I think I speak for most people when I say: this year has been absolute shit.
Smelly, as-hard-as-you-try-to-scrape-it-off-the-bottom-of-your-shoe-it-will-not-budge-because-it’s-stuck-in-the-deepest-crevices-of-your-sole….. SHIT.
Never did I expect to wrap up my third decade of life like… *looks around* this.
And though, like for many of us, COVID derailed my 2020 travel plans, I was determined to keep my 6-year solo trip streak alive. So… without fanfare, this past Sunday, I set out on my one and only solo trip of the year.
It wasn’t going to be anything fancy: definitely was not hopping on an airplane anytime soon. On Sunday morning, I set out for a place called Big Pine in the Inyo National Forest – excited to unplug, unwind and do some wilderness exploring on my own.
It was a 7-hour drive, through the winding, rollercoaster-esque roads of Stanislaus National Forest. It’s funny – though I’ve been traveling on my own for many years now, I can confidently say: the solo-trip-jitters never do go away. The best way I can describe the feeling is a dull, persistent fear. Don’t get me wrong: it’s a healthy, productive fear – one that prevents me from doing dumb shit and endangering my life entirely – but it is a fear nonetheless. At times through every trip I take on my own, I catch myself thinking “why do this to yourself?”
As I passed hour 5 driving, I checked the Weather app on my phone for Big Pine. I was quickly reminded that California was dealing with more shit than just COVID, racism, and bigotry…
Air Quality Index (AQI): 616….. Keep in mind, starting above 100, air quality is tagged as “unhealthy”. With wildfires raging all around the state, I was straight up driving into a cesspool of cancer.
Latching onto my already mounting fear, I kept driving – a million thoughts racing through my mind as I looked at the atmosphere gradually fade into sepia: Should I turn back now? No, it’s too late. Should I cancel my hike tomorrow? 8 hours of hiking in straight up smoke would definitely do more harm than good. Nothing like smoking like a chimney to reset the mind and soul! I am such an idiot.
I checked the app again.
Wow, ONE THOUSAND ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY TWO. Is my body just gonna shrivel up when I step outside?
It’s been 672 days since my last blog post. 672 days since I was last able to click that “Publish” button and let the world see/hear/read my inner-most thoughts.
For 672 days, I was unable to publicly admit to the world that I was – am – a deeply flawed human being.
It’s hard to admit you’ve hit rock bottom after – four years ago – you thought you hit rock bottom. You start to wonder: is “rock bottom” just an endless chasm? Will I just keep falling… forever?
In fact, I haven’t written a blog post in almost 2 years because, quite frankly, I’d hated who I had become. My life could be summed up in one word: imbalanced. Some saw me at my best and only my best, while others – sometimes in the same day – saw me at my worst. I was polished, hardworking and reliable in the workplace… reckless, impulsive, and an absolute liability in my personal life.
I turned to alcohol and recreational drugs, partying and careless hookups to fill all voids of my life. I spent mornings in a state of intense horror only experienced by those who had no idea what happened at the club the night prior. I spent afternoons in damage control mode, shamefully texting people to retrace my steps and actions, trying to figure out who I should apologize to this time. I spent evenings crying over people who mattered far more to me than I did to them.
And then, like Pavlovian clockwork, I would do it again.
I started my hike Monday morning in the soft glow of dawn. I exited the cabin and took one deep breath of the icy air, gauging if the smoke from yesterday remained. I think we were going to be okay today.
… 15 minutes later, I realized I had spoken too soon. I found myself gasping for air. Due to the 10,000 ft. elevation, my breath was intensely labored, even at rest – let alone for the 6-hour hike. And the 25-degree morning with 20 mph windchill did not help. In every sense imaginable: my lungs, my body, my clothes even, were not prepared for this.
I thought to myself: Of course – if it’s not the smoke, it’s gonna be literally anything else.
Each step I took was nervous, but resolute. This hike represented this year… this decade, even. Despite my millions of reservations, I had to just keep going.
“So…. Tell me about your upbringing… What were your parents like?”
This was my second talk therapy session in January of 2019. I sat on the couch opposite the therapist Kaiser assigned me. The first session we had, I talked about the unfortunate circumstances that brought me to therapy. This next session was going to delve into my past. I thought nothing of it as I nonchalantly started recounting details of my childhood, tracing back as far as I could remember…
To say that I was frustrated with my process to get a therapist is a gross understatement.
It was December of 2018: I woke up one morning, rubbing my face, realizing that I had – yet again – blacked out. For the 2nd time this month. As I tried to recall the events of the last night, bits and pieces of regrettable behavior came in and out of focus. The fact that I no longer felt terror in these moments, just acceptance and resignation (“it happened again…”), told me one thing: I desperately needed help. To admit that to myself was the hardest. A few years back, I saw my sister get therapy and sing its praises while she processed events of her youth. I thought: Sure, it’s helpful for some people. But I’m not one of those people. I can regulate my own emotions. Plus, I haven’t even gone through anything remotely THAT traumatic in my life. I come from a loving household, and my life has been pretty dang ordinary and sheltered up to this point. Therapy wouldn’t help me.
