(Trigger warning: This article discusses sensitive topics such as drug and alcohol abuse, suicide, and violence. These issues may be distressing for some readers.)
Photo Credit: Reid Rolls
Nobody ever really knows what is going on in a person’s head. If you have a broken leg, it’s obvious you’re hurt. But if you are suffering from poor mental health, even though everything looks good on the outside, you could be in hell. For example, I am a survivor of abuse, both physical and psychological. I write this not as a pitch for sympathy—it is simply my truth, and I share it for two reasons: Forgiveness is freedom, and my trauma doesn’t change what I am about to say.
My name is Adam and I am a recovering alcoholic.
I am also a drug addict, but to me, they are the same. Alcoholism is a threefold disease: mental obsession, physical allergy, and spiritual malady. The mental obsession sounds something like, “Is 10 a.m. too early to start drinking? Is an ounce of weed enough to get me through the week? Is doing cocaine on an airplane a good idea?” The physical allergy is the craving—once I start, it’s hard to stop. When normal people throw up, they go home. When I throw up, I think I just made room for more. The spiritual malady is the voice in my head telling me no one likes me, I am a failure, everything is a waste of time, and nothing matters.
So, how did cheese help save my life? At 30, I had successfully burned down a career on the internet and thought a rap career was a good idea. At 32, I was lost, rudderless, and broke. Then, I landed a job as a cheesemonger, and for the first time in a decade, I found passion and purpose. The romantic stories, poetic descriptors, and fascinating people were deeply inspiring. When my father asked me if I wanted to buy his cheese imports and logistics business, I jumped at the opportunity, and for many years it was amazing. We traveled the world, launching new businesses, and all the while I could drink and drug with impunity. But in 2018, it all came crashing down. My father is bipolar and stopped taking his meds, which almost destroyed everything we had built. Since resentments are my Achilles heel, this took my addiction to staggering new heights. On January 4, 2019, I had a complete psychotic break. I believed I murdered someone and told my wife she had five minutes to pack up the kids and the dog—we were going on the run. Turns out, I had THC toxicity and couldn’t tell the difference between my thoughts and reality. This psychotic break lasted for two weeks and culminated with a voice in my head telling me I let everyone down and should just kill myself.
Lovingly referred to as “Mr. Moo,” Moskowitz founded the Cheesemonger Invitational in 2010. Photo credit
Christine Hyatt
Adam’s father Joe Moskowitz (left) and grandfather Ben Moskowitz (right).
Meanwhile, my wife was in triage. Her parents moved in with us to keep me under constant supervision. She found an incredible psychiatrist and even took me to my first 12-Step meeting. In the beginning I wanted no part of it, thinking it was going to be like what I saw on TV. I soon learned that the recovery community is like a retirement home for really fun people. For the sake of my wife and our kids,
I was willing to go to great lengths to heal. This includes therapy, psych meds, Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation, a proper diet, exercise, and a 12-Step recovery program. These 12 simple steps have become the path I hope to walk for the rest of my life.
As I sobered up, I had to face the destruction in my life. My mind, body, and business were almost bankrupt. But despite this, the cheese industry showed up for me. My partners and friends helped me put my life back together. Creditors extended terms. Staff picked up my slack. Colleagues created a social bubble around me. So many people in our industry cared for me in ways I will forever be grateful for. I will never forget how I felt seeing cardboard cutouts of me at the 2019 San Francisco Cheesemonger Invitational (CMI), the deep appreciation for friends who made that CMI happen, and the relief that I didn’t take my life.
In active addiction, I had two modes: anger and excitement. In sobriety, I have a full range of feelings and need a suite of emotional tools to help me navigate them so that my feelings do not become inescapable bad moods. Am I cured? No. Apparently, I don’t need drinks and drugs to say and do stupid s***. But every day I remain committed to an actionable program that helps me be the best version of me. As of writing this, I am 2,190 days without a drug or a drink. But I eat a ton of cheese. And if you are struggling with mental health or addiction, please reach out to me. The cheese community helped me, and I will help you.
This is dedicated to the people I have hurt with my actions. I am sorry.
