How Many Calories in Your Daily Alcohol?

Booze as food.

Everywhere we turn, the news is packed with stories about the nation’s obesity epidemic. But one little-discussed fact about our daily calorie count is that Americans consume an average of 100 calories each day from alcohol, according to new numbers from the U.S. National Center for Health Statistics (NCHS).

The center, which is part of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, said that on a daily basis, about 33 % of men and 18% of women consume alcohol calories daily. Men, who drink more than women, account for 150 daily calories, on average. Women consume a little over 50 calories in the form of alcohol, or roughly half a glass of wine. Predictably, the hardest-drinking cohort was men aged 20-39, who accounted for about 175 calories on daily average.

That may not sound like much—and it is generally within the normal moderation guidelines of one drink per day for women and two drinks for men. However, among members of the study group, about one in five men, and 6% of the women, consumed more than 300 alcohol calories daily—three drinks or more. Considering that the average daily per capita calorie consumption was about 2,500 calories in 2008, according to USDA estimates, this category of drinker can easily end up downing 15% or more of the daily caloric intake in the form of alcohol. The report notes that government dietary guidelines for “solid fats and added sugars”—the  broad category into which alcohol falls—should represent “no more than 5%-15% of calories,” no matter what the overall level of calorie intake.

“A lot of people don’t think about the calories in the alcoholic beverages,” Cynthia Ogden, one of the researchers, told USA Today. “It’s not a diet soda.” Even a shooter of hard liquor, hold the mixer, will run 50-90 calories.  A 12-oz Coke and a 12-oz beer both contain about 150 calories. “We’ve been focusing on sugar-sweetened beverages. This is something new,” said Ogden in an AP article, prompting the unnamed AP writer to ask: “Should New York officials now start cracking down on tall-boy beers and monster margaritas?”

But the Distilled Spirits Council, the lobbying group for hard liquor, saw the silver lining in the research: “The overwhelming majority of adults drink moderately.”

Nonetheless, nutrition policy director Margo Wootan of the Center for Science in the Public Interest told AP she was disappointed that the Obama administration plans to exempt alcoholic drinks from upcoming federal rules mandating calorie labeling on restaurant menus. Customers will be able to see the number of calories in a flavored ice tea drink, but not the calorie count for a Long Island Iced Tea, with easily four times as many calories.

The NCHS Data Brief also found that “no significant differences were observed in average calories per day from alcoholic beverages consumed by non-Hispanic white, non-Hispanic black, and Hispanic persons.” In addition, those in the highest income category drank more than those whose income was at or below the poverty line. Men preferred beer, and women preferred wine.

The study was based on data from the National Health and Nutrition Examination Survey for 2007-2010. Researchers collected data through in-home interviews and at a mobile examination center. The researchers oversampled population subgroups to obtain reliable estimates of nutritional measures in those cohorts.

Graphics Credit: http://www.mslimalicious.com/

NIH Director Calls Off NIDA-NIAAA Merger

Nation’s addiction research institutes to remain separate but unequal.

Two years ago, the National Institutes of Health’s Scientific Management Review Board (SMRB) issued a report recommending that NIH move to establish a new institute focused on substance use, abuse, and addiction-related research to optimize NIH research in these areas. The idea was to combine the two existing addiction research agencies: the National Institute on Drug Abuse (NIDA) and the National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism (NIAAA). Skeptics like myself wondered if it would ever happen.And now we have our answer—no, it’s not going to happen. (NIH'S Collins)-->

Score one for the alcohol researchers, who mostly opposed the merger from the start, viewing it as more of a hostile takeover. NIAAA has always been the weaker sister in the addiction research family. With only half of NIDA’s billion-dollar budget, NIAAA deals strictly with alcohol research, even if the NIAAA has at times seemed unsure of what constitutes its main area of study—alcohol the addictive drug, or alcohol the healthy beverage. The merger would have represented a recognition that alcohol is just another drug, albeit a legal one.

It was an obvious thing to do. Former NIH director Harold Varmus had complained that the sprawl was hobbling NIH’s ability to “respond to new science.”

However, in a Science (sub req) interview that year,  Francis Collins, the current director of the NIH, said: “I guess most people would have said, ‘Well yeah, of course.’ But when you look at the details…. and you consider that alcohol is after all a legal substance and 90% of us at some point in our lives are comfortable with taking it in while the drug abuse institute is largely focused on drugs that are not legal. So there's a personality of the institute issue here that people thought might be important to preserve, others thought would be good not to preserve.”