But I knew I needed help. The fact that my collection of missing memories continued to expand week by week, and that beyond my mental health, my physical health began to decline, I knew whatever I was doing was not working. The guidance I was receiving from those around me bordered along the lines of: “please just stop blacking out”.
*bonks head* Ha, duh, why didn’t I think of that?!
Yeah, no. This was my last ditch effort. Therapy was my Hail Mary.
I called into Kaiser’s counseling services telephone line and talked to one person. That person transferred me to another person. And another. And another. In total, I spoke with six people – every single time I had to recount “why” I was seeking counseling services for 30 more minutes. Does not a single person take notes here?!?! To tell a patient to repeat the answer to the question “wtf is wrong with you?” is like telling them to peel off the same festering scab over and over again. Especially if the answer to that question is the very reason they are reaching out for psychological help. No lie, going through that process was one of the most painful parts of an already excruciating year.
By the end of this relentless game of telephone, they had finally placed me in Kaiser’s “Addiction and Substance Abuse Clinic” and assigned me to a therapist.
“Uh… I’m sorry, ma’am, I’m not an addict. Like… I don’t NEED to drink alcohol all the time. I don’t get withdrawals. It’s just the times I DO drink, more often than not it spirals out of control. I don’t think I need an addiction counselor. I just need to speak with someone who can help me make better decisions and get this under control,” I pled. Later, I found that in order to “qualify” for talk therapy in the Kaiser system, you need to be “diagnosed” with a condition. I guess “drug addiction” was my diagnosis. And not only that, in order to continue to receive individual therapy, I also had to attend group therapy sessions.
Great. I have to attend what’s basically an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting. Oh, how my life has spiraled…
That was my thought walking into group therapy for the first time. At the beginning of each session, attendees had to introduce themselves; their drug of choice; their goals; progress on goals; and what’s on their mind.
“Eliza*; meth and heroin are my drugs of choice; my goal is total abstinence; doing pretty well, currently 48 days sober; I’m moving apartments this week, so that’s been taking up a ton of my time and energy, but altogether feeling good. No cravings lately.”
(* not real name)
Okay – my turn. Here we go…
“My name is Mendi; alcohol; my goal is to get my binge drinking under control; I blacked out again last weekend so progress not going so well, I guess; I have a pretty stressful project at work but I use it to keep my mind off other things…”
I cannot believe I am in an AA-type meeting. I had only seen this in movies. As I attended my first few group sessions, I couldn’t help but feel like I did not belong. C’mon, these people are LITERAL drug addicts! They were taking more drugs to help them get off their drugs, for god’s sakes! I had a stable job and career, a loving family – there was no freaking way I was going to be able to relate to any of these people……..
I started to ascend the series of mountains that would get me to my destination: the Big Pine Lakes.
Despite my labored breathing – the brisk, cold air piercing my lungs at every inhale – I was able to stop and admire the fall foliage of the Sierras.
I started to get into a rhythm with my hiking poles as they hoisted me, step by step, up the mountain. Despite my chronic knee issues, I decided that I wouldn’t wear my knee braces today (though I carried them in my backpack just in case). I wanted to see how my body would fare with just the hiking poles.
Not bad, not bad. Knees are feeling pretty good, halfway into mile 3. Let’s keep going.
My journey through therapy in 2019 was a wild and bumpy ride. I continued to party incessantly, hook up with randos, and black out – but at the very least, I had a forum – two, actually – to talk about it.
I quickly realized that I belonged in group therapy. After all, (and trust me when I say it took me MONTHS to admit this to myself) – I was sick. After attending many sessions, I discovered that the very reasons I would binge alcohol are among the reasons why an addict turns to alcohol or drugs to deal with their own circumstances. I, without reservation, started to trust and respect these people in group. We all sought out substances for comfort or escape from…. something. Hearing about their trials and tribulations each week reinforced the validity of my own. Despite my initial prejudices, these people who I saw every Monday evening became my second family.
Similarly, a few one-on-one therapy sessions in, I discovered why it was so difficult for me to admit initially that I needed therapy to my own mother.
I come from a Chinese household, and though neither of my parents would claim they were that strict when we were kids – I realized that for factors that would later become clear to me, I sought from my very early days, to achieve “perfection” in life. Any less than that was simply not an option.
