I am new here, but a, very happy to have found such a forum. I felt like telling my own story in the expectation that it maybe resonates with some people as much as some of the stories and information here have with me. So, rather than thank everyone here, I thought it might be better to give something back. If you are bored, you can skip straight to the end, where I relate how baclofen has actually reversed a very serious downfall.
Being from Ireland, drinking was, in confirmation of the many clich?s, engrained in my culture. The pub was, and is albeit to a lesser extent, the nexus of social engagement. I began drinking at 12 and all of our weekend activities centred around how to get drink, and which park we could drink in without being disturbed by the police. I noticed though, later on at secondary level (high school) that I was the one continually missing school because of a weekday hangover. I had great stories to tell though. Contrary to the clich? however, there is a certain dichotomy to be observed if one looks under the hood of the car. One cannot really buy drink as easily as in other countries (notwithstanding the lower age constraint in the states), and the opening hours are considerably shorter. There was the open embellishment of a drinking story gone wrong, the hangover one had, and how excruciating work had been the next day. There was also the wink and a nudge though that ?You know, sure he has an awful drinking problem? when the person was up getting the next round of drinks.
Hence it was a shock for me to move to another country where things were slightly different. I could order beer to my doorstep till 3 in the morning, stay out all night and still get a drink, hell I could even get a beer at the cinema or at a stand in the street. It was completely normal fare to have a beer with your dinner, or on the train, without eliciting strange looks. This was something that really wasn?t done at home. This was compounded by inevitably consorting with my fellow expatriots, also taken by the novelty and freedom that this allowed.
Long story short, but the weekend binges became long weekend binges, became topping up during the weekdays in anticipation of the weekends. This of course led to a daily drinking habit. When my partner ran off with my daughter to another country, the final nail had been driven and I took to drinking heavily every day.
I had always suffered crippling panic attacks. They began at age 6, and came back in bouts every couple of years. My throat would close, my chest would feel like there was a horse standing on it. The world would become blurry and distant. My body would begin to shake uncontrollably. I took a sabbatical from work and raised my daughter pretty much on my own for her first two years. When she was gone from one day to the next, all that came to replace the void were the panic attacks. Crippling ones. There were, it seemed to me, two factors at play. There was the emotional stress, and the daily panic attacks, but there was also the small matter of timing when I stopped drinking and when I got my next one before minor withdrawal symptoms kicked in and made things worse. Since drinking during work was not an option, this spelled trouble when my consumption outstripped my ability to hide the whole gambit. I had to put my job in physics research at the university on hold.
The real blow came when the general panic had reached such a high level that I simply collapsed thinking that I was having a heart attack. I took a drag of my cigarette to try and calm down, and whatever happened it caused a bronchial spasm leading to me not being able to breath for about a minute and a half. When I woke up there were people around me saying that I should relax and that the ambulance was on its way. I was sure it was acute withdrawal, since I had purposely stopped drinking in advance of an important meeting. I was still shaking uncontrollably, so I pulled out my ?emergency? small bottle of vodka and downed it in one. I ran off before any emergency service could arrive. I knew what that would have meant, and I was simply not going to hospital. Even with vodka in me, I was still incoherent, unable to walk straight, shaking and sweating profusely. I got a taxi driver, who again wanted to bring me to hospital, and went home. There Is downed a bottle of wine in one go, now completely unable to think, starting to shake even harder. Once that hit me, I was calmed down, and was able to, although still in the midst of a drunken haze, think. There had to be a way out of this.
After this incident, and a couple of other similar ones in the next week where I tried to stop drinking and fell down in a supermarket or similar, I was completely unable to leave the apartment. Every time I did try, I would get as far as 10 meters outside before I started to feel like I was dying, and would certainly die unless I got back into the apartment. In the worst times I couldn?t even have a shower without freaking out.
It was then that, while searching for possible treatments, I came across an interesting article in the paper by a doctor who dealt specifically with addictions. For better or worse, the appealing aspect was that she seemed to be coming at the problem from a drink reduction stance rather than a a frankly obsolete cold turkey point of view. This piqued my curiousity. Doubly inveigling was that she didn?t seem to be trying to sell anything, she worked out of the hospital, and for free.
I made my appointment, but was still skeptical. I was sure there was a catch and that they would end up holding me against my will. It was irrational, but so were many other of my fears at this time. As was my wont, I was cautious and downed a bottle of wine in a minute before going there. When I got there, it was short and sweet. ?Here, take these pills, try to drink less, but if it doesn?t reduce, don?t despair. See you in a weeks time?. I was flabbergasted. What the hell was this meant to do ?