It did not take long for the fraternity of alcohol researchers to view the potential move with alarm. Acting NIAAA director Dr. Kenneth Warren offered up what has come to be seen as the basic counter-argument: “The best way forward is a structure that increases collaboration all across NIH… nothing is gained by structural merger.” Warren said he favored “a separate, but equal” pair of agencies. “Alcoholism is a much broader issue than simply addiction.” 

Here is where it starts to get tricky. The assertion that alcoholism is not simply an addiction distills the disagreement down to its essence, which can be found not so much within the arena of science as within the arenas of morality, ethics, and the law.

On Friday, the traditional time for troubling news announcements in the media world, the NIH released its statement  from Director Collins: “After rigorous review and extensive consultation with stakeholders, I have concluded that it is more appropriate for NIH to pursue functional integration, rather than major structural reorganization, to advance substance use, abuse, and addiction-related research.”

Collins added: “The time, energy, and resources required for a major structural reorganization are not warranted, especially given that functional integration promises to achieve equivalent scientific and public health objectives.”

 But the smooth and cost-effective advance of addiction science may have met a stumbling block in the director’s refusal to do the obvious, and streamline the crucial research on drugs and addiction performed by the nation’s premier medical research agency, the NIH. As one observer commented,  there are rumors that “the alcohol beverage industry is lobbying Kentucky politicians, including U.S. Rep. Hal Rogers, chairman of the House Appropriations Committee, to keep the institutes separate because it doesn’t want alcohol to be associated with cocaine.”

Short Subjects

Brief news on drugs and addiction.

The editorial staff at Addiction Inbox (see photo), occasionally finds itself overwhelmed with news and opinion worth broadcasting. Hence, this bullet list of drug/alcohol related news from recent weeks:

•    Children with heavy alcohol exposure show decreased brain plasticity, according to recent research on fetal alcohol spectrum disorders (FAS) using magnetic resonance imaging (MRI) scans. The research, supported by the National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism (NIAAA), included 70 children heavily exposed to alcohol in utero. According to NIAAA, the children showed “lost cortical volume,” described in the study as a pattern of static growth “most evident in the rear portions of the brain—particularly the parietal cortex, which is thought to be involved in selective attention and producing planned movement.”

•    Combining medications for a better outcome is a staple of medical practice. So it’s not surprising to see the same thing being investigated in addiction treatment. Scientists evaluating medications for alcoholism have found that in some cases, mixing the medicine gives better outcomes. In two separate trials, naltrexone proved to be a more effective treatment for alcoholism when combined with either acamprosate (reported in Addiction), or baclofen (as detailed by Dr Mark Gold at the recent meeting of the Society for Neuroscience). In the Addiction study, the authors concluded that “acamprosate has been found to be slightly more efficacious in promoting abstinence and naltrexone slightly more efficacious in reducing heavy drinking and craving,” which suggests the possibility of using different drugs at different stages of recovery for maximum benefit. In preliminary work on baclofen, some researchers now claim that combining it with naltrexone often leads to better outcomes.

•    Every year at about this time, the rumors start flying: Did you hear that Amsterdam is closing its marijuana coffee shops? This breathless annual announcement is never true, and this year, despite all the fuss over “weed passes” and border skirmishes over drug traffic in the south of the Netherlands, Amsterdam’s mayor recently announced that he has no attention of closing the roughly 200 cannabis shops in his city by year’s end, as originally mandated by the now-defunct conservative government. In addition, rumors are flying that the incoming cabinet of Prime Minister Mark Rutte is already backing away from the previous government’s position on banning foreigners from the shops, according to a New York Times report. “Changes to the new policy have not been finalized,” according to a spokesperson for the Dutch Justice Ministry, quoted in the Times. Rutte himself has hinted that the ban may remain intact, but that local councils may be allowed to override that decision—an outcome not untypical of Dutch politics. “I’m guessing that behind the curtains, it’s already been arranged,” said Michael Veling of the Dutch Cannabis Retailers Association.

