Psyched
with Candace Plattor, Addiction Specialist

I’ve seen Amy Winehouse perform on TV several times over the past few years – and I was always amazed at how much her voice reminded me of Janis Joplin’s.  I was a big Janis fan back in the day, and although Amy’s music wasn’t as resonant for me personally, I do know that for many, she was a ‘voice’ of her generation – and a musical inspiration to many other young soulful artists.

I’m greatly saddened by her death.

Very few among us could have any idea what it must have been like for a young, blue collar girl from north London to be suddenly faced with international fame; to have enormous wealth and a parasitic British tabloid press watching her every move, hungry for each stumble; to be scrutinized for her looks, weight, voice, career trajectory and personal relationships. We can’t know what it must have felt like, in one’s early 20’s, to win 5 Grammys in one star-studded night, including Best New Artist. Wins that would have had the corporate music industry relying on her as a profitable investment, who would keep churning out hits, touring the world and making prime time media appearances.

Perhaps this lends some context to the frustration I feel as I read more and more about Amy and what appeared to be her perpetually recalcitrant attitude about alcohol and drug use – so clearly, and now tragically, summed up in her anthemic hit Rehab.

She seemed to understand the potentially tragic pitfalls.  She must have watched, just like we all did, when other celebs like Heath Ledger, Kurt Cobain, and of course Michael Jackson, had their lives snuffed out by addiction. Yet in song she was taking the stance of the sad, troubled, yet defiant rebel – I don’t need or want your help.

My concern is, as we mourn Amy’s passing and listen to her music with renewed interest, that we don’t romanticize what she was going through – and the fatal decisions she made — that we don’t make saying ‘no, no, no’ to rehab the cool, badass ‘what would Amy do?’ thing to emulate. Outside her home, fans and mourners gathered to lay flowers – some leaving glasses of wine, bottles of spirits, and cigarettes, as is the practice on Jim Morrison’s grave in Paris. These are worrisome signs of a myth already forming – one with a troubling message.

To her credit, she did attend a 2-week treatment program in 2008 which, according to various entertainment news sources, “didn’t take”– largely because effective treatment for drug and alcohol addiction requires far longer than 2 weeks to be successful, in my professional opinion. Entering such a program may have been a bid in trying to get her family, friends, and record company off her back by showing her willingness to go for help.  She even spent some time at the famous private celebrity rehab facility The Priory in May of this year – even though she was urged to seek a longer government-provided treatment program, she chose a short assessment followed by ‘outpatient’ treatment at The Priory.

I’ve been a therapist treating clients with addictive behaviors for over 20 years – and my hunch is that Amy was fighting some pretty hefty demons that she didn’t think she could conquer. It has been said that recovery from addiction is an ‘inside job’, one that is not for the faint of heart. I wonder if Amy did not believe strongly enough in her own courage and resourcefulness. Rather than face her deep inner pain sober, she opted for the other choice: to say no to effective rehab.

When people with mental illness and addictions begin to spin out of control, family and friends discover how powerless they are to ‘make them change’. Even as we try to get them to see realistically what is happening to them – and how it is affecting those of us who love them — the only real hope is that they themselves will recognize the need for help and go for it. The reality is that many people struggling with addiction do choose to recover — and some don’t. For the ones who don’t, there isn’t much we can do for them. Unfortunately, some of them end up dying.

As a recovering addict myself – one who chose to get help many years ago – it’s challenging for me to understand people who make the decision to keep using, even to the point where it kills them. On the surface, Amy had it all – her life shone like the star she was. She had ‘made it’ – she was young and beautiful, had tons of talent, fans followed her all over the globe. In fact, one mourner keeping vigil outside her Camden home even compared the memory of her, in death, to that of John Lennon – even though Lennon’s death was not due to addiction. Nonetheless, being compared to John Lennon’s musical genius is incredible praise, if you ask me.

And so, along with a great many others, I feel very sad today about another young life snuffed out by something that could have been prevented. But I know all too well that recovery from any kind of addiction is a choice – a choice the young Amy Winehouse said ‘no’ to  - one time too many.