I did take them, and went back for the appointment. If it was so harmless, then why not ? Again, she asked me to make an entry in a sheet she had given me of how much I drank each day. I asked about the insurance, nope, they would not be taking an official note of my visits. Again, take these amount of pills each day, here?s your prescription, try to cut down, see you next week. This time she did make it clear that I had to take them, that it was dangerous to stop taking them.
A few weeks more with the same, as I viewed it, charade. In the meantime, I had of course done some research on what this baclofen was about, and was very committed. I started off on 30 mg, then we went up to 50 mg, then up to 100 mg, 125 mg, and 150 mg. These were divided in three doses, in the morning at 09:00, afternoon at 13:30, and where the daily dose wasn?t readily divisible by three, a larger dose in the evening at 20:30.
The side effects at 100 mg were quite hard for me. I was still drinking, a lot less, maybe 5-6 liters of beer per day, but still drinking. What I noticed first was marked tiredness. When I walked I was very wobbly. I often had double vision. No nausea though, and no headaches. I hadn?t been sleeping any more than 6 hours usually, but now that was down to maybe 3 hours if I was lucky. Due mainly to the fact that I mostly passed out from drinking every night, I had kind of forgotten what dreaming was like. Oh boy was I in for a rude awakening (pun intended). My dreams were bad ass mean, extremely vivid and very sinister. I often woke up in a dream, thinking I was awake, only to find out that some equally monstrous fate awaited me but not knowing that I was still dreaming. This had happened a hand full of times in my life, but it was happening with frightening regularity now.
I felt a lot of the time like was very stoned. However, it was not the pleasant kind of stoned, more like the times one has taken too much and is having a bad reaction ? just minus the nausea.
One other aspect, was a very nice one. My libido had gone through the roof and my inhibition had gone correspondingly down. I found myself aroused by the slightest thing, and without going into graphic detail, bedroom forays were taking a hell of a lot longer. It can?t have been the lack of alcohol, I was drinking less, but nothing out of the ordinary compared to previous attempts at reducing. Maybe it had nothing to do with the baclofen, I merely mention it to state that I didn?t have any of the side effects related to sexual dysfunction. Sex had now become some kind of prophylactic for warding off panic attacks. As for why it was *ahem* taking longer, my scientific bent makes me suspect that at least that aspect could possibly have something to do with the effect on the pleasure and reward centres in the brain. So much for wild propositions though. My girlfriend was very, very happy either way, and that is enough for me.
At 150 mg, as I talked about in another post, what was new was that I was now breathing very shallow. This was, and is but to a lesser extent horrible. Typically about 3-4 hours after taking my dose, I was drowsy. Whenever I was tired I started to breath slowly, until sometimes it felt like I had somehow ?forgotten? to breath and involuntarily took a deep breath in. The psychological component also played a part, since my incident of not being able to breath had left me with hard memories of such events. I was exceedingly susceptible to panic about such matters.
My drinking had by now gone way down. One day I had ?saved up? my ration by not drinking during the day. It didn?t really seem that hard, in fact it was very easy to hold off. Usually I would have at least a beer or bottle of wine in every room - beside the bed, on the table in the sitting room, even an emergency one in the bathroom. I was house bound at this stage, and knew that when the panic attack came it could happen anywhere, and it was going to hit hard and fast. It was safest to have something to hand at all times.
This day was different. I didn?t even bother laying out my daily ration. I never even thought about it. To my mind however, I had convinced myself that I had simply been holding off so that I could reward myself later on in the evening to get my buzz on good by drinking it in a shorter time period. Surely that was what was happening I told myself. So, evening came and I downed my ration of 4 liters of beer; more out of a mechanical ?this is what I do? mentality than actually needing it.
I never expected what would happen the next day. I woke up and had a (author censorship), whereas usually my thoughts would have centred around getting my first beer. There was absolutely no thought of alcohol. Again, I didn?t even think of putting out my ration. I sat down in front of the computer and started to do a bit of work, watched a film. Evening came and a thought of alcohol had literally not crossed my mind. At 12 at night I laughed out loud. I noticed that there had been an open, half drank can of beer beside the computer the whole time, and I had not noticed. It might as well of been a cup of tea.
I went to bed that night without thinking again about it. Thus began my first week without a drop of alcohol in about 6 years. In the last week it has been like a light switch has gone on in my brain. I left the apartment for the first time in months (aside from going to the doctors, which were usually made possible only by downing copious amounts of alcohol). I have been exactly like I was before this whole mess. Wait in a waiting room for the doctor. No problem. Wait in line at the supermarket. Fine. Have an argument with friends, where I actually defend myself. Bring it, ain?t no thang. My dad disowns me after hearing about my alcohol problems. Well, his loss. Fail in my custody battle for my daughter. I?ll arise to fight another day. No panic attacks though, and no rush to the bottle. I have gotten more done in the past week than I have in the previous 4 months.
