Wheel of Addiction

As a hardcore reader, I have read so many addiction memoirs. Next to fiction, memoir is my favorite genre. Doesn’t matter if the memoirist is addicted or not, but so many of them are, and these are the stories of how they got better, got the monkey off their backs. I love happy endings.

While reading this addiction memoir by Erica Barnett, I realized that more than a happy ending, I want to know the HOW of hardcore users just up and quitting. It’s fascinating to me. Barnett makes it clear that it’s not so easy, and easier to quit than to quit relapsing. She’s been in a slew of rehab facilities, and usually, the day she got out, she stopped at the liquor store on her way home.

Something clicked while I read of her relapse after relapse. That’s what happens to me with sugar. I know that if I go three days with no sugar my cravings will disappear. I also know that if I have one donut or one scoop of ice cream, or even one bite of a candy bar, my need for sugar comes roaring back with a vengeance. And it takes me a week or two of eating all the sugar I can buy before I shame myself into going through three days of constant craving to get free from sugar. Again.

My A1c continues to be in the “pre-diabetes” zone, and that’s because my body no longer tolerates wheat or dairy. So I keep my body semi-okay because wheat is nothing but sugar and, before I knew that, I had wheat with every meal. Cereal for breakfast, sandwich for lunch, pasta for dinner. It was easier for me to give these staples up because I got really sick when I ate them. I don’t get sick when I eat sugar, at least I don’t feel sick.

Inside, sugar is not doing my body any good, and I had that hamster wheel of staying clean, falling off the wagon, and going through rehab again. Just like an alcoholic, but a sugar addict. Sugar doesn’t make you slur your words, black out, ruin relationships, or leave you without a job, like alcohol does, but when I read Barnett’s story, I identified with that constant round of wanting, craving, and finally giving in.

It seems stupid, really stupid, for me to be on this wheel. I’m 65. If I don’t want to spend my old age sick and miserable, I need to take better care of myself. And I wish people wrote memoirs about their sugar addiction like they do their alcohol addiction. I already have “I Quit Sugar” but as far as I know, that’s the only book out there on beating sugar addiction.

Also, it’s much harder now with Al home. He loves sweets, but he is not even close to diabetic. He gets mad when I eat his cookies, because he can keep them in the pantry for a month and I eat them in a day or two. Same with ice cream. He likes donuts, too. I feel ashamed of myself and his attitude is not helping matters. Although…he told me to ask my doctor about seeing a dietician. Really, that’s what I should do.

Addiction Stories

I’ve always been a sucker for a recovery memoir. Drinking: A Love Story still stays with me all these years later. Lit by Mary Karr simply lit up my life while I ingested its pages. But why? These are wretched stories of wrecked humans. Why did I love them so? Well there was the hard-won recovery. I used to wonder, even worry, why I liked these books so much. In addiction language they call this denial. I have always had a fair share of denial, and not just in regard to how many glasses of wine I consumed on a daily basis.

What the recovery memoir did for me, I had a hard time saying. Even before memoirs came into vogue, there was Eve Babitz’s amazing novel Sex and Rage, still on my bookshelf with a hardcover price of $8.95 and a bookplate proclaiming “From the library of Cynthia Jablonski.” (I have not been a Jablonski in over thirty years.) So my addiction to addiction stories goes way back. The copyright on Sex and Rage: Advice to Young Ladies Eager for a Good Time reads 1979.


Finally after decades of reading these stories, whether fictionalized or true, I started to recognize the main attraction: at least I wasn’t as bad as the authors. I couldn’t have a drinking problem. I knew what addiction looked like, I’d practically gotten a degree in the subject with all the first person accounts I read.

And yet…after staying up all hours to finish It’s So Easy: and other lies by Duff McKagan, I think I finally found the mirror I’ve been looking for all these years. Duff is an unlikely mentor. He’s at least ten years younger than I am, at his height of using he consumed a half gallon of vodka a day plus prodigious amounts of cocaine (enabling him to drink more) and downers (to let him sleep). I get physically ill if I try for a third martini.


Duff is also the former bass player of Guns ‘N Roses, who came into splashy rock stardom in his 20s when I was a 30-something mom of two. I wasn’t a huge fan of the band, but I watched MTV. I mean, what woman on earth would not be caught by Axl Rose’s gorgeous face? Their music? Background, pretty much. I preferred Stevie Nicks, who had addiction problems of her own, and idolized Janis Joplin, who had died of an overdose when I was in my teens.

Still, when Duff listed his musical influences, he named many of the same bands (Clash, Stooges, Stones) I had treasured since my teen years. Okay, Clash was a little later, but boy do I love Joe Strummer. And so does Duff. I identified in so many incidental ways. We’ve both been married three times, have strong connections to Seattle and Los Angeles, both of us became full time college students in our thirties. a non-traditional college student, like Duff. I found other things to like in Duff: he’s a fabulous storyteller and takes great literature and good writing skills seriously. I’m a writer and reader. Those are my two primary focuses and have been for as long as I can remember. The number of parallels in our two vastly different lives, as well as his riveting story, captivated me.


