Brian Cuban's Blog, page 11

You Failed The Bar Exam. Now What?

There are several certainties in life. Death, taxes, and people failing the bar exam.  No one knows the third certainly better than I, having taken the Texas exam three times.  I know the disappointment, depression, and feelings of shame and failure that can accompany not seeing your name on that list. The stress may be more than just shame; a job offer may hinge on the results. The ability to hang out that shingle is delayed.

With each failure of the exam, there was also other truths. The truth was that the sun still rose the next day. The truth was that my family still loved me. The truth was that my pets still needed me. The truth was that while I would rather have not had to learn in that way, the failures taught me in a small part how to be a little more resilient in life, and while not right away, that resilience would later help me in my recovery from alcohol and drug issues.

Maybe after succeeding at so many things that got you to the point of sitting for the exam, not passing is your first true experience with a failure. So what now? Maybe the instinct is to head to the local nightspot and get drunk.  A call to your weed or cocaine dealer. A descent into either a situational depression or being triggered into a long lasting clinical problem and shutting yourself off from the world.  Feelings of failure will more often than not bring some level of depression with them. Depression is not a choice, but how we deal with it is. Let’s talk about dealing with it in a healthy way.

I reached out to psychologist Kelly Jameson, PhD, for some advice. Just imagine you are lying on her couch with your legs up. Nice and relaxed. She is talking only to you. Here is what she has to say:

Failure is a necessary, yet painful part of the human experience. We meet failure on many fronts as adults, but when failure is public, and in tandem with professional peers, it can be downright agony. Failing the bar exam can produce significant emotional distress that can have lasting negative effects on an individual’s personal sense of self and professional confidence.

To avoid the possible emotional downward spiral, this type of failure can be addressed with a few strategies:

Take time to be disappointed. It’s not reasonable or appropriate to think one can jump right back into the pre-bar exam mental state of readiness and preparation for your second attempt. Give yourself some time to process your sadness in a healthy way. This will look different for everyone, but make time to respect your own feelings. If not processed appropriately, these feelings are pushed down and can become toxic. Talking to a therapist or your mentor is a good first step.

Talk back to self-doubt. Anytime someone prepares for something as immense as the bar exam, and expectations are not met, self-doubt is always close behind. Am I good enough? Have I made a huge mistake with my chosen profession? Who am I kidding, I’m not smart enough for this! These can be natural responses for anyone! Self-doubt may show up at your door, but don’t invite him in. After all, you likely took multiple prep classes, and studied 6-8 hours a day for several months in preparation of this exam. There were even topics on the exam that you didn’t even learn about in law school! You may not have passed the exam, but you showed great tenacity in the preparation, and that counts for something!

Be honest with yourself. In your quiet moments, when you’re reflecting on your preparation and the exam, what could you have done differently? What aspects of the exam caught you off guard? If we are being honest with ourselves, we can generally reflect on failures and find our part in them. (This goes for personal relationships and professional goals as well!) As a therapist, I often ask my patients, “What would you do differently if you had the chance to do it over again?” More often than not, people come up with a decent amount of “should’ve, could’ve, would’ve” responses. Spend some time thinking of those responses and use them for your next attempts.

Practice your response. No doubt, friends and family will be curious about your results. A simple rehearsed response will help you in those awkward conversations when you may not want to talk about the exam. Something along the lines of, “Well, I didn’t pass, but I’m taking another shot at it in February.” This quick response will give you a sense of control over the conversation. You’ve acknowledged the failure, yet shown optimism for next time. A second response will be needed in the months leading up to the next exam. When it seems like everyone and their mother is asking you, “How’s the studying going? Do you feel ready?” Have your response handy when needed. Try, “Well, it’s a process, but I’m working hard.”

When you’re emotionally ready, get busy! You’ve processed your disappointment, talked back to self-doubt, reviewed your past experience of preparation, created your social response to friends and family, and now the mental process of preparation begins again! Here’s the neurological truth, when you experience something for the first time, your brain is working hard to create new pathways to understand that experience. However, the second time around is not as psychologically stimulating, because your brain has already created the neurological pathway needed for understanding. That’s a fancy way to say the second (or third!) time around will be different. The mystery is gone. You know what’s coming, and your response is more regulated. If there’s a silver lining to failing the bar exam, this is it! You will be more mentally prepared to make sense of the questions because your brain is not working as hard to understand the overall experience.

Manage your stress level. When you are stressed, your brain releases a hormone called cortisol. Cortisol is toxic to the body if the brain is excreting it too often. Taking the bar exam will cause you stress. Perhaps a job is contingent on you passing, maybe your firm is paying for your prep classes (again!), or you’re the only one in a family of attorneys who failed the bar exam. The stressors are vast, but knowing how you best manage your own stress is critical to your success. Practicing self-care, knowing what daily routine works for you, eating properly, hydrating, exercising, and practicing good sleep hygiene are all practical, yet very necessary, components of this process of preparation.



Mental health triggers. If you are prone to depression or anxiety, make sure you are making and keeping your appointments with your therapist and prescribing health provider. Failure can trigger depression and anxiety, so make sure you are taking care of your mental health.

Don’t become a recluse! Yes, you have a professional project that needs tending, but keeping a life outside of studying is paramount to your mental health and overall well-being. Finding a healthy balance that works for you will be your key to success as your take another shot at the bar exam!

Failing the bar exam might be a humbling, vulnerable chapter in your life story, but will it be one of shame or perseverance? Only you can decide.

Kelly Jameson, PhD, is a licensed professional counselor-supervisor and public speaker. She provides therapeutic services in Dallas, Texas, to adolescent and adults on a variety of issues including mood disorders, eating disorders, and many adjustment issues. Her current research is examining the effect of heartbreak on the developing adolescent brain. More information about Dr. Jameson can be found on her website at www.drkellyjameson.com.

Brian Cuban   (@bcuban)  is  The Addicted Lawyer . Brian is the author of the Amazon best-selling book, The Addicted Lawyer: Tales Of The Bar, Booze, Blow & Redemption (affiliate link). A graduate of the University of Pittsburgh School of Law, he somehow made it through as an alcoholic then added cocaine to his résumé as a practicing attorney. He went into recovery April 8, 2007. He left the practice of law and now writes and speaks on recovery topics, not only for the legal profession, but on recovery in general. He can be reached at  brian@addictedlawyer.com .

Reflections at 11 Years Sober. Am I Still an “Alcoholic”?

About six months ago, I was in a Facebook discussion with a person who was in Alcoholics Anonymous, also known as “12-step recovery.” (I am also in 12-step) Without getting into what lead up to it, at the end of the conversation, the person, commented, “Well you must not be a real alcoholic.”  I was offended!

“What do you mean I am not a real alcoholic?” How dare you!  Instead of getting all worked up, my response should have been, “Thank you.  I hope you’re right.”

As I prepare to hit eleven years of continuous long term alcohol and drug use recovery on April 8, 2018, I am reflecting on that exchange.