I have no idea what the next few weeks or years have in store for me, and I shall surely report. However, what has happened in the last week has been such a huge reversal that I hope it warrants writing something now.
Being from Ireland, drinking was, in confirmation of the many clich?s, engrained in my culture. The pub was, and is albeit to a lesser extent, the nexus of social engagement. I began drinking at 12 and all of our weekend activities centred around how to get drink, and which park we could drink in without being disturbed by the police. I noticed though, later on at secondary level (high school) that I was the one continually missing school because of a weekday hangover. I had great stories to tell though. Contrary to the clich? however, there is a certain dichotomy to be observed if one looks under the hood of the car. One cannot really buy drink as easily as in other countries (notwithstanding the lower age constraint in the states), and the opening hours are considerably shorter. There was the open embellishment of a drinking story gone wrong, the hangover one had, and how excruciating work had been the next day. There was also the wink and a nudge though that ?You know, sure he has an awful drinking problem? when the person was up getting the next round of drinks.
Hence it was a shock for me to move to another country where things were slightly different. I could order beer to my doorstep till 3 in the morning, stay out all night and still get a drink, hell I could even get a beer at the cinema or at a stand in the street. It was completely normal fare to have a beer with your dinner, or on the train, without eliciting strange looks. This was something that really wasn?t done at home. This was compounded by inevitably consorting with my fellow expatriots, also taken by the novelty and freedom that this allowed.
Long story short, but the weekend binges became long weekend binges, became topping up during the weekdays in anticipation of the weekends. This of course led to a daily drinking habit. When my partner ran off with my daughter to another country, the final nail had been driven and I took to drinking heavily every day.
I had always suffered crippling panic attacks. They began at age 6, and came back in bouts every couple of years. My throat would close, my chest would feel like there was a horse standing on it. The world would become blurry and distant. My body would begin to shake uncontrollably. I took a sabbatical from work and raised my daughter pretty much on my own for her first two years. When she was gone from one day to the next, all that came to replace the void were the panic attacks. Crippling ones. There were, it seemed to me, two factors at play. There was the emotional stress, and the daily panic attacks, but there was also the small matter of timing when I stopped drinking and when I got my next one before minor withdrawal symptoms kicked in and made things worse. Since drinking during work was not an option, this spelled trouble when my consumption outstripped my ability to hide the whole gambit. I had to put my job in physics research at the university on hold.
The real blow came when the general panic had reached such a high level that I simply collapsed thinking that I was having a heart attack. I took a drag of my cigarette to try and calm down, and whatever happened it caused a bronchial spasm leading to me not being able to breath for about a minute and a half. When I woke up there were people around me saying that I should relax and that the ambulance was on its way. I was sure it was acute withdrawal, since I had purposely stopped drinking in advance of an important meeting. I was still shaking uncontrollably, so I pulled out my ?emergency? small bottle of vodka and downed it in one. I ran off before any emergency service could arrive. I knew what that would have meant, and I was simply not going to hospital. Even with vodka in me, I was still incoherent, unable to walk straight, shaking and sweating profusely. I got a taxi driver, who again wanted to bring me to hospital, and went home. There Is downed a bottle of wine in one go, now completely unable to think, starting to shake even harder. Once that hit me, I was calmed down, and was able to, although still in the midst of a drunken haze, think. There had to be a way out of this.
After this incident, and a couple of other similar ones in the next week where I tried to stop drinking and fell down in a supermarket or similar, I was completely unable to leave the apartment. Every time I did try, I would get as far as 10 meters outside before I started to feel like I was dying, and would certainly die unless I got back into the apartment. In the worst times I couldn?t even have a shower without freaking out.
It was then that, while searching for possible treatments, I came across an interesting article in the paper by a doctor who dealt specifically with addictions. For better or worse, the appealing aspect was that she seemed to be coming at the problem from a drink reduction stance rather than a a frankly obsolete cold turkey point of view. This piqued my curiousity. Doubly inveigling was that she didn?t seem to be trying to sell anything, she worked out of the hospital, and for free.
I made my appointment, but was still skeptical. I was sure there was a catch and that they would end up holding me against my will. It was irrational, but so were many other of my fears at this time. As was my wont, I was cautious and downed a bottle of wine in a minute before going there. When I got there, it was short and sweet. ?Here, take these pills, try to drink less, but if it doesn?t reduce, don?t despair. See you in a weeks time?. I was flabbergasted. What the hell was this meant to do ?
I did take them, and went back for the appointment. If it was so harmless, then why not ? Again, she asked me to make an entry in a sheet she had given me of how much I drank each day. I asked about the insurance, nope, they would not be taking an official note of my visits. Again, take these amount of pills each day, here?s your prescription, try to cut down, see you next week. This time she did make it clear that I had to take them, that it was dangerous to stop taking them.
