Estimated read time: 14 min
If you have been around recovery at all, you have probably heard of triggers. Often, triggers are presented in a discussion of people, places, and things to avoid. I found out about triggers in rehab. Because I am one to do exactly what I am told, whether I like it or not, I still make sure I shield myself from alcohol or drinking occasions to this day. SH-YEAH, AS IF. (Read it again using your best Wayne Campbell voice from Wayne’s World.)
Picture this scene. I’m standing in line at a Guns-n-Roses concert–a long, long line to buy a concert t-shirt. There are thousands of rock fans wandering by trying to find their seats, the bathroom, or join an even longer line to buy a $15 light beer.
Some of the fans are younger, in their 20s and this is an event for them as they amble past dressed like members of the band or in brand new leather pants or perfectly torn jeans. Then, there are people like me, a little squidgy around the edges; our long hair receded to business-style haircuts and our potbellies poking out of concert t-shirts bought decades earlier.
I am a completely elated, excited, thrilled, nervous, happy, SOBER, 40-something-year-old. Like the band I am about to see which broke up decades ago and named the tour, “Not In This Life Time,” I never thought I could be here again.
When I entered treatment to prove I was not an alcoholic, I knew what having the disease meant. It meant my life was over. I would not be able to go to bars, have a glass of wine with a good steak, have beer with my hot wings, enjoy a University of Georgia football game, do yard work, go fishing, or just about anything else. There was little I did that did not involve drinking. It was of upmost importance that I prove to the doctors, nurses and substance abuse counselors that my drinking was—ahem—normal.
Two weeks into treatment, I had accepted that I might have a teensy, weensy problem when it came to drugs and alcohol. Then, my worst fears were realized when we were told to write down a list of triggers. Not knowing what a trigger was, I asked, and I was told a situation in which you would drink or situations that you associate with alcohol and drugs. My next question, “Does waking up count?” My delusion that I was not an alcoholic had faded, but my fear of being able to function without drinking was still going strong.
My list of triggers included a few of my favorite things such as fishing, shooting pool, going to concerts, watching football and basketball games, going to the beach, going to the mountains, going out to eat, and staying in a hotel during my travels.
The truth, though I couldn’t begin to admit it at the time, was that I conceived a list of triggers from a decade before. What made me drink prior to treatment? Withdrawals—full stop.
Still, faced with a future where I was no longer physically addicted meant that I had options and choices. I could choose to test my luck and dabble with a drink now and then. I was warned that if I taste-tested booze, I would dive past my last bottom like a falcon speeding toward a fish. Still, the thought of never being able to drink anywhere meant I could go nowhere, right?
First, let me say that triggers are real and putting myself in situations where I might be tempted to drink is stupid. There is absolutely ONE reason for me to go to a bar to hang out with my old drinking buddies. I want to get drunk, but I am too chicken to do it on my own. If you, dear reader, think there is another reason, please check out Nina’s post, Beware of the Barbershop.
However, there is no reason to hide from the world. Even in the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous, it reminds people like me to live normally. “So our rule is not to avoid a place where there is drinking, if we have a legitimate reason for being there. That includes bars, nightclubs, dances, receptions, weddings, even plain ordinary whoopee parties.” (I have yet to go to a “whoopee party,” but if I figure out what one is, I may try it.) There should be no reason to fear being around booze, except, for me, there was.
Learning to navigate a world where alcohol and other substances seemed to be everywhere I turned, took time. I avoided the convenience stores where I mainly purchased alcohol. In grocery stores, I would not walk down the aisle that had beer and wine on it for fear that a bottle would jump in my cart and I would be forced to drink it. I avoided restaurants that served alcohol, which was harder than I expected. Obviously, my favorite liquor store was no longer on any route I drove.
For months, my world stayed closed. I worked, went to meetings and didn’t do much else. Still, I wasn’t always safe. My ex-wife decided, shortly after I moved home, that drinking was solely my problem and began regularly buying wine and hard lemonade, occasionally leaving half-full glasses on the kitchen counter for me to find in the mornings while I was making coffee.
I noticed signs shouting out prices of the cheapest beer whenever I stopped for gas, so I would pay at the pump. I drove past a liquor store each time I went to visit my sponsor and often read the marque listing the specials of the week. Each time, I sped up a little as if I bottle might burst through the doors and roll down the road chasing me.