•    Here’s a finding you can easily test for yourself. Conduct a conversation with a heavily intoxicated chronic drinker. Introduce ironic, “wink-wink” comments into the exchange. Really lay on the irony. And then sit back and watch most of it sail right by your drunk and maddeningly literal companion. And now science is attempting to confirm it: A modest recent study in Alcoholism: Clinical and Experimental Research says that “drinking too much alcohol can interfere with men’s feelings of empathy and understanding of irony.” 22 men in an alcoholic treatment program read a series of stories ending with either an ironic comment or a straightforward one. Chronic heavy drinkers identified ironic sentences 63 % of the time, compared to a group of non-alcoholics, who identified 90 % of the ironic comments. Lead researcher Simona Amenta said in a press release that the results may mean that alcoholics “tend to underestimate negative emotions; it also suggests that the same situation might be read in a totally different way by an alcoholic individual and another person.” Ya think?

Photo Credit: http://www.globaljournalist.org/

Looking For the Science Behind the Twelve Steps

Transcendence, or nonsense?

What is it with the Twelve Steps? How, in the age of neuromedicine, do we account for the enduring concept of spiritual awakening available through “working the steps?” In Hijacking the Brain, Dr. Louis Teresi, former chief of neuroradiology at Long Beach Memorial Medical Center, along with Dr. Harry Haroutunian of the Betty Ford Center, sets themselves a formidable goal: “The sole intention of Hijacking the Brain is to connect the dots between an ‘organic brain disease’ and a ‘spiritual solution’ with sound physical, scientific evidence.” (For those who have grown weary of the overuse of “hijacked” brains in science writing, Teresi notes that an earlier term for the same idea was “commandeered.”)

Twelve Step programs remain popular, work for some addicts, and have their very vocal advocates in the recovery community. Outsiders are sometimes surprised to learn, writes Keith Humphreys, research scientist with the Veterans Health Administration and a professor at Stanford, that many of the people most profoundly and successfully affected by the 12-Step Program had “little or no interest in spirituality.”

The primary manifestation of this is the Twelve-Step Facilitation model (TSF), or Minnesota model, in honor of the Hazelden treatment facility in that state. Put simply, how do we go about explaining, in scientific terms, how a program like AA can have direct effects on a disease of the brain?

According to one strongly held view, we can’t. If there is something spiritual about recovery, it’s not anything that a medical doctor, who should have oversight of drug recovery and treatment programs, ought to be directly concerned with. Since the Twelve Step principles are explicitly spiritual in nature, how they apply to an organic brain disease is not at all clear. If you have cancer, your oncologists first line of thought is not usually, “why don’t you join a self-help group?” Writing for The Fix, health journalist Maia Szalavitz notes that “for no other medical disorder is meeting and praying considered reimbursable treatment: if a doctor recommended these religious or spiritual practices for the primary treatment of cancer or depression, you would be able to sue successfully for malpractice.” 

At an immediate level, the “power of the group,” which AA and other Twelve-Step Programs seems to tap into isn’t so hard to understand. Here are some of the obvious advantages of group work, as Teresi sees it:

--A reduction in the sense of isolation addicts feel.
--Useful information for addicts who are new to the processes of recovery.
--A way for people to see how others have dealt with similar problems.
--Additional structure and discipline for people whose living situations are often chaotic.

Teresi follows a common methodology, splitting the question into three dimensions: physical (an “allergy of the body driven by exaggerated limbic activity), mental (cognitive obsessions and compulsive drug use), and spiritual (an existential dilemma; a malady of the “soul”.) But the “spiritual awakening” that relieves this feeling and allows the addict to enter sobriety remains maddeningly ineffable: “The personality change sufficient to bring about recovery from alcoholism (addiction) has manifested itself among us in many different forms,” the Big Book cryptically affirms.

What makes it click for many addicts is what Teresi terms “empathic socialization,” defined as follows: “Positive socializing experiences received in support and therapeutic groups, such as praise, affection and empathic understanding, activate the brain’s reward centers as much as other natural rewards and similar to addictive substances. More importantly, belonging to an empathetic group reduces stress, a predominant cause and catalyst of addiction.”

Most people have only a hazy idea about what the Twelve Steps entail—something about admitting powerlessness over drugs, making amends for past wrongs, invoking a vague power higher than oneself. And the payoff? The reward for all the strenuous self-searching and personal honesty?

As Teresi sums it up: “inner peace, freedom, happiness, intuition, and alleviation of fear.” A heady package, indeed. All in return for achieving an emotional state called gratitude. Where are we to find the science in these claims?

