Complex PTSD Complicates Recovery from Addiction by Dante

The problem - I have finally learned - is that I am not "just" an addict. I also am a relational trauma survivor, and I have C-PTSD.

I have spent my entire adult life (and part of my childhood) actively engaged in forms of addictive and compulsive self-medication.  It's been a part of my life - and I have been aware of it - for as long as I can remember.  Addictions and compulsions can encompass a wide range of chemicals and processes, including drugs, alcohol, food, sex, gambling, shopping and self-harm - and more than one of these has afflicted my life and the lives of my family.

I sought help in a number of ways familiar to any who suffer with such self-medicating behaviours - twelve step programs, therapists, anti-depressants, antioxylytics, support groups and even alternative methods of recovering from various addictions.  I have tried to recover from them all at once under the theory that I needed to stop self-medicating completely or I would compensate with one for the other.  I have tried recovering from them one at a time under the theory that it was best to take little steps and address the most serious issues first.  I have not had much success with any of these measures.

Twelve step programs in particular were not effective for me.  I was "fired" by multiple sponsors, who said that I wasn't making progress.  I know a lot of people have issues with step 2 in particular (the higher power), but honestly, that wasn't a problem for me, nor was step 3 (surrendering).  The problem for me started with step 4.  The short and sweet form of the 12 steps is often said to be "Trust God, Clean House, Help Others".  Cleaning house starts in step 4, where a "searching and fearless moral inventory" is taken.  I can see why that would be effective and necessary for many people, who have hidden from what they've done.

The problem - I have finally learned - is that I am not "just" an addict.  I also am a relational trauma survivor, and I have C-PTSD.  My childhood was filled with emotional neglect and with contempt that nurtured a ravenous inner critic, toxic shame and existential fear.  There are layers buried that even now I am still uncovering.  But when confronted with that searching and fearless moral inventory, a strange paradox emerged.  I was not in denial about what I'd done that I regretted.  My inner critic replayed a loop tape for me daily with every failing I'd ever had.  So that searching and fearless moral inventory was not really necessary for me to see how low I'd sunk.  I knew, I was living it.  But it terrified me to think about sharing with someone else - even someone who was recovering from the same addiction.  I knew - because I'd been told - that what I'd done was far worse than anyone else had ever done in the history of the world, and unforgivable sin so vile that even an eternal afterlife of punishment was insufficient recompense.

My childhood was filled with emotional neglect and with contempt that nurtured a ravenous inner critic, toxic shame and existential fear. 

For decades, I internalized what the Alcoholics Anonymous "Big Book" said about failure:  "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."  Surely, I wasn't being honest with myself.

And, you know what?  It was true.  But not in the way it was written.  I'm not dishonest about the bad I've done.  I'm dishonest about the good I've done.  I've done a lot of good things in my life.  I have succeeded in both education and career - despite continual ridicule from my family of origin about my choices.  I have been (mostly) a good father and a good husband.  I have made mistakes, and I have apologized for those mistakes.  I have always wanted my family to know that when I was wrong it was my fault, and not to gaslight them into thinking that I was the problem.

I have one other thing going for me.  I've never given up.  When twelve steps didn't work, I tried spirituality.  When that didn't work, I tried therapy.  And so on until I finally found this forum.  For the first time, I've found people like me.  People who got a raw deal in life, but haven't given up.  We are here for the community, for the healing.  And I have finally taken that 4th step - not just out of formality, but because I had finally done enough work to discover what drove my addictions.  In twelve steps, I always felt judged - from sponsors who were effectively just another authority figure I couldn't trust, to the need to share your sobriety date in every meeting.  It was humiliating to be 24 hours (if that) every single week.  I have found friends and people who accept me for who I am, and are gentle with me.  And with that, I have finally cleaned house.

When twelve steps didn't work, I tried spirituality.  When that didn't work, I tried therapy.  And so on until I finally found this forum.  For the first time, I've found people like me.  People who got a raw deal in life, but haven't given up.  We are here for the community, for the healing. 

I am not healed.  But, at long last, I can say that I am recovering.

Twelve step programs didn't work for me, for a variety of reasons that had nothing to do with the program, and everything to do with my trauma history.  However, this should not be taken as an indictment of such programs.  For many people, they do work and are a resource of healing.  In the end, it's the recovery that matters, not how we get there.  It took me decades to find the way that worked for me.  I hope this will help you save some of those years.