Paul Garrigan's Blog, page 21

Using Willpower to Stay Sober Means You Are Doing it Wrong

Some people find staying sober to be a real struggle, and it can feel a bit like serving a prison sentence. In this video and podcast, I discuss how using willpower to stay away from alcohol is the wrong way to go. Press play to watch the video, and you’ll find the podcast of this episode below.

Press play to listen to the podcast:

Return to Chat Trakan Triggers Memories of Extreme Alcohol Enthusiasm

I drove the 687km from Rayong on Monday so we could visit my wife’s family here in Chat Trakan. It is the first time we’ve been back in almost three years. This is where my son was born, and it was also where I spent my last years as a drunk and the first couple of years of my new sober life. It’s wonderful to be back, but there are lots of reminders of how bad things once were for me – it’s renewed my feelings of gratitude for how far I’ve come over the last (almost) eight years.

The Village Drunk

Chat Trakan is in the middle of nowhere. The nearest city is Phitsanulok which is over a 100km away or Uttaradit which is slightly further in the opposite direction. It is doubtful that many people have ended up in this part of the world by accident – you can get here by two different routes, but there is nowhere else to go once you arrive. Chat Trakan is surrounded by mountains and jungle. It’s close to Laos, but the nearest crossing into that country is hundreds of kilometers away.

I met Oa (my wife) in Chiang Mai, and we’d been together about a year before we moved to Chat Trakan. Oa thought it was a good idea because she is a country lass at heart, and I agreed because there were no western bars and only two expats living within a 10km radius of her village. I went to Chat Trakan for the same reason I’d accepted a job in Saudi Arabia a few years before – I thought it would provide the ideal environment for someone who wanted to quit alcohol.

The lack of drinking buddies and drinking venues didn’t even put a dent into my enthusiasm for alcohol. I felt perfectly happy to sit in a local restaurant all day and pretend it was a bar. I also found a drinking establishment that was open 24-hours, played all my favorite music, and where the management were never going to kick me out – best of all, this bar had a door leading right into my bedroom.

Chat Trakan is stunningly beautiful with quaint villages, amazing waterfalls, and unbeatable nature walks. I’d email friends and family enthusiastically describing my new home and imagining how jealous it made them feel. The truth was that I had become the village drunk, and I resisted going anywhere outdoors unless there was going to be drink involved. I might as well have been living in a bus shelter in Birmingham for all the good the exotic scenery was doing me. It reminded me of the Pogues song ‘Thousands are Sailing’:

Postcards we’re mailing, of sky-blue skies and oceans, from rooms the daylight never sees, and lights don’t glow on Christmas trees

Being a westerner in this part of the world means you stand out. I never made much of an effort to hide my drinking, so my drunken exploits gave me a certain notoriety. The fact that I always had plenty of beer in my fridge meant that I rapidly befriended most of the big drinkers in the village.

One of the strangest things about being back is that I’m sure lots of people still think of me as that person, but for me it is like he is a complete stranger. I wasn’t so much a bad person back then, but I suspect even other village drunks looked at me with pity because I was obviously so messed up.

Last Day in Chat Trakan

We are travelling back to Rayong tomorrow. Oa always gets a bit teary when we leave, but I’m usually glad to get going. I do love it here, we only left because it didn’t feel like the best place to raise our son, but it no longer feels like home to me – it never really did. I sort of prefer my new life in a place where the neighbors don’t have memories of me repeatedly falling off my motorbike, or crashing into rice fields, because I had too many bottles of Chang for breakfast.

How Meditation Helped Me Overcome Alcoholism

In this video and podcast, I discuss the importance of meditation as a tool to help me overcome addiction and build a new life. I also mention some of the dangers associated with this type of practice. Press play to watch the video, and you will find the podcast of this episode below.

Press play to listen to the podcast:

6 Things I Wish I Had known When I Gave up Alcohol

My life improved significantly after I quit drinking in 2006. I’d been battling with addiction since the eighties, and it felt incredible to be free at last. It sometimes seemed like I had the golden touch as my situation improved in ways I wouldn’t have dared to imagine while still drinking. There have also been plenty of dark days since I gave up alcohol, but overall it has been a wonderful experience.