Even though he doesn't solve the mystery, Dr. Teresi does offer  thoughts on some of the mechanisms in question, one of which is commonly referred to as an “attitude of gratitude” among Twelve-Step practitioners. “Gratitude for blessings received,” as it says the Big Book, is biochemically effective, Teresi argues. “In this regard,” Teresi writes, “grateful people show less negative coping strategies; that is, they are less likely to try to avoid the problem, deny there is a problem, blame themselves, or use mood-altering substances. Those with gratitude express more satisfaction with their lives and social relationships.”

And stress is where Dr. Teresi focuses his argument. More precisely, the working of the steps in Alcoholics Anonymous and kindred organizations involves “letting go” of high-stress states such as fear, guilt, self-loathing, and resentment. In Teresi’s thinking, the “power of the group” resides in its ability to reduce stress responses—and to raise levels of the “tend-and befriend” hormone, oxytocin. Oxytocin interacts with dopamine to increase maternal care, social attachments, and other affiliative behaviors and emotions. Thus, social rewards stir up a fair share of dopamine in reward centers of the brain, too. When alcoholics admit to powerlessness over alcohol, they are moving from a state of high autonomic nervous system tone to a more relaxed, “thank goodness that burden has been dropped” modality. This admission, when made as a conscious cognitive choice, and internalized through repetition and group motivation, lowers blood pressure and stress hormone levels, creating a more relaxed metabolic tone.

That is, in any event, how Teresi sees it. By confronting stress in this fashion, he believes that people with addictions can draw strength from group experience, even in the absence of personal religious belief.

Measures of Twelve-Step success will never be as precise as people would like. Not only does the national organization of AA generally avoid engaging in follow-ups, but the structure, or lack of it, works against precision measurements as well. As Teresi writes, “Anyone can start a Twelve-Step group by contacting the general service counsel of the organization of their interest, finding a meeting place (sometimes a person’s home) and adopting a readily available meeting protocol.” In fully monetized form, the Twelve Steps become Hazelden, or the Betty Ford Center. In supercharged upper income mode, it’s Passages and Promises. There is more going on here than simply a call to the pre-existing church-going addict. “AA,” says Keith Humphreys,  “is thus much more broad in its appeal than is commonly recognized.”

Teresi’s stated goal of connecting the dots isn’t an easy one. AA Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions states unambiguously that the steps are “a group of principles, spiritual in their nature, which, if practiced as a way of life, can expel the obsession to drink and enable the sufferer to become happily and usefully whole.” In another passage, the Big Book refers to this as a personality change “sufficient to bring about recovery from alcoholism (addiction).” The explanations and definitions are maddeningly circular—unless you happen to be one of the people for whom the obsession to drink has been expelled through this practices.

Teresi believes it is possible to explore this terrain in a “belief neutral” manner, “with findings applicable to those who believe in a single God, multiple gods, or no God at all." Spiritual practices, Teresi believes, promote recovery in three ways. Meditation and some forms of prayer reduce stress levels. Techniques that lower stress have also been shown to stimulate limbic reward centers, “modulating emotion while strengthening attention and memory.” Finally, “spiritual practices, through improving morals and interpersonal behavior, foster closeness and a sense of community with one’s fellows and satisfy our instinctual need for social connection, also reducing stress.”

The Encultured Brain: A Book Review

How biology and culture jointly define us.

Anyone who follows academia knows that the broad category of courses known as the Liberal Arts has been going through major changes for some time now. In a sort of collegiate scrum to prove relevance and fund-worthiness, disciplines like sociology, anthropology, human ecology, cultural psychology, and even English, have been subjected to a winnowing process. The clear winner seems to anthropology, which has expanded its own field by connecting with modern findings in neuroscience while simultaneously swallowing up what was left of sociology.

It makes sense. Take addiction for an example. Anthropology is a natural and accessible discipline within which to connect the two often-conflicting facets of addiction—its fundamental neuroarchitecture, and the socioenvironmental influences that shape this basic biological endowment. In The Encultured Brain, published this year by MIT Press, co-editors Daniel H. Lende and Greg Downey call for a merger of anthropology and brain science, offering ten case histories of how that might be accomplished. The case histories are lively, ranging from the somatics of Taijutsu martial arts in Japan, to the presence of humor among breast cancer survivors. These attempts to combine laboratory research with anthropological fieldwork are important early efforts at a new combinatory science—one of the hot new “neuros” that just might make it.

