Avoiding alcohol's temptations in 'overwhelming' war zone

Once each week, in a fluorescent-lit room in a stout building near the heart of Kandahar Air Field, a multinational mix of troops and civilians gather to take on a battle that can't be fought with conventional weapons.

Sitting around a table, or on overstuffed furniture, they talk about bad days, frustrating bosses and how it is that a fellow soldier can become a drunk on a dry base in a mostly dry country.

Called Sober in the Sand, the group is this base's own chapter of Alcoholics Anonymous. For many who spend much of the year living abroad in Afghanistan, their weekly meetings have become a lifeline to staying sober far from the supports of home.

Jennifer, a 31-year-old from Winnipeg, has been sober for 10 years. Still, when she arrived to work at the base five months ago as a civilian, she was anxious about the strain that living in a war zone might cause.

"It's not like I'm shaking for a drink all the time," she said.

But she added that the base, which serves as a temporary home for more than 10,000 people from dozens of countries and is the frequent target of insurgent rocket attacks, can be "overwhelming" at times.

"It's a really crazy place."

That craziness was tempered, though, when she walked into her first AA meeting.

Instantly, she felt she belonged.

"There's a base level of understanding between alcoholics. They know you, you know them. It's almost like family."

The group operates like most conventional AA groups, meeting once a week and setting up links between new recovering alcoholics and those with more sober years under their belts. But there are unconventional elements that come with operating in a war zone.

"Here we worry about our fellow alcoholics going out and not coming back alive, which is a little harder to deal with," said Ed, a 47-year-old mechanic from Midland, Ont.

Typically, the group has about five regular members, but has swelled to more than 15 at different times.

Often, the group will gather for special meetings if soldiers are coming through who are normally stationed off base at one of the smaller outposts.

"If they need a meeting, well, darn it all, somebody should be there," said Ed, adding that those who come to the AA group for support but have to leave to work off base are usually given literature, including copies of The Big Book, a step-by-step guide to getting sober that explains the Alcoholics Anonymous tradition.

"My book I was carrying around for 14 years went out to a forward operating base with them," Ed said. "If you have no meetings out there and guys at least have something to read, at least you have some comfort."

John, a 31-year-old U.S. Army soldier from the Bronx, said it took some work to find the AA meetings when he arrived on base.

At times the program has nearly faded away, largely because of the transience of people at the base. But it has always been revived.

"People are not only coming here to talk about problems with alcohol," he said. "We come here for peace of mind. I've actually had the opportunity to help people."

For that reason, no matter how many troops and contractors move on and off the base, the group will always exist, said Chuck, a 55-year-old civilian from Minnesota who with 26 years of sobriety, is the unofficial dean of Sober in the Sand.

"AA is a program of principles. If everybody shipped out, the next recovered alcoholic coming through Kandahar would initiate it again.

"This meeting will always be here after we've gone. The AA will keep reconstituting itself, just like the Taliban."
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source: Globe and Mail

Don’t wait for cops to detect alcohol abuse

Rightful outrage over dangerous drunken drivers has fueled new demands for tougher laws and penalties.

And who can argue?

But with Wisconsin on top of most lists for binge drinking or drunken driving, you know there are many more folks out there who are risks but have yet to become a statistic or headline.

So let’s not overlook another, better way to get at the nub of the problem.

A pilot prevention program, if broadened as many respected medical associations say it should be, would screen many more people for problem drinking or drug use before it’s too late. It would intervene with information and, where needed, treatment, before these problem drinkers end up in highway carnage or handcuffs.

It would start at the doctor's office.

One of my doctors requires me to complete an annual survey that asks, among other things, about alcohol or drug consumption. The trouble is, most doctors don't have time to talk about it. They can barely deal with your high blood pressure or arthritis or other painful ailment as it is.

Waukesha's Family Practice Center is one of 20 clinics participating in the promising prevention effort through the Wisconsin Initiative to Promote Healthy Lifestyles, financed with a $12 million, five-year federal grant. (See www.wiphl.comfor information.)

Betzaida Silva-Rydz is the specially trained health educator at the Waukesha clinic. She describes a woman who came to the clinic for medical issues and, like others, completed four screening questions - like when was the last time she had four drinks in one sitting.

After she was provided information, without judgment, the woman recognized that both she and her husband had a problem in ways they hadn't considered, affecting their health, their family, their finances.

Through a few more sessions, the couple saw their way to changes that put more effort into family and less into social drinking.

It's the kind of story repeated last week at a meeting of health care professionals where early screening and intervention were hailed by the likes of Milwaukee Commissioner of Health Bevan Baker and Milwaukee County District Attorney John Chisholm.

Baker, quoting his wife, said it's not just taking the bull by the horns - which can leave you gored - it's removing the horns.

The National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism says one in four Wisconsinites is a problem drinker or drug user, but only 10% to 20% of them get help. The state estimates the consequences cost $5 billion a year in health care, social services and criminal justice. One brief screening and intervention saves $1,000, a state study reports.

The National Commission on Prevention Priorities, which tries to identify the biggest bang for the buck in public health spending, has an eye-opening ranking of how to best make us healthier:

First, men older than 40 and women older than 50 should take a daily aspirin for cardiovascular health. Second, children should be immunized. Third, help people quit smoking.

And fourth? Have routine alcohol screening and intervention. It's ahead of cholesterol screening, blood pressure screening. even cancer screenings.

It's that important. So more clinics should get involved. More insurance plans should cover it. And more people desperate to do something about drunken drivers should demand it.
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source: Milwaukee Journal Sentinel

Understanding Addictions

CAMDEN (Sep 22): “Understanding Addictions” will be the subject of a free evening program open to anyone in the Midcoast area and presented by the First Congregational Church, Camden, from 7 p.m. to 9 p.m. on Thursday, September 25.

“’Understanding Addictions” is intended both for people who may be suffering from an addiction and for individuals who would like to be more helpful to a family member or a friend who is struggling with addiction,” said program leader, Mary Ellen Ostherr who works as a substance abuse therapist for Mid-Coast Mental Health and also has a private practice. She has worked in the field helping individuals and families with substance abuse and recovery for 15 years.

“Part of the program will be about how to understand the signs of addiction and what you can do about it as a friend or family member. The program will also cover how to recognize enabling behaviors and what to do to help stop those behaviors that can contribute to someone’s addiction,” she said. “An important part of the program will cover how we can reach out and help others.”

Denial—how to recognize it and how to deal with it as a friend or family member will also be covered, Ostherr said.

Maine currently leads the nation in per capita addiction to opiates and the state is number two in alcohol addiction. Factors that make the problem worse for the people of Maine, she said, include the long winters, the ready availability of drugs and alcohol, and the high risk nature of some jobs in Maine.

It is easy to get hurt and take prescription drugs as part of the rehabilitation, she said. Good people can find that weeks later they may develop an addiction. Another factor is the Internet. There are now websites that make it all too easy to get prescription medications. Some of these websites have doctors standing by who will write the prescription.

“Understanding Addictions” is offered through the “Live and Learn” series of free seminars and workshops presented for residents of the Midcoast area by the First Congregational Church, Camden.

“Understanding Addictions” will be held in the Mayflower Room of the church at 55 Elm Street in Camden. Participants should park in the Church parking lot behind the Church and enter through the door on the parking lot side. The Church is handicapped accessible.
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source: http://waldo.villagesoup.com/

CADCA Survey Finds Alcohol Top Problem Facing Communities

According to CADCA´s 2007 Annual Survey of Coalitions, 68 percent of community anti-drug coalitions across the country ranked alcohol as the number one problem facing their community. The Annual Survey of Coalitions (formerly known as the National Coalition Registry) is the only nationwide survey that targets community-based drug and alcohol abuse prevention organizations.

In the 2007 Survey, marijuana came in at a close second, with 60 percent of community groups ranking it as among the top five major problems in their areas. Other substances cited among the top five concerns include tobacco, methamphetamine and prescription drugs. Coalitions also consider binge drinking as one of the issues that they struggle with in their communities, confirming what several other nationwide studies have shown.

“It’s no surprise that our members are seeing big problems with youth alcohol use in their communities. The findings from our Annual Survey of Coalitions reflect those of other major national surveys that show alcohol use as the number one abused substance, followed by cigarette smoking and marijuana use,” noted General Arthur T. Dean, CADCA Chairman and CEO.

CADCA’s Web-based survey is conducted annually to identify the major issues facing community coalitions and to understand how coalitions work in their communities. Participants are asked a wide range of questions, such as the substance abuse issues facing their communities, the activities they use to address those issues and the organizations and agencies that help them in their efforts. The survey also asks for descriptive information, such as geographic target area, budget size and coalition membership, offering a picture of what typical community coalitions look like. In 2007, 700 coalitions participated in the survey.

When asked what major partners help them tackle their community’s problem, 88 percent said law enforcement was one of their strongest allies, 86 percent said parents and 81 percent cited the faith community.

According to the 2007 findings, community coalitions use a wide range of strategies to address their community’s problems. Some of the most widely-used strategies include education and information dissemination; media outreach, advertisements and public service announcements; special events and community forums; community mobilization and neighborhood improvement activities; and training to community groups.

In addition to the 2007 findings, CADCA is also launching a new feature in its Annual Survey of Coalitions that will allow people who have completed the survey to obtain state and national survey reports. For example, survey participants are now able to:

• Download a copy of their previous survey responses from 2007, 2006 and 2005.