I have recovered over those eleven years, not only in a sobriety sense, but from childhood trauma, body shame and lack of self-worth.  All forming the core of my desire to drink and use drugs dating back long before I took that first drink or snorted that first line.

There is no genetic predisposition to addiction in my family that I am aware of. While there is no real way to know, as far as I can tell, my desire to drink and use drugs revolved primarily around environmental and psychological triggers dating back to childhood.  It has taken my many years of therapy to flesh out these issues.

At the beginning of those 11 years, there was a lot of 12-step. I attended about one-hundred meetings in my first ninety days. Each meeting with the exception of the first, I dutifully raised my hand and stated as I had seen everyone else in the room:

“My name is Brian; I am an alcoholic”

I believed those words. I believed I would eventually die or lose all things dear to me if I took another drink.  Regardless of the ultimate truth,  I needed to be that. I needed to identify with all the other “alcoholics” in room.

Two years earlier, I had contemplated suicide. A legal career gone. Jail. Nightly drinking and drug use. Failed marriages. Two trips to a psychiatric hospital. Knowing that a choice could be made, but unable to make that choice. The use of alcohol to deaden feelings of shame and trauma in my life. Overpowering cocaine induced brain signals filling a void with an artificial feeling of self-love.

As my alcohol and cocaine use progressed, the feeling of loving myself no longer came from the drink or the line. It only amplified the self-hatred and depression I started with. I still could not stop.  A different type of alcohol. A different source for my cocaine. Mix in some black market Xanax. Those were the answers.

On April 8th 2007, I needed “alcoholic” to mean only one thing. If I took another drink or did a line of cocaine it would mean profound loss on multiple levels including possibly my life whether those things came sooner or later.

That label was part and parcel with my daily struggle to stay sober but I also had to  repair that child and sense of self.  It is that repair which would ultimately have a dramatic effect on my desire to drink and use substances. In addition to 12-step, that repair would come through a lot of psychiatric therapy that I still get today.

On April 8th 2007, I was a broken person who had not yet dealt with the trauma of the past. The bullied little boy. The shy little boy with an overwhelming need for acceptance.  The little boy who felt like he would never be able to love himself or be loved by anyone else.

That little boy is no longer wounded, or at least getting closer every day to understanding that he is enough. The fifty-seven-year-old Brian goes right along with him in his recovery. Whether I am still an “alcoholic” at this point in my journey has no healing value either in self-awareness or fear of relapse. It is defining myself by a person who no longer exists. A hurt and broken person. Should it not be societally acceptable to at some point if, I feel I have reached a point of “balance” in my psychological repair  to have that wounded boy stop defining my life with the same word?

I simply choose not to drink anymore. Call it lifestyle. Call it continuing long term recovery. I do not see an “alcoholic” when I look in the mirror.

My conclusions are not meant to belittle or judge any other view of what it means to be an “alcoholic.” I hope you will not personalize it that way. It is simply a term that no longer fits who I see in the mirror or who I want to be moving forward in my life.  I don’t think the thirteen-year-old Brian would want me to continue to define myself by his pain.

In my next 12 step meeting, when my hand goes up, maybe it will be,

“My name is Brian, I don’t drink.”

Brian Cuban   (@bcuban)  is  The Addicted Lawyer . A graduate of the University of Pittsburgh School of Law, he somehow made it through as an alcoholic then added cocaine to his résumé as a practicing attorney. He went into recovery April 8, 2007. He left the practice of law and now writes and speaks on recovery topics, not only for the legal profession, but on recovery in general. He can be reached at  brian@addictedlawyer.com .

 

 

 

Addiction Secrets And Colon Cancer Killed My Friend

Winter 2004. Las Vegas. Miami. Los Angeles. All places that hide my secrets. Drugs delivered to my hotel room in Vegas. Coke deals done with quick hand-to-hand exchanges under the cover of darkness just feet from the calming waves of the ocean in South Beach. I often require a high-end backdrop for the high-end product I was purchasing—it makes me feel like the false image I tried so hard to project.  Of course, the dealers I meet don’t care about the ambience. They just want to make a sale and not be seen.

Today, however, it’s a bitter cold day in Chicago, hundreds of miles from any sun or ocean. Not a nice hotel. No drug deals along the scenic shores of Lake Michigan. This evening I’m cruising the crack dens and dilapidated drug houses of the Chicago slums. I’m terrified, but I’m not alone. My friend Mike, a cocaine addict like me, knows where the best blow is. My trips to Chicago to visit him always involve tense visits to seedy parts of town to score from his dealer. We move on to the high-end hotel rooms where all night booze and drug binges are a regular staple.

The cocaine money eventually runs out. The weekend ends. I head back to Dallas and my life of cocaine, booze, clinical depression and bulimia. He stays in Chicago immersed in addiction, a failing marriage and the trauma of the past. Those dealing with addiction often don’t think about the lifestyles of others with the same problems. The impulse isn’t to think about the ways their families might be torn apart, or the grief, anger, and despair that might be a prison in the same way coke addiction might be. The quest for white powder to drive the masking of pain, guilt, childhood, and loss.

I have my secrets. Mike has his. My drive is for the acceptance of an obese,thirteen-year-old bullied little boy looking for that first kiss. A date to the prom. To change a horrifying reflection that I saw in the mirror. To feel like a real lawyer while I swim in a sea of self-doubt and self-loathing. The drive for the elusive feeling of being loved and respected.

Mike’s struggles are touched by loss. Profound loss. The loss of a son, his only son at the time. A tragic July 4th weekend years before.  I represented Mike and his wife for that accident. I bumbled my way to a settlement on a case I never should have taken in a jurisdiction I was not licensed, but I needed the money to fund my addiction and hoped it would settle before I had to farm it out to a competent lawyer in Chicago. Money and drugs over ethics and even caring friendship. A scenario that has played out many times among addicted lawyers.

The loss of their son. The pain. The guilt. The blame. Mike would never recover. His marriage would never recover. Addiction does not distinguish between the trivial and the tragic. Neither do secrets.

I wait in fear while Mike goes into a housing project apartment to score for our upcoming binge. My fear is not that he’ll be harmed, but that if something goes wrong, I won’t be getting high. But he emerges, prize tucked away and a smile on his face. Now there’s a true friend. Thoughts of the grief he carries are out of mind. Thoughts of my own depression, my own wrecked relationships also seem miles away. Who needs family, when you’ve got friends like this?

Another tragedy was around the corner for Mike, and it hadn’t been revealed to either him or me. The progression of colon cancer. That day he called me to tell me he was dying is embedded in my memory as if it happened yesterday. There were signs. There were symptoms. In that phone call, he lamented brushing them off as the normal side effects of the constant alcohol and cocaine hangover. Then one day his urine changed color. The color of the  brutal reality of advanced colon cancer.

