This is the collected writing from my time in the residential program at Po’ailani. I have decided to present the entirety in a single post. I have done my best to leave it exactly as I had written it originally in order to preserve the voice and overall tone from the time I was there.
Transcribing these entries proved to be a rather arduous task. Every word typed was another emotion reanimated that I would much rather leave in the past. In some ways the week I spent in treatment was more traumatic than the nine months I spent injecting methamphetamine. For the first time in my life I was forced to live through experiences that tested the extremes of my disorder without having drugs or alcohol as a option for escape.
There are some significant events that occurred I didn’t write about while I was there. I’m finding that one of the first things to suffer when I’m not doing well is my ability to write. You will notice that the entries get shorter the longer I’m in treatment.
There was still value to be had. You cannot solve a problem without knowing the extent to which it exists. I left the facility with a broader understanding of what I’m up against and additional skills to use in my reintegration. Despite its early ending, I am grateful for the time I spent at the Pahia house.
Day 27
We arrived at the concrete office building just before 8am. Clouds were threatening rain, but couldn’t follow through. There was no indication we were in the right spot, except the icon on the GPS.
“Where to?”
I don’t know, I guess underground parking.
“Are we gonna fit under there?”
We’ll make it fit. I’m not walking these bags from all the way back here.
Everything I owned was packed in two duffel bags, except for my laptop computer. I was told that I would not be allowed to bring it with me and to find a safe place to store it for the duration.
The garage clearance was 6’1”, about an inch higher than the roll bar on the jeep. Johnny didn’t know the exact height of the vehicle. Instead he just slowed to a crawl and held his hand out of the open roof. It was primitive but effective.
On the business placard next to the elevator I found the name I was looking for, Po’ailani Inc. After four month, I had finally made it.
It was mid January when I first heard the name. I was lying on the beach in Kailua after an early night of sex and drugs, followed by a long night of talking and drugs.
I had just met Bill, an older guy in his late 60’s, maybe early 70’s. He looked nothing like what I was expecting. In fact I almost just walked out I was so off put by the ruse. But I was stuck. I had just arrived on the last bus from town and it would be six hours before another would be there to take me back to Chinatown. Despite a lack of sexual attraction we did share one thing in common, track marks.
I wasted no time in making it known why I was really there. We went up to his bedroom and I pulled the small translucent blue box from my bag that held all my works. I already had two shots loaded, but he insisted on using his own. I didn’t argue as I had a rule of never taking a hit I didn’t see prepared.
The next hour was par for the course. As soon as I pulled the needle from my arm I threw all my clothes in various directions. The sensation of crystal flooding through my body is making me hard right now just thinking about it. Bill and I weren’t sexually compatible on a number of fronts, but that didn’t stop us from lying in bed, watching porn and masturbating furiously for nearly two hours.
After the rush had fully faded and the real high was settling in we started to make a real connection. I don’t remember how the topic moved to addiction, usually it’s something avoided especially with people you just met. I’d guess we were both desperate to talk about it, not just with someone who we could fully relate to, but also someone else of reasonable intelligence. And so for four hours we discussed the true nature of addiction and how it relates to our personal narratives.
We both know it had taken control of us. There was no denial in our tone. We spoke more about the why than the how. We tried to understand what led to our meeting on a remote island thousands of miles away from a place either of us would call home.
Bill had only recently arrived on Oahu as well. He’d been here before though and was well acquainted with all the people I was starting to build my life around. The only reason it took me a little longer to find him was the mountain standing between us.
It’s funny how only six miles can create such a vast distance. The town of Kailua is just over the Pali Highway from Honolulu but it’s a world away. There are people who spend decades on Oahu without ever seeing the windward side.
Bill’s living arrangement was unique. He was staying with a couple he’d known for years. They lived in a house, that would be considered a mansion to some, between Kalama and Kailua beach. It’s the kind of house everyone dreams about when they think of Hawaii. But it wasn’t every day that he had free reign enough to invite people over with sinister intentions. The owners loved to travel and for three weeks in January they were in Japan.
As the sun rose on our first encounter and I started to pack up my belongings we both agreed the conversation was far from over. We had in four hours started to make personal breakthroughs that could take people years of therapy to achieve. I agreed to return and finish the conversation soon. A day later I returned.
The energy that poured down from the jungle slopes seemed to be exactly the environment I was looking for to recover. There is an almost enveloping feeling of safety that this is a place you don’t need to hide behind walls for protection.
Upon returning it would be almost a week before I left Kailua again. The friendship that Bill and I had started to build was greater than just any party hook up. Ours was a pure connection, like finding someone in your Karass.
It was during one of these conversations that I started to question if the dragon had brought me here, not Oahu itself. I’m still not sure which is true. It seems just as likely it was some divine source completely separate from the two that decided to pit them against each other using me as the battlefield.
