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(On Substance Use and Sobriety)

“Who are YOU?” said the Caterpillar.
This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, “I–I hardly know, sir, just at present– at least I know who I WAS when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.”

(Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland)

Sometimes I hate the days when I’m sober. I love it, but I hate it because it’s sometimes hard.

Understanding positive disintegration and overexcitabilities helped me in my final steps out of my own personal rabbit hole. But the catalyst arrived extremely late in the game, and as a result, sobriety hasn’t been easy. In fact, it’s been bloody hard.

When I say I’m ‘sober’ I don’t mean it like the AA people – like I never have a drink. I mean it from the perspective of someone who used to use drugs or alcohol every single day, to the point where I never really experienced any of my life in a state of sobriety. There was a point in my life when I was always high. Like every waking hour. So let’s just say I’m ‘living cleaner’.

The journey out of the hole has been a long work in progress. Ten years, in fact. Supported by loving people, and an evolving lifestyle. It is still a work in progress, after my theory of positive disintegration (TPD) epiphany. Hell, I’ve even struggled with my weight – something as seemingly innocuous as food can have challenges to it.

Dabrowski recognised the propensity for people like me to face challenges with substances, particularly alcohol. There’s documented correlation between giftedness and alcohol, and Dabrowski knew that when someone is going through a disintegrative process, there is also a tendency to turn to alcohol and drugs as a band-aid to the stress. It’s also natural for people with sensual overexcitability (OE) to want to experiment with new sensations and states of mind.

So, as exposing as it is for me, I think it’s an important topic to discuss, because I know I’m not the only one who has been down the rabbit hole.

I need to also caveat this by stating that after my TPD / OE realisation, there’s been no small amount of autopsychotherapy required to see the light at the end of tunnel. The journey has taken me a long, fruitful way, and I am extremely fortunate, despite the challenges. But there is no magic bullet for this stuff.

There are three contributing factors I want to talk about which make this whole ‘cleaner living’ thing a trial.

Firstly, because Dabrowski’s theories aren’t out there in the wide world, and well known, it took me far too long to come across them. My own PD journey happened by accident. I stumbled across it, not understanding what I was going through. Had TPD and OE been common knowledge, my journey may have started years ago, and I may not have needed to lean on my external crutches for so long. The longer you use crutches, the harder it is to walk without them.

This feeling, I found echoed in a documentary on Netflix, called ‘The Last Shaman’. This documentary follows a young American man who ventured to Peru, looking to use ayahuasca to treat his debilitating depression. At the end of the film, James (the subject of the documentary) realises that the constructs he had grown up with, could all be questioned. I suspect that living a completely different lifestyle, among a tribe in the middle of the Peruvian jungle for months, was just as therapeutic for him as his adventures with plant medicine.

It wasn’t so much the documentary itself, but a follow up video on YouTube that confirmed my suspicions somewhat. It also confirmed for me how important (and potent) Dabrowski’s theories could be if they were widely known. In the follow up video, James states that despite what is depicted, Peru was only the start of his journey, and he spent a lot of time after the documentary continuing to battle with his issues.

It made me wonder if James, being a bright and sensitive man, would benefit from understanding positive disintegration. Because the shifting of perspectives, and the breaking away from his cultural constructs, sounds very much to me like a disintegrative experience. The risk for James, is that because he stumbled onto this process by accident, and not yet fully understood what it means, there is always a chance he could reintegrate, or simply never get through his struggles.

The second reason this journey has been difficult for me, is that I’ve had to learn skills I should have been developing my whole life. How to deal with myself and my OEs at full volume. How to handle stress without resorting to a security blanket of substances. How to treat my overexcitable body with a modicum of respect. Many of my OE traits had been buried to a certain extent, so not only do I need to deal with the world, but I need to deal with a different version of me.

The third reason is no great news to anyone who’s had substance issues. The temptation is always there. Not just within myself, but from the outside world. Some things are easier than others – for example, people applauded it when I gave up cigarettes. I had support. Other substances… well, if you don’t have them around you, and you’re determined, you can leave that part of your past behind you.

But alcohol is the last monkey I still don’t have off my back. And it’s difficult to avoid. When you’re trying not to drink alcohol, people put more pressure on you than they realise.

Alcohol – the great social poison. In Australia, its baked into the culture. It’s ridiculously hard not to drink here. People worry about you when you don’t drink. What’s wrong? Why aren’t you drinking? Why aren’t you having a good time? Are you driving? Are you pregnant?…

It’s normal to be drunk. Normal to escape reality. Normal to batter our bodies and accept the terrible behaviours that come from being shit-faced. Acceptable to throw up, blackout, behave like an idiot, say shit you’ll regret, and feel like absolute hell the next day.

Don’t get me wrong – I’m not saying you can’t drink. You do you. I’m still drinking occasionally, just not in the catastrophic quantities of the past, or with the same frequency. I’m all for personal choice. It’s why I wish my personal choice was better respected by those around me.

People should be happy I’m turning down drinks these days. Some of them have seen what an asshole I become when I get plastered. An emotional, sometimes violent, chaotic one. But “one or two drinks won’t hurt”, will they?… No, they probably won’t. But sometimes I just don’t feel like those one or two drinks. Sometimes I feel like my internal organs have earned their right to a break. Sometimes I just enjoy having a fully functional brain.

Mostly, I’m still getting to know the real me. Adjusting to who I feel I ought to be. It’s a new experience, and one I’ve grown quite fond of. Still, it’s not always easy to say ‘no’.

But I must accept that part of the problem is how I behaved in the past. The cover up. I was always “functioning”. I kept the worst of my habits hidden from people around me. Most people wouldn’t know just how bad I was. My history of recreational ‘things’, and how many times I was high when I shouldn’t have been. The long list of things I experimented with. How much I really drank. The fact my doctors told me in my mid-thirties to cut back, because my liver didn’t entirely love me anymore. How often I walked around being a mere fragment of real myself. Slowed down by my crutches. A living ghost of the person I was supposed to be.

Why did I do it to myself? I’m not entirely sure. Some of it was the rebellion of youth. Some of it was a curious, youthful need to experience different sensory adventures. There was a definite need to attempt to fit in with people who I used to associate with. Mostly I used it as a security blanket – to hide under from my life circumstances, or else smother my hurricane brain. And then there’s just every day social conditioning to follow the rest of the rabbits down the hole. Fit in. Integrate. Join the party. Be ‘social’.

Being back in the world, and back in my true self, has been difficult. My overexcitabilities mean the volume on life is back up to 11. Sleep is down. The brain-whirring is up. Life is back, and its terrifyingly vivid (especially my infernally life-like, and crazy dreams). And I’m still learning how to live with it. Learning how to be me.

I still have the occasional slip up – major social occasions present a challenge. I can still be coerced into a night on the booze. I’ll admit I’ve worn a couple of hangovers I probably shouldn’t have. But only a couple. I’m not doing it every weekend like I used to, and the amount I’m drinking to achieve those hangovers is a lot less than I’ve consumed in the past.

At any rate, I’m no longer a living ghost. I feel like I’m finally out of the rabbit hole, even if I do stick my nose down there for the occasional tea party.

Welcome home, Alice.