Dr M's Story

For me, recovery is a story of struggle and hope.  It truly is the journey that I have to commit the most to.  I’ve found so many things in life that help me stay in the world, in the moment, outside of my head all the time.  It wasn’t always that way.  My head has been in “malfunction” mode off and on for almost ten years now.  I have spent days of such fear and panic and of drinking until I pass out then doing it over again.  These behaviors come from so many places:  shame, guilt, trauma, fear.  I could go on and on.  But I’d rather start at the beginning.

I was raised in a Catholic family and went to a Catholic school.  My education started in a place that seemed cold and sterile before I even knew what that second word meant.  But my school became more and more chaotic and sometimes abusive as time went on.  By the time I was approaching seventh and eighth grades I’d seen violence at the hands of teachers, the kind that injures the victims and those who see it.

My life as a Catholic ended when I was ten years old.  I had always been a rebellious kid, so it wasn’t much of a stretch to start ditching Mass.  My friend and I would go into the church long enough to get a bulletin to show our parents, then walk across the street to watch bagels being made in a wholesale bakery. So all of these traits and behaviors went with me through life, for better or worse.

Fast forward, a lot:  At 52 years old I had my first bout of anxiety when, of all times, I was on my honeymoon.  In Washington D.C. everything seemed sped up, too noisy, and almost threatening. I couldn’t get past how nervous I was about a class I’d decided to teach.  I’d come up with the idea the previous semester and hadn’t worked on it because I was getting ready for my wedding.  Now, the semester was ready to start and I had nothing.  My anxiety escalated so fast that I soon couldn’t imagine being able to come up with anything – at all.  That was the beginning.

I had episodes two times a year from that time on.  They lasted three to six weeks.  I couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, and spent my time smoking cigarettes and trying to calm down.  Nothing worked.  Eventually I started seeing a psychiatrist, a not so very good one.  Many meds were prescribed in a strange way.  My doctor would say “you want to try . . . ?“and I’d think I don’t know.  You’re supposed to know that.

Somewhere along the way I discovered drinking and added it to my repertoire.  It calmed me down, but I didn’t just stop after a drink or two.  I went into drinking with the zeal of a new convert, passing out and waking up in the middle of the night when my husband was asleep, sometimes in a puddle of urine.  I went on FMLA from work many times, I went to rehab twice, and I once woke up in the hospital where I’d been taken by ambulance.  My self-esteem and confidence were gone, and I started to think my life would soon be gone too. I’d been through several diagnoses by then.  From anxiety disorder to panic disorder to bipolar disorder, to panic disorder again.  I was okay with most of the labels because at least now it was something I could name.

I thought this was going to be my life and that it wouldn’t be worth living if it continued the way it had.  And then I found Dual Recovery Anonymous, a 12 Step program that has saved my life.  I feel so well understood when I talk about the things that have happened to me, and I see heads nodding because here are people who really know what I’m talking about.  I still do all of the other things too.  I take my meds, I see my therapist, I don’t drink, and I think I’m on the right track.  I’ve found comfort in having my own higher power, imagination.  There’s a peace in having all of these things come together, and now I look forward to the future.