The next few days would draw the outline for the rest of my time in Hawaii. Before I left I had said countless time that I wanted to get clean and each time I had meant it. It wasn’t until I was there in Kailua that I started to realize what all that was going to entail.
I had started flirting with another man online, who lived another mile down the road in Kaneohe. We had a playful back and forth for a couple of days in which time I found out that he was a psychotherapist.
At the point where I was desperately in of counseling and treatment I just happened to meet a therapist? I took it as a sign that he was supposed to help me in some way.
Given the previously established sexual attraction, I knew he couldn’t be my therapist directly but still offered up my story and asked for any guidance he could offer me. He recommended a couple therapists in Honolulu and gave me the name of a couple treatment facilities to look into.
I emphasized how I wanted to find “the cause” of my years of addiction. He immediately suggested Po’ailani, confident their approach was right in line with my goals.
I did some independent research and found it was exactly what I wanted. For the next two months I did everything I needed to get into the program. It was the only thing I cared about, other than getting high.
It took four months, which according to most is actually very fast. To someone who is self destructing at the speed of light it’s an eternity though. But here I am, lying on a twin mattress that my legs don’t even try to fit on and I couldn’t be happier.
Day 28
One of the most concerning documents I signed yesterday was the caffeine policy. “No caffeinated beverage.” I was hoping to find that was a lie and after I got out of the shower a pot of coffee was waiting.
It took me five minutes to find a mug. I was totally lost, opening the cabinets in the kitchen unable to find what I needed. Finally another client came in and pointed me to the dishwasher. I felt like an idiot.
I drank my coffee while smoking a cigarette, the mountain looming behind me. I took a seat next to Jimmy. It was already well established that he was a talker.
“You here for alcohol man, ya know?”
Heh, no.
“Ice, ya. Ice man.”
Yep
“You get up, not depressed, ya know.”
Yeah it solved the alcohol problem without even trying.
“Ya, ya, that’s real.”
The peak of the mountain was buried in low hanging clouds. It’s jagged spine defined the horizon. It was hypnotic. You could almost see it breathing, the clouds it’s warm breath on the cool morning. I didn’t know it’s name. I decided to make it my goal for the day to learn what they locals have called it. I’m not sure it will matter though. As I took a sip of hot liquid and meditated on the rock formation it seemed to speak the word, reintegration. A fitting name for a peak that hosts a trail they call the Stairway to Heaven.
It’s supposed to be an easy day. Most activities will be centered around the graduation ceremony. I think it’s a proper introduction to the program for the first day to be spent seeing the end results of their efforts.
Everyone is busy getting ready for the ceremony. I offered my assistance but was told everyone else had it handled. I’m the only one without a purpose, so I’m lying in my bed writing.
I’ve started reading a book given to me months ago, when I was in the hospital for MRSA. “The Tao of Sobriety.” I am a few chapters in and while they have said numerous times it will offer a path to help in recovery, it has given no indication what form this will be in.
Graduation was difficult. Everyone kept telling me it was going to be an easy day where we just sit around, listen to people speak and then eat a bunch of good food. The sitting was the hardest part.
As soon as the first speaker began I realized my anxiety was going to be an issue.
One thing I haven’t mentioned yet is I am the only haole in the men’s residential program. It seems the ratio of 1 to 15 is about average in their program given the demographics of the graduation attendance. There were five other white guys in the whole group of nearly 200 people.
I’ve been a minority before, but not quite to this extreme. Island culture has a strong emphasis on family connection, Ohana, which was on full display. This further alienated me from the rest of the participants.
I could tell how it was as soon as we got out of the van. Everyone migrated to the smoking section and started to laugh and embrace those already there. If you spend any amount of time on Oahu you’ll soon know everyone on the island. In just four months I met half of Waikiki.l These guys had been here their whole lives. They weren’t just friends with everyone, they were family.
“Heya, howzit bruddah?”
“Kimo had dakine yet?”
“Bruddah! Ya real? Been foreva!”
We helped set up for a minute. With sixteen of us it wasn't long before they ran out of odd jobs and we all just ended up sitting around. It was over an hour of waiting before thing got underway.
The first speaker thanked everyone for coming, especially friends and family of the graduates. He repeated every other sentence how integral their support is to the success of those being honored. “No one graduating here today has done it alone.”
Next they introduced the graduates and announced with specific award they were to receive. The awards seemed arbitrary. The kind of designations you find in high school yearbooks to remind the popular kids they were popular.
After each award was named the recipient the graduate would go up and say a few words. They weren’t all identical but followed the same general format.