• Obtain a report on a particular topic in the survey – such as, the sectors typically represented on coalitions, the activities coalitions are engaged in and the type of federal prevention funding coalitions receive.

• Network with other coalitions in their state by searching the Survey Report database for other coalitions in their state who are dealing with the same issues or working in the same areas.

CADCA members receive the same information but also get national level reports, expanding their networking potential.

To access the Annual Survey Reports, visit: http://cadca.org/annualsurvey and login with the information used to participate in the 2007 Survey. Forgot your login? Send an email to registry@cadca.org or membership@cadca.org or call 800-54-CADCA, ext. 240 or 257.
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source: Community Anti-Drug Coalitions of America, http://www.cadca.org/

When one drink just isn't enough

One drink leads to another, and another . . .

This weekend alcoholics from around the South Island will be in Ashburton for an Alcoholics Anonymous assembly. They come from all walks of life, but they share a common desire to stay sober. Reporter Michelle Nelson tells the story of two women affected by alcoholism. Rita is a recovering alcoholic, and Jane talks of the impact her alcoholic father had on her childhood.

My name is Rita, I’m an alcoholic.
Many of you know me, few of you know about my alcohol and drug addiction.

I live among you, work with you, stand alongside you in the queue outside parent-teacher interview rooms, chat with you in the corner dairy and deal with you in a professional capacity.

That’s the odd thing about alcoholics – you just can’t pick us. There are those in our ranks whose drunken behaviour ends in the mayhem and violence that attracts media attention, but the majority of us are living right alongside you. These days, with the support of AA, I am a recovering alcoholic.
For me, only another addict can understand the despair of addiction.

One of the first AA slogans I took on board was “don’t pick up the first one and you can’t get drunk.” It took a while, but therein lies the essence of my “problem.” Cliché; it’s not what we drink – it’s how we drink.

Have you ever told yourself you won’t drink tonight? This week? Until your birthday? Until someone else’s birthday?

Or that you deserve a drink because you had a bad day? Because you had a good day? Because a bird flew overhead?

I made a lot of promises to myself and to those who cared about me. I am a mother, a wife, a daughter, a sister and a friend – and I am an alcoholic, I have a disease and my addiction to alcohol is symptom of that disease.

Nobody in their right mind would choose to be an addict. But there is something wrong in my mind; when I pick up a drink I don’t stop until I’m pissed.
There are scientific theories to explain my disease ranging from a genetic predisposition to drink like a fish to my upbringing in a family of boozers – both of which open a stupid chicken or the egg debate, and at the end of the day it doesn’t matter.

The fact is I am an alcoholic. And these days I’m okay with that. In fact I really wonder why I was so scared of being sober.

You see, I never could live life on its own terms. I was an insecure kid and alcohol was a magic potion for confidence - and fear of being exposed kept me drinking.

And that’s one of the things that bond us alcoholics. Underneath the social trappings we all battle common demons and insecurity and fear are a common thread.

By the luck of the gods I found myself in Queen Mary rehab some years ago now.

There I heard a dear old lady speak of stabbing her husband. I ate with a man who tried to cut his girlfriend’s throat.

The stories of the multi-millionaire, who owned a helicopter, the doctor who never prescribed anything he hadn’t tried himself, the accountant, the teacher, the truck driver, the transvestite sex worker, the priest, the gang member and the nurse have much in common.

Alcoholism, or any other addiction for that matter, plays no favourites. It takes no account of race, colour or creed, whether you are rich or poor, or educated and powerful. If it’s going to get you it will. The question is – what can be done about it?

AA is the only thing that worked for me. I tried counselling and saw psychiatrists, walked out the door and got pissed. Today I am sober and that’s what matters.

An eight-year-old child and her little sister sit in a car parked outside a pub. They have been there for a long time.

They are arguing about who will go in to drag their father out of the pub. Both children are frightened of drinking men – and with good reason.
Eventually Jane goes. She is fobbed off with a packet of chips and her father’s promise not to be long.

Hours later he staggers from the bar and gets behind the wheel. The girls know better than to argue.

“He would sit me on his knee so I could steer the car, then I learned to drive and soon I was driving a drunk home, I was only eight or nine years old.”
Soon Jane’s father began taking her on ‘trips’ – which were in fact pub crawls, on which she was frequently abused.

“His hands would be up my dress and he’d say your mother’s doing the same thing to your brother.

“I was disgusted, I loved my mother and I thought what he was saying was true.”

Jane was fed many lies as her father set about isolating her by maligning her mother’s character.

“He told me my mother was having an affair with the headmaster, I thought that was true too.”

Jane doesn’t remember a childhood. Her story is more about her survival in a warzone awash with alcohol.

“I know now that my mother had to beg for money to feed us, but there were always flagons. I never felt like a little girl, I was always worried about what would happen next. I was always trying to keep mum safe, keep my sister safe, keep myself safe.”

When Jane was in her teens her parents separated and her mother learned of the sexual abuse.
“She had a nervous breakdown, it was terrible.”

Again Jane picked up the pieces, setting a pattern she would carry into adulthood.

“All my life I’ve been trying to save people.”

But while Jane was trying to save others she was bent on a path of personal self-destruction. Not surprisingly she left school with few qualifications; she began binge drinking, developed eating disorders and formed a succession of unsuccessful relationships with men.

Two years ago Jane ended a violent relationship and was diagnosed with traumatic stress disorder; she thinks it is responsible for the panic attacks she has long suffered.

“It’s always been there, all my life that I can remember I just never had a name for it.”

Emotionally and physically battered and determined to turn her life around, she made contact with an abused women’s support group then Al-anon, a support group for family members whose lives have been blighted by alcoholism.

“There was no where else to go. Being raised by an alcoholic almost destroyed my life.

“I’m learning to put my needs ahead of others, I can’t save them but I can save myself.”
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source: Ashburton Guardian, http://www.ashburtonguardian.co.nz/

The Recovery Cafe

"We are a community in which men and women traumatized by homelessness, addiction and mental health challenges can come to know ourselves as loved and as instruments of love in the lives of others with gifts to share."

Recovery Café's mission statement is no corporate, fluff marketing verse. It can't afford to be. The individuals who are currently abiding by this creed have fought through dogged pasts, creating a brighter future for themselves and others, all while exercising the very demons luring them back to the darkness of their former lives.

I walk past the Recovery Café most times I hop the free ride zone downtown. To be honest, I've been putting off writing / researching this blog because I was a little scared at what I might find, both inside the center and inside myself upon a visit.

But this was the week...I couldn't put it off any longer.

I walked the two blocks to Second and Bell, continually going over the questions that I had already scratched in my Roaring Springs Composition notebook, merely hoping to talk to someone who works there (calling ahead would be too professional), get my questions answered, shoot some photos, and be on my way - still emotionally unattached. David Coffee ("...like what you drink in the morning") the Café's director, made sure that didn't happen.

After bumbling into the café, I came across David hunched over a contract. David's around 5'9" with medium to short dark hair, prickling with grey. Hailing from DC, his Northface jacket now firmly marks him as a Seattlite. He would need some more time, but I was more than welcome to take some photographs, but not inside; the café houses a few women battling histories of domestic violence, and are hiding from their former "family" with their new family. At that moment, I knew this wasn't going to be an in and out operation.

Not long after, David joined me outside and needed no prodding to begin discussing the café, leaving me scrambling for scribble space in my notebook.

Four years ago, the café was started by a group of women who saw a hole in Seattle's otherwise stellar housing / work program agencies. The Recovery Café is rooted in the idea that former addicts and trauma victims need more than 28 days for a full recovery – they need a lifetime. Although former addicts and trauma victims were finding places to live and work, they still didn't have a support system, a clean support system, to keep them focused on their recovery. Their "deferment" of life regarding family and health needed assessment, answers, and healing .

"So that's where the café comes in," explains David, "it gives whoever wants it, as long as there clean and sober, the chance to make new friends, and through those friends to gain support and trust."

David introduced me, making me sound very important, to no less than ten people attending the days thirty minute meditation session, member introduction, and meal - each of them saying the same thing when asked what the best part of the café is:

"Being part of a community."

It's the simplest of comforts - feeling like a part of something. Each person I met also came with another, a partner of sorts. Phil had Karyn and Karyn had Phil. J. Garland had T. Rose, and they've known each other since Alcoholics Anonymous 20 years ago. In a weird way, I kind of had David, and this was not intentional, I believe it's just how things happen there. The openness, warmth, and camaraderie I felt in the time spent at the café was nothing short of authentic.

And that's why the café is successful. It breeds trust through it's many meetings, meditations, and meals. First, a member has to sign a contract, this can even be a daily contract (David told me of a gentlemen who on some days could not personally bring himself to sign the contract, knowing he might break it) that each person will act in accordance with the café's mission and goals. Once a member, you've earned access to the support needed for future growth, and even some of the special events like art focused activities, or Open Mic Night every third Saturday where members take their shot at amateur entertainment.

Even harder than trying to crack some jokes though, is completely prying open one's darkest self to a circle of focused eyes, but this is what Recovery Café excels at due to the high trust level. David Shull is Recovery Café's support services coordinator and facilitates the survivors group meetings. After naively explaining to David that my idea of a support meeting is only what I've seen on television, (thank you, Celebrity Rehab!) he makes me feel better confirming that my impressions aren't that far off.

"I only talk about 97% of the time, and if I'm talking more than that then something isn't right. I'm more of a facilitator than anything else."