When it comes to the big questions about life, I’m strictly in the “don’t know” camp. It does feel to me as if things happen for a reason, and I certainly wouldn’t be where I am today if things didn’t unfold as they did. I happen to like where I am in life now, so if I had access to a time machine, I wouldn’t want to interfere too much with my past. Still, here are six things I’ve learned that would have made my life easier when I first gave up alcohol:

1. Self-Hatred is My Biggest Problem

I’ve come to the conclusion that most of my problems in life, including my alcoholism, have been fuelled by self-hatred. I turned to alcohol as a teenager because I wanted to escape being me. I saw how it made other people witty, adventurous, and confident, and I wanted the same. I didn’t understand that by abusing alcohol, I’d only be taking my self-hatred to a new level of ferocity.

Even after I got sober, I continued to bully myself mercilessly. It was like living with the drill-sergeant from the movie Full Metal Jacket in my head. This inner-Nazi would turn even my most simple mistakes into a reason to berate me and treat me like shit.

Turning off this bully has turned out to be fairly straightforward, but I never realized I had the option up until a few months ago. These days I try to be my number-1 defender and source of comfort because that is the type of person I need living in my head – I think we all do. This doesn’t mean I’ve turned into some type of narcissist who refuses to hear any criticism, it means that I’m willing to face the consequences of my actions because I’m no longer afraid of my inner-tormentor.

2. I Can Only Be Happy to the Extent That I’m Willing to Risk Pain

I drank to numb myself against the pain in life, but it also meant that I became numb to happiness as well. I now know that I can only experience happiness to the extent that I’m willing to risk pain, and I can only experience love to the extent that I’m willing to be vulnerable enough to the pain of love. This means that anything I do to protect myself from the pain of life is ultimately self-defeating. The good news is that when I open my heart to pain, it is nowhere near as bad as the discomfort associated with resisting it.

3. Nothing Special Has to Happen for Me to Be Happy

All of the ingredients for happiness is available to me in practically every moment. I don’t need to wait for my finances to be sorted or for other people to tell me what a ‘great man’ I am. Happiness isn’t something that needs to be earned, it just needs to be acknowledged.

4. It’s Okay to Feel Bad

Sometimes my job in life is to feel bad. If somebody close to me dies, it is only human that I should feel bad about it. If a major client stops sending me work, it is okay for me to feel disappointed. This all seems perfectly logical to me now, but I didn’t always think this way. I used to believe that feeling bad was very wrong, and that something needed to be done to remedy the situation – my favourite fixer used to be alcohol. These days I’m able to just feel the pain, and the amazing thing is that it is far more comfortable than fighting it.

5. Thinking More of Other People is the Key to a Great Life

I used to think that dying in my sleep would be the way to go, but I now know that dying with the final thought being love for another person would be ideal. I’ve wasted most of my life treating other humans like they are just a backdrop to my amazing adventure – I now see them as the thing that gives my life meaning. I no longer judge my progress in life by my possessions, but by the amount of time I spend thinking about the needs of other people.

6. I’m a Normal Person and That’s Okay

One of my excuses for my overenthusiasm for alcohol was my disappointment at not amounting to much in life. I felt special, and I needed the rest of the world to acknowledge my specialness. I honestly used to believe that I’d be headhunted by a talent scout who could see some potential in me for greatness – I wasted years sitting on a barstool just waiting for this person to find me. I continued to suffer because of this feeling of specialness even after I became sober, and if anything it got a bit worse after I managed to get a book published.

Just over a year ago, I was on holiday back in Ireland, and I went for a walk in a local park. For some reason, I started thinking about how other people in the park must see me. To them I was just some anonymous middle-aged guy out for a walk, and this realization really hit me hard. I understood that I was just some anonymous middle-aged guy and that was perfectly fine by me. It felt so liberating to understand this because if I’m just a normal person, it means that I’m allowed to make mistakes like other people. I don’t have to achieve anything to become worthwhile, I already am worthwhile.

