All too often, people in recovery keep their stories quiet, due in large part to the stigma associated with addiction that still persists in our society.  I remember my own concerns when I was asked to go very public with my recovery story at the National Press Conference celebrating Recovery Month in 2008. But like Ainge, I recognized that sharing my journey was part of recovery and I believed that I had come far enough in my career that negative results from going public would be outweighed by the possible good it could do. Opening up, first to friends and family members, often communicated how best to support me in my recovery. (At parties, for instance, the people in my life know not to serve me alcohol.)  Later, when I told my story in a much more public forum, I did so because I felt I could serve as living proof that substance abusers can and do get better, sometimes much better.  The recovery community should applaud Ainge for helping to spread this important message.  The public already knows that people abusing drugs and alcohol do foolish, harmful things.  What they won’t know, if we don’t tell them, is that people in recovery can go on to do wonderful things.

Ainge’s story also helps us get the word out that addiction can affect anyone.  A talented young player from a famous football family, Ainge seemed to “have it all.”  Yet his drug use escalated from marijuana to alcohol and prescription medications and finally to cocaine and heroin.  During his rookie year with the Jets, he now admits he was taking 25 Percocets at a time. When he finally sought treatment, he says he was “on a one-way street to hell.” Although most of us aren’t sports stars, many of us in recovery can relate to Ainge’s experience because we too were at the height of promising careers when drugs took over our lives. Addiction, we discovered, does not discriminate based on a person’s achievement level or potential for success.

Fortunately, recovery doesn’t discriminate either. Those who find the help they need and commit to managing their recovery can go on to lead productive, rewarding lives.  For this reason, I’m optimistic about Erik Ainge.  Although he’s not sure about his future in football, he knows that his top priority is to maintain his sobriety, which is exactly where his focus should be.  “I want this to be the last time I ever have to try to get clean,” he says, “and I’m going slowly.” If he continues to put his recovery first, taking it one day at a time, he’ll come out a winner, no matter what the scoreboard says.

Deni Carise, Ph.D.
Chief Clinical Officer
Phoenix House

Blog editor’s note: Psychologist Karen Binder-Brynes, Ph.D., is a leading expert in the field of post-traumatic stress and a member of the Phoenix House Military Services Advisory Board.  As this week’s guest blogger, she explains why medication alone won’t heal the wounds of war.

Today, I read the heartbreaking story of Senior Airman Anthony Mena, a 23-year-old Iraq War veteran who died at home in 2009 after taking a lethal cocktail of anti-depressants, painkillers, and a sleeping pill.  Mena’s death was not ruled a suicide, but the tragic result of overmedication.

Unfortunately, Airman Mena’s case is not unique.  Research shows us that approximately one in three returning veterans suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Powerful psychiatric drugs are now widely used to treat the symptoms.  If they are not properly monitored, the interaction between these and other medications can be fatal.

I often tell veterans and their loved ones that medications for PTSD and other problems are a help while symptoms are acute, but they won’t relieve the cause of distress.  Far too many servicemen and women rely on prescription drugs for symptom relief without also seeking psychotherapy to understand and deal with the trauma they’ve endured. In the military, there is a stigma associated with seeking help from psychotherapy – despite the fact that the combination of therapy and medication has been proven the most beneficial method of treating issues such as PTSD.  But many veterans don’t realize that PTSD is a normal reaction to trauma.  Biologically, your body adjusts to being in a war zone and may not always reset once you return home.  Medication may help you to focus on other treatment, provide symptomatic relief or just numb the symptoms of readjustment, but often, these symptoms need to be acknowledged and addressed through counseling.  Just numbing the pain now will only cause it to resurface later.

If I had a family member who was returning from the service, I would tell him or her, “You may have a host of prescriptions thrown at you, but don’t believe simply taking a medication will solve your problems.”  Make sure a trusted physician is monitoring your prescriptions and ensuring that one drug doesn’t counteract another—or trigger a new symptom.  Know that when you’re just coming out of a depression, you may actually be at your most vulnerable.  Acknowledge your feelings, and remember that asking for help is not a sign of weakness, but of one of strength.

Karen Binder-Brynes, Ph.D.

I have been in the substance abuse field for over 20 years, first as a treatment provider and then as a researcher. But it is through the eyes of a person in long-term recovery who has buried family members and close friends (one who was sober over 17 years prior to relapsing) that I understand the battle DJ AM faced.

Recovery, no matter how many years one has nurtured it, is never fully self-sustaining. It needs continued attention and dedication, just like any other chronic health problem. So, I ask, can someone in recovery ever be 100 percent confident they will not go back to drugs or alcohol?