“Thank you so much I want to thank my family. I couldn’t do it without you. Just look, my mom is here. My sister, even my nephew made it. Oh and my friends! They all helped me so much when I wasn’t sure I could go on. I’d be back on the streets if it weren’t for them. Finally above all else, I want to thank God.”
Imagine hearing this twelve times over as someone who is culturally isolated, over two thousand miles from friends and family, and hates God. My anxiety was so bad I was ready to bolt. Luckily I was called aside to speak with a woman regarding my financial assistance.
She wanted to know all about my work history, why I was in Hawaii and scheduled me to see a psychiatrist. None of these things were topics I wanted to get into while on the brink of a panic attack. It is only by my sheer determination to return home that I didn’t just leave the program right then.
Well there is one other thing at this point, they have my bell.
I had it packed in my belongings when I came. In fact the only things I didn’t bring was a backpack with my laptop and a few miscellaneous other items.
When I arrived in Hawaii all my possessions fit in two duffel bags and two plastic totes. I still have the bags but the totes I’ve reduced to one backpack. I won’t be surprised if by the time I make it home I’m down to one duffel and one backpack.
They weren’t exactly sure what to make of the bell. Everyone was surprised that I would carry along such a burden of weight. They were even more surprised to find that I rarely ring it.
After the ceremony we all ate. There was enough food for twice as many people, even after everyone had seconds. I ate alone, facing the mountain.
“You knew this wasn’t going to be easy.”
Yes, but I didn’t think they would be openly mocking me on my second day.
“They aren’t mocking you.”
Okay, so they’re just throwing it in my face.
“No one here forced you to leave Seattle.”
They didn’t have to, Seattle did that.
“Seattle didn’t do it either. I did.”
And why would you do that?
“Because I wanted you to see this, experience this. When you left Seattle you thought you were totally alone. Do you still think that?”
No. No I don’t. I was never alone there.
“You’re not alone here either. Ring the bell.”
Day 29
On weekends wake up time is 6:30 am. I was up at 5:15. Insomnia has returned. In the past I thought it was a side effect of the bupropion, but now i’m starting to think it may just be a part of my natural chemical balance.
As I think back I’ve never slept well. Before I would more pass out than fall asleep. It’s much easier to sleep when the body and mind are thoroughly depressed with alcohol or even easier when it’s rendered completely unnecessary with ice.
Most commonly methamphetamine in Hawaii is referred to as ice. I had never encountered the term before coming here. It makes sense I guess, except you feel anything but cold.
One of the first things we do every morning is medication. At this time everyone assembles in the downstairs hallway and waits for their name to be called. I’m the only one here that doesn’t take any medications. Everyone seems surprised to hear this. Being in a dual diagnosis facility it’s expected that everyone has either an antidepressant or some kind of antipsychotic. I choose to see a psychologist, not a psychiatrist for a reason. I want less drugs in my life.
I’ve only met with a psychiatrist once in my life I can remember. It was back in February as one of the requirements for my application to treatment. I had done a shot not two hours before the evaluation. It was a point where I was taking a hit about two hours before I did anything.
I arrived at the office twenty minutes early and left before my appointment was scheduled to take place. I was seen right away and asked a series of preliminary questions. Only two of them seemed to matter:
“Why are you here for a psychiatric evaluation?”
It’s a requirement for the treatment program I want to get into,
“What is your drug of choice and when was the last time you used?”
I injected methamphetamine about two hours ago.
That was largely the extent of our exchange. He asked a couple more questions that were all trivial in nature. He had already made his diagnosis and had no interest in actually doing his job. He labeled me an addict and decided that was all he had to do,
Based on his assessment my application to treatment would have been rejected. Without a secondary diagnosis I would have been referred to a different program I would be shocked if he was unaware of this, being as his specialty was drugs and alcohol.
I didn’t know this however when submitting my application. By that time I had also started seeing a psychologist recommended by my physician. My doctor insisted it would be beneficial for me to be seeing someone until I got into treatment. I was in position to argue as I had also slammed a couple hours before going to my physical. I needed all the help I could get.
Dr. Moreno actually seemed interested in helping me get to the root of the problem. After our first session he diagnosed me with “methamphetamine addiction - severe”, “alcohol dependency - moderate”, and “anxiety disorder - moderate”. He later added depression to the list of ailments after our second session.
We talked about medication each time we met but I always reaffirmed my opposition. I believe it is foolish to treat a mental disorder while the brain is still polluted with drugs. How can you tell the difference between the actual person and the drug? If I was going to start taking psychoactive drugs I had to get clean first.
It’s been nearly a month now. I can tell there is still an imbalance, but I’m not convinced I need a prescription to correct it. That may just be my stubborn nature though.
My symptoms at this point may suggest the exact opposite. Last night was the second in a row I only got about five hours of sleep. Even then it was interrupted by about two hours of full insomnia in the middle of the night. Since I quit using the only night I got more than 6 hours of sleep was when I stayed in the hotel for my birthday, I also had a couple drinks that night.