Shull echoed the same secret that some of the members told me regarding what's needed to fully heal and move on:

"You have to go deep enough to bring it out..."

The David's make up a third of the full time staff, leaving duties to the over 240 volunteers that participate in the café's mission. Many of these volunteers are members themselves that help with various things around the café, but other volunteers come in a totally different form. By having "successful" individuals as volunteers, the café serves as a comfortable space for members to ask volunteers questions about their life and successes on their terms where as they might not feel comfortable doing the same on a bus or while shopping. Again, without trust within the café's walls, conversations and learning of this magnitude could never take place.

The café itself is struggling for the best of reasons, lack of space for it's growing community. Currently in a 1,700 sq. foot space, the tour didn't take long once meditation was finished. Aside from the comically large Starbucks donated espresso machine (I guess they do some good things while taking over the world) the smallish kitchen can't boast much more than some prep space and a microwave while the café's members are all congregated in one of three rooms, each of differing sizes specifically for intimacy demands, the smallest reserved for one or two person sessions. The plan now is a 4k sq. foot space with street access to keep the café notion central. Visibility and accessibility are top priority along with staying in Belltown. Spread the word.

Special thanks to the David's and everyone kind enough to answer my questions, letting me into a small space of trust that I don't believe I earned. The quizzical optimism I witnessed in a place that has heard so many sad stories, with more to come, was something I've only seen in a few others. After now being present in this odd sanguinity again, one that breads statements like, "it's just incredible the changes that happen here," amidst cases of failure, I realize it takes rare persons committed to service with realistic optimism. David Coffee is not in denial nor blind to the fact that some addicts or victims plunge back into their old ways. What he is however, along with Recovery Café's other employees, volunteers, and members, are people who have the chance to see a happy ending every day.

Now, I think I understand why they do it: The afterglow is quite something.
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source: http://blog.seattlepi.nwsource.com/thebelltownblocks

Recovering The Oxford House

Community homes for recovering drug and alcohol addicts are revived after a DePaul study proves their worth

A five-year study by DePaul�s Center for Community Research made Illinois lawmakers take notice. They recently passed funding for the multiplication of non-institutional, democratically self-governing substance abuse rehabilitation centers known as Oxford Houses.

The new funding was a product of the Illinois Department of Human Services, Division of Alcohol and Substance Abuse (DASA). The grant provides for the opening of four new Illinois Oxford Houses this spring among the 11 new homes DASA hopes to subsidize by the end of the year. The creation of up to 20 new Oxford Houses annually across the state is the goal of DASA beyond 2008.

The Study's Results

The Center for Community Research, headed by DePaul professor of psychology Dr. Leonard A. Jason, has advocated the liberal approach of the Oxford House system. Its research on the system was heavily considered by DASA and was cited by the government department in support for the new funds.

"[The Center for Community Research] did a study which indicated that if you provided these types of support and care after people have been in treatment for substance abuse, you could get about twice as many people to stay sober over a two year period of time," Jason said.

Jason worked alongside DePaul colleague and fellow-psychology professor Dr. Joseph Ferrari among others, including Northwestern professor of research Brad D. Olson, in studying the effects of the Oxford House democratic rehab method.

The two studies released by the group in 2006 showed drug abstinence rates of 65 to 87 percent among recovering addicts who lived communally in the self-supporting Oxford House system. The results bucked prior notions that a majority of recovering substance users relapsed after treatment.

Jason�s reasoning is simple. "If you have someone who is dealing with substances and drugs and then they get released back to the same family and neighborhoods that might have high levels of substance abuse and you don�t provide them any types of support, the likelihood is that many of those people will relapse," he said. "If you provide housing, opportunities for employment, peer support�you can reduce that rate by half."

Ferrari, a Vincent DePaul Distinguished Professor, credited the Oxford House system�s success to the reality that "a sense of home is very important for people" and that the method respects the "individuality and dignity" of each person who lives in an Oxford House.

Resident Turned Landlord

Stephanie Marez is a shining example of the system�s benefits. After bouncing from treatment center to treatment center for her alcohol abuse, Marez spent just under a year as an Oxford House resident in 2004.

"It worked itself out to be the best thing that ever happened to me," she said. "Who better to understand an addict than another addict?"

After moving out of her Oxford House clean about three years ago, Marez now serves on the State Board of Illinois for Oxford Houses while working at DePaul on a study of ex-drug offenders� post-treatment options. She is also the landlord of an Oxford House and trains new residents in particular positions they will hold in their house.

Shaping Reform

This recent expansion of funding is not the first time that Oxford Houses have been subsidized by the Illinois government.

According to Ferrari, state governments were federally mandated to provide $100,000 in annual funding for Oxford Houses throughout the 1990s, a small price to pay for effective substance abuse recovery. By 2003, however, DASA discontinued the funding based on a lack of data supporting the Oxford House system.

"There was no data to show that it did not work," said Ferrari in reaction, who gives much credit to the DePaul study for the reinstatement. "We were able to show how cost-effective it is; these people are getting their own jobs and paying their own rent."

Ferrari insisted that the government�s bias towards the institutions it funds heavily such as hospitals and traditional rehabilitation centers was the real reason DASA cut funding for Oxford Houses.

"Oxford Houses are controversial because they are showing that people can take care of themselves. [Oxford House residents] don�t need the medical community."

Since residents must be employed, pay rent and work to pay off the initial government loans provided to each group home, Oxford Houses are, as Ferrari pointed out, an extremely cost-effective rehabilitation method.

"There are so many people that are incarcerated for nonviolent drug offenses, the prisons are just overcrowded. There is such a need for sober living and recovery homes," Marez said.

Jason indicated that the high abstinence rates of former addicts coming out of Oxford Houses contribute to the system�s public thrift. With a population of ex-offenders less prone to relapse, there is a lesser chance that the recovered will end up in prisons, hospitals or other publicly funded institutions in the future. Fewer relapses equal less taxpayer money.

Though it should not be viewed as an end, Marez believes that the new funding is "a step in the right direction." Ferrari is looking forward to the locations of the new houses, emphasizing that they are necessary in both urban and rural communities. Jason hopes the supportive research for Oxford Houses leads to a similar treatment of social outcasts including criminals and the homeless.

The Study and the Oxford House

The DePaul study was performed through interviews with Oxford House residents every six months for two years. After two years, Jason noted, most of the residents had left their Oxford House rehabilitated. Many of the interviews were done by DePaul students, graduate and undergraduate, while Jason and Ferrari directed the research, which took place between 2000 and 2005.

A network overseen by the nonprofit, publicly dependent corporation Oxford Houses, Inc., Oxford Houses are located across the United States as well as in countries such as Canada and Australia. Currently, there are 39 Oxford Houses in Illinois, including three in Chicago.

Each group home houses six to 15. An initial $5,000 loan is given to each house for furnishings and basic start-up costs.
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source: http://www.thedepaulia.com

The training officer

After giving up drugs, boredom made Cheryl Powell turn to learning.

I can clearly remember the turning point. Three deaths in the space of a month: my boyfriend, cousin and then my dad. My boyfriend died of a heroin overdose, a couple of days before Christmas. My cousin died on Boxing Day; another heroin overdose. In January, my dad died of a terminal illness. I was 23.

Up until then, I'd been doing OK. I'd ended up in foster care during my final year of school, which had disrupted my education. I'd left school with no qualifications, but I'd managed to get a job as a dental technician, a job I'd held down for over two years. I enjoyed the work and it was good money. What happened that Christmas sent me to a dark place; I just couldn't cope anymore.

I started cutting myself. I tried to commit suicide so many times I lost count. Sometimes I'd take an overdose, sometimes I'd cut myself. I was constantly in and out of hospital. Everything was so black. I couldn't see any happiness in life. On the rare occasions I did feel happy, I was guilty about it.

I developed anorexia. By that time, I had a new boyfriend, but he was abusive and controlling. Starving myself was the only way to feel in control. And then there were the drugs. Before I lost my boyfriend and cousin, I only did cannabis, speed and "street" Diazepam. After they died, I started taking heroin.

Heroin affects different people differently. Some people commit horrendous crimes to get money for drugs. I didn't. I worked at a lap-dancing club practically every night and earned up to £500 a week. I didn't think about what I was doing. When you're an addict, you spend all day running around to get your drugs. Some days you haven't got enough money to buy any. Other days you can't buy enough. Sometimes you can't find a dealer to supply you. When you come off drugs, one of the most difficult things to deal with is boredom. What else do you do with your time?

My family and friends knew I was a heroin addict. They also knew I was working as a lap dancer. I've got five siblings and they were all disappointed in me. My younger brother disowned me for a while. I lost a lot of friends, and gained a lot of acquaintances.

I remember the day I decided to stop. I found my boyfriend was in bed with my best friend. I knew I had had enough. I called my mum, took my things and moved out. I started taking the prescription drugs I'd been given to help me stop. A friend from the lap-dancing club took me to Tenerife for a holiday to sweat it out. I've been clean ever since.

A few months later, my little sister brought home a leaflet about the Prince's Trust - a charity that helps young people get into work, education or training. It was just what I was looking for. At 30, I was five years over the age limit of 25, but because I was so enthusiastic, they made an exception for me. I did a 12-week personal development course, which included work experience and community projects. When I finished the programme, the college offered me a job. I now work on a number of programmes aimed at getting young people into work, education or training.