So through a constant stream of tears, I sat at our kitchen table and admitted to my mom that I was an alcoholic. “I need help, and I’m going to therapy.“
I didn’t realize that this hike was basically going to be 4,000 ft of pure, unrelenting elevation gain until I reached the lakes. Not a single downhill respite on the way there.
Nevertheless, still breathless, I trudged on, hoping (and in my heart – knowing) the destination was going to be worth it.
It’s crazy to think how even the smallest things you’d do as a parent might impact your children forever. That’s my biggest takeaway from these past 2 years: I am equal parts the result of genetics, but also my upbringing and environment.
What I realized is that the future is basically the past… blasted on a megaphone. Who you were, solidified by habits and thought processes that harden with time, becomes who you are and will be.
Trauma comes in many shapes and forms: it doesn’t have to be a single event. It can be a construct through which you were brought up, an environment towards which you reacted. For many of us, it was either “cope with this … or die”.
Yes, it seems slightly extreme and primitive, but human behavior can be, well, extreme and primitive. The key to life has, for the course of human existence, been and always will be about one thing: survival.
And for me… the single most formative event of my childhood was likely the absence of my father.
Please don’t get me wrong: I have a great relationship with my dad and I wouldn’t change anything about our past. He left to work full-time in China when I was very little, and for that, my family and I owe him absolutely everything. Notwithstanding, this fact alone has shaped my life and the way I perceive myself, others, and the world. I know I am only the person I am right now – perfectly imperfect – solely because of this reality.
It’s a double-edged sword. Through discovery, I was able to trace that the very condition that drives me to alcoholism, is the same deep-seated psychological force that compels me to perfectionism: wherein I’ve never been able to validate my own actions and performance without the external validation from others.
Unlocking this truth was the key that unlocked so many subsequent doors for me. And for this discovery, I am eternally grateful.
Resigned that this hike was going to basically be “switchbacks and uphill climbs forever”, I rounded the corner….. IS THAT A BODY OF WATER? Three hours in, I finally saw the lake I was looking for. An oasis among trees, mountains, and… a lot of large pine cones (I was in Big Pine – get it?!).
By that point, while my knees were a-okay, my lungs were screaming, and, being so high up in elevation, the windchill became even more brutal for my face and extremities.
I stood at the top of the rock, overlooking the first lake. A gorgeous emerald color. I had made it.
In a group therapy session, I learned the tool of “playing the tape forward”. This tool is a way to help people understand the ramifications of their current behaviors and the way they’re living their lives. I encourage you to try this exercise. At your current life trajectory, fast forward that tape 5, 10, maybe 20 years into the future. The things you’re currently doing, you will keep doing; the things you’re not currently doing, you will continue to not do.
Playing that tape forward: This current path you’re on… is this ultimately who you want to be?
If you had asked Mendi from 10 years ago that she’d battle with alcoholism and depression moments before she turned 30, there’s no way she would believe you. Well, 10 years ago, I clearly didn’t play that tape forward. All the all-nighters in undergrad finishing homework that wasn’t due for another week, the constant pining for accolades and people’s acceptance, all the sporadic black-outs while clubbing in the city – my tumultuous 2019 was already written in the stars 10 years ago, 5 years ago, 1 year ago. I just simply… didn’t play that tape forward.
It’s been 672 days since my last post, and within these last 672 days, I hit rock bottom (or at least… a local minimum 🙂 ). The deep physical and psychological pain of the past couple of years is not something I’d like to relive; and still, recounting it today, I know I could never put into words the ineffability of such pain. I’m not about to kid myself, I know that the only reason why I’m now comfortable sharing this journey is because I’m out of the darkest part of the tunnel. It’s nowhere near bright and sunny for me right now, but at the very least it’s light enough to see my hands reaching out in front of me.
Over the last 2 years, through each individual and group therapy session, I developed an arsenal of tools to help me survive, and, very gradually, started piecing my life together again.
I was no longer going out 4 times a week, drinking until I blacked out, and I had finally started getting serious about dating.
These past 2 years have been a trip, with so many discoveries:
First, that I am an alcoholic (and the kicker? That I always will be.) It is not only a genetic predisposition, but it is also my psychological make-up. As much of a stigma this is both for me personally and for my Chinese heritage, it’s my reality and I must learn to cope with this condition for the rest of my life.
Second, as mentioned before: I strive for perfection – an all-or-nothing mentality – in all avenues of my life. It was apparent in school, my past (failed) relationships, and it is now apparent in how I show up at work. My constant need for external validation – at times, edging on “hubris” – drives this desire for perfection. Before, and even now, I would reel at any sign of imperfection. Now, I know to seek balance. I must tell myself (and ultimately BELIEVE) that my best is enough. Nothing more. This has led to the definition of my mantra: “I am whole, I am enough”. I say this to reaffirm my worth. And as cliche as it sounds, this worth needs to come from within. I’m working to make it so.