Our activity for the day was to go to the NA Gathering of Oahu. It was a whole weekend event of camping, activities and meetings. It was being held in Mokuleia, along the north shore. Most of the guys were excited to go, but not me.
Along with the insomnia I’m also finding that my anxiety is manifesting itself more in social settings. Those who know me well may be surprised to hear this. I’ve often been referred to as “the life of the party”. I’m not seeing that was largely the case when I was drinking and I always drank to cope with the anxiety I was experiencing. Given the choice, my sober mind would much rather interact one on one or to just be left alone to write or read a book.
In the last two days I finished reading “The Tao of Sobriety”. It wasn’t a bad book. Nick had given it to me while I was hospitalized in August. It offered a fair amount of advice in the end. I’m not sure how ready I am to put much of it into practice.
I think it’s more approachable than the 12 step model at this point, of which I’m still very much opposed. They can talk all they want about how it has been reformed to be secular in nature but it’s not. I also refuse to admit that I am powerless in helping myself. The last time I admitted I was powerless it only made things exponentially worse.
I still hate God too. I’m not expecting that to change any time soon.
I used to say the most dangerous person I can be left alone with is myself. I think that is still true. However as my social anxiety gets worse and I’m finding it more difficult to be around other people I’m finding myself in a catch-22. I can’t be alone but I can’t be with other people. This would then suggest that I can’t be. I refuse to accept that as a potential reality. So what the hell am I supposed to do?
I have figured out my aversion to the AA/NA model. Imagine as a little kid you love sports but people for no reason would throw balls at you. Tennis balls. Footballs. Soccer balls. Some of them hurt more than others. For most of your life you weren’t even the one that they were specifically targeting. Usually it was aimed at someone else and would ricochet in your direction after hitting them. One day your mother even went as far as to crack a 110 mph baseball into the side of your skull. Now as you got older and the bruises started to pile up, you decide to create something that doesn’t hurt so bad. Nerf works amazingly. You can go back to loving sports as long as you get to use your own ball. Now you have to go to a tournament where everyone brings their own ball and you’re the only one with Nerf. Even worse the majority of the people brought baseballs. When you walk in they aren’t just holding the baseballs either. They’re casually tossing them up in the air and ringing them in their hands, winding up to practice their swing, etc. Would you want to sit around and hope that none of them are going to decide to haul off and hit you in the head again? As you’ve probably guessed, the ball is “God as you choose to perceive it to be.”
Now i”m also a very spiritual person. That is not something I try to hide. I spent many years at odds with this part of myself. It took me nearly half a decade but I’ve come to terms with my spirituality and my personal definition of God.
I tend to take a more Greek approach to the philosophy of a deity, compared to the more literal and physical interpretation offered by most monotheistic religions. I believe that God is everything and nothing. God is life and death. Matter and the absence thereof. Every aspect of our lives and every concept therein is God. This is how I’ve come to refer to dope as the most horrific face of God. It is the most destructive and terrifying force I have encountered, followed closely by the Christian face of God.. While it is said to represent compassion and humility, far more visibly it is used to demonize and desolate others in a way to rob them of their humanity.
Perhaps this is also the source of my anger with how addicts are treated in the healthcare system. It’s very similar to how homosexuals have been treated in God’s America.
There is a duality in all things. “The Tao of Sobriety” says that we must reject the idea of “either/or” and embrace the concept of “both/and”. My understanding of God demands that there is both good and evil. I believe that they often are born from the same source. However I will not put myself in a position to continually fall victim to the bad, no matter what good it might bring in the end. There were plenty of good things I got from slamming dope, but they did not outweigh the harm it was doing in my life.
There is a duality in my life that now exists between God and dope. One leads to the other. There has to be a way to recover from both.
Day 30
We just concluded our evening house meeting. It’s conducted in the style of an NA meeting. I spent most of my day trying to figure out the best words to describe my total opposition to the 12-step model. I believe it’s inherently flawed for a number of reasons,
A big part of the format is sharing your experiences with others. This is all well and good for most people. Many of the stories are about the badass things people did while on drugs that then horribly backfired and destroyed their lives. In almost every story I’ve heard though there is a very distinct chauvinistic tone that makes me weary to share much of my own experiences.
For instance, tonight’s topic was “surrender”. I considered telling the story of when I died and forfeited my life to the unknown. I only had to start the intro in my head before backpedaling full speed, “I was lying naked in the a third floor room of a Seattle bath house…”
I don’t imagine it would go over so well with the guy who just earlier this morning asked about “that fine piece of ass” I had been walking behind. She had dropped a stack of papers, which I then helped her to pick up. “I knew you were just waiting to watch her bend over amarite?”