I work with many vulnerable people: ex-offenders, asylum seekers and recovering addicts. Because of my experiences, I can see where they are coming from.

I'm 36 now, and I'd never go back to my old life. The college gave me a second chance and I am so grateful for that. Now I have a reason to get up in the morning and I love it.

· Cheryl Powell is a training officer in the work-based learning department at City College, Plymouth
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source: The Guardian

Halfway house unveils new look to public

Renovated Limen House for Women renews its commitment to sobriety

WILMINGTON -- Just as they celebrated the completion of a massive renovation project, supporters and staff of the Limen House for Women rededicated themselves to a mission of mercy.

"It's about saving lives," said Sister Margie Walsh, drug and alcohol counselor at the halfway house -- whose name, Limen, comes from a psychological term for threshold. "It represents human beings who have been restored to sanity."

Many see symbolism, too, in the house, a rescue job itself. Built in 1899, the stately three-story house on North Broom Street was spared the wrecking ball and restored from a state of boarded-up windows and deterioration. Many of the guests at a weekend reception there said the house has never looked better.

Beyond celebrating completion of donation-financed renovations, including an electrical system replacement and extensive repainting, supporters at the reception honored not only those who changed their lives here, but all who established it and kept the place going.

Former executive director Tommie Reid, who traveled from Virginia for the rededication, said many alcohol-recovery programs closed decades ago after overextending themselves by trying to be all things to all people. Vocational, emotional and medical needs also are important -- and Limen House residents get such support -- but the house succeeds by staying focused on recovery, Reid said.

The recovery aspect of the program, where women 18 and older live at least a year, is based on the 12 steps of Alcoholics Anonymous, board of directors President Gini Rogers said.

Since opening in 1973, the nonprofit house has served about 250 residents, Rogers said.

The residential therapeutic treatment program for recovering alcoholics began with its men's house, which opened in 1969 and is believed to be the nation's oldest continuously operating halfway house for recovering alcoholics. Limen House was created by St. Andrew's Episcopal Church of Wilmington, which raised private donations to run the program, named it and assembled its first board of directors.

Aside from longevity, Limen House is singular, Executive Director Reginald Irby said, because it is the only facility of its type in Delaware and is not part of any other program, hospital or business. Mainly run on donations, Limen House receives limited funds from the state and through United Way.

Among its requirements are that residents share chores, plan and make meals, and find and keep employment, all while developing their sobriety in what Reid called "a little tough love."

As a resident, she recalled, "we got up and we lived without drinking ... and nobody was honey-babying us."

New residents arrive with little left and their lives broken.

"They come in with just the clothes they are wearing," said Debbie Pisan, counselor in training.

By the time they leave, Rogers said, they have changed their habits to those of sober living, having gained employment and worked long enough to have cars and bank accounts as well as established support systems, including a sponsor they can reach out to in any sobriety-threatening crisis.

The weekend celebration also included the house's rededication as the Irene Rego Residence, honoring a resident who became executive director.

Next year, the Limen House for Women will mark its 40th year with celebrations, Dana Edwards told Saturday's crowd of fellow Limen House supporters in its refurbished foyer, lit by its original hanging light, restored by a donor.

Because of donations, which also included wallpapering and window treatments given by Mary Cairns Interiors, the renovation project's value topped its $150,000 cost, Irby said, acknowledging grants including support from the Gannett Foundation, the charity program of The News Journal's parent company.

Edwards thanked supporters on behalf of the women whose lives have changed here -- or can in the future because of their help -- saying, "It couldn't be done without all of you."

Contact robin brown at 324-2856 or rbrown@delawareonline.com.

source: Delaware Online

Secular program tackles addiction

How was your week?

It's a simple question, but for one substance abuse recovery group with meetings in Benicia and Vallejo, it's also a touchstone that keeps members coming back to share their small victories and setbacks in their struggles with addiction.

LifeRing is a secular, or non-religious, program. Unlike some other recovery programs, there is no talk of a higher power, no steps and no sponsors.

"We have one bottom line rule: We do not drink or use drugs - no matter what," said John DeYoung, who runs the Benicia meeting and one of the two in Vallejo.

During the meetings, participants sit in a circle, taking turns discussing their week and their plans for the coming one.

Talking about one's week presents a "low entry barrier," according to LifeRing literature, and allows newcomers to participate from day one.

Concentrating discussion on a narrow time period also allows participants to "focus on today," De-Young said. It also prevents them from getting bogged down in "war stories" or romanticizing their past.

Feedback, known as crosstalk, is encouraged.

At a recent Benicia meeting, some group members discussed problems with family and careers, while others shared recent triumphs. But even if their weeks were tough, many of the 13 participants said the connection and support of the LifeRing meeting made things easier.

Founded in 2001 and based in Oakland, LifeRing has about 100 face-to-face meetings, plus online groups, with the largest concentration being in the Bay Area.

While LifeRing is non-religious, it is not anti-religion - about 40 percent of members attend some form of worship services, according to a LifeRing survey.

Richard, a LifeRing member who battled alcoholism after his wife's death, said many people have "trouble with the god concept," in some other programs, which is absent from LifeRing.

But LifeRing does not discourage people from participating in other programs, such as Alcoholics Anonymous, DeYoung said. In fact, many participants work on their sobriety through multiple programs at the same time, customizing their own recovery, he said.

"There's a lot of overlap," DeYoung said. "It's not a competition, just another option."

www.unhooked.com

Seattle offers a place for homeless to call home - even to drink

The 75 tenants at 1811 Eastlake were once chronic drunks, living and boozing on Seattle's streets. Two years ago, outreach workers rounded them up and gave them their own place to live - and drink.

Despite an initial furor about taxpayers' supporting chronic alcoholics - "bunks for drunks," some critics have called it - Seattle Mayor Gregory J. Nickels announced last month that the program was succeeding.

Nickels said 1811 Eastlake and a second facility, Plymouth on Stewart, had saved taxpayers $3.2 million in emergency social and health services formerly spent on homeless people. Tenants have also reported a one-third reduction in the number of days they get drunk.

Built with $11.2 million in government funding, 1811 Eastlake costs taxpayers $13,000 a year for each tenant. That's a fraction of the $50,000 Seattle says it would spend on jails, emergency hospitalization and treatment for each homeless person on the street.

But 1811 Eastlake is not a glorified flophouse.

It has two staffers on duty around the clock. And with the help of 14 other full-time staff and counselors, tenants get two hot meals a day, trips to a local food bank, medication monitoring, and health services through Medicaid. They also receive housewares, clothing and other supplies.

The theory behind 1811 Eastlake is "Housing First," developed 15 years ago by Sam Tsemberis, an advocate for the homeless in New York City. About 150 cities, including Philadelphia, have adopted variations that are less radical than Seattle's.

After years of working with homeless people, Tsemberis decided the traditional ways did not work. He turned the model on its head: First get the homeless into housing, then provide services to keep them off the streets.

In 2005, the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation, the Princeton health-care research organization, awarded $400,000 to researchers at the University of Washington who are studying the Eastlake approach. The three-year study ends in July.

New York City expects to open its version of 1811 Eastlake within a year. Rob Hess, who ran Philadelphia's homeless services for five years before accepting the same job in New York in 2006, said he was not surprised that chronic alcoholics did less drinking once they were in their own apartments.

"They have . . . a safe environment as opposed to having to sleep on the streets," he said.

"Nobody really wants to live on the streets."
___
source: The Philadelphia Inquirer

For the Alcoholic: Preventing Relapses

There are certain red flags you have to watch out for to prevent relapse when you're in recovery from alcoholism.

Some people might have drunk dreams before they take a drink. These kinds of dreams are red flags to watch out for, too. A lot of times a recovering alcoholic will have a drunk dream if they haven't been going to enough AA meetings. A drunk dream is one in which the alcoholic dreams he took a drink or almost takes one. The dreams are very realistic and usually the alcoholic wakes up shaken.

Some main red flags to watch out for which could tell you you're heading for a relapse include cutting back on your AA meetings, isolating, obsessing on drinking, looking at alcohol in stores, romanticizing what it used to be like when you drank, harboring resentments, lashing out at others, not returning phone calls, slacking off at work, neglecting your loved ones, driving recklessly, ending friendships, making excuses, procrastinating, lying, cheating, stealing, rationalizing insane behavior, getting involved with someone who drinks socially or alcoholically, not calling your sponsor, avoiding people, overeating, acting out sexually, gambling, overspending, sabotaging yourself, triangulating people, abusing your self or others, self-medicating, abusing prescription drugs, not getting enough sleep or enough to eat, staying out of your regular routine, avoiding responsibilities, not practicing good hygiene, sleeping a lot, storming off, going into rages, getting tickets, bouncing checks on purpose, being defensive, craving drinks, going to bars, and slipping back into old behaviors, among other things.

Here are some ways to prevent relapse, according to Alcoholics Anonymous:

Attend AA meetings regularly, use a sponsor and re-work the steps, read the textbook of AA (Alcoholics Anonymous) and Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions, the companion book to the first one, call people in the fellowship for support, work with another alcoholic on Step 12, write about what you're feeling, avoid complacency, seek counseling if needed, and talk about what you're going through with someone on the phone or in person.

Prayer is also necessary and meditation is helpful, too.

"Self examination, meditation, and prayers are the maintenance steps for our spirit," says Michael, an AA member. "They must be coupled with action which is inspired by these three things."

The 12th step can be anything from cleaning up after a meeting to working with a new alcoholic, sharing experience, strength, and hope.

