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MY RECOVERY CONTINUED....
...... In July 2006, when the company I worked for went bankrupt, I wallowed in my own misery, and began drinking more heavily than ever. With no job to go to, I could sleep later and start drinking earlier. I looked halfheartedly for a new job, even had some interviews; for many of these interviews, I was partly drunk or acutely hung-over. No offers came, and my unemployment $$ ran out. I was about to lose my apartment, I had no job, and I could think of nothing but my addiction, and where my next drink would come from. I was drinking ruthlessly, compulsively, in a way that would swiftly hasten death.
......After a January blackout disaster, where I awoke with my bed covered in blood, a huge gash running the length of my scalp, unable to turn my head any direction due to excruciating muscle stiffening, a definite concussion, with no recollection of the incident that had caused the injuries, and no health insurance to get medical attention, I finally reached acceptance that I needed to get help if I wanted to live, to conquer my alcoholic desperation. I knew also, that my mental illness had reached an abysmal low - I lashed out at even those people who had stood by me despite my erratic behavior and addiction, people who would do anything to help me; I felt little aside from despair, fear, and rage.
.....I began researching programs that might assist me in my recovery. It was important to me to find the right one, but taking time to research and apply also gave me a last few months to drink without remorse. I knew I needed a program that would treat my mental illness as well as my addiction. I had no money and no insurance. I needed a program that would take me anyway. I didn’t want to move, but I resigned myself to the possibility: if outpatient treatment was insufficient, I would have to move to an inpatient setting.
...... I finally found the UCSD COD Program, which seemed to embody every aspect of treatment I sought. It was an evidence-based research program, it applied individualized treatment plans, it was county-funded (so they would take me even though I was broke) and best of all, it was outpatient and just two miles from my apartment, so I could walk or bike there. It's also a harm reduction program. I liked that, because to me that meant I didn't I have to stop drinking; it just meant I had to reduce my consumption. I was excited that they would be able to teach me to drink in moderation, to help me get well and still be able to drink. I said as much to my care coordinator, when we first met - she asked me my goals in the program, and I said: "I want to learn to drink in moderation". She worked with me to set up a schedule of group meetings and individual therapy sessions with that goal in mind. For a week or two, I improved a bit. Then I went on a 5day blackout bender. I felt completely beaten down - I couldn't even get it together enough to handle a modest recovery plan. On the night of 18 April 2007, unable to take the edge off my hangover, even by choking down a couple drinks, with my stomach, mind, and spirit in the depths of turmoil, I poured every last drop of alcohol I had down the sink. I went to my meeting with my care coordinator the next day, threw myself at her mercy, and said, "I need to stop drinking completely." "We both knew that when you first came here," she said, "you just had to reach that conclusion fully for yourself and acknowledge it to me."
.....I felt horrible, a dark, evil person of malevolently low character. I couldn't do anything right, and I'd just spent the worst five days taking myself lower and becoming more worthless. She said: "You must have done at least one worthwhile thing during those 5 days; what was it?" For several minutes, I couldn't think of a single thing. Finally I realized: "Last night I poured out every last drop of booze." "That's amazing, Seth!" she said. "Hold onto that, keep reminding yourself of that, focus on what an enormous step you took." I haven't had a drink since, but the real work was only beginning.
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