I have corresponded with Daniel Lende, one of the book’s co-editors, and I am happy to disclose a mention in the book’s acknowledgements as one of the many people who formed a “rolling cloud of online discussion” with respect to neuroscience and the new anthropology. I am pleased to see that the thoughts of Lende and Downey and others on the emerging science of neuroanthropology are now available as a textbook.

The term “neuroanthropology” was evidently coined by Stephen Jay Gould. A number of prominent thinkers have dipped into this arena over the years: Melvin Konner, Sarah Hrdy, Norman Cousins, Robert Sapolsky, and Antonio Damasio, to name a random few, but the term didn’t seem to get a foothold of note until Lende and Downey began their Neuroanthropology blog, now at PLOS blogs.

The term has the advantage of meaning exactly what it says: an engagement between social science and neuroscience. Lende and Downey look ahead to a time when field-ready equipment will measure nutritional intake, cortisol levels, prenatal conditions, and brain development in the field. As such, neuroanthropology fits somewhere in the vicinity of evolutionary biology and cultural psychology. As a potential new synthesis, it is brilliant and challenging, representing an integrative approach to that ancient problem—how our genetic endowment is influenced by our cultural endowment, or vice versa, if you prefer.

 Lende is no functionalist when it comes to the neuroscience he wants to see incorporated in anthropology. His approach calls for applying a critical eye to any and all strictly brain-based explanations that ignore both environmental influence and biochemical individuality. The possibility that anthropologists may be incorporating neuroimaging technology into their working tool kit is a heady notion indeed. Anthropology may be a “soft” science, but it has always been about the study of “brains in the wild.”

Here, from the introductory chapter, is the short definition of neuroanthropology by Lende and Downey: “Forms of enculturation, social norms, training regimens, ritual, language, and patterns of experience shape how our brains work and are structured…. Without material change in the brain, learning, memory, maturation, and even trauma could not happen…. Through systematic change in the nervous system, the human body learns to orchestrate itself. Cultural concepts and meanings become neurological anatomy.” From the point of view of actual study, there is no choice but to join these two when possible—a task make more difficult by the rampant “biophilia” found among anthropologists and sociologists, as well as the countering notion among biologists that anthropology does not make the cut as a “real” science.

We have come a long way from the simplified view of the brain as some sort of solid-state computer, or, alternatively, a lump of custard waiting to be endowed with functionality by selective pressures from “outside.” We know by now that neural resources are frequently reallocated; that “physiological processes from scaling to connectivity shape what brains can do and why.”  We need to stop viewing culture as “merely information that is transmitted over evolutionary time and recognize that enculturation is, equally, the ways that our interaction with each other shapes our biological endowment, and has been doing so for a very long time,” Lende writes.

At bottom, says Lende, it is a simple notion: “Biology and culture jointly define us.” For example, Lende points to the way tool use affects cortical organization. Monkeys trained to use rakes to fetch food “evidence increasing cortex dedicated to visual-tactile neurons.” Lende wants us to incorporate neuroscience into the broader study of man. He writes that “the activation of neural reward centers, such as the mesolimbic dopaminergic system, is inherently bound up in sociocultural contexts, social interactions, and personal meaning-making.”

As an example, Lende contributes a chapter on “Addiction and Neuroanthropology,” in which he describes research he conducted on drug abuse among young people during a decade he spent in Colombia. Lende found that the addictive spiral “was not merely a neurological transformation, but a shift in habits, clothing, friends, hangouts, and other external factors that re-cued drug seeking behavior, drove addicts to take drugs, even when the young people sought to stay clean. Addiction is not simply in the brain, but in the way that the addict’s brain and world support each other.” And now, he writes, “This combination of neuroscience and ethnography revealed that addiction is a problem of involvement, not just of pleasure or of self. That decade showed me that addiction is profoundly neuroanthropological.”

In other words, tolerance and withdrawal aren’t enough. It is fiendishly complex: “The parts of the brain where addiction happens are not single, isolated circuits—rather, these areas handle emotion, memory, and choice, and are complexly interwoven to manage the inherent difficulty of being a social self in a dynamic world.”

