not be a good thing as one cannot wear high-heeled shoes and go to the spa in jail.

It has been my observation that all relationships die a slow death, with neither partner wishing to take the pet to the veterinarian to be euthanized. When I say pet here we all know what I am talking about, I am talking about that sick and dying relationship you are in. Sure we “say” we have broken up, but there are still regular phone calls, meetings where we pretend that things are the way they used to be and occasionally sex. Then in the next stage, the sex ends and one partner goes about dredging up past miseries. Which makes it easier for the other partner to stomp off in a tantrum (hey, don’t look at me, its hard to stomp in high heels). Finally, the occasional meetings grow less and less. The pretense that there is the possibility for a future together drops away. And finally all we have left is a poor dead animal that simply needs to be buried in the backyard. Even though that is not allowed in most municipalities, it sounded better than writing “ a poor dead animal that has to be put in the car, wrapped in an old blanket, and driven to the human society, and where you are charged two hundred dollars to dispose of it).

So what I am saying is that ending relationships is hard, (but then again so is the decisions to euthanize a sick or dying pet). But at someone point we have to clear out the other persons socks (I would recommend just throwing them away, no point meeting and risking a fight over socks) and get on with life. No one promised you are rose garden, okay well maybe all those songs we listened to when we were teenagers did, but trust me rose gardens are a pain in the ass. I hate gardening, it makes me sneeze and roses make me bleed. I digress. But as you can see be glad no one promised you a rose garden. Now take that sick relationship out and shoot it like they did in Old Yeller. Okay now don’t actually shoot anyone. That would be bad and that Old Yeller story made me cry. I just mean metaphorically get rid of all those sick and dying relationships. But like eharmony and “online scientific” studies say, lets do it in a grown up and mature fashion.

Oh and to all those animal rights folks, really sorry about the dead animal analogy, but then again what is a dead relationship but a big, annoying, how do we get rid of it dead animal?

ps Doesn’t it feel a bit poignant that Lynn Anderson has that 1.99 sticker stuck to her, and to add to the indignity they stuck it to her forehead. That is what artists get nowadays. But that is for another day.

They are here! They finally arrived…

Tags

Clogs, Jeffrey Campbell, shoes

Yes my Jeffrey Campbell Charli C’s in Black Leather…. Gawd I am tall now ….thank you Jeffrey!

P.S. Solestruck has the best customer service ever! They even emailed me to follow up on whether or not the shoes arrived and how did I like them. Thank you Jeffrey, and thank you Solestruck.

Complicated parenting and non-complicated parenting

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parents and parenting

I have had a lifetime of complicated relationships with my parents. My mum and dad gave me away when I was but three months old to my Scottish granny who then raised me up for most of my life. My gran felt guilty she told me, when I began to call her mum, and when my little brother (whom I love , hi Karl I love you) was born, Granny sent me back to my wayward parents because she was feeling a “wee bit guilty”, she said. Thus, experts today would point to my relationship with my parents and say, “aha, well she never had a chance to bond with her parents now did she”? And they would be ever so so right. Those first ever so important three to five years are the years we bond with our caregivers and I lost that. Well now that it not quite right, I lost it with my own mum and dad. Not with my gran, whom I consider in many ways to be my real mum. She raised me. Taught me values. Was a flawed person herself. She advised me to give my children freedom, lest they turn into meandering idjits. Whatever that may mean, she was right. I love her and miss her. I think about her everyday. I was with her when she died.

My own father however, really not only was not ready for parenting but has serious problems of his own including what I suspect to be self medicating his own pain. With alcohol if you dare to ask. Yet here is the thing that sums up my relationship with my own parents. I had a dream last night. It was long and complicated and did not involve my father at all. It involved present relationships, children and so on. As I was on my way back to my home, in my dream, I hurried past my own father, sitting there. I glanced at him and kept going. I felt I had to get back to my home, my children, my life. I did not have time. Yes this is the selfsame man who locked me in the closet when I was but four years old. I rushed past him. Ignored him. In my dream it bothered me, I felt guilty and bad and was torn as to whether I ought to go back. Yet, in the dream I had my own business to attend.