I’d see him only one more time before his death. We would take in a Dallas Mavericks –Chicago Bulls NBA basketball game on anther brutally cold winter night in Chicago. He had to wear special gloves due to chemotherapy cold sensitivity. It would be the last time I would seek Mike. I would speak to him from his hospital room one more time in an incohesive muddle of delirium and pain medication as he waited to die. I never had the chance to speak to him outside the prison of addiction and despair. He died before he was able to find recovery.

I was luckier. I saw plenty of wreckage in my life as a consequence of addiction. Another failed marriage. A legal career that sputtered to a stop. But eventually, I found a way out, and was lucky to find that path before I too died.

Looking back, while like most, I can identify the “rock bottom” that precipitated long term recovery, it’s hard to say there was an exact date when the seeds of positive change were planted. And those positive changes for me were often a razor’s edge away from the kind of tragedy Mike experienced.

I think of Mike often and the toll his secrets took on his life and the toll they took on mine.   We only found the strength to talk about them while drunk and high. We told no one else.  That is not courage. Courage is finding that one moment to tell someone who can help versus someone who wants to be part of your secret. It’s terrifying. It’s worth it. Common sense is getting your colon checked if your in the designated age or risk group.

March is National Colorectal Cancer Awareness Month.  Make that call to your doctor. I will take my own advice.

Brian Cuban   (@bcuban)  is  The Addicted Lawyer . A graduate of the University of Pittsburgh School of Law, he somehow made it through as an alcoholic then added cocaine to his résumé as a practicing attorney. He went into recovery April 8, 2007. He left the practice of law and now writes and speaks on recovery topics, not only for the legal profession, but on recovery in general. He can be reached at  brian@addictedlawyer.com .

 

 

 

 

Colon Cancer And Addiction Killed My Friend

Winter 2004. Las Vegas. Miami. Los Angeles. All places that hide my secrets. Drugs delivered to my hotel room in Vegas. Coke deals done with quick hand-to-hand exchanges under the cover of darkness just feet from the calming waves of the ocean in South Beach. I often require a high-end backdrop for the high-end product I was purchasing—it makes me feel like the false image I tried so hard to project.  Of course, the dealers I meet don’t care about the ambience. They just want to make a sale and not be seen.

Today, however, it’s a bitter cold day in Chicago, hundreds of miles from any sun or ocean. Not a nice hotel. No drug deals along the scenic shores of Lake Michigan. This evening I’m cruising the crack dens and dilapidated drug houses of the Chicago slums. I’m terrified, but I’m not alone. My friend Mike, a cocaine addict like me, knows where the best blow is. My trips to Chicago to visit him always involve tense visits to seedy parts of town to score from his dealer. We move on to the high-end hotel rooms where all night booze and drug binges are a regular staple.

The cocaine money eventually runs out. The weekend ends. I head back to Dallas and my life of cocaine, booze, clinical depression and bulimia. He stays in Chicago immersed in addiction, a failing marriage and the trauma of the past. Those dealing with addiction often don’t think about the lifestyles of others with the same problems. The impulse isn’t to think about the ways their families might be torn apart, or the grief, anger, and despair that might be a prison in the same way coke addiction might be. The quest for white powder to drive the masking of pain, guilt, childhood, and loss.

I have my secrets. Mike has his. My drive is for the acceptance of an obese,thirteen-year-old bullied little boy looking for that first kiss. A date to the prom. To change a horrifying reflection that I saw in the mirror. To feel like a real lawyer while I swim in a sea of self-doubt and self-loathing. The drive for the elusive feeling of being loved and respected.

Mike’s struggles are touched by loss. Profound loss. The loss of a son, his only son at the time. A tragic July 4th weekend years before.  I represented Mike and his wife for that accident. I bumbled my way to a settlement on a case I never should have taken in a jurisdiction I was not licensed, but I needed the money to fund my addiction and hoped it would settle before I had to farm it out to a competent lawyer in Chicago. Money and drugs over ethics and even caring friendship. A scenario that has played out many times among addicted lawyers.

The loss of their son. The pain. The guilt. The blame. Mike would never recover. His marriage would never recover. Addiction does not distinguish between the trivial and the tragic. Neither do secrets.

I wait in fear while Mike goes into a housing project apartment to score for our upcoming binge. My fear is not that he’ll be harmed, but that if something goes wrong, I won’t be getting high. But he emerges, prize tucked away and a smile on his face. Now there’s a true friend. Thoughts of the grief he carries are out of mind. Thoughts of my own depression, my own wrecked relationships also seem miles away. Who needs family, when you’ve got friends like this?

Another tragedy was around the corner for Mike, and it hadn’t been revealed to either him or me. The progression of colon cancer. That day he called me to tell me he was dying is embedded in my memory as if it happened yesterday. There were signs. There were symptoms. In that phone call, he lamented brushing them off as the normal side effects of the constant alcohol and cocaine hangover. Then one day his urine changed color. The color of the  brutal reality of advanced colon cancer.

I’d see him only one more time before his death. We would take in a Dallas Mavericks –Chicago Bulls NBA basketball game on anther brutally cold winter night in Chicago. He had to wear special gloves due to chemotherapy cold sensitivity. It would be the last time I would seek Mike. I would speak to him from his hospital room one more time in an incohesive muddle of delirium and pain medication as he waited to die. I never had the chance to speak to him outside the prison of addiction and despair. He died before he was able to find recovery.

I was luckier. I saw plenty of wreckage in my life as a consequence of addiction. Another failed marriage. A legal career that sputtered to a stop. But eventually, I found a way out, and was lucky to find that path before I too died.

Looking back, while like most, I can identify the “rock bottom” that precipitated long term recovery, it’s hard to say there was an exact date when the seeds of positive change were planted. And those positive changes for me were often a razor’s edge away from the kind of tragedy Mike experienced.

I think of Mike often and the toll his secrets took on his life and the toll they took on mine.   We only found the strength to talk about them while drunk and high. We told no one else.  That is not courage. Courage is finding that one moment to tell someone who can help versus someone who wants to be part of your secret. It’s terrifying. It’s worth it. Common sense is getting your colon checked if your in the designated age or risk group.

March is National Colorectal Cancer Awareness Month.  Make that call to your doctor. I will take my own advice.

Brian Cuban   (@bcuban)  is  The Addicted Lawyer . A graduate of the University of Pittsburgh School of Law, he somehow made it through as an alcoholic then added cocaine to his résumé as a practicing attorney. He went into recovery April 8, 2007. He left the practice of law and now writes and speaks on recovery topics, not only for the legal profession, but on recovery in general. He can be reached at  brian@addictedlawyer.com .

 

 

 

 

Are You A Lonely Lawyer?

The Harvard Business Review recently conducted a survey  of 1,624 full-time employees, all participants in a longitudinal study of 4,000 American workers.  It hits on a number of different criteria and the effects of “loneliness in the work place.  One of the interesting findings was as follows:

According to the survey, “professional degrees (law and medical degrees) were the loneliest by far, scoring 25% lonelier than bachelor’s degrees, and 20% lonelier than PhDs.”  The study goes into a number of different demographics and posits reasons for these feelings of loneliness with suggestions. It’s worth a read.