A few weeks more with the same, as I viewed it, charade. In the meantime, I had of course done some research on what this baclofen was about, and was very committed. I started off on 30 mg, then we went up to 50 mg, then up to 100 mg, 125 mg, and 150 mg. These were divided in three doses, in the morning at 09:00, afternoon at 13:30, and where the daily dose wasn?t readily divisible by three, a larger dose in the evening at 20:30.
The side effects at 100 mg were quite hard for me. I was still drinking, a lot less, maybe 5-6 liters of beer per day, but still drinking. What I noticed first was marked tiredness. When I walked I was very wobbly. I often had double vision. No nausea though, and no headaches. I hadn?t been sleeping any more than 6 hours usually, but now that was down to maybe 3 hours if I was lucky. Due mainly to the fact that I mostly passed out from drinking every night, I had kind of forgotten what dreaming was like. Oh boy was I in for a rude awakening (pun intended). My dreams were bad ass mean, extremely vivid and very sinister. I often woke up in a dream, thinking I was awake, only to find out that some equally monstrous fate awaited me but not knowing that I was still dreaming. This had happened a hand full of times in my life, but it was happening with frightening regularity now.
I felt a lot of the time like was very stoned. However, it was not the pleasant kind of stoned, more like the times one has taken too much and is having a bad reaction ? just minus the nausea.
One other aspect, was a very nice one. My libido had gone through the roof and my inhibition had gone correspondingly down. I found myself aroused by the slightest thing, and without going into graphic detail, bedroom forays were taking a hell of a lot longer. It can?t have been the lack of alcohol, I was drinking less, but nothing out of the ordinary compared to previous attempts at reducing. Maybe it had nothing to do with the baclofen, I merely mention it to state that I didn?t have any of the side effects related to sexual dysfunction. Sex had now become some kind of prophylactic for warding off panic attacks. As for why it was *ahem* taking longer, my scientific bent makes me suspect that at least that aspect could possibly have something to do with the effect on the pleasure and reward centres in the brain. So much for wild propositions though. My girlfriend was very, very happy either way, and that is enough for me.
At 150 mg, as I talked about in another post, what was new was that I was now breathing very shallow. This was, and is but to a lesser extent horrible. Typically about 3-4 hours after taking my dose, I was drowsy. Whenever I was tired I started to breath slowly, until sometimes it felt like I had somehow ?forgotten? to breath and involuntarily took a deep breath in. The psychological component also played a part, since my incident of not being able to breath had left me with hard memories of such events. I was exceedingly susceptible to panic about such matters.
My drinking had by now gone way down. One day I had ?saved up? my ration by not drinking during the day. It didn?t really seem that hard, in fact it was very easy to hold off. Usually I would have at least a beer or bottle of wine in every room - beside the bed, on the table in the sitting room, even an emergency one in the bathroom. I was house bound at this stage, and knew that when the panic attack came it could happen anywhere, and it was going to hit hard and fast. It was safest to have something to hand at all times.
This day was different. I didn?t even bother laying out my daily ration. I never even thought about it. To my mind however, I had convinced myself that I had simply been holding off so that I could reward myself later on in the evening to get my buzz on good by drinking it in a shorter time period. Surely that was what was happening I told myself. So, evening came and I downed my ration of 4 liters of beer; more out of a mechanical ?this is what I do? mentality than actually needing it.
I never expected what would happen the next day. I woke up and had a (author censorship), whereas usually my thoughts would have centred around getting my first beer. There was absolutely no thought of alcohol. Again, I didn?t even think of putting out my ration. I sat down in front of the computer and started to do a bit of work, watched a film. Evening came and a thought of alcohol had literally not crossed my mind. At 12 at night I laughed out loud. I noticed that there had been an open, half drank can of beer beside the computer the whole time, and I had not noticed. It might as well of been a cup of tea.
I went to bed that night without thinking again about it. Thus began my first week without a drop of alcohol in about 6 years. In the last week it has been like a light switch has gone on in my brain. I left the apartment for the first time in months (aside from going to the doctors, which were usually made possible only by downing copious amounts of alcohol). I have been exactly like I was before this whole mess. Wait in a waiting room for the doctor. No problem. Wait in line at the supermarket. Fine. Have an argument with friends, where I actually defend myself. Bring it, ain?t no thang. My dad disowns me after hearing about my alcohol problems. Well, his loss. Fail in my custody battle for my daughter. I?ll arise to fight another day. No panic attacks though, and no rush to the bottle. I have gotten more done in the past week than I have in the previous 4 months.
I have no idea what the next few weeks or years have in store for me, and I shall surely report. However, what has happened in the last week has been such a huge reversal that I hope it warrants writing something now.
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