This is a helpful prayer as found on page 99 of Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions, otherwise known as "The 12 and 12":

The St. Francis of Assisi Prayer

"Lord, make me a channel of thy peace - that where there is hatred, I may bring love - that where there is wrong I may bring the spirit of forgiveness - that where there is discord, I may bring harmony - that where there is error, I may bring truth - that where there is doubt, I may bring faith - that where there is despair, I may bring hope - that where there are shadows, I may bring light - that where there is sadness, I may bring joy. Lord, grant that I may seek rather to comfort than to be comforted - to understand than to be understood - to love, than to be loved. For it is by self-forgetting that one finds. It is by forgiving that one is forgiven. It is by dying that one awakens to Eternal Life."

Page 85 of Alcoholics Anonymous, nicknamed "The Big Book" states that: "It is easy to let up on the spiritual program of action and rest on our laurels" and page 89 says, "Practical experience shows that nothing will so much insure immunity from drinking as intensive work with other alcoholics....Life will take on new meaning."

According to alcoholism.about.com, there is evidence that approximately 90 percent of alcoholics will experience relapse at least once over the four-year period following treatment.

source: Associated Content

Too young to be an alcoholic?

Ducking the gaze of the puffy-faced stranger in the mirror, Jessica reached for the green bottle of mouthwash and tipped it down her throat; then sagged in relief at the alcohol’s comforting burn.

Entire continents separated her dim, bottle-strewn flat from the spacious, loving home of her childhood in rural Cheshire, but the gulf between the two went far further and deeper than mere miles.

Ten years ago, she had been a hopeful university student. Now, stringy-haired, overweight and sinking five bottles of wine a day, the prospect of even leaving her flat left her in paroxysms of anxiety.

Even now, 30-year-old Jessica, who this month celebrates a year since leaving rehab, struggles to put her finger on why she became an alcoholic.

“We had a nice house in rural Cheshire,” she says. “I had a typical mum and dad, money was not an issue, I had a really good education. I went to music lessons, all kinds of dance, ballet, tap, acting classes, and we would go abroad on holiday. Everything you could possibly ask for, really.”

Over the past year, she has spent hours examining her past for any early signposts to her alcoholism. But the unsettling conclusion she has come to is that alcoholism could happen to just about anyone.

“I did ask mum the other day what I was like as a child,” she says. “She said I never wanted to share anything with them, and I was not always terribly motivated, but that could describe countless youngsters. I was quite bookish and loved going to the cinema, but, again, nothing overtly unusual in that.”

In her teens, she says, she started hanging around with older boys and drinking. But she describes herself as “naughty” rather than wild, managed to complete her A-Levels and take up a place at a university down south, studying foreign languages.

“It was the first time I was completely on my own,” she says. “I remember thinking that everyone else must have been given instructions on how to do all this stuff and I had no clue. I was completely out of my comfort zone, and it was then I really turned to alcohol in a big way.

“I’d drink a lot of wine, moving on to vodka and spirits. Basically, I’d drink until my money ran out or I passed out.”

She decided the seat of the anxiety lay in the city she’d chosen and the course, so she embarked on another subject at a more local university. The place changed, but she hadn’t.

“When I went on nights out with friends, I often wouldn’t remember where I’d been or how I got home when I woke up. It was quite dangerous.

“On one occasion, I got so drunk I didn’t know where I was. I made a reverse charges call home and my dad drove a couple of hundred miles through the night to pick me up from a police station. I wasn’t flavour of the month after that.”

She left university again, and landed a job in the entertainment hospitality industry back in Cheshire.

“There’s lots of alcohol around in hospitality, and you do take advantage of it,” she says. “You’re working anti-social hours and it was quite normal to start drinking at 2am when you finished your shift. I’d still be able to function the next day and paste a smile on my face, but I couldn’t understand why, compared to other people my age who were finishing university, my life was such a disaster.”

Her dependency stepped up a gear in her mid-20s.

“I went through stages where I could keep everything ticking over for a few months at a time, but following the break-up of a relationship my drinking started to get completely out of hand.” Her life was spent at work, now in a banking job, or drinking. She was frequently late or off sick.

“I would wake up anxious and not being able to go in was normal. I clearly remember sitting in work, watching the clock, and counting down the time until I could get back to the only thing that never let me down.”

She’d have a few gulps of vodka before work and a steadying swift one at lunch. Eventually, she was found drunk at her desk.

“I even couldn’t stop myself from having a drink on the way to my disciplinary hearing,” she confesses. “It was horrible. I’d kept going thinking nobody realised something was wrong and everything came crashing down, with the guilt and shame and all those things you would expect. But I quickly turned it round and decided to take the opportunity to borrow £10,000 and go off travelling.”

In Australia, she found a job with a not-for-profit company. For a while, it seemed, amid unfailing sunshine and her optimism in that country, she would be able to start over.

“As soon as people started saying ‘Come out for a drink’, it all just started again,” she says. “It’s a big drinking culture there, which wasn’t the best place for me perhaps. I’d go out once or twice a week on massive benders with friends, but I’d continue on my own for the rest of the week.

‘IT WAS the same old story. I would swear off drinking for a few days, weeks, once even a month, but as soon as I started again, and I always did, I would be back to square one in a very short space of time.”

The pattern continued over several years, each time she stopped and started again, bringing her a further circuit down the spiral.

“I hit a point where I couldn’t function any more,” she says. “I was drinking four to five bottles of wine a day, and if I had to go out for any reason I’d have miniatures of vodka first.

“In the morning, if I could get myself out of bed, I would be dry retching, shaking and soaked with sweat and I would promise myself that I wouldn’t do it again today. Ten minutes later, I would be drinking mouthwash because it has a high alcohol content. All I can remember thinking is that I didn’t want to be here any more. Not dead and not alive, just not to ‘be’. I spent my last week in Australia lying in a darkened room, scared if anyone came to the door and unable to get to the shower on my own.”

Concerned friends contacted Jessica’s family. She was taken back to the UK and she agreed to enter full-time treatment, at the Priory in Altrincham. Initially, she planned on staying for a week before heading back to Australia. “Deep down, I did not believe that there was anything on the face of this planet that could stop me drinking,” she admits.

But things she heard at the Priory began to make sense and she stayed on for three weeks, learning how to turn her life around. “For the first time, I began to see what a horrendous mess my life had been and, if I didn’t get help, I was going to die.” Today, she says, her booze-free life is often difficult, but it is challenging and ripe with opportunity.

She is studying to become a counsellor and does voluntary work at a care home. She’s lost a stone and, she says delightedly, her hair has started growing again.

But she can never become complacent, and part of her recovery is avoiding the people and places where she would drink.

“I’m always going to be an alcoholic, and I’d be lying if I said when I see people having fun drinking I didn’t think, ‘That would be nice’,” she says candidly. “The reality is, it would not be like that for me; I wouldn’t be in a sparkly dress with heels on, I would be vomiting in the gutter.

“When I do see girls who have had too much, of course it makes me shudder. It reminds me what I was like and what I have done. It’s horrible to watch what the likes of Amy Winehouse are going through and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. But everyone has their own journey before they realise they have to seek help for themselves.”

She wants young women who read her story and identify with it to know they’re not alone and they can get better.

“I thought I was too young to become an alcoholic,” she says. “People need to be aware that it’s always possible for people to become addicted to alcohol, and it doesn’t matter who you are or where you come from.”

source: Liverpool Daily News

Ex-addicts happy to be clean and sober

At the height of his cocaine use, Gérald was spending up to $300 a day on his habit.

Doing two to three grams a day "at about $100 a gram, you need a lot of money, and sometimes the way to make that money was not totally legit," the 49-year-old former user said Friday.

"I abused alcohol, cocaine and pot. That will keep you stupid for many years."

Fifteen years ago, Gérald attended an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting with his girlfriend at the time to offer his support for her drinking problem.

"I ended up finding out I had a problem, too," he said.

But thanks to Cocaine Anonymous Quebec, Gérald has been clean and sober for 14 years.

Gérald is attending CA Quebec's 21st annual convention, which began last night and ends Sunday at the Delta Hotel.

As the group's name implies, members shield their identity, so Gérald does not want his last name published.

CA Quebec has been a presence in Montreal since its first meeting, in August 1986, drew 16 people. There now are 45 meetings a week in Greater Montreal, 10 in English and the rest in French.

The convention is normally held in the fall, but CA Quebec decided to schedule its 2007 event event now, right after the holiday period. This is a time when many users have difficulty dealing with the ubiquitous parties and with the New Year's resolutions to give up drugs, which can be difficult to achieve.

The bilingual convention features workshops on the 12-step program and sessions about medications, conjugal violence, spirituality and sexuality.

It's also a party, albeit without mind-altering substances.

"This is an event to rejoice in being clean and an opportunity for everyone to meet," Gérald said.

Organizers expect between 500 and 700 people to attend the three day convention. Tonight's main event is a large banquet with music and dancing.

Attendance at the weekend workshops costs $30 for two days. The banquet costs $70 and is nearly sold out.

"Just like the meetings, our policy is: Those who can pay, do," Gérald said of the workshops.

"We really want to reach out to newcomers. Anyone can come for free."