Why I Do Not Call Myself a Recovering Alcoholic

In this video and podcast, I discuss my reasons for not referring to myself as a ‘recovering alcoholic’. Press play to watch the video. The podcast of this episode can be found below.

Press play to listen to podcast;

7 Things I Kind of Like About Myself

Last October, I put out a post called 7 Things I Hate to Admit about Myself. I always feel better for opening up about my inner demons, but I may have come across as overly self-critical on that occasion – I’m guessing this because members of my family were contacting me to see if I was depressed. The truth is my life is kind of wonderful most of the time, and I don’t have much to complain about. In this spirit, I’d like to share 7 thing I like about myself (thanks to Vern Lovic for reminding me to do this post):

I Care About Other People

I’m not some type of goodie-two-shoes, but I do care about other people, and I try to help where I can. There have been long periods in my life where I’ve been incredibly selfish, and I manipulated others to get what I needed. I’m naturally a loving person though, but I don’t believe it is possible to be a drunk and genuinely care about others.

When I was 25, I ended up living in a dry house in London operated by the Alcohol Recovery Project. I was struggling in this program until my therapist suggested that I stop being such a self-obsessed asshole and start spending a bit more time thinking about other people (she said it a bit more diplomatically than this). I started doing voluntary work with kids who had severe learning difficulties, and it completely changed my outlook. By focusing more on the needs of other people, I developed this real sense of inner well-being – it made me happy. This experience changed my life completely, and it is the reason I trained to be a nurse.

These days I can judge my level of mental well-being by the amount of time I spend thinking about other people. The less I’m thinking about myself, the better I’m doing. I don’t have many any offline friends here in Thailand, but I do look for opportunities to help people – I suspect this benefits me more than anyone else.

I Try to Live an Honest Life

I don’t think there is anything in my life that I wouldn’t be prepared to talk about. Sure, there may be things like sexual fantasies that I’d feel embarrassed writing about on my blog (I’m kind of a prude), but there are no skeletons in my closet – not now. I’ve been very open about my life in recent years, and it means I feel able to look anyone in the eye. They do say that we are as sick as our secrets. When I was a drunk, I used to feel dirty all the time, but I don’t feel like that anymore. I do sometimes worry about being too open about my life, it might sometimes come across as whining, but I honestly think it has only benefited me.

I’m Skeptical about My Own Beliefs

I’m willing to entertain all types of crazy shit, but I always fall back to a skeptical position when it comes to my own beliefs. I used to believe that this inability to leave things alone was one of my weaknesses, but I now see it as an asset – maybe if I had trained to be a lawyer, it would have been more of a liability. My urge to pick apart my own beliefs means that I don’t become dogmatic and self-limiting in my worldview. I see it as a positive thing that my beliefs about many things have changed since last year and that they are likely to change again next year. I also like that my skepticism has nothing to do with what other people believe – I’ll be happy just to deal with my own bullshit.

I Always Land on My Feet

I’ve had some serious low points in my life – at one point I ended up living on the streets – but I always manage to somehow land on my feet. I can be a bit of a worrier, but I also know that no matter how bad things get, I’ll be able to recover. I don’t think there is much in life that can knock me down and keep me down.

I’m Comfortable with Uncertainty

I don’t believe that there is anyone on the planet who really knows what is going on. I spent most of my life looking for the answers to the big question, but I’m now happy to live with uncertainty. I adore the egocentric predicament because it is a reminder that we can never really know anything for sure – how can we claim to know things, if we can’t even be sure anything beyond our perceptions is real? I used to lie awake at night trying to figure out if there was a God, and afterlife, or a meaning to life, but I’m now content with just not knowing. It’s all a wonderful mystery, and I’m happy to be a part of it.

I’m Open to Magic

I broke free of my alcohol addiction at a temple here in Thailand called Thamkrabok. As well as the vow (sajja) never to drink again, they also had some other practices like the vow to believe in magical things – this is a tool to help people see the world in a new way.