Reading addiction stories, even biographies and autobiographies of writers (another favorite genre) often contain an addiction subplot, helped me understand that I have an addictive personality. I’m addicted to the genre of addiction stories, for example. I get hooked hard on things very easily. That could be why these stories resonate so strongly for me. I’m lucky, because I really can’t do drugs. Just about every drug, prescription or illegal, either bores me, scares me, or makes me physically ill.

After years of reading recovery memoirs I realized there was something worse than reading I was addicted to–junk food. I just could not get off sugar. No matter how many times I lost that extra fifty pounds (btw 50 pounds was the amount of weight Duff gained during his addiction) I’d gain at least some of it back. Prescription diet pills twisted my stomach into knots and made me more anxious than I already was…which was about the time Xanax entered the picture. The only drug, prescription or not, my body seemed more than okay with for a long long time.

Anxiety, panic and phobias are another similarity between Duff and me. I could totally relate to him having to be trashed to board an airplane and his free-floating anxiety, multiple phobias, and full-on panic attacks reminded me of myself. My quite recent self. I recall telling a doctor who’d given me diet pills that if I took a Xanax with it, I didn’t get the twisty tummy. She gave me a lecture, saying that my mixing meds was not healthy. So I stopped taking diet pills and started back up with the junk food. I continued to use Xanax until it gradually became a daily habit, sanctioned by my doctor for sleeplessness, anxiety, panic, migraine, and stress.

Duff shares his own intense go-round with my favorite drug ever, and his story of kicking Xanax inspires me right now, today, as I am slowly coming off what I thought was a pretty high dose. Compared to Duff, my dose was half a baby aspirin.

That I combined wine and Xanax several times a week “concerned” my therapist, who I started seeing about six months ago for anxiety and depression. I told her I had never been seriously depressed and I thought Xanax (among other things) was feeding my depression. I wanted to get off it. Again. (Not my first time kicking.) We immediately halved my dosage of Xanax. Not a huge problem. Going from half to nothing has proven sticky, though, and I’m still trying. Could I be addicted to Xanax? What about wine? Was there something here, or maybe more than one thing, that needed addressing?


Next appointment, I took a deep breath and asked the hard questions, the ones I couldn’t even ask myself for so long.  “So does “concerned” mean you think I have a substance abuse problem?” She was non-committal. “Not necessarily.” She said she was not an M.D. and didn’t feel comfortable making a medical diagnosis. Armed with years of addiction stories, knowing the jargon and the way the story always goes, I continued to prod. “Could I overdose? Is that why you said you were concerned?”

My habit consisted of 4 mg of Xanax and three large glasses of Chardonnay every other day with a few martini moments on special occasions. Like if it was Friday. Nothing at all by Duff standards. And yet..if a trained professional was concerned, I was, too. I’ve done a ton of work on myself through the years. I took up yoga and ditched meat. I meditate every day. I gave up sugar over a year ago. I wanted this therapist to help me cut my wine down to one glass (or two) and to help me get off Xanax as a daily habit.

Duff meditates. He eats clean. He calls food “fuel.” He also trained extensively in another form of Eastern body movement, more in intense style of Bruce Lee and Chuck Norris than yoga will ever be, but still. He got the mind/body connection and learned, as I did, to find a safe, quiet place inside.

While Xanax helped me relax enough to get quiet inside, it eventually drained me of energy to the point of a mild but chronic depression. Drinking even the small amount I did gave me massive hangovers. My body had never liked what alcohol does to it. And it didn’t like pills much, either. Food, however, was the main culprit. Even after emergency surgery when an internal organ failed. Yet another thing Duff and I had in common. Duff’s explosion Duff’s was way worse than mine, but we are both lucky to be alive.

Back to my question to the therapist: Really? 4 mg of Xanax and 3 glasses of wine every other day might make me in danger of an OD? It’s possible, my therapist said, or, under the influence of that much, you might take more by mistake and then overdose. Ha. She had me. I kept pretty rigid count of my wine. I never finished a bottle. That was my rule. Except sometimes…I broke my own rule. Rarely, but sometimes, I finished the bottle. And sometimes I had five Xanax.

So this is me now, tapering off the Xanax. Taking a mini-break from alcohol, which was my idea. Doc does not think I’m an alcoholic. I was however risking dangerous combinations of substances. That’s over. Duff’s story gave me courage in the midst of my own drawn out detox from Xanax. Having read what Duff put his body through, and how he survived it, has strengthened my determination. I can do this. It’s time. 


Now I finally understand why I’ve spent all these years reading addiction stories. I was searching for the one that most matched my own. Book after book, I was relieved. No, that’s not me. Nope, I’d never be able to drink/drug that much.