. The Cocaine Anonymous help line is 514-527-9999. The CA Quebec convention is being held at the Delta Hotel, 475 President Kennedy Ave., through Sunday. Participants can register at the door.

source: The Montreal Gazette

Walk Away or Stay Connected: It’s Not Crystal Clear

Having lived through the 80s in San Francisco, and been here during the most horrible years of the AIDS epidemic, I’ve witnessed some really tough challenges to our gay community, challenges that for the most part we have met, and which have changed our community and our city.

In recent years, widespread crystal meth use and addiction have created a new challenge. And whereas taking care of our friends with AIDS and confronting a complacent government brought our community together, the issues of crystal have created deep divisions. People who use are condemned and vilified—they should know better, use will power, get their lives together. Those who don’t use get to be self-righteous and judgmental and cut off friends using meth “for their own good.”

Although I did my share of experimenting with pot and LSD in college, the handful of club drugs like crystal, K, and GHB have never really appealed to me. I needed to take care of myself, and weekend binges was not part of that. So I thought I didn’t have to worry about the “meth drama,” and how it was ruining so many lives, at least in my own life. So I thought. Boy, was I wrong.

A little over four years ago, my partner of 20 years and I were in couple’s counseling, and it was revealed to me that he was using meth, and using it regularly. I felt totally blindsided. I came to understand that he was self-medicating for his depression. But the crash that followed made the depression hole even worse. Our difficult emotional life had been further damaged by crystal, and my most ardent attempts at caretaking and holding the relationship together were useless while meth was a part of our lives. I moved out of the apartment in which I had lived for 20 years so I could get off the roller coaster and take better care of myself.

The usual advice when dealing with an addicted person is to practice “tough love.” If you don’t, you’re “enabling” or you’re “co-dependent.” But when you turn your back on your friend, who will he turn to? Probably his drugging buddies. Or no one.

But I didn’t want to sever this relationship. It had been 20 years, for God sakes. We continued with counseling. Six months later, he flew to Minnesota for rehab. The good news is that today, four years later, he is clean from meth, and our relationship is greatly changed but strong.

Right after I found out he was using was the toughest time for me. I knew nothing about meth and why it was so addictive. I didn’t know how to respond to his needs. I felt guilty and in part blamed myself for this mess. Why couldn’t I love him or take care of him in the right way to make this stop? He is smart, educated, informed—how could he have gotten us into this mess? I made excuses for his behavior, pulled back from friends, and found myself feeling really isolated. Because I felt such shame, I didn’t have anyone to talk to except my therapist.

There are a number of resources for meth users—New Leaf, Stone-wall Project, Walden House—but I could find no resources or support for “friends and family” of gay users. And that surprised me. There has been so much support created for people with AIDS and their families, but not for gay men battling their loved ones’ meth use.

I discovered that like most things in public health, it’s all about the funding. Just like in HIV prevention, where the CDC has decided that “Prevention with Positives” is to be the focus of services, there is (thank God) funding to treat meth addiction, but not to help the families understand or cope.

My education and healing over these years has involved doing what I can as a community member to advocate for “friends and family.” I organized a town forum sponsored by the San Francisco Gay Men’s Community Initiative (SFGMCI), where many gay men gathered and talked for the first time about the struggles of their lives. Their stories touched me very deeply and I heard similarities to what I had experienced—isolation, making excuses, protecting the partner, massive confusion and guilt. But I could also see that I was very fortunate that I did not have to deal with physical abuse, financial ruin, or compromised health like some of my brothers in that circle.

Several months ago, I got a wonderfully enthusiastic response from the San Francisco STD Prevention Services, who responded to a proposal I had written and is now supporting our “Buddies” program, an afternoon workshop/safe space where friends, buddies and partners of meth users can talk about our lives and find a way to make changes.

I know there are many of us in this city who are worried sick, watching a friend go down on meth. We are separate, isolated, and don’t know how to create support. We feel afraid, angry, and hopeless. And we don’t know if it’s best to slam the door and walk away, or try to stay connected while our friend goes through the hell of meth addiction. Every person’s situation is different; everyone has to make his own decision.

“Community” often seems big and amorphous. But community and family can be strengthened—or diminished—one relationship at a time. I believe that my steadfast connection with my friend and ex-partner was crucial to his recovery. I’m very proud of him, and I know he is grateful to me.
If you have concerns about a friend, buddy or partner who is using meth, or know someone who is struggling with these issues, I invite you to join us in the Buddies program. Visit our website at drawtheline.org/buddies, or leave a message for me at 415-355-2003.

author: Buzz Bense is the founder and former co-owner of Eros. He has been an active member in SFGMCI for the past several years, and enjoys participating in community theater with Pegasus Theater in Monte Rio, CA. Buzz can be reached at bbense@earthlink.net.

San Francisco Bay Times

Sobering look at life

Alcoholic seeks treatment after friend dies in blaze

They never played T-ball together, they didn't chase after girls in high school, they weren't born in the same city but on a summer day in August Malcolm Birbeck and Rick Gagnon would cross paths at an Ottawa rooming house.

During the next few months, they'd become friends until one died in a fire while the other got another chance at life at a time when all hope seemed to have been at the bottom of a bottle or the end of a crack pipe.

This is a story of how the loss of one friend's life motivated the other to reclaim his.

It was around 2 a.m. on Dec. 1 when tenants at 219 Daly Ave. were awakened by the smell of smoke that was billowing out of Gagnon's room.

Nobody knows what exactly started the fire but it's believed he fell asleep smoking a cigarette.

What is known is that the 42-year-old's screams could be heard throughout the old two-storey brick home that years ago had been transformed into a 16-unit rooming house.

TRAPPED IN ROOM

"Save me! save me! I'm on fire!" he screamed from his room where he had barricaded himself in to escape the flames.

Tenants, led by Birbeck, tried to rescue him but they were pushed back by smoke.

He stood in the freezing cold watching firefighters remove Gagnon's blackened and lifeless body.

Hours later, Birbeck, 53, would explain what happened to the Sun. He said he was from Guelph and only came to Ottawa to get clean but hadn't and now lost a friend.

The day after the fire, Birbeck went to a newspaper box and grabbed the Sunday Sun.

He flipped through until he saw a story about how he tried to save Gagnon. The story ended with Birbeck saying he would never go back to the rooming house.

He said: "It's time to get sober."

For more than a month now he has kept that promise.

"I went straight to detox after reading that story," he said.

Enough was enough and he was tired of living as a drunk with a life that was turning him into a crack addict.

He tried to get sober in the past and it worked a couple of times, but something always triggered him to fall.

"But I always made the choice to take the first drink," he said, not wanting to pass blame onto those he's hurt -- and there have been many, including his 14-year-old daughter whom he loves and carries pictures of in his wallet.

The pain he has caused his daughter haunts him as he continues on his road of recovery.

Around Christmas 2006, after a night of alcohol and drugs, Birbeck said he blacked out and physically harmed his daughter.

He had just done crack cocaine for the first time and his daughter, who was sleeping over, confronted Birbeck in the morning because she was tired of seeing him drunk and out of control.

He said a few days earlier she asked him to get help but the verbal spat led to Birbeck being taken from his home in handcuffs. He was charged with assaulting his daughter and ended up serving four months in jail.

The assault was the darkest day of his life and his daughter has since broken off all contact with him.

LEFT WITH CASH

Birbeck got out of prison on March 21. By May 25 he had sold his house and gave his daughter's mother nearly all the proceeds to set up a trust and college fund.

He kept about $10,000 and started blowing it on booze and parties until a week later his doctor recommended that he seek help away from Guelph.

The doctor said he should go to the Ottawa Mission and get into Lifehouse, a five-month treatment program for drunks and addicts.

"I came here an alcoholic looking to share his last drink and met crack addicts looking to kill for their next hit," he said about his first few days in Ottawa last June.

For two weeks, Birbeck blew the rest of his money and saw the darkest the city has to offer.

"I wanted to die. I told everyone I had thousands of dollars in my pockets. I wanted someone to kill me," he said.

Birbeck almost had his wish granted when he was staying at various Vanier hotels. There he met crack addicts wanting every dollar he had and when he would stop giving it to them they'd take it.

He was robbed in person and had his hotel broken into.

"They knew I had money and would kill to get it," he said.

At one point, he was tied up and tortured by a group of thugs until he gave them more money.

"Look at these marks on my legs," he said rolling up his jeans. The bottom of his left leg above his ankle has the scars from the attack and he's thankful he's not dead.

When all he had left was a quarter in his pocket, Birbeck went to detox for three days and then to Lifehouse, two weeks late.

He left four months later and moved into the Daly Ave. rooming house, where he met Gagnon at the end of August.

Going there was the worst idea, some told him, especially those trying to help him.

"We sort of lost him when he went to the rooming house," said Simon Brazier, manager of client services that overseas Hostel to Homes, an Ottawa Mission pilot project that is following 45 men, including Birbeck, over 18 months and tracking their progress as they try to get sober.

When he got to the house, he started to drink hard and used crack.

"That house was full of crack. It's everywhere here," he said. "I'd only tried it once before I came to Ottawa."

During the next few months, Birbeck and Gagnon became friends.

Birbeck even helped to carry out eight cans of garbage from Gagnon's room one day.

Gagnon never had it easy in life. He was born into a family with two older brothers when their mother was divorcing their alcoholic father.

When Gagnon was five years old, his mother moved the boys to Ottawa from Montreal.

Soon after, she was diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic and his older brother Hugh said the illness tore the family apart.

It was especially hard on his little brother who adored his mother.