Last year, DJ AM suffered critical injuries when a Learjet carrying him burst into flames during an aborted takeoff in South Carolina. He and Travis Barker of Blink-182 were the only survivors. After more than a decade of clean living, he found himself needing pain medications with abuse liability; he reportedly developed problems with opiates and benzodiazepines.

Then, he shot MTV’s Gone Too Far—an intervention-style reality show set to premier on October 5. He said his inspiration was to work with other addicts in recovery, his passion since the beginning of his sobriety.

I, like DJ AM, believe it’s important that people with past addiction problems commit to helping others. But he may have truly “gone too far.” The drug-using world might not have been one he was prepared to re-visit, given his recent losses and difficulties with pain medications. “I have to calm down after every shoot,” he was quoted as saying. “It’s very intense.” In video excerpts, he described buying a crack pipe to show how easy it was. Then he said, “I walked out…holding [the pipe]…and I realized my palms were sweaty and I was like, ‘Wait a minute, this is not smart for me.’”

Even after 11 years of sobriety, this isn’t unusual. Ask any one of us in recovery when someone inadvertently changes the TV station and a scene from Scarface shows a group of people snorting cocaine. It’s been over 24 years since I’ve snorted coke, but suddenly, I’m holding my breath—as if I’d just done a line.

So, should DJ AM have done the show? Is MTV at fault for his relapse and death? Here’s the bottom line: Just as people with diabetes are responsible for eating a sensible diet and exercising, we are also responsible for managing our recovery. But, just as the spouse of a diabetic assists their partner in managing their illness, we need people to help us, too.

Based on my research, my clinical background, and my own recovery experience, if I had been DJ AM’s friend, I would have told him, “Examine your motives. Think ahead to any emotions that might arise. Make plans to have the folks who support your recovery nearby when you’re taping and after each session. Talk to them, tell them what you’re feeling, and renew your commitment to your recovery each night. Most importantly, promise you will call me before you pick up a drink or a drug.”

And if I had worked for MTV, I would have advised them, “Make sure DJ AM has someone with him during filming—a long-term recovery mentor who knows him well and will help him process any cravings. Don’t ask him if the show is bothering him; he might be the last to notice it.”

We have to wonder if this type of support might have saved his life.

This Saturday, September 12, I will think of him when I represent Pennsylvania as the state delegate at the A&E Recovery Rally—one of the key events for National Recovery Month. An expected 10,000 of us will march across the Brooklyn Bridge. I will walk in memory of my stepson, who died of an overdose just 15 months ago at the age of 30, and my old friends Mark and Mike, both of whom lost their battles with addiction.

And I will walk in honor of DJ AM, who wanted so deeply to offer those in recovery meaningful support.

It’s now up to us to carry his mission forward.

The great strength of “The Cleaner” is the show’s ability to dramatize the downward spiral of addiction, showing how drug misusers “get stuck,” and the difficulty they have of getting “unstuck.” In life, as on TV, an “intervention” is often the means of “unsticking” someone deep in drug misuse. Interventions may indeed be as dramatic as kidnapping or substituting sugar for the user’s drug of choice. But, while bringing together a team of “significant others” to “confront” the user makes for good viewing, it actually occurs rarely. There is an extraordinarily broad range of intervention strategies and they are employed every day in any number of different venues—family dining rooms and kitchens, therapist’s offices, business offices, factory floors, lecture halls and hospital emergency rooms.

The process of getting the drug misuser “unstuck” can begin in any one of these settings—but it only begins there. An intervention just starts the process, because getting unstuck requires serious engagement of the individual in a program of treatment responsive to his or her unique needs—a process pursued in an appropriate setting and involving others. These others may be trained professionals. They may be men and women with similar histories of drug involvement. A community of faith may be a critical part of this recovery process, as well as friends and family. Medications may be involved, cognitive behavioral therapies, prayer, hope, encouragement and opportunities to learn about oneself and master the skills needed to offset the long-lasting craving that comes with addictive behavior.

In short, while “intervention” may be as dramatic as those of “The Cleaner” or—as is more often the case—slow and guided, what counts is what follows!

We at Phoenix House have learned that what follows is a process of learning how best to achieve lifestyle change and continuing recovery. It is a process that varies from person to person. Each day, Phoenix House cares for more than 7,000 people in various settings and stages of recovery. We pledge that each receives the help he or she needs and each is treated with professionalism and respect. We recognize differences in need and our service delivery continuum is designed to respond to these differences. And, while “The Cleaner” deserves our applause, viewers also deserve to know that, no matter how getting unstuck begins, the greater need is for the rest of the process, which is what most of our field is there to provide.

David A. Deitch, Ph.D
Chief Clinical Officer, Phoenix House