In the legal profession, many of us know loneliness well. Long hours and the attendant social isolation can have a profound effect on mental health on a number of different fronts. Social isolation is a topic I have previously addressed, but in light of this new survey it’s worth re-visiting.

Feelings of social isolation are an issue common to law students and lawyers, especially in the solo  and small firm environment.  Social isolation can be a trigger to problematic alcohol and drug use, clinical depression and anxiety.

This is not to say that the desire to be alone is in itself a bad thing. Alone time is often a necessary part of a balanced wellness strategy. Some people simply enjoy occasional solitude whether its meditation, yoga, etc  When solitude turns into continual isolation however, devoid of outside stimulation and interaction, problems can occur.

Here is how a current law student and practicing lawyer have experienced and dealt with social isolation in their lives.

Garret is a second-year law student at the University of New Mexico. Garret is unique in that he also played collegiate football while going to law school. Wow! Garret says:

Playing football amplified the isolation I have felt during law school. On the one hand, I would miss out on opportunities to interact with my teammates because I was studying for school. On the other hand, I would miss opportunities to bond with my classmates because I was travelling every weekend for football. These circumstances made for many lonely nights spent reading countless pages trying to stay caught up. During this time, I did not feel that anyone could understand what I was going through.

How did Garret cope? He says:

I allowed myself to ask for help. Instead of drowning alone, I reached out to others and found that they were more than willing to help. UNM’s career services department helped me form a strategy to stay caught up in school. My classmates also offered comfort and support when I finally opened up about the struggles I was facing. Once I allowed myself to seek help, there was no shortage of love from those around me. I firmly believe that I would not still be in school without the support of my peers and the faculty and staff at UNM during this time in my life.

Miriam is a practicing criminal defense attorney in the Washington, D.C. area. She says:

When I went out on my own, it was pretty jarring. There was no one to ask a question of, no one to just vent frustrations to. And criminal defense is an incredibly frustrating area of law. There was no reason to take a break, because who was I going to socialize with? Myself?

Miriam then joined a listserv called SoloSez (part of the American Bar Association), and it turned out she wasn’t alone:

There were lots of us solo practitioners struggling with the same thing. Who do you talk to when you are literally all by yourself all day long.”

As to how isolation impacted her personally and professionally, Miriam says:

I realized the value of human interaction in professional settings and how important it is as a stress relief. Water cooler talk may be lame but it is important. I ended up renting an office inside a larger firm. Lots of solos in that office space and we became friends. My productivity increased and I was just generally happier.

Today Miriam has a small law office with employees, and they all have an open door policy. She says:

We eat lunch together, we talk about our cases on a regular basis, and we are able to talk to each other freely. What’s the point of working with people if you can’t talk to them? I recommend renting an office in a suite – having someone else there to vent to is incredibly important. And while you may say oh I can talk to my wife when I get home, etc., it really isn’t the same. Being at work and bitching, then being able to go home and not feel so frustrated, is a great thing!

I also reached out to a treatment provider who deals with social isolation issues in his practice. Dr. David Henderson is a psychiatrist practicing in Dallas, Texas.* One of the issues I asked him to address is the difference between damaging social isolation and the simple desire to be alone. He says:

There are two states of aloneness: the physical state of being alone (solitude) and the emotional state of being alone (loneliness). Solitude is not always painful. In fact, it may be quite pleasant for those who are confident and comfortable with themselves, and who understand that it need not be a permanent experience. A stable balance between solitude and time with others is necessary for mental and physical well-being. Even when we are forced to be alone, knowing that someone is with us in spirit helps.

Conversely loneliness, the emotional state of being alone, is the belief that no one else understands our circumstances, our thoughts, or our emotions, nor do they care. Social isolation is the combination of these two states, experienced by an individual for an extended period. The length of time in social isolation for any individual can vary, but both the emotional state and physical state feed off of one another, creating a perpetual inability within the individual to reengage society in a meaningful way.

Here are Dr. Henderson’s tips for dealing with social isolation:

Plan ahead. Isolation and loneliness can result from procrastination. When an individual fails to anticipate future isolation and plan for it, it never gets better. Individuals must carve out time in their schedules for social engagement like they would carve out time to study or complete a task for work. Waiting until the last minute always ends with missed opportunities.


Confront the mind-games you play. We all have a script that plays over and over in our heads that dictates our actions. The most successful individuals are the ones who recognize the script and make the hard decisions to act contrary to it. The key to overcoming social isolation is being able to acknowledge the very real pain that exists in engaging others and then working to develop the confidence within oneself to know that you have the power to endure and overcome it.


Seek out accountability. For many, this accountability starts with one person: a trained professional counselor. A professional can challenge you to think outside the box, provide you with resources that will help you overcome the struggle, and check in with you to measure your progress. Overcoming social isolation is like any other challenge. In order to break the cycle, we must reach a point at which the pain of staying the same is worse than the pain of changing. If you are struggling to reach out and find help, simply ask yourself one question, “What do I have to lose in reaching out for help?” Make a decision today that you are going reengage one step at a time. Fight discouragement with true statements about your abilities, and recognize that with each decision to think and act contrary to what you feel, you are getting stronger and closer to your goals. You are not alone. Keep reaching!

What’s the common thread here to either becoming or staying connected in a healthy way? Reaching out! Regardless of the genesis of your feelings of loneliness and isolation. It all starts there.

* David L. Henderson, M.D., is a board-certified psychiatrist, author, and professional speaker. He is the owner and president of Four Stones Collaborative Group, a mental health practice in Dallas, Texas, treating a wide range of psychological issues including depression, anxiety, substance abuse, and trauma. He is the author of the book My Teenage Zombie: Resurrecting the Undead Adolescent In Your Home. For more information about his practice or for further resources, you can visit his websites at www.drdavidhenderson.com and www.fourstonesgroup.com

Brian Cuban   (@bcuban)  is  The Addicted Lawyer . A graduate of the University of Pittsburgh School of Law, he somehow made it through as an alcoholic then added cocaine to his résumé as a practicing attorney. He went into recovery April 8, 2007. He left the practice of law and now writes and speaks on recovery topics, not only for the legal profession, but on recovery in general. He can be reached at  brian@addictedlawyer.com .

 

The Ambulance Chaser

Addiction took me to many places in my career as a lawyer that I am not proud of.  Once of those places was as the classic “ambulance chaser”.  I use the term knowing that it has a negative stereotype connotation in the legal profession and there are many outstanding, ethical personal injury lawyers out there. I was not one of them. I was one of the reasons for the stereotype. (This is an excerpt from my book)

1995: A trip to the chiropractor. I’m not going for an adjustment. I haven’t been in an auto accident, but I know many others have. It’s how I get my cases—soft tissue injury ambulance chasing. I have relationships with chiropractors around the city incubated during my time as a claims adjuster. Their waiting rooms become mobile offices. I carry blank contingency representation agreements with me in my briefcase, contracts that will grant me a portion of any settlement or trial award. I know the diagnosis by heart: “Soft tissue strain of the lower neck and back. Recommend X-rays of the lumbar or cervical spine, and numerous therapy sessions.” In other words, whiplash.