In addition to her musical legacy, it is my fervent hope that the message her untimely death leaves is less a romantic myth – and more a cautionary tale.

Amy – wishing you well in the next phase of your journey.

…and if Sgt. Pepper taught the band to play my tune today – it would be a victory march.

But it could have been a funeral march.

As I write this, it is the eve of my anniversary of sobriety – on July 18^th, I will have been clean and sober for 24 years.

Looking back on it, the time has flown by, even though in the early years it was sometimes difficult to not give up and give in to my addictions. If anyone had told me then that I’d be celebrating 24 years of sobriety from mind-altering substances today, I definitely would have thought they were crazy.

The gratitude I feel about my life today is immense. Everything is so different now than it was back then. I think the most amazing change is that I now truly like and respect myself – something that was fleeting, at best, before embarking on my rocky, stumbling and eventually rock-solid path to recovery.

In 1973, when I was in my early 20’s, I suddenly and unexpectedly became very ill, eventually being diagnosed with Crohn’s Disease – an extremely painful and debilitating inflammatory bowel illness much like the more well-known colitis. Because the doctors didn’t have a clue how to treat Crohn’s at that time, they did what they knew to do – prescribe drugs, lots of them. I was given as much Valium, codeine, and Demerol (the OxyContin of its day) as I requested, and for many years took them all faithfully just like the doctor ordered.

Unfortunately, not much was known about addiction at that time. In fact, the concept of drug addiction never came up in conversation with those doctors when I went in, time and time again, to get my prescriptions refilled. I think because they felt so powerless to help me, with their limited understanding of this disease that was virtually crippling my life, they just wanted to do what they could to get me out of their offices.

At least, that’s how it often felt to me.

So on and on it went – years of prescription drugs as well as the marijuana that I began using on a daily basis, to take away the emotional pain of having an illness that no one wanted to talk about. After all, diarrhea and constipation weren’t appropriate topics of conversation amongst the people I hung out with – that is, when I wasn’t hiding out in my apartment with the drapes closed and the phone unplugged, high as a kite, but falling fast.

By the Spring of 1987, I had been ingesting all of these substances for nearly 15 years — thoroughly addicted to them, as any human body would be after that much exposure.  I didn’t understand at that time that Valium, codeine, Demerol, and pot are all depressants in the human body – but what I was very aware of was that I was so emotionally depressed that I had become suicidal. Not that I truly wanted to die – I just knew I couldn’t go on the way I was living.

Even after all these years, I can clearly recall the day I began thinking in earnest about this. I was at work, not feeling well — as was often the case. As I was lying down on a couch in the break room, I realized I had more than enough pills to kill myself. And if I timed it right, no one would find me for several days. I suddenly discovered that I was actually creating a plan for how I could do it….

Sick and addicted though I was – this experience scared me enough to make the choice to reach out for help.  And I am so deeply grateful that there were caring and skillful people there to answer my calls.

For the past 24 years, I have been on my spiritual journey of recovery – from drugs, alcohol, and several other addictive behaviours I have used to hide from the difficult life I had led since childhood. And this journey has yielded the most amazing results, allowing me to now live a life I hadn’t even been able to dream of!

Today I am proud of myself. That wasn’t something I ever felt while in the state of active addiction. I have become a successful therapist in private practice here in Vancouver, helping others to understand and discover the triggering issues lying underneath the symptom of addiction – which is what addiction is, in my view – a symptom of deeper issues and pain that needs to be felt and explored, ideally with therapy and/or peer support. I now help other people to understand their self-sabotaging patterns so that they can lead the lives they truly want. I am a published author of a successful book that has helped countless people and families navigate the tough waters of addiction. Almost every day, I receive notes and e-mails from people telling me how much it has helped them get off the roller-coaster chaos of addiction, maintain their own serenity, and live their best lives.

After years of scrambling for my rent money, I live today in a lovely home in the West End of Vancouver near English Bay. I am blessed to have people in my life who love me, and who I am able to love back – which isn’t something I was able to have in my addiction.