So I considered instead sharing the a story that took place shortly after. I was still in Seattle, at a friend’s condo on Capitol HIll. Four of us had gathered to discuss my plans to move to Hawaii. “We were sitting on the Italian leather sofa in Robert’s condo overlooking all of downtown Seattle..”
Maybe it’s better if I pick one that happened here on Oahu. “The conversation turned to addiction as we were lying naked in bed, the sound of the ocean roaring in from 100 feet away…”
Now it isn’t just the potential problems that arise from exposing myself in a way that could paint me as a queer with a silver spoon in his mouth. In fact that is far from the truth despite the situations I may have found myself in.
I am also the only haole in the program. I’m the only one here who seems to have come by his own volition. I’m the only IVDU in the group. How am I supposed to relate to these people at all? Especially if I’m never comfortable enough to speak with them as I do with you?
I guess it shouldn’t be a surprise that as I’m writing this I’m completely alone. There isn’t even as much as a sound from anyone else. Perhaps I’m being voted off the island. Maybe that’s for the best.
I spent nearly an hour on the brink of a full blown panic attack. I couldn’t stop my mind from racing a hundred miles a minute. I tried some breathing exercises but it didn’t seem to help. I was lying in my bed shaking until my body just shut down entirely.
I was then thrust back into reality by a voice yelling into my room, “MEDS!” I don’t know how long I’d been asleep, maybe 30 minutes. Not nearly enough time for my body to recover from it’s heightened state.
I was irritable to say the least. Given the difficulty I’ve had sleeping it seems crazy to have woke me up at 9 pm because everyone else needs to take their meds. Especially since after three minutes the event was over.
I knew exactly how it works. It would be an hour or more before I’d be able to get back to sleep. Being as I had just missed a designated smoke break by ten minutes I asked politely for my pack.
SInce I’m awake now, can I smoke a cigarette?
“It’s not break time.”
But it just happened, I was asleep, you woke me up.
“It’s not break time.”
Furious is the only way I could describe myself. Why wake me for something I’m not a part of at all, but then let me sleep through events I’m known to participate in every time. I had even refrained from asking before I fell asleep despite it helping to calm my anxiety. He went and made sure everyone else was included, why not me?
The other attending kine then interjected:
“Well there wasn’t an announcement when all the other guys came down and went out early, so he can have one actually.”
I appreciate his willingness to accommodate and commitment to fairness, but what the literal fuck? Everyone else got to smoke early and that’s fine, but when I ask a few minutes late it’s not allowed?
I can’t help but assume this is what’s it’s like to be a minority in America.
Every one else had all been upstairs watching a movie, including the staff members. Despite having voiced interest in seeing the movie earlier in the day, I was never told when it would be on. Hell it was already 30 minutes in by the time I even knew they were watching it.
Something happened here before I arrived. It was briefly mentioned this evening and seems to do directly with why a space opened up for me when it did. I don’t so much think it’s a stretch to suggest this is a program in which the majority can dictate the fate of an individual.
Day 31
We stay at the base of a mountain so magnificent it has been named “The Stairway to Heaven” and when the time come for recreation we go to the mall and walk around in circles. The same tired store fronts with each lap. Lips. Pho Factory. Sears. Ben & Jerry’s. Hot Topic. Regal Cinemas. Mr Pretzel. This isn’t paradise lost, it’s paradise ignored.
We started the “program” officially today. On weekdays we have classes during the day. I quickly learned it was not something I’ll be looking forward to.
Our first class was focused on how we did over the weekend. Everyone has to fill out a worksheet of questions. Once that is finished we go around and read aloud what we’ve written. My spine started to shake with the first volunteer stepping forward. By the time it was my turn to speak, we’d already reached a state of nausea.
“My weekend was extremely difficult. All the things I was told would be easy were incredibly hard. The high point was going to the library. The low points were graduation, the NA gathering and meetings in general. I’ve woken up in the middle of the night each night I’ve been here from dreams of having a needle in my arm. My coping skills are largely nonexistent as everything I’ve used before was taken away from me. They just told me it was going to be easy. My goal right now is to go home.”
You could tell the mention of needles caught the other guys off guard. Another reminder that I’m the only IVDU. I don’t have a criminal record to speak of, much less one that compares with some of these guys, and in that moment I was the most feared man in the room.
Shortly after break was called my counselor came up and told me we’d be meeting after class resumed. Originally I was told it wouldn’t be until tomorrow. I had informed him that was unacceptable.
I get a distinct impression that while my counselor has read many books regarding addiction and anxiety disorders he has never himself experienced either. He speaks of it in a way that suggests you can just think it all away, ignoring that often times it’s thinking that makes it worse.