"She would go to the Royal Ottawa Hospital and stay for a couple of weeks then return just to relapse again. Rick was very young and had to endure his mother screaming at the top of her lungs out the back door of our subsidized home at Rochester Heights that the Russians were coming or that Jesus was going to condemn us all to a painful death," said Hugh.

Hugh said when he was about 12, the Children's Aid Society gave the brothers a choice to either go to foster homes or return home to their mother.

"Rick and Christian, being all too young not knowing what worse could be in store for them with a strange family, decided to stay with mother," said Hugh.

Christian said it was hard on both him and Rick to endure their mother's relapses.

He'd move out when they were older but Rick stayed and fell heavily into drugs and alcohol.

MOTHER'S SUICIDE

In 2001, their mother committed suicide by jumping off the 14th floor apartment balcony.

Gagnon blamed himself for her death because he felt he drove her to it with his addictions and problems.

"I talked him down from more than one suicide attempt," said Christian.

Eventually, Gagnon moved into 219 Daly Ave. where he lived for the last few years of his life.

Only four people showed up at his funeral last month.

"I wanted to yell out the doors of (the funeral home) that my brother was dead in here," Hugh said. "Surely, he touched more lives than that."

He touched Birbeck's and his brother Christian, who he said was the closet person to him besides maybe his mother.

"I didn't imagine he'd die like this but I've certainly lived in fear of his death ever since mom died," said Christian. "His whole life was awful."

Hugh said this spring his brother's ashes will be buried with their mother's, who was laid to rest in a Quebec cemetery across from Fitzroy Harbour.

Birbeck couldn't go to Gagnon's funeral because after he went to detox on Dec. 2 he got into the Ottawa Mission's 30-day stabilization program for addicts.

Then, at around Christmas, he got into a recovery home for men battling alcoholism.

He's now attending daily group therapy at the Royal Ottawa Hospital and at the end of the month he finds out if he qualifies for Meadow Creek, an extensive local counselling and treatment centre.

Birbeck first started drinking at 14 and it became a problem by the time he was 18.

He then spent most of his adult life in the Canadian and U.S. armed forces. He doesn't talk about it much because he said around the time his daughter was born something happened while he was with the Canadian forces and he suffered a nervous breakdown. He said that triggered him to drink again after being dry for years.

'SO ASHAMED'

For the 1 1/2 years he drank and then his wife threatened to leave him. He stayed sober for the next 6 1/2 years until his wife did leave him and he went back to drinking.

"I thought I was going to lose my daughter forever," he said.

Birbeck said he's trying to get his life back so that his daughter might one day be able to forgive him. He also hopes he can forgive himself.

"I am so ashamed," he said.

Birbeck has turned to God for support and guidance.

He said after the fire that he wished God had sent him to Ottawa to save Gagnon.

Now Birbeck knows that in Gagnon's death he might be able to save himself.

His only hope is to stay sober.

source: The Ottawa Sun

One day at a time

John (not his real name) will be taking it one day at a time, every day for the rest of his life. However, the challenge of remaining abstinent from alcohol is accompanied by the rewards of achieving things he never thought possible.

Only half of the patients who walk through the front door of the Lyndon Community will complete the three month rehabilitation program, and not all of them will remain abstinent when they leave.

By its own admission, the 12-step Alcoholics Anonymous program on which the Lyndon Community is based has a success rate of about five per cent.

That figure goes some way to demonstrating the enormous challenge faced by people who start out on the road to recovery.

Lyndon has been operating as a drug and alcohol rehabilitation centre for 25 years and works on a therapeutic community model.

Lyndon program director Norm Henderson said total abstinence from drugs, alcohol and gambling was the first challenge for clients.

“They don't just come and lay back in lounge chairs for three months. There is random testing, and to the best of our ability they're completely drug-free. We do end up with what I suppose you'd call worst case scenarios. We have people who have tried before. The majority of clients here have been in the criminal justice system and have other issues, like their families have broken up. We try to create an environment where people feel safe. The staff get to know them very well,” he said.

John, 40, was one of those clients who had tried before and came to Lyndon via the court system.

He started drinking in the usual way – with friends.

“I just started off socially drinking when I was young. I would always drink more than my friends. I was married young but I was still being responsible, my daughter was born and I was working hard. My marriage got rocky and I started drinking more. Things started getting me down and I drank even more. It's a spiral. You wake up depressed in the morning and the only way out is to have another drink,” he said.

While he didn't end up “derelict in a park”, John believes there are many ways to hit rock bottom.

“I spent the last 10 years prior to going there on and off drinking with a few attempts to rehabilitate, but nothing serious. I moved up from Sydney, thinking I could get away from it. It was mainly the court that put me in Lyndon. I'd lost my licence for the fourth time drink driving.

Jan Stevenson (the local Magistrate) gave me community service or 12 months in prison. I didn't turn up a couple of times, so then I had to go to rehab or go to jail, and I didn't want to go to jail,” he said.

In about 18 months since completing the Lyndon program, John has resumed his life.

He is working for his own business, renovating his house and rebuilding relationships that broke down because of alcohol.

“I left there with no money and a suitcase full of clothes. I decided to stay on in Canowindra. I couldn't see myself changing if I came back to old environments. I'm doing things now that I should have been doing when I was 20. It's taught me a much better way to live. Every day I achieve things that astound me,” he said.

Mr Henderson said about 20 people who had successfully completed the program had chosen to live in and around Canowindra, and most of them were working.

For people addicted to alcohol and drugs, recovery means staying completely abstinent forever.

That is easier said than done in a culture where socialising is often automatically associated with drinking.

“All through my life, everything I did involved alcohol. My friends were all drinkers. That's why it's been pretty hard to change my life now. I really had to cut myself off from everyone. It's only now I'm feeling comfortable going to family things where I know there's going to be grog. The obsession is gone. I have to remind myself now that I am an alcoholic, and one drink will get me back where I started,” John said.

Not all of the people John met at Lyndon have made it through the rehabilitation program, and some will never get a second chance.

“I've never been confronted with more death. That's pretty hard to take, but it also reinforces to me where I could end up if I went back to my old ways,” he said.

source: Cowra Guardian

A Sober Celebration

On New Year's Eve, AA members renew pledge during an all-night party

At the Pawcatuck Community Center, residents of southeastern Connecticut and parts of Rhode Island gathered to greet the new year by lifting a prayer, not a glass: “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference.”

So began the first of the round-the-clock Alcoholics Anonymous meetings at the center as part of the 11th Annual New Year's Eve Alkathon, a 24-hour event held to give alcoholics — along with family members and friends — a safe place to be during a time of year many said can be especially difficult.

By the time the Alkathon, which began at 6 p.m. Monday, concludes at the same time tonight, an estimated four hundred to five hundred people will have participated. The local event, which organizers said they modeled on similar ones all over the country, intersperses 15 open AA meetings with dinner and breakfast buffets, raffles and a break to watch the First Night Westerly fireworks.

Those gathered for the first meeting of the evening celebrated their sobriety, which some measured in months, others in decades. They shared stories of their struggles with alcoholism, and they offered encouraging words for new arrivals.

“When I was dropped off on the doorstep of Alcoholics Anonymous, alcohol wasn't a problem, it was the solution,” one man began. He spent his first AA meetings explaining that alcohol wasn't his problem, he said, but slowly realized, as everyone else described his or her problems with alcohol, that he was hearing his own story.

A woman recounted her daily struggle, when she lived in New York, not to enter the liquor store she passed on her way home from work. Each day she'd tell herself, “I'm not going to go in today,” and each day her feet rounded the corner and carried her in, she said. She tried AA as a last resort while thinking of ways to kill herself and found sobriety.

“I heard, 'You don't have to drink.' That had never occurred to me.”

Many said they had to hit a low point before seeking out AA meetings or taking their 12-step recovery program seriously and described lost jobs, severed relationships, ill health and in one case, a drunk-driving accident that nearly killed the other driver. Their message to fellow alcoholics: there is hope.

An Alkathon volunteer announced that by his count, about 20 adults present — a number that would grow steadily as the meeting proceeded — had roughly 175 years of sobriety between them.

“We have an expression: You can go from Yale to jail and back again,” said Mark, another Alkathon volunteer willing to share his first name.

Two and a half years ago, he said, he picked up a drink after a long period of sobriety. In short order he lost his job, went through a divorce and found himself living in a homeless shelter on whose board he had previously served.

“As of tomorrow I will own the company I was fired from,” Mark said. “That's what can happen.”

The message of the Alkathon — and regular AA meetings — is that “you don't have to drink again if you can't stop,” Mark said. “There will be someone tonight who will have had a drink tonight, and tomorrow will be their first day sober.”

source: The Day

PSU starts online alcohol education

Starting next year, Penn State has announced, the university will require all incoming freshmen to enroll in an online alcohol-education program before they set foot on campus.

The Web services, to be provided through the Massachusetts- based AlcoholEdu for College program, are already used by more than 200 colleges and universities nationwide.

An independent study of AlcoholEdu, done two years ago, showed that program participants reported 50 percent fewer drinking-related problems than those not enrolled.

“This program will allow us, for the first time, to educate all incoming students in the Penn State system about alcohol,” said Linda LaSalle, the coordinator of educational services at University Health Services.

Past anti-binging efforts have included gatherings in dormitories and poster campaigns.

But until now, there was “no way of actually being able to ensure that everyone is being exposed to the same information — or even that they’re exposed at all,” LaSalle said.