Trying to pick apart the relative influences of nature and nurture comes to look, ultimately, like a fool’s game, “because changes in behavior exposed users to situations in which specific neurophysiological effects were cued with greater frequency; both environment and biology were moving together into a cycle of addiction.”

In a chapter titled “Collective Excitement and Lapse in Agency: Fostering an Appetite for Cigarettes," Peter G. Stromberg of the University of Tulsa argues that the dissociative environment in which college students often try cigarettes for the first time can lead to the loss of “the sense of agency,” meaning that people sometimes carry out activities without taking full responsibility for the decision to do so. As Stromberg writes, “Early smoking experiences typically occur in effervescent social gatherings marked by a high level of excitement and highly rhythmic activities, such as conversation and dancing." Cigarettes acquire a “symbolic valence” in such settings, and the ability to handle a cigarette adroitly confers what Stromberg terms “erotic prestige.” Furthermore, “As anyone who has ever been in a conga line can attest, we humans can be strongly motivated to entrain with rhythmic activities, even if those activities might be judged as unappealing in other contexts.”

If young people smoke at parties for many of the same reasons that they dance at parties—a “desire to increase status” and enter into “joint rhythmic play”—then potential nicotine addicts will be gently nudged into a position of associating party feelings with cigarette feelings, regardless of the actual physiology of nicotine. And, by fostering a dissociative mode of consciousness, college parties help foster the conviction that the use of cigarettes is not completely under one’s volitional control (“I was going to leave, but we danced all night.” Or, “the next thing I knew, the pack was empty”). The smoker may falsely attribute these feelings to the direct effect of the drug, rather than the set and setting.

This is only one example of the many ways in which a combination of neurobiology and anthropology can lead to new questions and fresh approaches. Where might all this be heading? “As research continues,” write Lende and Downey, “greater recognition of neural diversity as a fundamental part of human variation will surely become an even more substantive part of the neuroanthropological approach.”

Does Marijuana Withdrawal Matter?

What happens to some smokers when they cut out the cannabis.

People who say they are addicted to marijuana tend to exhibit a characteristic withdrawal profile. But is cannabis withdrawal, if it actually exists, significant enough to merit clinical attention? Does it lead to relapse, or continued use despite adverse circumstances? Should it be added to the list of addictive disorders in the rewrite of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM) currently in progress?

Marijuana fits in fairly well with the existing criteria for clinical addiction—except for one common diagnostic marker. Among the identifying criteria currently used in the DSM, we find: “The presence of characteristic withdrawal symptoms or use of substance to alleviate withdrawal.” Opponents of marijuana’s inclusion as an addictive drug have long insisted that cannabis has no characteristic withdrawal symptoms, but this position has been severely eroded of late, as new research has consistently identified a withdrawal syndrome for marijuana, which includes drug cravings, despite decades of controversy over this basic medical question.

A group of researchers at the University of New South Wales, Australia, along with Dr. Alan J. Budney of the Geisel School of Medicine at Dartmouth, New Hampshire, writing in PLOS ONE, presented evidence that the characteristic withdrawal symptoms displayed by addiction pot smokers are in fact strong enough to be considered clinically significant.
(For more on the marijuana withdrawal profile, see HERE, and HERE. For a bibliography of relevant journal articles, go HERE).

But how does one go about determining if withdrawal reactions rise to the level of clinical significance? The researchers wanted to know whether functional impairment reported during abstinence was clinically significant, whether it correlated with severity of addiction, and whether it was predictive of relapse. 46 survey volunteers who were not seeking any formal treatment for marijuana addiction were recruited in Sydney, Australia. Users ranged in age from 18 to 57, with an average age of 30. After a one-week baseline phase, the participants underwent two weeks of monitored abstinence. Using a “Severity of Dependence Scale” (SDS) to measure variability in functional impairment, the researchers compared a high SDS subgroup to a low SDS subgroup in an effort to tease out whether functional impairments in high SDS participants were predictive of relapse. The researchers noted that earlier work had established that the symptoms most likely to cause impairment to normal daily functioning were: Trouble getting to sleep, angry outbursts, cravings, loss of appetite, feeling easily irritated, and nightmares or strange dreams.” The investigators broke these symptoms into two groups: “somatic” and “negative affect” variables.