Duff’s memoir was The One. He exposes his own waking nightmares with anxiety, panic and a crazy rainbow of phobias. I know now that for me this is the baseline reason for all the other stuff. Just as my sugar jones led me to crave more sugar, my mental condition caused some other addictive behaviors. For a long time, I used to think I’d never live to be old. Duff had that same feeling. Yet here we both still are, getting older, in our wildly divergent lives.

Post-Romantic Stress Disorder

PRSDBeen reading this awesome book by the father of the “inner child” movement that helped so many of us recover from childhood wounds. Bradshaw looked to experts in the fields of love, relationships, and science to infuse this book with smart advice for writers of love stories– unintended I’m sure–probably wrote it for actual real people in love or falling out of love fast and wondering what the hell happened.

fMRI imaging makes it possible for scientists to actually view the different areas of the brain and pinpoint the exact chemicals our bodies produce when we fall in love. I wrote them down somewhere but basically there are two or three hormones that kick into overdrive, one being testosterone (easy one:) and two others which act on the body like amphetamines. Thus the reason why we sleep and eat less when falling in love. Great for a diet, not so great for optimum clear-headedness.

Crazy in love is more than just a cliché, as it turns out.  These chemicals bath our brains, saturate specific areas, suppress serotonin. That drop in serotonin is what creates obsessive thought patterns where you just can’t get that beloved other off your mind. Every waking moment is devoted to thoughts of them. Or, if you’re together, you can’t keep your hands off each other.

This chemical reaction called being in love is natural and was meant to keep the species procreating and populating the planet. But that was back when we didn’t live so long. When people say “forever” these days, they might be in for a shock. About 17 months in, that “in love” feeling wears off. This confounds most people. Some think their marriage or partnership is at fault and divorce or split. “We just fell out of love” they say. Some stay together, but aren’t happy. Most marriages fail, something like 70%.

The lucky 30% make the necessary adjustments into mature love and live (mostly) happily ever after. But the rest of the population live basically miserable lives. Because we are programmed by genetics to form pair bonds. That’s just the way we’re built. Some people turn into love junkies, swinging from one 17 month high to the next. They might stay with their partner but have affairs or engage in other risky behaviors.

Bradshaw sets out to show everyone in a loving, committed relationship how to stay that way. As someone who has been married three times and in love more than I can reveal without embarrassing the hell out of myself, I recognized many of the dysfunctional patterns Bradshaw illustrates. And as someone who wants to stay married, and faithful, and while I’m at it, blissfully happy, I’m interested in his methods for attaining this Nirvana on earth. (I didn’t get to that part yet, will report on methods when I do!)

I needed this book way before now, but somehow have managed to keep my third marriage alive, if not always finely tuned, for 29 years. We’ve had our ups and downs and always have been able to repair damage done. Still, I’m one of those types who wants to know why shit happens. I write a lot about love but before this believed it to be an unfathomable mystery. I wondered what was wrong with me. What happened to the young woman who would do anything for her man? Why was I different?

Not so different after all. 70% of other people wonder these things, too (or at least the ones given to introspection). The answer is easy: it’s all in your head. The chemicals inside specific areas of the brain, to get technical. And thanks to science, we now can learn how to undo those obessessive patterns and blast new and healthier pathways through the brain. Which seems to me would be helpful after the in-love phase ends and that hungry for fattening foods and other bad-for-you- things feeling returns. Stay tuned for those fixes for our love-starved brains when I finish the book:)

Runnin’ Down a Dream

Yes, I am a die-hard Tom Petty fan. His lyrics often reflect how he deals with creative juice. That and Love capital L are his two stand-out themes for me. There is a kind of love brewing in me now. It wants to spill into the novel I’m writing, or maybe take me off-track altogether. I just don’t know yet, because I haven’t let out the words.

As a writer who has published five books, I know how to put my nose to the grindstone. It’s never easy for me to write the sad stuff, the bad stuff. The last time I left off, I’d just had my character hit bottom. Now he’s heading for a confrontation with his ex-wife over custody of their children. And all I want to do is write about Love.

The ex-wife is in love, she’s got it bad, but she’s totally torn. She doesn’t see a way to have a future with this man who has her heart. So, I’m thinking, let the new lovers have a little interlude of dizzy pleasure before everything goes to hell. What’s the harm? Readers, especially romance readers, love the romantic parts of novels. That new love feeling is difficult for me, since next month I’ll have been (mostly happily!) married to Al for 28 years. Or it was until I met someone from my past who made me remember what it feels like to be in love.

So, since in real life I’m not going anywhere,  I can sublimate my recently ruffled feelings by putting them on paper. Just like Tom Petty, I’m going to listen to my heart. It’s gonna tell me what to do as I run down this dream the only way I know how. By making it happen in a book.