“Have you met Mr. Cuban? If you decide you want one, he is an excellent attorney. We highly recommend him. If you decide to retain Mr. Cuban or another lawyer, we will treat you with no money up front.”

My personal injury resumé rarely comes up. They don’t care. They just want their treatments paid for. I can’t sell myself. I have a vague awareness that directly soliciting clients is frowned upon. I walk the line between solicitation and recommendation by sitting mute with a smile and a handshake during the process.

If after the sales pitch by the doctor, the patient is interested, the briefcase opens. Out comes the contingency agreement and the letter of protection which guarantees the chiropractor payment from any eventual settlement. I know it will settle. If the client wants more money, I’ll cut my fee, anything to avoid a courtroom. If the client insists on going to trial, I’ll refer the case to a lawyer who is not afraid of litigation.

I have trouble looking the potential client in the eye as my legal brilliance is being sold for me. I know the truth. I stare down at the scuffed, ten-year-old black Florsheims on my feet. The client signs, and when the case settles, I’ll have a little more money to feed the beast.

During the drive home my mind keeps drifting to Paul Newman. He plays the down and out alcoholic lawyer Frank Galvin in the movie The Verdict. Frank is also an ambulance chaser. A “drunk.” Divorced. Reading the obituaries as if they were want ads. Frank Galvin shows up at funeral parlors. The chiropractor’s office is my funeral parlor. I’m Frank Galvin.  When I watch “The Verdict” I sometimes wonder how Frank’s life would go after his big win as an alcoholic not in recovery and committing malpractice in his handling of the case.  A lawyer who got lucky despite himself versus a lawyer redeemed. During that long drive home with my signed contingency agreements, there are no thoughts of redemption.

Brian Cuban   (@bcuban)  is  The Addicted Lawyer . Brian is the author of the Amazon best-selling book, The Addicted Lawyer: Tales Of The Bar, Booze, Blow & Redemption (affiliate link). A graduate of the University of Pittsburgh School of Law, he somehow made it through as an alcoholic then added cocaine to his résumé as a practicing attorney. He went into recovery April 8, 2007. He left the practice of law and now writes and speaks on recovery topics, not only for the legal profession, but on recovery in general. He can be reached at  brian@addictedlawyer.com .

 

Shattering The Myth Of The Addicted Baby

 

The other day I caught the headline about a class-action against 20 pharmaceutical companies. Nothing earth shaking there. These lawsuits are well-publicized. What caught my eye was the first nine words of the story. Words that when I see them used in the media, make me cringe not only for the child, but because it’s is not an accurate description of what is taking place. It’s flat-out false.

“The family of a baby born addicted to opioids….”

In the next paragraph:

“……spent the first days of his life in ‘excruciating pain’ as he was weaned from his opioid addiction, inherited from his mother.”

A tragic story and babies going through such anguish is awful, but it is not the anguish of addiction. Babies, by the very definition of the word, cannot be born addicted to drugs.  They can be born dependent. The two concepts are NOT the same.  Understanding the difference (particularly by the media) matters for many reasons.

Rather than making an attempt with a law degree to explain why it matters that we not use “addicted” to describe babies going through awful and tragic withdrawal of opiate dependence, I went to someone with a medical degree. A world renowned addiction medicine doctor: Dr. Omar Manejwala M.D Below is a lightly edited version of our conversation.

BC: Can a baby be born addicted to opiates or any other drug?

OM: Babies cannot be “born addicted.”  In fact, babies can’t even develop addiction.  Addiction is a disorder characterized by pathologically pursuing reward or relief through the use of substances.  The American Society of Addiction Medicine describes it as “characterized by inability to consistently abstain, impairment in behavioral control, craving, diminished recognition of significant problems with one’s behaviors and interpersonal relationships, and a dysfunctional emotional response.”

None of these things are possible in a baby.  When we call babies “addicted,” we shame the mothers, stigmatize the children, impact the family, and there are public health implications too.

We saw this when we began referring to African-American children born to mothers who had developed crack-cocaine addiction “crack babies.”  There is no syndrome or condition called “crack baby syndrome” — it was made up and resulted in terrible stigmatization and added fuel to a misguided movement to incarcerate our way out of addiction.

Babies can, however, be born in opioid withdrawal.  Physical dependence on some drugs, including opioids, is possible, and when the doses are reduced or tolerance develops, the user can begin to suffer a withdrawal syndrome.  We see this phenomenon both in people who have addiction as well as those who just used opioids for a long time (perhaps even appropriately).

Because opioids have a low molecular weight, are water soluble, and attracted to lipids, they easily cross the placenta.  Babies born to mothers who are physiologically dependent on opioids may then present with “Neonatal Abstinence Syndrome” or NAS.  I emphasize that this can happen whether or not the mother had a substance use disorder — the only thing required is long-term exposure to opioids.  This is a syndrome that is usually self-limited, but may require low dose opioids in the baby temporarily to address.  Milder cases can be managed without medications, but moderate and severe cases often require opioids — usually morphine — temporarily.

So in summary, babies cannot be addicted, and to say that they are is wrong, harmful, and reflects a misunderstanding of the difference between addiction and physiological dependence.

BC: What is the difference between addiction and dependence?

OM: Addiction is defined as a primary, chronic disease of brain reward, motivation, memory, and related circuitry.  Its characterized by pursuing reward and relief through the use of substances and behaviors in dysfunctional ways.  Physical or physiological dependence is merely the body adapting to opioids which results in tolerance (needing to use more to get the same effect, or having a diminished effect over time with the same dose), and withdrawal which is a characteristic syndrome caused by the reduction in dose.

BC: Why do you think the general public, and sometimes even the medical profession, fails to understand the distinction between addiction and dependence?

OM: Unfortunately, we in the medical profession, are a primary source of that confusion.  For a long time, we called addiction “substance dependence” and physical dependence “physiological dependence.”  The books we used to name conditions adopted that language.  It made it very confusing for the lay population to understand.

We have a broader problem as well — most people don’t understand that addiction is more than just using drugs — that it’s a disorder that is not present in everyone who uses drugs, even those who use a lot of drugs!

Finally, we used the term addicted loosely in general conversation, “he’s addicted to Netflix” or “the U.S. is addicted to oil.”  When a medical term is used loosely, it can be very confusing — even to physicians — as to what we are talking about.  I write about this problem in the first chapter of my book.

Bottom line — language matters — it affects how we understand things and how we treat them.  If we expect to make a difference in the crisis of people dying from drug overdoses — and the 2-3 times as many dying from alcohol use disorders — we need to be clear in our language as a critical step in eliminating the stigma that is killing people.