And as a result of my intentional and holistic self-care, my Crohn’s Disease –supposedly an illness that cannot be cured — has been in remission with very minimal symptoms for over 15 years.

Who knew any of this could happen?

I ingested my last Valium and smoked my very last joint 24 years ago today. Little did I know how awesome this journey would be. It was the best decision I ever made.

Happy Birthday to me — Sgt. Pepper, strike up the band!

Today I received an extraordinary email from Ward Grant.

In case you missed seeing him interviewed on TV, Ward is the man who started Vancouver’s “Wall of Hope” – after feeling so angry and disheartened to see what was happening to our amazing city after the final Stanley Cup game, he was one of the first to take positive action.

The morning after ‘the night before’, Ward came downtown with a handmade poster he had created – a sign that told both the team he supported and the people of his beloved city how he felt. He arrived at what would become the Wall of Hope and put up his profoundly simple poster for the world to see, even before he knew how anyone else felt about what had happened. He needed to do this – it was a mission of love and healing for him, not to mention a gift to Vancouver.

In my eyes, his was an act of courage on so many levels, as being the first to speak out against injustice so often is. I understand, because at the same time he was hanging his sign that morning, I was writing my first blog post about that horrible night – and we were essentially saying the same thing.

I have never met Ward Grant in person, but tonight he sent me an email asking a favour of me — which I am about to fulfill here after asking his permission to do so.

I want to share his email with all of you:

“Dear Candace,

My name is Ward.  I watched in stunned disbelief as my city burned.  In the morning after, I decided I could not and would not accept what had happened.  I didn’t want the small group of %^#@@ to present this city to the world as the Kabul of the west coast.

I decided to paint a poster and went down early to hang it up on the Bay building.  I was hoping no one would notice, but as it turned out, someone did.

Ward Grant putting up his sign

Global news and the Georgia Straight were there, and when I was asked why I was doing what I was doing, I challenged everyone who were sickened by the violence to come down and show their support for the good people of this city and sign the boards.  I hoped maybe a couple might get signed.

At 3:30 pm that afternoon, I wandered down to see how things were going.  I was stunned.  All the boards, all the way around the store were being signed.  I sat on a bench across the street on Granville and tears streamed down my face…really grateful for sunglasses right then!

Please thank the citizens of Vancouver and the Lower Mainland for me.  Thank those who took the time to sign a piece of plywood; who chose to stand with me in support of the good people who live here; who chose to stand with me in defiance of those who would choose to be less than they can be.  Perhaps all of us standing together can show them that to aspire to be better than we are fosters life and growth and friendship and peace and love and all those ideals that somehow are getting lost in the rush to be in a hurry.

Thank you.

Sincerely in Service,

Ward Grant”

Thank you, Ward, for being so brave and so honest, for being the role model we all needed right then and there. Thank you for entrusting me with your request – I am honoured to fulfill it.

Thank you for showing your love to Vancouver and for being one of our healers – you will not be forgotten.

Friday morning I felt witness to an amazing event. In the wake of the sick-making, heart-breaking riots here in our city of Vancouver after the final Stanley Cup hockey game, grateful citizens gathered in an impromptu fashion to give their thanks to the police officers – the men and women who, in a tremendously difficult and dangerous situation, had done their best that night to protect and serve.

While running an errand this morning, I happened to be around the corner from the Vancouver Police Department headquarters at 2nd and Cambie.

As I checked emails on my iPhone, I read one from a friend telling me about what she had heard on the news – that a growing tribute had spontaneously sprung up in front of the VPD – in a most unusual way.

I was glad to hear that we Vancouverites were letting our police force know how much we appreciated their hard work on Wednesday night and, being so close by, I went over to see what was happening.

I was greeted by the most extraordinary sight – a Vancouver police car, the same as the ones that were set ablaze two nights ago – completely decked out with stickie notes of all shapes, sizes, and colours. Each stickie had a handwritten message from grateful citizens – thanking them, encouraging them, validating them for their courage – in the most heartfelt of ways. I quickly wrote my simple message and stuck it on the car where I could find a space: “Please don’t take on the shame of that night, it isn’t yours. Thank you for all you did, and for all you do.”