Then, like magic, I stopped paying attention to the world of booze. I can’t remember exactly when, but I realized one day when grocery shopping that I had walked straight down the beer and wine aisle on the way to get a gallon of milk and never even paused to check a price or label.
From that point on, not drinking alcohol and not thinking of drinking alcohol was something I just did. With the obsession gone, my world began to get a little wider. Restaurants I had avoided in fear were just places to go eat. I could walk into a convenience store and barely notice the beer coolers while looking for a root beer. The first time I shot pool completely sober I found out I was just terrible at the game as I was when I was drunk.
I traveled by myself to Alcoholics Anonymous roundups and meetings, stayed overnight in hotels and the thought never occurred to me that this would be the perfect time to drink. I did spend a significant amount of time finding good coffee shops wherever I stayed, though. The longer I stayed sober, the less my personal triggers mattered.
I finally went to my first rock concert when I was a little over two years sober. A few other sober friends were going, and I knew I would be able to find them if things got off-kilter, but nothing happened.
I drank club soda and water and enjoyed every minute. Somehow everything about the show on stage, the music, the feeling of being in the middle of it all seemed bigger and better than ever.
The huge bonus came at the end of the night when I could walk past others who were staggering randomly in the direction of the parking lot. Unlike concerts in the past where, at times, I waited for most of the cars to pull off so I could find where I parked mine. I walked directly there. The ringing in my ears was from the music and not an alarm bell telling me it was time for another drink.
The next day was even better. I could literally remember everything that happened from the night before. Admittedly, at that first concert, the crowd was fairly small, and most of the people were slightly older than me. It was not near the raucous screaming crowds I remembered from my 20s. It was a start, though.
Then, one day while driving home from work, I overheard a chance to relive my youth. The band that had put on one of the best shows I could remember was reforming after 20 years. I was excited and fearful at the same time.
Every single song by Guns-n-Roses was a trigger for me. Some songs I associated with Spring Break drives to Florida. My friends and I would start the trip playing “Patience.” Other songs reminded me of the friends I lost before I turned 22, when drinking could not numb the pain and the wailing guitars seemed to speak my feelings. One of their songs is my Step 1 song today.
I began searching the internet to find when the band would be close enough for a drive to see them. And, I dusted off my old phone number list—okay I searched out my old friends on Facebook. (I sooo hate to admit that.) Through two forms of cyber stalking, I discovered that my friends who were sober had full lives and would not drop everything to relive my youth, and Guns-n-Roses tickets were a butt-load more expensive than I remembered.
I was in the middle of trying to discover how cheap I could find a seat that still gave me a shot at seeing the huge video screens without a pair of binoculars when my youngest son interrupted me to see what I was doing.
After the conversation that followed, I ended up taking my sons, and my now ex-wife, to the show. It was not exactly the carefree, figure-it-out-as-you-go trip that had been so much a part of everything I did when I last went to see Guns-n-Roses. But, the end result was that I was there, standing in line, ready for the show, if I could just get a t-shirt.
A guy behind me began to strike up a slurring conversation explaining how big of a Guns-n-Roses fan he was and how many shows he had seen. I listened politely until he noticed my cup and asked, “Vodka?”
“Water,” I replied. He looked surprised and turned his back on me to strike up a conversation with a person behind us.
Now to be fair, there were 50,000 people at the concert. I’m sure at least one or two others were completely sober like me. Nevertheless, I remembered this type of concert! There were people dancing way too early to the music from the opening band, and I assume, they were feeling more than a natural high. A few that looked like they had to be poured into their seats on arrival. Everyone seemed to be excited, hyper, and ready for anything to happen, and all of them seemed to have over-priced, watered down drinks in their hands. The energy was amazing.
As we waited for the set change to be completed and the main event, the ex asked what might be the silliest question I have ever heard. “These guys weren’t like a drug band were they?”
Ummmm. The band literally has a song about heroin addiction and drinking cheap wine to get drunk. Two of the members almost died from their drinking, another’s drug habit got so bad he got kicked out of the band. The first time I ever saw anyone smoke crack was at the last show where I saw this band perform soooo I’m going to go with….HELL, YES.