My father is old now. Still he keeps my brother and I and all of our children, his grandchildren out of his live. His loss we always say. But there he was, poignant, alone and looking at me in my dream. Damn it Dad. You have ignored me for over 40 years. Why did you have to be there? What do you want? Why after so many years are there in my dream looking at me. Sigh.

This is a reminder that all parenting is not complicated. My son is the loveliest human being you could ever meet. We speak everyday. My daughter too is on her way to becoming a whole, lovely, charming person. But, here is the secret. It is a big one, so draw close: I raised them. I sacrificed for them. I gave up many things so that they could have summer camps, braces, expensive clothes, trips. I loved them and was always there for them. Most importantly: Never did I abuse them or lock them in a closet so I might go on a date. Ooops Freudian slip. I wrote there at first “So I might go on a dad”. You see what I mean. Abuse. Neglect. Even the neglect of adult children has left my brother and I afloat in a sea of our own where we have only each other. But happily, between us two we have a boatload of children.

Happy Birthday Justin, my sweet nephew who was so fat and chubby when he was a baby. I love you. I love you Tristan so much, and Dani you will always be my baby, I love you.

Justin, Not so chubby anymore

Tristan and Danielle

My dog snores really loud

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Snoring

No, seriously he does. I am not saying I do not snore. I snore like a wildebeest. Not that I am saying I have slept with a wildebeest and know their nocturnal sounds, but man this 15 pound chihuahua snores really loud. Like a dude. I broke up with a guy once who said I snored like a dude. Just saying. This does not mean I am breaking up with the dog. His snoring is amusing. As long as it is not too close to my ear.

I am supposed to take a trip with a friend and share a room with her. My ability to snore like a wildebeest is worrying me. I wonder if I can practice snoring like a chihuahua. Is that even possible?

Here is a wildebeest. I do not look like this. Well at least not after I have dressed and put on my makeup.

This wildebeest looks angry. It must be all the snoring that the other wildebeests are doing night after night that leaves him so grumpy the next morning.

wildebeest not snoring

English Phraseology and Confusion in the New World

I was barely ten when my family moved from Scotland to Canada, and in fitting in with peers at that age, it is the small things that count. Such as having the correctly fashionable clothing, and knowing the local dialect so to speak. The first time someone at my new grade school in Toronto said “Hi’ to me I was massively confused. Being fresh of the plane from Scotland I was unfamiliar that this was a greeting of Hello. Similar other little things haunted me as well, I was here in Canada only a few months when I was sent to the local store to purchase some small item, and upon receiving it, I asked the shopkeeper for a “wee poke.” I can still remember everyone in the store staring at me. Startled. In Scotland a wee poke refers to a small bag, something or something small. A pokey wee hoose, refers to an overly small house.

I am just reading the collected stories of Sherlock Holmes and one of the phrases that is continuously used is “let us knock him up” or “I was knocked up today”. It simply means that someone has knocked on your door and woke you up. Try being ten years old in a new country and saying such a thing to your school mates.

It is no easy job fitting in to a new country when you are a child, and for all intents and purposes I already knew the language. More or less, but for a few phrases here and there. I had to teach myself to fit in amongst my peers, for example, in Toronto, the suffix “ing” is often dropped. Thus where are you going becomes where are you goin? I had to teach myself how to do this to fit in. Word with double oo’s have always proved a problem for me. Boot. Foot. Food. Coming from Scotland those words out of my mouth sounded something like, boooet, fooet, foooed. Even today some 30 something years later I have to stop myself and slow down and say them. I grew up with a Scottish grandmother, and in my head instead of saying, yes, my brain translates that yes from aye to a yes.

Those small things that were given to us in our first few years stick with us. I often hear Canadians saying (and I count myself as one of them) I am goin t work. Instead of I am going to work. It is the small things that make us who we are. And the Canadian accent is as distinctive as any other in the world. Perhaps globalization has changed this a bit, but in a wee toon in Scotland I am sure you might get a stare or two if you were to ask for a bag for your purchase of gum, instead of a wee poke.

Mix into this bargain that not only do I not look “Scottish” whatever that may mean, and I am half Indian. Punjabi in fact. But more on that in another post. I do wish to retain your attention so that you might not wish to knock me up so early in the morning as a wee punishment.

Aye so it is, its Scotland's wee green poke for recycling