I then noticed a man dressed in shorts and a t-shirt standing at the rear of the car. He looked a bit dazed and I wondered if he was okay. The Global TV reporter standing nearby told me that he was one of the officers who had been downtown that night – and I knew I wanted to say something to him. I repeated to him what I’d written on my stickie about not taking on anyone else’s shame – and his response almost made me cry when he very quietly said: “That’s such a hard thing to remember.”

We talked a bit more and then he took both of my hands in his and said, “Thank you so much – all of this means more to us than you could know.”

The truth is that nobody’s perfect. Not you - not I – not even our police officers. They make mistakes sometimes, big and small. But, in general, I think they do their very best to protect us and to keep Vancouver the relatively safe big city it is — and I appreciate that.

And on Wednesday night, they worked very hard to show that to us – the hundreds of brave women and men in the Vancouver police force.

I was so happy I had stopped by and given just a few minutes of my time, to have the opportunity to give my thanks for a job well done to an officer who is used to criticism and had just come off a night of hell — where, as the media reports are telling us, cops were being physically attacked, injured, and were being called every kind of inciting name we can only imagine — and, because in many cases they couldn’t tell the thugs from the bystanders, they just kept repeating the same mantra hundreds of times to the countless drunks, hooligans and yahoos on our downtown streets:  ”Just Go Home.”

I’m so glad we are taking the time to give our collective thanks to the women and the men of the Vancouver Police Department.

Because along with the good folks of Vancouver who took brushes, mops, and broom to clean up someone else’s mess the next morning, we have reason to give gratitude to those officers — and to the prevailing good spirit that is the heart of this beautiful city — my home.

That is what the real Vancouver is made of.

This August will mark 30 years since I intentionally and consciously made Vancouver my home. Throughout these years, I have always been very happy about that decision – until the hockey game was over last night.

Along with the rest of the world – at least those of us who weren’t downtown and actively participating — I watched with horror and grief while insanity gripped the city I love. A small group of jerks who clearly have no clue about how to have their grievances heard in any kind of self-respectful way took it upon themselves to simply destroy Vancouver. According to our mayor and others in the know last night, this group planned these riots, obviously thinking they had every right to perpetrate this kind of destruction. This is so difficult for most of us to fathom.

Adding insult to terrible injury were the thousands of idiots who remained in the downtown core last night to witness the havoc inflicted by this group of angry and malicious yahoos. What could they have been thinking? Were they so drunk and stoned 3 hours after the game was over that they still thought this was fun?

Let’s face it – the combination of alcohol, drugs, testosterone, and sheer stupidity have caused some terrible damage, both physically and emotionally, for the city of Vancouver.

But – while the whole world is watching and judging us, shaking its collective head and thinking to itself “Tsk, tsk, tsk, it’s just a game” – I, for one, refuse to take on the shame of this horrible situation. I did not cause this. I did not plan this, I did not participate in this.

I did not want this to happen. I see nothing funny or interesting or rewarding about this and, rather than being held psychically hostage by the few thousands who chose to act out in such a heinous way last night, I choose to continue to be a proud Vancouverite who loves her city.

I take no ownership whatsoever for the actions of this mob. As angry as I feel, I refuse to take on any of the shame and blame that rest so squarely on the shoulders of those involved. I will not allow them to represent me.

I feel terribly sad and I grieve for the loss of our positive presence in the world this morning. But as a resident of what continues to be one of the most amazing places on earth, I choose not to be defined by what happened last night. I will not feel ashamed about something I had no part in. The shame belongs to those who were the perpetrators and the onlookers.  Let’s leave it with them and hope that one day soon they will be caught and held accountable for their inexplicable transgressions.

Please join me in continuing to love Vancouver – let’s hold our heads high in the face of worldwide shock and potential ridicule and know that the weight of this does not belong to those of us who did not participate.