The researchers then examined self-reports about the impact of cannabis withdrawal on normal daily activities.  While the common yardstick for withdrawal is typically taken to be intensity of cravings, the authors argue that this reliance on craving “may mask the extent to which symptoms led to functional impairment, as those who maintained abstinence may still have experienced clinically significant negative consequences from cannabis withdrawal (e.g. relationship or work problems resulting from the withdrawal syndrome.”)

As might have been expected, higher levels of cannabis dependence were associated with greater functional impairment. And while the average level of functional impairment caused by cannabis is “mild for most users, it appears comparable with tobacco withdrawal which is of well established clinical significance.”

And certain symptoms were, in fact, correlative: “Increased somatic withdrawal symptoms are predictive of relapse, and…. increased physical tension is a significant predictor of relapse.”

 Physical distress, a “somatic” variable, mattered more, in terms of relapse, than the amount of marijuana smoked, or any other symptom on the roster of functional impairments—including mood and other negative affect variables.

“In conclusion,” the investigators write, “cannabis withdrawal is clinically significant because it is associated with elevated functional impairment to normal daily activities, and the more severe the withdrawal is, the more severe the functional impairment is. Elevated functional impairment from a cluster of cannabis withdrawal symptoms is associated with relapse in more severely dependent users.”

Furthermore: “Targeting the withdrawal symptoms that contribute most to functional impairment during a quit attempt might be a useful treatment approach (e.g. stress management techniques to relieve physical tension and possible pharmacological interventions for alleviating the physical aspects of withdrawal such as loss of appetite and sleep dysregulation.)”

As with most studies, there are limitations. As noted, the participants were not in a formal cessation program. And while urine tests were used, there was no external corroboration of the self reports.

Allsop, D., Copeland, J., Norberg, M., Fu, S., Molnar, A., Lewis, J., & Budney, A. (2012). Quantifying the Clinical Significance of Cannabis Withdrawal PLoS ONE, 7 (9) DOI: 10.1371/journal.pone.0044864

Graphics Credit: http://www.addictionsearch.com/

Does Brain Research Obscure Addiction’s Root Causes?

Did Dickens Get It Right?

Breathe the polluted air, foul with every impurity that is poisonous to health and life; and have every sense, conferred upon our race for its delight and happiness, offended, sickened and disgusted, and made a channel by which misery and death alone can enter. Vainly attempt to think of any simple plant, or flower, or wholesome weed, that, set in this foetid bed, could have its natural growth, or put its little leaves forth to the sun as God designed it. And then, calling up some ghastly child, with stunted form and wicked face, hold forth on its unnatural sinfulness, and lament its being, so early, far away from Heaven—but think a little of its having been conceived, and born, and bred, in Hell!

That’s how Charles Dickens chose to put the generational question, in his 1848 novel, Dombey and Son. Poverty and bad mothering (there was hardly any fathering) stunted a child’s “natural” inclinations toward normalcy and love. As the reed is bent, and so on. It is a forceful and memorable literary case for the debilitating effects of childhood deprivation, illness, and trauma. And quite timely, given the ongoing backlash against the “disease model” of addictions and mental illnesses. Did Dickens have it right, more than 150 years ago? Has the research associated with the disease model—the brain breakthroughs, the MRI scans, and the neurotransmitter studies—all been giant detours away from root causes?

You would think so, listening to the cacophony of voices seeking to discredit the notion of addictions and mental illnesses as medical diseases. Medical and psychiatric opinion appear to be revolving away from a strict study of mechanisms of the brain, and back toward the study of society and the environment as root causes of conditions like schizophrenia and drug addiction.

Assuming that we avoid the drastic road of looking beyond the brain entirely for addiction causes—which would represent a true return to the past—what seems to be called for is some sort of “third way” of threading between the determinism of DNA and the fuzzy humanism surrounding the question of social causation, even as many researchers and commentators have become frustrated with the pace of new drug discovery for treating addictive disease, and are threatening to throw out the baby with the bathwater.

Recently, during a lively dinner in Amsterdam, I raised some of these questions with neuroscientist Marc Lewis, Professor of Human Development and Applied Psychology at Radboud University in Nijmegen, The Netherlands, and author of Memoirs of an Addicted Brain: A Neuroscientist Examines his Former Life on Drugs.