They say if you want to kill something, call it a weed, and if you want to nurture it, you call it a flower.  There are several studies that demonstrate the negative impact of using demeaning, pejorative, or stigmatizing language — such language doesn’t just hurt feeling — the research shows that when such language is used people are less likely to get the medical care they so desperately need.

Brian Cuban   (@bcuban)  is  The Addicted Lawyer . Brian is the author of the Amazon best-selling book, The Addicted Lawyer: Tales Of The Bar, Booze, Blow & Redemption (affiliate link). A graduate of the University of Pittsburgh School of Law, he somehow made it through as an alcoholic then added cocaine to his résumé as a practicing attorney. He went into recovery April 8, 2007. He left the practice of law and now writes and speaks on recovery topics, not only for the legal profession, but on recovery in general. He can be reached at  brian@addictedlawyer.com .

The Opioid Addicted Law Student

In some ways Charles was a law student that any school and parent would be proud of. He graduated with Latin honors. He swept his 2L intra-school Moot Court competition. He was a Summer Associate at a V100 firm in New York City. He says:

“I was everyone’s friend.”

No one could have guessed that two months before graduation Charles would be arrested doing heroin in his car, too sick from withdrawals to make the thirty-minute drive home across the city to get well.

Charles’s addiction did not begin in law school. While he saw many of his classmates begin to use the bottle or the bong to release 1L stress, his story began much earlier with an arm injury sustained snowboarding. The opioids taken to deal with the pain. The genetic factors. He says:

“My father, like his father, was an alcoholic. And my stepdad, though we didn’t much know it at that time, was well on his way towards destroying our family one hidden vodka bottle at a time.”

Middle school was a difficult time for Charles. Teenage angst, alternative clothes, his parents’ relationships (new and old); he says:

“In my mind, I was different. I remember walking into school with the temporary cast on my arm and the warm glow of oxycodone in my body that for once I was walking on clouds, and not into the warzone of teen conflict.

 

“I went through that first bottle of yellow Percocet faster than I careened down that icy black diamond on my snowboard. And though the doctor said, “It really shouldn’t still be hurting,” he didn’t so much as hesitate to write a second month’s prescription. The seed was officially planted.”

After later being offered some OxyContin by his best friend’s father, the plant began to grow. What began with taking one or two of those small pink OxyContin pills soon turned into snorting up to five at a time. He says:

“There were always ways to get the pills I needed both psychologically and physically. Around 2007, one of my classmate’s parents got divorced and inexplicably both parents moved out of the house, leaving my friend and his older brother as the “men of the house”. It soon became the site of a never-ending party. One afternoon, a mason jar filled to the brim with 80mg OxyContin pills appeared at the house. It was quickly emptied. My Junior year and senior year high school years were a drug induced haze.”

In college it was tough for Charles to obtain OxyContin. That did not translate to sobriety. It translated to Vicodin pills at first which were easier to get. He says:

“I eventually found my OxyContin connection. At this point, heroin was not on my radar. That would soon change.”

In 2010, upon returning home from college for spring break Charles was back with his old drug seeking crew but they were seeking a different drug. It was now about heroin. He says:

“The sales pitch to me was heroin was both cheaper and easier to obtain. I quickly became a “heroin addict” A term that carries so much stigma and so many stereotypes. I had crossed a line I never thought I would cross”

When Charles went back to college after break ended, there was some self-awareness of his problem. He went to the counseling center. By April he was off the OxyContin and the heroin. He says:

“I pulled myself out of the tailspin and managed to not fail my classes that semester.”

Charles’s junior year in college, things were looking up. He began dating someone, and managed to finish the year on the Dean’s List. Senior year was even better: Dean’s List with Second Honors, a 169 on his only LSAT attempt, and a spot at a top-25 US News and World Reports ranked law school. He says:

“I was officially a sober 1-L. Law school came easy to me. I made the top 25% of my class with bottom 25% effort. In retrospect, that wasn’t a good thing. I honestly had never learned how to be a student. I was much more adept in being an addict.”

And now not only did he have to learn how to be a student, Charles was surrounded by highly qualified, highly competitive people that in his words, “were out for blood.” He says:

“I remember students laughing at one another after class if someone botched a cold call. I remember students posting their first semester grades as Facebook statuses over winter break. For the first time, ever, the pressure was on. I only knew one way to deal with pressure.”

The first time Charles picked up a pill again was 1-L Thanksgiving break. He says:

“One pill, that’s all it was. One pill…”

It served its purpose. A night free from the pressure of law school albeit artificially created. He says:

“I wasn’t doing heroin; I wasn’t doing it every day. It was just a little “mental break”. And when I got back to law school for the Spring Semester I can’t even recall picking up again at all, though I’m sure I did a few times over that semester.”

Charles returned back to school for the new semester but his relationship with his girlfriend was rocky, adding to the stress. He got through the semester and began a job at a law firm. He says:

“I had a relationship on the rocks, money in my pocket, and was entirely unsupervised. By the time summer ended and the Fall Semester started I had picked up heroin again. The train was officially off the rails and there was no stopping it.”

Charles ended up doing even better grades-wise his 2L year. But personally, he was doing much worse, now back using heroin. He says:

“Sometime in April I confessed my struggle to my new girlfriend. I remember her sitting on my computer looking up Narcotics Anonymous meetings. She pointed to the only one that hadn’t passed yet that Saturday night. And so I went.”

Charles spent his 2L summer attending Narcotics Anonymous meetings. He says:

“I was sober but I also struggling with things that a lot of law students struggle with. My summer associate position was incredibly stressful. It was a prize I never really wanted, I always wanted to do criminal defense work, but I had become so caught up in the rat race of law school that I wanted to win the Off Campus Recruiting game even if I wasn’t sure I wanted the prize.”

Charles was also attempting total sobriety for the first time in his life and struggling immensely with the sort of questions that many addicts struggle with. He says:

“I had never struggled with alcohol, frankly, I don’t even really like it, so why couldn’t I have a beer every once in a while? It certainly made me feel immensely uncomfortable at firm events that summer, feeling like I painted a target on myself every time I declined a drink. I was also running around the city night after night to attend meetings. I felt like I was being ripped in different directions, spread too thin. Ultimately, I didn’t get an offer at the end of the summer. I returned to what had muted my feelings and brought me the illusion of peace and control so many times before. Heroin.”

That fall 3L semester Charles’s grades finally tanked. He says:

“I was spending more time missing class and assignments to get high than I spent in them. My girlfriend knew I was using. My parents knew I was using. I had passed the point at which I would ever stop on my own initiative. Unfortunately, I passed the point at which I would stop without hitting rock bottom. And hit rock bottom I did.

In March of 2015, just a few months before graduation, I was arrested in my car, shoveling heroin into my nose because I couldn’t wait the 30 minutes it would take me to get home first. The withdrawals, the sickness that would come over me, was too much to bear.”