While we were recapping our one-on-one meeting it appears that he changed my diagnosis. I am now listed as having a severe anxiety disorder. I thought this place was supposed to help me get better.
I asked for more to do to keep me busy. My workload was adjusted in line with my anxiety diagnosis and he told me he’d work on getting me a heavy workload. At 3:45 I was given an additional four assignments. I was finished an hour later. I don’t think my counselor is prepared to handle a student of my caliber either.
He’s not a bad person. I wouldn’t even go as far as to say that he’s bad at his job in most cases. The other guys seem to be progressing well under his guidance. I’m not giving up on anything at this point but I don’t think he has the slightest frame of reference for where I’m coming from or how to help me.
In our meeting I informed him I had made my decision to return to Seattle upon completion of the residential part of the program. He expressed concern I had not fully considered the steps needed for a successful transition. When I presented him with my detailed plan for transition I was given lip service. He did not even pretend to read the pages I had set in front of him.
It seems this is likely to be the response I get from most staff members and counselors upon learning I don’t plan to continue on with the out patient program. I’m reminded of the experience with Dr. Davidson for the psych evaluation. If that is the case, so be it.
One thing they evaluate after each one-on-one is the likely potential for relapse and early check out. I was marked at the highest level risk of both. I have expressed my determination to maintain my sobriety with no room for confusion. He doesn’t seem to understand my desire to go home. He probably doubts my will power as well. This is fine. It only serves to harden my resolve.
In large part I was told most of the discomforts I’m currently experiencing are things I’ll have to suffer through. I knew that coming here wasn’t going to be easy. I expected it to be hard. I am determined to be in Seattle for my sister’s birthday - even better would be getting home in time to celebrate the solstice by camping with my friends.
Day 32
I’m beginning to feel like a broken record, but yet again things are worse. Last night I had another panic attack. This was the worst I’ve had since landing on Oahu.
Each day I’ve been at Po’ailani my anxiety has risen to new heights. I wasn’t perfect when I arrived here, far from. Every 48 hours I found myself on the brink of a breakdown or relapse. But I was better than I am now.
I believe this is due to repeatedly being placed in situations that trigger my anxiety and having removed what few coping mechanisms I’ve grown accustom to having at my disposal. Thinking back whenever I would feel it coming on before I would instinctively reach for my phone.
I might send a text to a friend, check my facebook feed, or start playing whichever game I’m currently obsessed. It actually didn’t matter what I did as long as it offered me an escape from whatever situation I found myself in. At any given moment I had an entirely different world waiting at my fingertips.
I can’t fault Po’ailani for inadequately addressing my needs being as they were unaware of the true extent of my condition. I spoke with my counselor earlier today and he agreed the program is not e quipped to handle someone with my disorder without medication. They can’t change the program for everyone just to accommodate one individual. I wouldn't even ask that as it seems to be working for the rest of them. It’s not working for me at all though.
Day 33
I slept last night. For the first time since I got here I slept for over seven hours. It’s amazing the difference it makes.
I’m going to see my psychologist for the first time in nearly six weeks. I’m certain the entirety of our conversation will be centered around my decision to go back to Seattle and the manner in which I go, It will be interesting to see if he has the same sea change everyone else does upon hearing that I’ve decided to leave.
My arm hurts today. I’m afraid the infection may not have been resolved. After massaging the area yesterday the numbness spread throughout the right side of my body. Even now it still hurts more than it has in a month. There appears to be a redness to the area and it’s warm to the touch. I can’t help but wonder if the only reason I slept well is because my body is fighting the infection again.
If that’s true, it’s not going to be good. This same spot has already been treated with four different antibiotics, including IV vancomycin. If something has survived it’s likely to be drug resistant at this point. Another trip to the hospital would dramatically complicate everything.
I also have to consider the possibility that my anxiety is manifesting itself as hypochondria. This might be the case and all I’m going to do is because an unnecessary strain on the healthcare system yet again. On the other hand, if it is something and I say nothing I could end up dead. I still refuse to die on this rock.
I didn’t experience island fever until I got into treatment. Perhaps it’s just my total boredom. Maybe it’s because I feel like a trapped animal. It all just feels like some kind of punishment. It doesn’t even seem like they’re trying to help me.
“So what is it you’re expecting to get from being here?”
I want to gain the skills to cope with my problems without using drugs.
“Okay, what does that look like to you?”
I don’t know, that’s why I am here.
“You think we’re just going to magically make it all disappear?”
No, but I expect you to be able to be able to show me how to deal with things I currently can’t.
“What does that look like to you?”
Are you aware that we’re now talking in circles?
It’s almost as if the goal is to frustrate me. If I’m forced to suffer long enough I’ll finally check myself out and then they can get on to helping someone who is actually worth their time. It’s Dr. Davidson all over again.
