ADDICTION: IF CAUSED BY CHILDHOOD TRAUMA, IS THIS THE RIGHT MESSAGE?

I can already hear people screaming, debating, disagreeing and my family frantically typing on their keyboard, "How dare I!!" I am very aware my outspoken attitude on addiction and recovery makes people uncomfortable. But I don't care. Uncomfortable get's people talking. Uncomfortable challenge's people on their beliefs.

It is 2016, never have we had more education and help available for addiction and recovery then we do now; however the problem is getting worse, not better. Perhaps our messaging needs to change or altered as we understand more now of what can cause addiction and we are missing the signs.

"The single factor that’s at the core of all addictions is trauma. By trauma I mean emotional loss in childhood, and in the case of severe addicts, you can see — and large-scale population studies show — that there is significant childhood trauma such as family violence, addiction in the family, sexual and emotional abuse, physical abuse, a parent being mentally ill or in jail. These adverse childhood experiences have been shown to exponentially increase the risk of addiction later on in life. That’s one set of difficult experiences."  Dr. Gabor Mate, Renowned Speaker and Author In the Realm of Hungry Ghosts

I happen to agree. Not because I am an expert. A therapist. A physician. But because I lived this painful story.

I have known what the word alcoholic meant since I was 5 years old; alcoholism on many branches of my family tree. I started writing my own story, The Sun is Gone as a tribute to families lost in a world they did not understand, so they did not feel so alone. I did always understand my own family dynamic, but what I was not expecting, and what is very hard to live with, is that during this process everything I believed to be true about my brother’s addiction was not true at all.

I spent over eleven years actively involved and at the time we believed we were doing everything right; support, doctors, therapists and the best treatment centers money could buy. And when rehab didn't work he went again. And again. And again.

A story of the progression of alcoholism. I was as sure as anything in my life there was nothing more, nothing less. A fine, young man that innocently took that first sip of alcohol in high school, eventually the bottle taking him down a path of destruction few could fathom and I was along for the ride. A powerful love story between a brother and sister that could make a difference in someone else’s life. What was not clear at the time, or a factor at all was that our early childhood experiences played any part in my brother’s addiction. It was not what we were being told. What I believe now is that it meant everything.

I didn't cause it. I can't control it. I can't cure it.

I understand the theory, that those addicted must take responsibility for themselves. That you can't make someone change and that we are not responsible for someone else's life. For the record, I wholeheartedly agree.

We are however given conflicting messages, I DIDN'T CAUSE IT. But what if you did?

This is not meant to be blame but rather some of the reasons why we are who we are. When our memories are diminished or denied, the pain continues; in fact that burden we carry of unresolved issues continue to eat at our soul, many times unconsciously. It keeps us stuck, struggling and we can't move on.

What a beautiful gift to your addicted loved one, or perhaps your child, to find the strength to acknowledge the pain you may have caused and allow them to heal.

We know now that childhood trauma can be a precursor to mental illnesses including anxiety, depression, addiction and suicide ideation. Maybe it is pushing the envelope way too far to say we actually caused it, but what we have done certainly can contribute.

That realization and knowledge should help with educating families, to watch for the signs and in the least be more aware of what they are allowing their children to witness in childhood. Then and only then can a family begin to heal, change and these patterns we create of chaos, dysfunction and addiction no longer continue generation after generation.

So if we expect those addicted to drugs or alcohol to take responsibility for themselves, their behaviors and their choices, isn't it about time that we hold ourselves to the same standard?


Jodee Prouse Advocate Addiction & Recovery
Author upcoming memoir

STIGMA OF ADDICTION IN OUR HEALTH CARE SYSTEM?

We live in a society that says it encourages understanding, compassion, empathy, non-discrimination and yes, that addiction is a disease. But that is not how it is treated. It just isn't and that is the truth.

Melanoma, emphysema, heart disease, high blood pressure...

When we are sick we go to the hospital. A safe haven. A place for help. A place for hope.

Not always.