Third, as a “project manager” through and through, I treat my life as a project I need to “scope, de-risk, remediate blockers, and keep on track”. That mindset diminishes the human experience, and leaves no room for compassion or growth. I cannot think of my bad days or moments as “unproductive or impeding on progress”… instead I need to meet each of these moments with a nurtured understanding and ultimately, some self-care.
Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, I realized that the human condition is endlessly complicated, wherein genetics, trauma, and the many discrete events of the human experience intersect, intertwine, and knot together. Through true empathy, we must to show up for others in the way they individually need to get better and heal. I cannot tell you how many times I’ve been told “to just stop blacking out”. Sorry, guys, I tried. I really did. There is simply so much more to all this than just “stopping”.
And now I know for others and whatever they’re going through: I must empathize. Be kind, for everyone is fighting a hard battle.
Of course, I didn’t come to these realizations on my own. Through various conversations with my family, close friends, and my wonderfully compassionate boyfriend, I’ve gotten ever so asymptotically closer to this discovery of truth.
I sat atop a rock overlooking the second lake – my final checkpoint – munching on dried mangos, beef jerky, and matcha-flavored chocolates. A random thought crossed my mind: I was extremely grateful……… for my hiking poles 😛 . I would be kidding myself if I said those things didn’t save me once or twice (or a million times) during the hike up. When my own two legs faltered (tripping over rocks and branches), which was often, those two poles would catch me before I ate shit and hoisted me back up. It’s an absolute wonder how much more effective 4 legs are vs. just 2. Physics. Now, I’m not saying I wouldn’t have survived the hike without those poles, but it probably would’ve made it a whole lot harder – and likely with some aching knees, bruises and ankle sprains along the way.
I’ve already told my therapist this many times, but she saved me. I don’t mean to be overdramatic – I definitely wouldn’t have taken my own life or anything – but at the very least I am leaps and bounds better today, physically and mentally, due to her compassion, empathy, and relentless inculcation of “the hard truth”. Most of the things she and I discussed were incredibly difficult to hear, but I needed it. Through and through, she was – alongside an incredible support system around me – my hiking pole in this 2-year-long odyssey.
I now have a better understanding of why I react to things the way I do (often irrationally), and also have some tools to get through whatever situations I will face. One of the “tools” we recently chatted about was writing up a “Drug and Alcohol History” for myself. She mentioned that it’s a common exercise in intensive substance-related Group Therapy. Folks would write up their history of substance use based on a series of questions – questions that also delved into how each of those moments impacted your life – past and present. The truth about most addicts, including myself, is that they are immensely ashamed of their substance abuse, which causes them to spiral in this shame. It’s hard not to be, living in a society where the “perfect”, “you-can-have-it-all” life is constantly portrayed in the media. The aim of the Drug and Alcohol history exercise is…… catharsis. By sharing out your story to a group of folks who can relate to not only your history, but to its physical and mental impacts – you can escape this isolation and find community. So I did it. I wrote my Drug and Alcohol history. Pen to paper. And then I shared it with my therapist. Despite the simplicity of the exercise (I didn’t share it with a larger group because, well, it doesn’t exist right now due to COVID), it was immensely liberating. I was finally relieved of the burden of holding in all the gruesome, shameful details of my past – things I hadn’t shared with anyone else before. In fact, what this exercise showed me was that I have survived 100% of my worst days: and there is no doubt in my mind I will continue to do so.
I recently saw a quote by Rachel Brathen:
“Life is made up of a collection of moments that are not ours to keep. The pain we encounter throughout our days spent on this earth comes from the illusion that some moments can be held onto. Clinging to people and experiences that were never ours in the first place is what causes us to miss out on the beauty of the miracle that is the now. All of this is yours, yet none of it is. How could it be? Look around you. Everything is fleeting.”
The act of sharing is powerful and a means to let go. That’s one of the initial reasons why I started this blog. I love sharing my travels because I hope that it can bring joy and wonder to those who read about my adventures. I equally love sharing my self-reflections because I hope that others can also relate to my day-to-day human and emotional experiences.
Like my “drug and alcohol history”, I’m sharing everything – the good with the bad – so that I can set it free. These moments were never mine to keep.
So… here’s to starting my 4th decade of life.
Thank you for tuning in after that damn long hiatus. It’s good to be back.
Love always,
Mendi
the wanderlust is real. 
So proud of you Mendi. You are an inspiration! Looking forward to what the fourth decade has in store for you. Big hugs…..Laura C.
LikeLike
Wow, this is powerful. Thank you for sharing your story. You are so brave. Therapy can be a painful and distressful journey, but I am glad that you are keeping at it and seeing results. Thank you, Mendi, for being open and vulnerable. We need more people like you that show us that it is okay to be human.
LikeLike