I believe that we have been brainwashed into not seeing the magic in life. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying there is some conspiracy organized by powerful wizards or anything like that. The reality is that life is full of magic (the mere fact of our existence is magical), but we get so caught up in our roles in life that we fail to see how magical it all is.

It seems that my moments of being in awe of the life and the universe are occurring more frequently. I’m open to the idea of magic, and this means I live in a magical world.

How to Deal with Alcohol Withdrawal

In this video and podcast I share some ideas about how people can make it through alcohol withdrawal more easily. This is just my experience of dealing with these symptoms, and I’m not qualified to offer any medical advice. You will find the podcast of this edition below. Press play to watch the video:

Press play to listen to the podcast:

Becoming Sober Means Opening My Heart to Pain So Happy Valentine’s Day

I’ve been afraid to fully love other people because of the knowledge that I will one day lose them. It’s a difficult thing to admit – even to myself. I’ve spent most of my life behind a barrier of my own making. It has protected me from pain, but it also prevented me from experiencing real joy. I now clearly see that it is only possible to enjoy life to the extent that I’m willing to risk being hurt.

The Path Away From Alcoholism Goes Through the Heart

My alcoholism was a symptom of fear. I drank because it provided a barrier between me and the rest of the world. I remember how overwhelmed I felt as an adolescent. Some shitty things happened to me back then, but it was my reaction to these events that caused most of my pain. I didn’t feel at all able to cope with emotional suffering, so my discovery of alcohol probably saved my life.

I now know that the only effective way to deal with suffering is to open my heart to it. I didn’t understand this as a young guy – it wouldn’t have even occurred to me. If somebody then had suggested ‘opening my heart to suffering’, I probably would have dismissed that person as some kind of happy-clappy-hippy-weirdo. I was no tough guy but words like ‘heart’ and ‘love’ used to make me feel a bit uneasy.

I used alcohol like a suit of armor. If you asked me back then if I felt happy, I’d probably have said yes most days. This is because my idea of happiness was to feel comfortably numb. I completely forgot what it was like to experience joy, so I didn’t feel like I was missing out on anything. I lived in a grey world where not feeling like shit for a couple of hours was the best I could ever hope for.

I only needed to open my heart a bit to escape addiction. I allowed my defenses to drop just a little, and I began to experience joy – my life improved dramatically. It’s been a slow, slow process, but over the last few years I’ve been opening up my heart more and more. I’m now willing to risk suffering because this is part of the experience of being alive – I try to run towards my pain instead of hiding from it because this is the only way I can live with it.

I Love You and There is Nothing You Can Do to Stop Me

I’m starting to really care about other people. This is the stuff of miracles because I’ve been so self-absorbed in the past. The more I feel love, the less I live in fear. I sometimes experience an urge to hug complete strangers, and it makes me happy to see other people doing well. Instead of spending all my time wrapped up in me, me, me, I try to look for opportunities to help other people. I’ve a long way to go, but I care, and this is the most wonderful feeling ever.

Here is what I know – I can only enjoy my life to the extent that I’m willing to risk being hurt. The more I do to protect myself from suffering, the further I am moving away from joy. I now look at this willingness to experience pain and loss as the cost of admission to a meaningful life.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Love ya

Your Guilt is Worthless So Just Forgive Yourself

It is common for people who are newly sober to become overcome with guilt about the past. This mental torture can suck all the joy out of recovery, and it can be used as an excuse to relapse. In this video and podcast I discuss the importance of being able to forgive ourselves. Press play to watch the video, you can find the podcast of this episode below.

The quote I mention is from Brene Brown in her book The Gifts of Imperfection: Let Go of Who You Think You’re Supposed to Be and Embrace Who You Are



“Owning our story and loving ourselves through that process is the bravest thing that we will ever do.”

Here is the podcast for this episode:

Do You Qualify as a Hopeless Alcoholic ?