I guess that’s how it haole’s are treated here. It’s a very subtle but all encompassing message of “get the fuck out”. Oahu itself stands as a testament to the true meaning of aloha, but its people seem to have lost that sentiment in time.
Well, I’m not as worked up as I was earlier, though I stand by everything I said. I have decided that I am going to stay the month. Being as I’m here and it’s already been paid for, I’ll try to stick it out. The exact day I leave we depend on how they want to bill things. Ideally I will be discharged on...fuck I don’t know. My first thought is May 5th but perhaps April 29th is better. All I know is that I want to be back in Seattle by May 10th.
I’ll need at least a day on Oahu to get my tattoo. I also don’t think I want to rush right back to Seattle. I’m curious what the cost would be to fly to LA or San Francisco and take a bus up from there. I think it would be good to take some time to reflect on everything instead of diving face first into Seattle life.
I need to start putting my plan in motion. Tomorrow I need to talk with the office and get everything in place.
Day 34
While being here my writing seems to be confined strictly to where I am. I no longer feel able to reflect on past events as I had before arriving here. I cannot figure out why that is. There seems to be considerable benefits to the progress I was making previously. Now I feel stuck where I am, being forced to dwell on being an addict instead of being able to transcend my thinking into the more important questions of why I am an addict and how I allowed myself to lose control. Perhaps this is because there is no place for me to actually relax. Great emphasis is placed on the act of reflection, but while this place advertises itself as a mirror I’ve found every inch covered in black paint.
I’ve spoken with my counselor and the head facilitator about my decision to leave. I also spoke with my father about securing a flight back to Seattle. I have yet to set a date. It will likely be April 22nd, which will mean I completed two and half weeks of the program.
I have gained invaluable insight into jy condition. It is clear to me that anxiety has been an underlying factor in my drug and alcohol use throughout my life. Through my independent studies here I’ve also started to recognize the various triggers I have. The tenant of Cultural Existentialism seems promising in offering me further understanding as to the true origins of my anxiety. In examining the isolation/connection paradox and meaningful/meaninglessness paradox I believe I will find the genesis. If nothing else it gives me a solid place to begin searching. This is not a journey that ends on Oahu. I must continue forward and dig deeper at the root if I am to maintain a healthy disposition in my life.
Day 34/35
I was asked to keep a log of events that cause me to feel anxious. My counselor provided a worksheet to fill out and told me to make as many copies as I needed to document everything over the weekend. The following is a reconstruction of that exercise.
____________
Event/SItuation:
Attempted to use the telephone. Denied and told not allowed till the 8th day and the 1st day doesn’t count.
Thoughts:
This is not what I was previously told and seems absurd.
Physical Reaction:
Muscle tension, headache, increased heart rate
Coping Strategy Used:
Radical acceptance
____________
Event/Situation:
Following the phone interaction the office door was closed abruptly with three staff members inside.
Thoughts:
Assumed they were speaking negatively about me. Why else close the door?
Physical Reaction:
Muscle tension, increased headache, elevated blood pressure/bulging veins, increased heart rate, slight nausea
Coping Strategy Used:
Breathing techniques, cue controlled relaxation, safe place imagery, “it’s almost over”
____________
Event/Situation:
Explaining my decision to leave to Kim (staff member)
Thoughts:
Kim is easy to talk to and comes across as understanding and compassionate
Physical Reaction:
Sweating, increased heart rate
Coping Strategy Used:
Positive reassurance
____________
Event/Situation:
Inquired about break schedule due to upcoming holiday, confusion ensued.
Thoughts:
Excessive confusion of things led to my mind to thoughts explained in “Detail A”
Physical Reaction:
Visible frustration, elevated blood pressure, increased heart rate
Coping Strategy Used:
Breathing techniques, removal from situation
____________
Event/Situation:
“Detail A”
Thoughts:
Staff regularly seems confused about policies. It shouldn’t be a debate about what schedule we are on or which day phone privileges are in effect. The written policy says after a week a client is able to use the phone. I was admitted on a Thursday, today is a Thursday. The same day cannot exist twice within the same week. If it is in fact a measure of exact hours as they explained to me, then that should be how it’s written. As it stands it seems the staff is making things more difficult for me as a form of punishment for drawing attention to previous problems. This seems to be carrying over to how I’m treated by fellow clients. Being as I have heard staff speak down about other clients having difficulty (ie laughing about someone's decision to leave after a day) I have to assume that I have similarly been disrespected in a group setting. Interactions with the staff after my discuss with the lead facilitator have been far from pleasant. When break time comes it’s all joking and smiles while handing out cigarettes to everyone else until I get to the front of the line and it’s all stone faced looks at the wall and an inaudible murmur when I say “thank you”.