“They’re not like the Grateful Dead, if that’s what you are thinking.” My reply was intentionally ambiguous.
The fact that drugs are still a thing was readily apparent when the row behind us lit up a couple of joints on the fourth song of the set. I looked back and they were dazed, seated and eating funnel cakes by the sixth song. By the encore, that row had disappeared.
I was on my feet for all three hours of the performance and Guns-n-Roses did not disappoint. Axl’s voice, rumored to be shredded, was on pitch all night with every scream and high note. The rest of the band seemed to play the perfect show. It was as if I was that 20-year-old again, amazed at the talent, deafened by the noise that I could feel pulse through my body, but this time, it was even better. I was not worried about when I could get another drink or if the fifth of rum I had finished in the parking lot was really empty. That was 20-year-old me. I wasn’t a little dazed most of the time from what I used to think was a fun buzz. I could just enjoy the show.
And, the band was better. Long gone were the drug-fueled pouting sessions that always left one wondering if they would actually perform and for how long. They were sober professionals from start to finish. We had all grown up. Well, that’s how I felt about the band and I, others around, not so much.
I left the venue surrounded by thousands of drunken fans who were yelling to each other because none of us could hear. Some were relying on friends to semi-carry them away from the stadium. One drunken guy came up and offered to pay me $20 for a cigarette. I just gave him one.
Some people were, literally, dragging a drunken friend or partner through the crowd. The tense expression on the person’s face reminded me of a parent that was trying to get a child to the parking lot before the beating commenced.
I was so grateful I was not one of them. I figured this trigger could begin the end of my sobriety, but I was not tempted in the slightest.
The rest of the night was not nearly as good as the three-hour performance. The conflicts between the ex and I showed up, and as it had so many times, ruined what could have been an excited recap of the night’s events.
Still, I never regretted the trip. The performance stays near the top for bands I have seen live.
I have, however, become convinced of a few things that I feel I should share in no particular order:
- Rock concerts are a hell of a lot better sober.
- Head banging when you have no long hair feels stupid and gives you a headache.
- Smoking weed in the stands is okay, smoking cigarettes is a major no no. (Weird.)
- It’s harder to find water than beer at a rock concert. (People literally walk up to you and ask you to buy beer. No one brings water.)
- Older concertgoers don’t look nearly as cool as they think they do.
- When you are not trying to pretend to be cool to attract women, you can have a lot of fun, but remember 2 and 5.
- Watching OLD drunks fall is not nearly as funny as younger ones because the old people could actually get hurt.
- Waving a cigarette lighter back and forth during a ballad is out, turn on the flashlight of your cellphone if you want to be cool. (Show some of the old people around you how to do that. We—I mean—THEY will appreciate it, and possibly, not burn my—THEIR—thumb using a cheap lighter.)
- Expect to see a bunch of drunk middle-aged people trying to relive their youth despite being completely ill equipped to do so. (Reference numbers 2, 5, and 7.)
- If I have a purpose other than drinking or using drugs, I can safely navigate most situations where alcohol and drugs are present.
Since that outing, I have been to several concerts, spent seven days on a cruise ship, traveled to Ireland where they brew or distill two of my favorite beverages, and I have never been tempted to drink. Any trigger I thought might show up never appeared.
For me, it took time. It took trusting others in recovery, it took working the 12 steps, and it took the constant reminder of how bad things got before I walked into the treatment center. Alleviating triggers was not an overnight process. It makes sense because I spent decades learning to do everything with a drink in my hand. Yet, with the use of the tools, I was freely given; I have been able to consistently whittle down my list of triggers to almost nothing.
For the most part, I do the same things that most people do. I just don’t drink alcohol while doing them. I have eaten hot wings at a sports bar while watching a University of Georgia football game. (I found out that hot wings actually taste better with sweet tea.) I eat steak, do yard work, go to basketball games, and travel regularly.
The only thing I haven’t done on my old triggers list is go fishing. But, I know a guy that runs a charter, and he is in recovery so I might have to take that trip soon. When I do, there may be other fishermen chumming the waters with beer and breakfast, but I will be focused on what I came for, catching fish.
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