Excerpt/The Sun is Gone: Page 182;

Almost three weeks in that hell hole, we knew he needed to safely withdrawal, so we got him in the car and swiftly drove to the Detox center. I jumped out but was back almost immediately and spoke quietly explaining what I had feared, that they were full to capacity and couldn’t help us. They apologized and suggested that we come back early tomorrow morning. We both knew Brett couldn’t wait until tomorrow without having something to drink, so we headed to our only other option-an emergency room.

We sat about an hour, waiting to be seen. Brett’s leg rattling with anxiety until he was brought into a private room. We explained to the nurse, not that we needed to as it was very clear by his scruffy appearance and glassy eyes, that Brett was severely intoxicated and needed help come off the booze. And, she began to take his vitals.

It wasn’t her cold, disassociated approach to taking my brother’s blood pressure, pricking his arm with a needle or asking him how much he has had to drink that began to make my blood boil. It was the fact that she absolutely loathed him, and it was obvious. For the first time ever, I felt what my brother felt, like a bolt of electricity running through my veins. I felt judgment.  Pure unadulterated judgment. As she left the room, I scampered quickly behind her catching up in front of the nurse’s station.

“Excuse me,” I said. She didn’t hear me so I repeated myself. She turned around to look at me. “Hi. Listen, I don’t mean to be rude. I completely understand and appreciate how hard your job is and how many different things you must see. I even get that on some level that maybe to you my brother isn’t sick in the same way as most of the people here, and that you believe this may be purely self-induced. What I need to remind you is that he is a human being.”

She didn’t blink.

I continued, “Now I don’t care what you did yesterday, or how you are tomorrow, all I care about is that for right now, when you come into that room, you show a little compassion as that is a person in there. A person!  That is someone’s brother, someone’s son and what you very obviously perceive as completely disgusting, someone loves them. Do you think you can do that?”

I didn’t give her time to answer.

“Cause if you can’t, then what I suggest is that for the next hour or so you FAKE IT!”

I walked away, so I didn’t have to look at her stony expression for another second. I caught my breath as I was so overwhelmingly pissed off, before stepping through the door and sitting quietly in the corner of my brother’s room.

I do have understanding and appreciation for how hard nurses work – after all, my mother is a nurse - and I can imagine that they see all sorts of things. But that’s their job, a job that they chose. To very obviously treat someone, whatever their circumstance, like they are below dirt I could not take. As I looked at my brother at his worst, like I had done so many times before, all I thought was he is in there.

The doctor arrived a short time later, bearing the not so surprising bad news; they couldn’t keep him overnight as all the beds were full. Although I appreciate he did give him a shot of Valium before they sent us on our way. At least I think it was Valium, which I understood by now belongs to the class of medications called benzodiazepines. It is used for the short-term relief of symptoms of mild to moderate anxiety or alcohol withdrawal.  We knew that at least would help him get through the night and advised us to head back to the Detox center in the morning; there was nothing more he could do. A completely different nurse came back into the room only with the same face. Kind, compassionate and caring and as we left, she said, “Take care of yourself, Brett.”

I whispered thank you to her as we walked out the door, and I hope she knew how much I meant it.

My brother didn't have high blood pressure due to being overweight, skin cancer due to exposure from the sun, emphysema from years of smoking or even heart disease from eating too many fatty foods. No, he did not fall into any of these categories, because if he did this chapter would not have happened.

My brother was an alcoholic from taking his first sip of alcohol during high school.

Shame on him?

I need to emphasize that during my journey we personally met many professionals that showed nothing but compassion, support, understanding and commitment to help those like my brother that are struggling with alcohol and drug dependence. To those individuals I am forever grateful.

Our health care system is wonderful in many ways, and falls short on others. We need to make available help for those in desperate need, and educate doctors and nurses on this epidemic of addiction. Pardon me, let's rephrase; on this epidemic of the disease of addiction. These are our mother's, father's, children, friends, co-workers and neighbors.

And to be fair to the nurse who treated us, it is my hope that those of us in the world of addiction also show compassion and understanding to those that judge us, to hold your head high, and if you can change so can they.

Together we CAN make a difference.

www.hopeandhumility.com
Jodee Prouse is an Author of the upcoming memoir: THE SUN IS GONE