Even though alcohol, other drugs, and/or behavior may have been causing us misery and chaos for a very long time, for most of us their mood-altering effects were just about the only reliable things our lives. When we first get clean and sober, we find that the missing drugs and their rituals leave a big empty place. The emotion, time and effort we put into maintaining our addiction is no longer part of our lives, and most of us have trouble dealing with the loss, and with filling up the time and handling the emotions that were formerly suppressed by our acting out. We are, in a very real sense, grieving the loss of a friend that was in many ways closer to us than any human could be.

It’s probably incomprehensible to non-addicts (or those who don’t recognize their own addictions) that the addict in their life misses the substance that brought him to his knees and destroyed so much in the lives around him. It’s even difficult for the newly recovering person to understand why, and as a result, those feelings of grief and loss can become a closely-held secret — a shameful thing to hide and carry.

However, there’s nothing abnormal or shameful about our feelings of loss. The substance or substances at first provided a celebration on demand. They often provided reliable relief from the pain of emotions that were becoming ever more unmanageable. When they are gone, it’s perfectly natural that we have trouble filling up the voids in our lives. That is especially true because our previous problems with relationships, jobs, the law and so forth may have temporarily eliminated many of the emotional and interpersonal resources that are meant fill those terrifying empty places in our gut.

When we act out — whether with pills, alcohol, heroin, gambling, sex, codependency, or one of the many other sorts of addiction — rituals build around our using. They may involve a particular person, a martini sparkling in a dimly-lit room, the soft rattle of pills in a bottle, or something as gritty as waiting for the dope man in a garbage-filled alley or cruising for hookers. Over time, they become progressively more specific and detailed. Human beings are creatures of habit, wired to respond to the familiar. One of the main reasons for having an organized program of recovery is to assist us in developing new ways of thinking and living, because it’s true: “If you keep on doing what you used to do, you’ll keep on getting what you used to get.” Still, as part of the process, we all grieved the loss of the magic we once believed in, as surely as if it had died.

Grief runs its course in predictable stages. The order may vary, but most of us experience them all to one degree or another. This discussion is only a general outline, and grief does not follow a rigid pattern. We may get stuck in a stage, skip a stage, move back and forth between stages or proceed in textbook manner. It only matters that we recognize and respect our emotions, because grieving is what heals us. It is critically necessary is that we allow the process to occur. Being “brave” is just denying our feelings, and unresolved grief will always come back to haunt us.

The first stage of grief is denial. We need the safety of denial when we are initially faced with a loss. It is the emotion-numbing “No!” that protects us from the shock and fear of reality. This reaction applies to an addict’s pain and apprehension around the thought of losing the “right” to use their drug, just as it does for someone on hearing of the death of a loved one.

As our minds process and adjust, we will most likely move into the second stage of grief, anger — a stage that addicts and their families may know very well. Something precious to us is being threatened, and of course we react. We may be angry at anyone or anything we perceive as part of the threat to our drinking, using or acting out. We may even be angry at ourselves. This, too, is normal. It will pass with time.

Stage three is typified by bargaining. This is when we decide to use Xanax instead of alcohol in an effort to achieve control of ourselves, or just to go with straight heroin and skip the cocaine. We may swear that we will only drink at home, and never again drink and drive. (Those DUI’s are such a hassle!) This is a dangerous stage, because these kinds of thinking can dangerously prolong our active addiction.

Eventually, when bargaining doesn’t work, we come face to face with the reality of our loss of control and despair sets in. This is stage four. We feel sad and depressed. Life seems bleak; fun seems a thing of the past. This is where willingness and an open mind will help us move forward into stage five.

We hear about the experiences of others. Why are they laughing? Someone mentions hope, another speaks of acceptance. When they talk about it, they make some sense. They speak of peace, and happiness. One day we realize that we are in stage five, acceptance. We accept where we are today: clean and sober, and somehow feeling good! Life is not only becoming manageable, but enjoyable as well.

A friend of mine says that the sixth stage of grief is laughter. I agree.