A $245,000 grant from the John S. and James L. Knight Foundation will help cover expenses of the four-year effort. Penn State also is kicking in some money, though the total estimated cost was not available Monday.

The Knight Foundation, which had loose ties to the former Knight Ridder newspaper company, provides targeted financial support in communities where Knight Ridder did business. The Centre Daily Times was sold by Knight Ridder to the McClatchy Co. in 2006.

A Knight Foundation director who handles grants in central Pennsylvania could not be reached immediately on Monday.

LaSalle said a local advisory committee for the foundation identified alcohol abuse as a key area of concern.

Committee members talked with leaders at Penn State about efforts that “could have a transformative effect in the community, which is part of the Knight Foundation mission,” she said.

The committee members include university Provost Rodney Erickson. In a prepared statement, he said Penn State thinks it “important to educate our incoming students about the very real dangers to which excessive drinking exposes them.”

University-supplied data suggest that alcohol-related trouble at University Park has worsened in recent years.

The number of Penn State students who make alcohol-related visits to the Mount Nittany Medical Center emergency department grew from 199 in the 1999-2000 academic year to 444 last year.

In the same period, the average blood-alcohol level of students who made those visits climbed from 0.221 to 0.235. The threshold for DUI in Pennsylvania is 0.08.

AlcoholEdu is a product of Outside the Classroom, a private company based in Boston.

Programming for college students is based on science but isn’t preachy, said Erika Tower, the company communications director.

“It’s not to tell the students what to think or do,” Tower said. “Rather, it’s to provide the information they need to know to make the best decisions themselves.”

She said the program is tailored differently for students who have already begun drinking. Online modules center on how alcohol affects the mind and body, plus brain science, advertising for alcohol, and alcohol’s influence on decision-making abilities.

Incoming Penn State students will be required to complete three of four modules before arriving on campus.

“We have tried so many different approaches to the alcohol problem over the past decade with, like other communities, seemingly little positive impact,” Penn State Vice President Bill Mahon wrote in an e-mail.

“This opportunity provided by the Knight Foundation funding will let us try another approach that starts with students months before their first Penn State class,” he went on. “We hope to have a positive impact, but understand we are working locally to combat a broad national trend.”

source: Central Daily Times

Old habits die hard

"For those of us who had spent every day of the past 10 years completely wasted, even the idea of getting through a couple of days without drugs felt like some kind of miracle."

Twenty years ago, Will Keighley started on the road to recovery from addiction. Now he wonders whether he will be the last survivor of his Narcotics Anonymous group.

It was a very English funeral. Half-stifled tears in a small church in Essex; professional pall-bearers with professionally solemn faces; a slightly awkward, tentative address from an older brother; solid Victorian hymns that sang of a triumph over death that no one really felt. Apart from the two heart-breaking readings from his children, I'm not sure Adam would have recognised his own funeral. But then, funerals are for the living, and this was the way his family had chosen to say their goodbyes. And when it is such a pointlessly early death - Adam was 52 - there probably isn't a right way of saying goodbye.

I hadn't seen Adam for four or five years before he died. I had wondered, though, why he had stopped replying to my Christmas cards. Then I heard rumours that he was using again. At first, I didn't want to believe them; he had been clean for more than 15 years and had always seemed so strong. But when he ended up in intensive care with acute renal failure and was given less than 24 hours to live, I was forced out of my denial.

He had been living alone, having lost his marriage and his job, and had been taking anything and everything he could lay his hands on. In his usual perverse way, Adam survived another 18 months or so. He flirted with recovery and his family tried everything they could to help, from taking him in to kicking him out, but the self-destruct button was full on. He was found dead from an overdose, alone in a rundown basement flat, a few weeks ago.

Adam and I had been members of the Narcotics Anonymous (NA) class of '87. We hadn't known each other while we were using, but we spent a great deal of time together when we first cleaned up. We were the wrong side of 30, had been junkies for the best part of 10 years, were unemployed and, to all intents and purposes, unemployable. So we would get up late, go to a lunchtime NA meeting, hang out in coffee bars and snooker halls, maybe catch another NA meeting in the evening and go home.

Back in 1987, NA wasn't that big. It had been founded in the UK seven years previously by a few recovering addicts who had split away from Alcoholics Anonymous. There were probably only about 100 regular faces in London. It may have looked to an outsider like a large, dysfunctional family, but it kind of worked. Status was measured in clean time. The very few who had made it to seven years clean were gods; the small number with five years were living legends; even those with two or three years got big respect. And they deserved it. For those of us who had spent every day of the past 10 years completely wasted, even the idea of getting through a couple of days without drugs felt like some kind of miracle. I had come to NA through a rehab centre. The first two weeks had been spent without sleep, sweating, shaking, cramping and shitting as I went cold turkey. The next two were spent in intensive group therapy but only one session stands out: the counsellor eyeballed us - we were probably annoying her - and said: "Take a look around you. Statistically speaking, 30% of you will be dead within 10 years. That's how serious this disease is."

I've thought about that statement a lot over the years. At the time, we all laughed - albeit nervously. We thought it was the kind of shock-jock crap that counsellors were paid to threaten us with, to frighten us into staying clean. Since then, I've come to wonder whether she wasn't rather conservative.

The first few deaths didn't affect me that much. They were addicts who had flirted with recovery but always left you with the feeling they were keeping their options open. I hadn't got to know them - the NA motto "Stick with the winners" had become my mantra.

Harder to bear

Recovering addicts are generally judgmental, and drugs were a black-and-white issue. If you were clean, you were on the side of the angels; if you were using, you deserved what you got. Somebody overdosing was a modern morality tale - both a kick up the arse to remind you of the consequences of using and a pat on the back for not having done so.

As the years passed, it got harder to bear. Maybe I had developed a little compassion, maybe the deaths were closer to home, or maybe the body count was just getting frightening. Many of us had shared needles at some point, so an Aids test became a logical part of the recovery process. Many of us were lucky, but a significant number weren't.

After the initial shock of diagnosis, most HIV-positive addicts seemed to cope well. Most got jobs and talked of being grateful for being able to extend their lives by cleaning up. But back in the late 80s and early 90s there were no retrovirals, and people, including several close friends whom I had known almost from day one in NA, started to get sick and die.

There were no tearful, bedside farewells surrounded by family for Nico. He reached the stage where he couldn't hack it any more and killed himself in the bath. Then there was Paulo, who had befriended me and let me sleep on his sofa until I could find somewhere to live. He had had good jobs, but once Aids took hold of him he fell to pieces. First, he disappeared back to Italy to take as much smack as he could, and then he returned to England. I didn't recognise him the last time I saw him; all his teeth had fallen out and he was utterly emaciated. The Terrence Higgins Trust found him a flat, but he couldn't really cope. He was furious with life and furious with Aids and addiction. He committed suicide alone, having first smeared the walls of his bedroom with shit.

There were other suicides, people who couldn't stand the thought of going back to using but who couldn't handle the pain of living. Those were really hard to take. Then there were those who died prematurely from cancer and heart disease. Their postmortems probably put the cause of death down to natural causes, but I found it hard to see it that way; no one I knew who hadn't thoroughly abused their bodies with drugs, booze and fags was dropping dead from these diseases in their 30s and 40s.

The number of Aids deaths had tailed off by the late 1990s, but there followed a new disease on the NA block: hepatitis C. About 50% of those who had used needles were infected and no one quite knew what the prognosis was. They still don't, really. A few people have died from liver disease, some have been treated with combination drug therapies and appear to be clear of the virus, and a great many appear for the time being to be walking wounded. They don't seem to be getting much worse, but are permanently tired.

Then there are the people like Adam - people with years and years of clean time, who have worked hard to build meaningful lives for themselves, and then decide they can't really cope after all. It's these that get to me the most, because it really does look as though there's no escape from addiction. It doesn't matter what you have done or how long you've been in recovery, play one wrong hand and the whole deck collapses.

I'm sure there are addicts who have started smoking dope and drinking again and are doing OK. But it seems a hell of a gamble for them to take. I couldn't predict what would happen to me if I started using again - though I've a pretty good guess - so how can they? And if they do get away with it, what are they getting away with? Imagine what it must be like to live in the knowledge that things could go pear-shaped at any time.

I'm no longer bothered by the esoteric debates that go on in social policy about whether addiction is a disease or not - it feels like a minor intellectual distraction. I'm not much interested in the political battles on how best to treat addicts, as every suggestion I've heard sounds like another useless sticking plaster on a huge festering wound. There are no guarantees or easy treatments for addicts.

None unscathed

Back in 1987, Adam, Paulo, Nico and I thought we were the lucky ones. We were the survivors who had found recovery. And maybe we were lucky. I've no idea what happened to most of the people I took heroin with, but I'm sure that most must be dead if they didn't manage to stop. Doctors had given me six months to live if I didn't get my life together, and I was no better or worse than many.

Twenty years on, the mortality rate of those attending the NA meetings in 1987 is horrifying. Even the survivors haven't come out unscathed. I and several others have been in institutions for mentally ill people and have struggled with depression; many others have been in therapy for years, still trying to piece together fractured lives and relationships.

If this was cancer, the rate of attrition would be a national scandal. But it's just a bunch of junkies and alkies fucking themselves up, so no harm done. I'm increasingly beginning to wonder if I'm not in some bizarre reality freak show to find the last man standing.

· Will Keighley is a pseudonym. All names have been changed.

____

source: http://www.guardian.co.uk/