The next day Charles spoke with his favorite professor. He says:

“I’ll never forget walking up the avenue with him after class ended with his hand on my shoulder as I was on the phone telling my parents what happened. That’s a phone call that’ll haunt me forever. I hired an attorney to represent me in my absence, as I immediately flew down to Florida for treatment.”

Charles also contacted his law school’s Assistant Dean of Student Affairs. He says:

“I have to give my law school immense credit. That dean made me feel incredibly supported. She offered me the option of taking a leave of absence without providing a reason (though I knew I had to disclose for bar application purposes) but she also suggested that if I were honest about what occurred and went “on the record,” that she could apply to a Board of Trustees or Administrators to have my tuition for the semester refunded. Ultimately, she went to bat for me, and it was. She also relayed to me that everyone in the administration and at that meeting wished me the best for my recovery and welcomed me back when I was ready. It might sound like a small gesture, but it helped.”

Charles then flew down to Florida for treatment. He spent 30 days in inpatient, then moved to a halfway house for another month or so of semi-restricted living during which time He went back to the center during the day for intensive outpatient. After that ended, he got an apartment with a guy he had become close with down there, someone that ran in similar circles back in high school and someone that he is close with to this day.

After moving back from Florida, Charles entered an intensive outpatient program, ensuring that his transition home would be a smooth one. He returned to law school in the spring semester. He says:

“I’m proud to say that I kicked ass that Spring. I got my best grades yet, all A’s and A-‘s. I was able to salvage my GPA after the hit it took the Fall a year before and graduated cum laude. My school and classmates welcomed me back. I’m sure I got some looks from some people, and I know there was some gossip and whispers. But I couldn’t care less. I had made it back to where I was and proved that I belonged. I heavily involved myself with Moot Court where I had found much personal success prior. It helped enormously to be able to integrate myself back into the law school community. That summer I crushed the bar exam.”

Charles is currently doing a prestigious Chancery Division clerkship in his home town area. He says:

“I was originally supposed to do this clerkship upon my originally scheduled graduation from law school. Much like that phone call to my parents, calling the judge to tell him I had been arrested and was in Florida for treatment and that I wouldn’t be able to work for him in the fall was another phone call I’ll never forget. But like the law school, his only concern was my getting better, and he too welcomed me back when I was ready.”

Charles relates that his only concern at this point is being admitted to the bar with the attendant character and fitness issues attached to his journey. He says:

“My concerns in relation to character and fitness are primarily getting interviewed by a panel and having to be honest about my using history, having to disclose all treatment records, having some sort of restrictions on my ability to practice, worrying that future employers will find out about what occurred (especially now as I’m seeking my first job post-clerkship and aren’t admitted yet).

 

“While of course, I’m incredibly anxious about being admitted, everything else has worked out thus far as long as I do the right thing, and I’m confident this will too.”

Finally, Charles has some thoughts on the stigma of addiction and culture of drinking in law school as well what schools can do better. He says:

“While I have heaps of praise to place upon my law school for the way they handled my incident and my leave of absence/return, I do think that law schools generally could do more to help students with substance abuse issues.

 

Just as important, students need to do their part by effectuating change amongst the culture. Far too many law students got far too drunk at each and every event or get together. If they were well liked, then it was hilarious. If they were despised, then it was something to whisper or gossip about, to put the person down for. In neither case did students exhibit genuine concern for their peers.

 

I must say that I am the only student that I knew of using opiates during law school. One peer had mentioned doing them amongst friends in the past, but I never heard about current use. That’s not to say that other drugs weren’t prevalent. Cocaine and marijuana were frequently used by students I encountered. Their use wasn’t even an open secret; it was just open. And of course students often abused study drugs such as Adderall, both to study and to party. While I doubt that is going to stop any time soon, students should feel like they have somewhere to turn. And students should also have the courage to exhibit genuine concern for their peers and have difficult conversations where required, rather than let things go for one reason or another.

 

While I did avail myself of the counseling services at my university, in college and for a brief time in law school, and having those options there was incredibly helpful, I am the only student I know of that availed myself of this service in law school. I can’t think that I’m the only student that needed it. Whether it is an issue of needing more advertisement or less stigma, I can’t say, but I can say that more students should be managing the stress of law school and their issues, substance related and otherwise, with counselors offered by the school.

 

I also think it would be fantastic for law schools to have a committee or a board to have its ear to the ground for what substance abuse is occurring on campus. If students won’t “tell on themselves,” when they need help or when another student does, the administration can’t throw its hands up and wait. It needs to know what is going on so that it could tackle substance abuse problems, on an institutional level (for example, how can we create a campus environment in which study drug use is discouraged or how could we see more students attend our counseling services?) and on a personal level (how can we know when a student is struggling and how do we intervene in that case?)

 

I hope my story can help one person. I know that the people in my story, my favorite professor, that Assistant Dean, made all the difference. One of you can make a difference in another student’s life.”

Brian Cuban   (@bcuban)  is  The Addicted Lawyer . Brian is the author of the Amazon best-selling book, The Addicted Lawyer: Tales Of The Bar, Booze, Blow & Redemption (affiliate link). A graduate of the University of Pittsburgh School of Law, he somehow made it through as an alcoholic then added cocaine to his résumé as a practicing attorney. He went into recovery April 8, 2007. He left the practice of law and now writes and speaks on recovery topics, not only for the legal profession, but on recovery in general. He can be reached at  brian@addictedlawyer.com .

Law School Was Largely About My Eating Disorders

I recently spoke at the University of Kentucky College of Law and Emory University School of Law.  At the beginning of the talk as I always do, I provided my “résumé of dysfunction.” Part of that résumé, in addition to problem drinking and drug addiction, is my recovery from eating disorders.

I struggled with both traditional and exercise bulimia for over 20 years.  I spent my three years at Pitt Law knee deep in bulimia, wrapped around severe body image issues and Body Dysmorphic Disorder.

While at Pitt Law, I was binging and purging sometimes multiple times a day, while also running excessive distances for the sole purpose of offsetting any calories I had eaten that day. These behaviors were more important to me than class or grades. You, however, would have not known that I had an eating disorder at a glance. I was of “normal” weight by accepted metrics. It is a myth that eating disorders can be diagnosed solely by appearance. There are many different types of the disorder and symptoms, not just the stereotyped image of the emaciated man or women with ribs showing.

During the events at Kentucky and Emory Law, when I stated that I was in recovery from bulimia, I saw expressions change and knew for some, I was the first male they had ever seen, in-person, talk about having an eating disorder. When I asked if that was the case, multiple hands went up. I then stated that eating disorders have the highest mortality rate of any psychological illness. It was the first time many had heard this statistic. These reactions are not unusual.  Eating disorders are often seen by the general public as mysterious and something only women experience.

Of course, the ideal situation is when a law school is budgeted in a way to have on staff counseling available. A handful of law schools do this including Emory. but I get that realistically, it is either on the radar for some but there are budgetary constraints and not even in the realm of thought for others.

