Cazbiz notes

My reality today

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Anonymous No More

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I have just realized that I’ve quite possibly become a rare creature – a recovering addict with a lot of experience in the program, who is unconcerned about their anonymity (not counting celebs of course – hell, the whole world knew about their “dancing days”; not a very big leap there).

I have disclosed that I am a recovering person on my post, About this Blog, as I felt that after 30 years around the program, there are stories worth telling about my experiences. I find it much more difficult to write about myself though, than to edit an informative piece – the rest of this blog covers more general topics, such as music, art and the environment. I did feel a little vulnerable ‘coming out’ in this way but expected little interest in it anyway. In fact it was a recent post on recovery and creativity, Movement in the Major Key, the first time I had written in any detail on these issues, which has had the best response on the blog. And so far the sky has not fallen in.

Of course it’s totally up to each person to make the decision for themselves, but I do feel it’s generally best for addicts, especially early in recovery, to share this aspect of their lives only with other addicts. Anonymity is important for a range of reasons recovering people all understand, including the protection of the fellowship and any similar entity we rely on so significantly. I have not specified my means of recovery nor published any identifiable logos – I am far from wanting to be the public face of anything. However my situation is that I no longer need to seek paid employment, so I’m unconcerned on this front, as might once have been the case. Also I am OK with who I am today, and feel that those who, through ignorance, might judge me for my past don’t matter. I don’t need everyone’s approval. I have many loving and supportive friends, and want the world to know who I truly am for many reasons.

Most importantly, I am happy to help in any way I can to overcome the stigma which sees many addicts afraid to seek recovery. And to carry the message that there is indeed a life after active addiction “better than any we have ever known”, to paraphrase from a well-known piece of literature. I feel also that the prevailing stereotype of the addict, in and out of recovery, needs to be challenged. Membership of twelve step groups is made up of a cross-section of society as we who attend meetings regularly can attest. I want to, at least to a greater degree than at present, ‘normalise’ this situation; indeed, it has been estimated substance addicts alone make up around 10% of the population, and that few families are unaffected by the disease, so why should recovery be completely outside of the community mainstream, a sort of underground movement, alluring as that seems? In Iran, recovering addicts meet in open outdoor venues as they are forbidden to meet behind closed doors. Needs must. Not that I’m advocating anything like that here in Australia, at least not in the near future, while there is still the infernal tinge of disgrace. It’s a delicate balancing act to navigate – social exclusion by choice or by necessity?

In my own case, I am mindful of avoiding sensationalism, and anything self-serving in my motivations (as in all things). However, as someone who has recently begun to recover my voice (weird as that might sound LOL), I no longer need or wish to remain in the shadows, in silence. There is quite possibly a greater good to be served here – advocacy for my tribe. And yep, recovery rocks my socks!

Meantime here’s some Courtney Love:

Movement in major key

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I haven’t always been a writer. My creative voice, that is, went gravely silent. For decades. Recognised as the best fiction writer in my Intermediate school (the two year interval between Primary and Secondary education), at the age of twelve the onset of depression, undiagnosed for a further twenty five years, and by my late teens addictions, both the substance and process forms, stifled it utterly. My outward, and to a large extent inner, life transformed when I got into recovery from addiction in my twenties. Eventually the black dog was also diagnosed and treated. Along the way, I completed a university degree with Honours, majoring in English and Philosophy, became a skilled academic writer, and then trained as a teacher. Teaching furnished me with public speaking skills, helping to overcome debilitating shyness. I completed a creative writing course and endured more than twenty five years of therapy. Still that elusive gift of imaginative expression did not return. Requiem. I mourned.

Mostly alone, I was wholly responsible for my life in the big wide world and poorly equipped from the get-go. Hence the imperative to work hard and make something of my life, to secure my future, was strong. I don’t blame my parents for the dissonance of my childhood. They did the best they knew how, but their respective upbringings had made neither competent parents. In their songbook, you fed and clothed kids, taught them to respect their elders, to never be a burden, corrected their mistakes, and that was about it. No ornaments of emotional sustenance, nor encouragement of potential were attempted. The reverse was true; they were hyper-critical, and forced me, the eldest, into a life-limiting role as carer of others. This was necessary for my mother, working full-time while rearing three children with little assistance from my father, who was domineering and demanding. Few other living skills were imparted. And for me, chained to mother indoors as domestic servant, forbidden to go out and to play, key social skills went unlearned as well. My siblings, though neither substance abusers, fared as poorly in the world as I.

Ironically, my particular misfortune, addiction, was also my greatest gift. Faced with its awful progression, it was clear I must seek recovery or else die; worse, I might go permanently and completely insane. The willingness to change thus instilled in me, I took up with gusto the opportunities presented to me to heal, and slowly learned those things previously a mystery to me. This integrated me more comfortably into the world. I acquired a room of my own, and eventually a little money – Virginia Wolf’s minimum prerequisites for a woman to write fiction. There were ups and downs; my recovery, though substantial at times, was disrupted by periods of relapse. And the rhythmic beat of an artistic expression remained absent.