Physical Reactions:
Elevated blood pressure, increased heart rate, uncontrollable shaking, muscle tension, blurred vision, nausea
Coping Strategy Used:
Cue controlled relaxation, breathing techniques, removal of self from situation, positive affirmation, grounding meditation
____________
Event/Situation:
NA Meeting. Client sharing in a manner directly targeting me. “You don’t have to fight with staff” and looking straight at me.
Thoughts:
This solidifies my thinking that staff has been expressing their struggles with me to other clients.
Physical Reactions:
Nausea, muscle tension, sweating
Coping Strategy Used:
Removal of self from situation, positive affirmation “It’s almost over”
____________
Event/Situation:
Other clients telling Filipino jokes during Meds.
Thoughts:
I chose not to draw further attention to the situation but it seems grossly inappropriate for a staff member to join in laughter while one of the clients here is a self described “Proud Filipino-American”
Physical Reaction:
Muscle tension, increased heart rate
Coping Strategy Used:
Radical acceptance
____________
Event/Situation:
Trying to practice “mindfulness exercises” but constantly interrupted with distractions (ie chickens, housemates, stereo, etc)
Thoughts:
It’s impossible to achieve a peaceful moment here.
Physical Reaction:
Muscle tension, increased heart rate
Coping Strategy Used:
Radical acceptance, rescheduled attempt
____________
Event/Situation:
Informed we are going to the beach before schedule phone times, offered early usage but unable to get a hold of anyone and now will be unavailable
Thoughts:
I was told we would be staying in today. I don’t like last minute changes that force me into a situation I’m not comfortable in without any notice.
Physical Reaction:
Muscle tension, increased heart rate, elevated blood pressure
Coping Strategy Used:
Breathing techniques, radical acceptance, positive affirmations, grounding
____________
Event/Situation:
Leaving for the beach they are attempting to load 15 people into a 14 passenger van. I express to staff, “I’m not comfortable” to which I am ignored.
Thoughts:
Even when I say something my concerns are outright ignored. This is exactly what I mean when I say that Po’ailani staff is either untrained or unwilling to meet my needs. I made it clear I didn’t want to go and upon seeing we were all cramming into one can I again told Gail, “I am not comfortable with this.” She didn’t even acknowledge me, just went about the business of loading everyone in the van. There was no reassurance. No attempt to make things easier. Instead I got put right in the middle of a van packed, with people who are already incredibly judgemental of me, already in the midst of a panic attack. Upon reaching the beach I informed Gail I wanted to be discharged immediately. She passed it off to Ben who came off as combative and acted as if my suffering was a joke, even going as far as to laugh multiple times. He went on to essentially call me crazy, insisting that I should be on meds. There was again no effort made to calm the situation and each statement he made seemed to increasingly sound like he was daring me to leave. I am still struggling to understand why we were at the beach after being told there was not staff on hand to accommodate an outing. I’m sure everyone is now saying all the things I’ve heard said about others. “He’s not ready.” “He didn’t try.” etc. I’m more than ready to get help and I’ve been trying harder than anyone in this program. I wanted to make this work. I’m not giving up on beating my addiction and even more importantly my mental illness. Anyone who thinks otherwise can go fuck themselves. I refuse to believe my situation is hopeless. There is a way back, there has to be. I have never failed to accomplish a task I put all my effort behind. I don’t intend to fail now.
Physical Reactions:
PANIC ATTACK
Coping Strategy Used:
All available skills
Day 35
I did it. I left. I couldn’t take anymore.
I’m sure they all think I’m at Walgreen’s right now digging through the trash for a syringe to stab into my arm. They’re probably convinced that people who find their way to the needle don’t find their way back. Society would have you believe that from the first time you watch that red flag scream up the dropper you’re as good as dead. I might be as good as dead. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to give up.
I was walking down Kuulei Road when the most horrific face of God appeared only inches from my face:
“I told you you wouldn’t make it.”
FUCK YOU!
“Hahaha! The harder you fight the more it’s going to hurt when you fail.”
FUCK YOU!
“Get mad. Get angry. Look at yourself. You’ve lost control. You are powerless.”
You’re right. I am powerless.
“Just give in. You know where to find me. I’m not far.”
All I have to do is reach out my hand and you’ll fill it. Endlessly.
“I will make it all go away.”
I know...that’s the problem. You made it all go away. You took everything from me; my home, my dog, my friends and family. But it was worse than that. You made me make them all go away. You made me think I was in control when all along it was you. You blinded me, convinced me they were all against me. You went through my thoughts and found every potential you could to exploit. I willingly turned myself over to you. You had total control, but not anymore. My existence is yours to ridicule. You can torture me in my dreams and haunt my waking life. In that I am powerless to stop you.
“Then blink.”
Not anymore.
“BLINK!”
Do your worst.