During the final days of my obsession with alcohol, it would have been a relief to know for certain I was a hopeless case – that my fate was out of my hands. This realization wouldn’t have been so bad. I would have been like the person who has been diagnosed as terminally ill and come true the denial to accept the reality of the situation. This comparison isn’t so far-fetched because I probably didn’t have long to live if I’d carried on drinking. You see, I could accept the misery of end-stage alcoholism – the real torture was the troublesome idea that my life could be better.

How Low Can You Go

I entered my first treatment center in 1988, and I was still failing at sobriety in 2006. I doubt even Steve Jobs had enough tenacity to put up with this level of repeated failure. I remember reading somewhere that the average alcoholic dies within 15 years unless they are able to stop – so I suppose I was doing well to still be alive. I must admit, it didn’t feel like much of an achievement at the time.

I used to hear experts talking about the ‘downward spiral of addiction’, but it didn’t accurately describe my situation. It wasn’t so much that my life was steadily getting worse – it was more like my behavior led me into different arenas of suffering. My lowest point would have been at age 25 when I had an alcohol-induced mental breakdown and ended up living on the streets. I drank for another 8 years after this and never again experienced that level of dysfunction.

I knew after that first time in a treatment center that there was always going to be a price to pay for my drinking. I didn’t mind giving up on the chance of living a ‘normal life’ – I could fool myself into believing that a life without alcohol would be a living death. The idea of dying young didn’t bother me either – in fact, there were hundreds of mornings when I woke up upset because I was still alive. I could survive most of the lows of addiction, but it was the knowledge that things could be so much better made it unbearable.

The Hopeless Drunk

During my years of struggling with alcohol, I did have periods of staying sober – I once managed two years. These periods of sobriety were mostly wonderful, but I always felt like an imposter. When I entered my first rehab, they told me the best I could ever hope for was to become a ‘recovering alcoholic’ – my new life was always going to be conditional, and I’d heard lots of horror stories in AA about old-timers who missed a couple of meetings and ended up back drinking. I couldn’t relax in recovery because I believed it was only a temporary reprieve.

At the end of my drink, I’d almost fully accepted the idea that I was a ‘hopeless case’. I’d first heard this description years before at an AA. I met this old Donegal woman (at least she looked old) who was returning to the meetings after her latest relapse. She told me that she was a hopeless case, and from our short conversation, she suspected I was a hopeless case too. I was just young guy, so I easily dismissed her comment as the ravings of a crazy lady – later on, it felt like her prediction had cursed me.

The term ‘hopeless case’ is used to refer to those people who seem unable to ‘get on the program’ – usually the Alcoholics Anonymous program. In the AA Big Book there is a description of this poor unfortunate hopeless case:

“Those who do not recover are people who cannot or will not completely give themselves to this simple program, usually men and women who are constitutionally incapable of being honest with themselves. There are such unfortunates. They are not at fault; they seem to have been born that way. They are naturally incapable of grasping and developing a manner of living which demands rigorous honesty.”

I couldn’t give myself completely to the AA program, or to any recovery program, so it seemed obvious that I was one of these hopeless cases. My periods of sobriety gave me a real hunger for this life, but I also knew that it wasn’t possible. It was this combination of desperation and hopelessness that made the final months of addiction so horrible.

No Such Thing as a Hopeless Case

I no longer believe in hopeless cases. I began my new sober life at a temple here in Thailand called Thamkrabok. On my first day at this facility, a monk told me his simple theory of addiction. It didn’t involve words like ‘disease’, ‘daily reprieve’, or ‘recovering alcoholic’. He suggested that I’d somehow lost my way in life, and I’d been using alcohol as a tool to cope with this comfort. The monk promised if I stayed sober, I would be able to get on track, and the need to drink alcohol would disappear. This theory sounds naively simplistic, but it made complete sense to me, and it has proved to be correct.

I’m not suggesting that all the hopeless cases should come to Thailand and follow in my footsteps. My point is there is no such thing as a hopeless case – if you are capable of hoping, you are going to be able to find a solution. It doesn’t matter how long you have been struggling, and how many times you have failed, there is always the possibility of a better life.