Eating disorders are also generally not at the top of the list in terms of what we deal with on a day-to-day basis in law school, even though we know statistically that students deal with it. A recent study of mental health issues in law school published by the Journal of Legal Education found 27% of law students (18% of male respondents and 34% of female respondents) screened positive for eating disorders.  Yet only 3% of respondents had actually been diagnosed.

It is not just the most well-known eating disorders that students may be struggling with. Binge Eating Disorder is on the rise.  Maybe a law student is substituting alcohol for food on a regular basis (which I did), which can be a type of eating disorder known as “Drunkorexia.”

These are disorders that required trained professionals to screen for and diagnose. While many universities have such professionals who screen for eating disorders and organizations that raise awareness, this is generally not the case with law schools. Nor should we expect this. While we want to be able to notice things and have options available when we do, it is simply not realistic to expect faculty and administrative staff to be knowledgeable in every mental disorder out there.

What we end up seeing as a result, however, are only the most extreme, weight loss-based cases being noticed by staff, professors, and classmates.  We also have the intertwined issues of a highly driven population in which healthy relationships with food and body image are simply not “on the menu,” so to speak.  Why is this so important for law schools to address on some level? We know that the longer an eating disorder goes on, the harder it is to successfully treat. I am definitely an outlier in successfully going into recovery in my mid-40s.

So what can law schools do?  The first thing is to understand that eating disorders are not just defined by appearance, they are defined by many different types of behavior. If there is a larger university in the mix, be sure to understand what they are doing with regards to eating disorder screening and awareness and be willing to be a part of that conversation. Have an eating disorder point of contact with the larger university. If it is a standalone law school, talk to someone in the medial professional/counseling community about how to better understand the issues so at a minimum, some tools can be given to the law student population. With more knowledge, comes expanded ability to identify issues.

When you are talking about a law student “wellness week,” make this part of the discussion in a non-threatening way. Wellness encompasses so many things including a healthy relationship with food, with our bodies, and understanding that the stress of law school and the practice of law can be a strong trigger for destructive relationships with food possibly leading to eating disorders.

Finally, if you are a Lawyer’s Assistance Program that allows law students to participate, what are you doing to be sure you are up to date on the latest eating disorder information, so you do not get caught up in stereotypes and misinformation? This is pure speculation, but my guess is that if I went to many assistance programs and asked what their current understanding is, there is a very high probability that it will be not a lot, or based on outdated literature. That is not an indictment of the programs. There are medical professionals who are not up on the latest research and dispelled myths. Reach out out me and I will point you to the current data and science.

February 26th begins Eating Disorder Awareness Week. Let’s take a little time to think about these issues and how we can do better to include them in the law student wellness conversation. One of the deadliest symptoms of eating disorders is silence.

Eating Disorder Resources

National Eating Disorders Association
Eating Disorder Hope
Project Heal (I am on their advisory board)

Binge Eating Disorder Association

Brian Cuban (@bcuban) is The Addicted Lawyer . Brian is the author of the Amazon best-selling book, The Addicted Lawyer: Tales Of The Bar, Booze, Blow & Redemption (affiliate link). A graduate of the University of Pittsburgh School of Law, he somehow made it through as an alcoholic then added cocaine to his résumé as a practicing attorney. He went into recovery April 8, 2007. He left the practice of law and now writes and speaks on recovery topics, not only for the legal profession, but on recovery in general. He can be reached at brian@addictedlawyer.com .

Popping A Xanax With Beer Is Not An Olympic Sport

I was watching the Winter Olympics and happened to catch an interview with skater Adam Rippon (who by the way, bravely came out with his eating disorder struggle). Alan was giving an emotional interview in which he stated, “I want to throw up, I want to go over to the judges and say ‘can I just have a Xanax and a quick drink.’”

In anecdotally scanning the social media reactions there were two distinct observations. The general spectator generally found the statement authentic, funny, and endearing. The other reactions I monitored were in the recovery and mental health community. Many expressed shock because of the potentially deadly effects of mixing Xanax and alcohol and the specter of it being made out as something hip and cool in the vein of Madmen’s Betty Draper popping a “mother’s little helper” with a glass of wine.

For me, Xanax and alcohol were not hip and cool. Mixing them was not an Olympic sport. When Rippon made the comment, I was immediately taken back to a time early in my recovery when I came upon a 2 mg Xanax bar that I had hidden at the bottom of a shoe box of change that I often used to conceal my drug stash.

It was a time not long past mixing Xanax and alcohol being routine for me. Mixing, Xanax with Jack Daniels would erase entire days because that’s what I wanted.  Not long after mixing, I defecated in my pants after passing out on the combination. After becoming suicidal while under the influence of Xanax and alcohol and having to be taken to a psychiatric facility. You want true authenticity on the topic? There you go.

It was a shoe box with that Xanax bar lying innocently with years of accumulated lose change and many other memories.  Susan B. Anthony Dollars. Fifty-cent pieces. My first-day desire chip taken from “John G.” sobbing, powerless, and broken during my first 12-step meeting (Alcoholics Anonymous being the most known). Worn, corroded pennies, nickels, and dimes. Fragmented memories and dreams.

I see foreign coins in the box.  Drunken trips to Mexico. Signs on every bathroom stall that cocaine is illegal and you will go to jail. Didn’t care. Never saw one of those signs on the countless United States bathroom stalls I utilized to snort my cocaine. Would it have mattered? Nope.

Slot machine tokens and left-over casino chips from various casinos in Vegas. My favorite place to do cocaine. Then I would pop a Xanax with alcohol to undo the effects and pass out. Unused chips from The Palms and the Hard Rock Casinos. Meeting places with my drug connections.

Looking at that forgotten Xanax bar, I feel my heart rate quicken. I talk about addiction triggers all the time and how to deal with them. Now here it is. It’s me. It’s now. A decision. I could pop it and no one would ever know. Is it about that? A new cycle of guilt. A new cycle of sobriety. Staring at that tiny, white, oblong object that had the ability to stir up so many intense memories and emotions within seconds while erasing my life one day at a time. Frantic calls to my dealer for baggies of Xanax to bring me down.

I pulled that Xanax bar out of the shoe box of memories.  I walked upstairs to my toilet and dropped to my knees as I had done so many times before either in the throes of bulimia or intoxication praying to the porcelain goddess. I flushed it down the toilet. I remember it clear as day because I was sober. It was not cool. It was not hip. I was not laughing.  I admittedly, did laugh when Adam Rippon joked about it because I know the reality of misusing Xanax. It is definitely not an Olympic sport.

Brian Cuban (@bcuban) is The Addicted Lawyer . Brian is the author of the Amazon best-selling book, The Addicted Lawyer: Tales Of The Bar, Booze, Blow & Redemption (affiliate link). A graduate of the University of Pittsburgh School of Law, he somehow made it through as an alcoholic then added cocaine to his résumé as a practicing attorney. He went into recovery April 8, 2007. He left the practice of law and now writes and speaks on recovery topics, not only for the legal profession, but on recovery in general. He can be reached at brian@addictedlawyer.com .