An outwardly small, not even especially uplifting, decision changed everything. It arose during an interlude where I had become very isolated following a bereavement. Simon was my dearest friend, whom I willingly cared for as illness overtook him. I was obligated for sure; Simon had loyally and doggedly looked out for me while I endured my own skirmishes with illness. But it was more than this; the certainty that we were soon to be parted forever activated a wish to be by his side in the time that remained. He died leaving me sole proprietorship of our joint business, along with some money. He had been a huge part of my life for a decade and a half. My grief was considerable, and our life and death battle had been all-consuming. I had not sought assistance for my own needs and now was besieged with those confounded demons again. It was a painful place to be – so painful I vowed that, if I survived, never again would I abandon my own care so completely. I began once more to seek recovery, and this time it was harder than ever.

Desperate, I turned to a dedicated online forum, initially for assistance in obtaining pharmaceuticals to self-administer (the role of personal physician was too often my default in times of extreme trouble). On joining the group, I soon found a section called Sky Lounge, where members intermingled for other, livelier, pursuits. Attracted by the classic rock music thread, I began contributing to it. Rock music was a passion of mine but I had not followed it closely for many years. My vinyl collection had long ago been lost in the haze of the worst of my active addiction. All that remained was an uninspiring set of bargain basement CDs, and a cheap stereo set. My knowledge of rock music post-1979 was patchy to say the least. Yet as I keenly set about filling those gaps, an avid thirst for knowledge of the purest kind awakened. An inability to feel comfortable in the pursuit of pleasure for its own sake had curiously co-existed with addiction for me, even more so once my endgame became recovery. (Though not always able to maintain abstinence, the longing for its realization always resonated at the core of my being.) So it was miraculous to find myself profoundly absorbed in an activity purely for fulfilment – music and writing being my greatest loves.

On that thread, across time zones, I met TJ. We swiftly struck up a friendship, easy rapport being TJs character. Our musical predilections were closely aligned. TJ is an accomplished musician and songwriter – the maestro – younger than I. His knowledge of the most contemporary music far exceeds mine, though he has also been inspired by and still loves many of the rock immortals from the 60s and 70s. My writing ability seemed to impress him; he was reassuring about my talent and evolving skill. I was captivated by his musical expertise, and his selection of music; thus between us a chemistry developed. It seemed the most natural thing in the world that we become steadfast friends – ball and biscuit. Our interactions on the forum threads were lively and entertaining. My engagement with writing was thereby, in charming manner, embedded and refined. It was not fiction, but this mattered not at all. Fascinated by the background stories to the tunes, I explored and wrote about the creative process. TJ’s responses were priceless – a remark here, a tale there, when introducing me to a great many songs, my detective instinct would stir into action. A nocturne of rich pickings – through TJ’s gentle input and support, inspiration flourished, unconstrained. To my intense wonder, the trickle of ideas became a stream – with a bridge. Writing harmonised, and found expression, with music, within my soul. The collected notes and stories assembled into a symphony – a body of work. My lifestream.

This in turn became ultimate redemption. Motivated like never before, I returned to my spiritual centre for recovery, with a new determination. The entire tone of my being reformed. I have found beautiful freedom.

Chris Cornell “Thank You” (Led Zeppelin cover)

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Gnarls Barkley: Crazy – The Sound of the 2000s

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Gnarls Barkley: Crazy GnarlsBarkleyCrazyCover

Hi dear readers. Here is a nice little singalong for the shower or wherever…I give you, from 2006, Gnarls  Barkley – “Crazy”. The song was Rolling Stone magazine’s #1 song of the 2000s. How the hell did I miss it then? Musta been crazy or something.

Here’s the best version, with lyrics onscreen. We can lose ourselves in it or jive along to our little hearts’ content. It topped the charts in the United Kingdom, Denmark, Canada, the Republic of Ireland, New Zealand and other countries on release that year, having already been leaked in 2005. Records for Songs Charting tumbled almost everywhere.

The only thing I don’t love about it is that it’s too short, and there is no more of that groove. It was a one-off musical collaboration, created by DJs CeeLo Green and Danger Mouse, who decided to write the best pop song ever, for the 5 times Grammy Award-nominated album St Elsewhere. And they’ve pretty much nailed it. Now I need to link the song to one of my non-music-related posts. Perhaps a post from the Abbottoir? Perfect. Just who is craziest anyway? The residents of Bedlam or the lunatics running the show?

“You are the best. You are the worst. You are average. Your love is a part of you. You try to give it away because you cannot bear its radiance, but you cannot separate it from yourself. To understand your fellow humans, you must understand why you give them your love. You must realize that hate is but a crime-ridden subdivision of love. You must reclaim what you never lost. You must take leave of your sanity, and yet be fully responsible for your actions.” -Gnarls Barkley, in a letter to the legendary rock critic Lester Bangs

What’s your favourite song for the 2000s? And is your government really out to get you, or are you just crazy? These are big questions. Take your time if you must but please feel free to comment when you are ready. Meantime, life is short so be sure to have fun. Love is free, so love freely. That’s my only advice.