“Addictive drugs convert the brain to recognize only one face of God, to thrill to only one suitor,” Lewis wrote in that excellent book. Dopamine becomes “specialized, stilted, inaccessible through the ordinary pleasures and pursuits of life, but gushing suddenly when anything associated with the drug comes into awareness…. I wish this were just an exercise in biological reductionism, or neuro-scientific chauvinism, but it’s not. It’s the way things really work.”

Nonetheless, even Dr. Lewis is unhappy with the idea of calling drug addiction a “disease.” But why? Dopamine, says Lewis, is about craving and attraction, and not just about pleasure. There is too much going on with addictive behavior to fit neatly into the disease category, Lewis believes. Lewis doesn’t argue that brain structure is not causal—much of his book is devoted to proving that it is—but rather that the early brain, in the first two years of life, is so malleable that parent-child experiences shape the style of that young brain, so to speak. “There must be neural correlates to addiction,” he said, “ but this can occur in early childhood, and not from innate genetics.”

This idea has sweeping ramifications. It suggests that a person could become a drug addict entirely independent of his or her inborn genetic predilections. It suggests that a biological propensity for addiction may not need to be innate in order for the disorder to develop. The neurobiological preconditions may develop in early childhood, or even in the womb, and an individual’s basic chromosomal endowment may not be as predictive or protective as we have previously concluded.

I am not yet convinced on this point. Certainly there is evidence that addicted people have often had traumatic childhoods. Or, as we now refer to them: ACEs, or adverse childhood experiences. But should we be spotlighting parents and social setting, as we did for most of the 20th Century, or should we be paying attention to the disordered central nervous system, with associated behavioral traits such as impulsivity, low harm avoidance, and difficulty imaging future consequences, that characterize the behavior and cause much of the frustration in dealing with chronically “bad” children?

The Third Way could well be epigenetics, defined as the study of how gene expression can be modified without making direct changes to the DNA. Writing in Science News, Tina Hesman Saey explains that "epigenetic mechanisms alter how cells use genes but don't change the DNA code in the genes themselves.... The ultimate effect is to finely tune to what degree a gene is turned on or off. Often the fine tuning is long-lasting, setting the level of a gene's activity for the lifetime of the cell."  From a scientific point of view, epigenetics opened the door for a new way of thinking about addiction.

 An addict, as Lewis told me, “is like a starving animal.” You cannot talk that animal out of stalking it prey. However, Lewis believes it is time to do away with the dominant role that the chase for specific genes has played in addiction science. The endeavor resembles a classic needle-in-the-haystack kind of search, and is unlikely to come up with something simple but significant. Lewis believes that in many cases “womb trauma and infant trauma during the first two years” is sufficient to create the innate biological architecture responsible for addiction. Is this true in every case? The research pictures strongly suggests that it isn’t—sorry, Dr. Maté. It seems clear that some people are hardwired for addiction in a way that transcends family environment and social circumstances. We have all heard of the perfect young man or woman, with every advantage, and a loving home life, who succumbs, mysteriously, to the lure of addictive drugs.

We also discussed an article Lewis wrote for Perspectives on Psychological Science, called “Dopamine and the Neural Now,” in which he argues that “the disease-versus-choice debate creates a false dichotomy: Neuroscience does not have to frame addiction as a disease. Rather, it can help explain how addicts make impulsive choices in the moment and distort appraisal and decision-making habits in the long run…. repeated dopamine enhancement modifies brain structures to maximize the appeal of addictive activities, minimize the appeal of competing rewards, and undermine the cognitive capacities necessary to choose between them. I conclude that addiction is not a monolithic state but a recurrent series of choices that permit negotiation, and sometimes cooperation, between immediate and long-range goals.”

Despite the growing popularity of ACE hypotheses for explaining addiction, Lewis insists that addiction is neither a disease of choice nor a genetic imperative. In some ways, it is a meta-disease, calling into question, as all “mental” illnesses do, the very notions of personhood and autonomy. But a Third Way of thinking about addiction; one that incorporates both the innate propensities of our genetic endowment and the many ways early experience can shape the expression of our DNA, may help draw the addiction field out of the “either/or” thinking that continues to shape many of the debates.

 As Saey wrote in Science News: “Such findings suggest that medicines that interrupt or reverse epigenetic changes… could one day prevent or cure addiction." Drugs to treat drug addiction are going to be a central feature of future addiction research, no matter how we rejuggle the relationship between nature and nurture.

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