The luck of an addict
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Part 1: Addiction, the Storm Before the Calm and the illusion of Control
Addiction was the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
I never thought I’d hear myself say those words.
(I know what you’re thinking; technically I’m “writing” those words, not “saying” them and now I’ve misled you.)
Anyway, addiction — it sucks. A mental jail — ironclad with bars of agony, isolation, shame, self-loathing, disgust.
My world fell apart. I didn’t know who I was anymore. I wanted to be anyone else but me.
Who did I want to be?
Hmmm… I guess, my 2 top choices would be:
- Oprah.
- Anyone else but me.
I mistook the character defects of addiction as my personality. Once a free spirit, now a prisoner in my own brain.Who have I become? Definitely not more Oprah-esque, that’s for sure.
I dug myself deeper and deeper into self-hate. Miserable. Lonely. It’s impossible to love the world when you hate yourself.
It consumed my entire life — If you enjoy life, I don’t recommend addiction. I wouldnt wish it on anyone. I give it a 0/10. No stars — but I’m so incredibly grateful for it.
While discussing future events, my mind would wander to ponder whether I would even be alive when said event came around.
The addiction was deafening. It attached itself to each thought like a parasite. It’s only mission — to keep me addicted at all costs.
I would confuse my addiction’s thoughts with my own. If I couldn’t trust my own thoughts; who could I trust?
The idea of living a remotely-normal and happy life at some point was so far-fetched.
The way I saw it, I had options:
- Subsist, hate myself, and “live” a slooooooooooww death under the crushing despair of addiction.
- Get control of the addiction, still hate myself and live a soul-less depressing life locked in my depressing, stupid apartment.
- My addiction will finally kill me. (while I hate myself, duh)
OK. Option 2 sounded…. cool — -er than the other options, right? Miserable life free of addiction? That’s not so bad. What’s the average lifespan these days? 70 years old or so? I can deal with th — - It’s 81.4 years!? Wow. OK
I imagined my new improved self. Here she is! Future me getting ready for a date. Yes! go, girl. Looking in the mirror, still riddled with anxiety, but check out the brows, they look — great! Well they look like shit — no offense, future self, but you look like shit to be honest, and you wont have anything to talk about on the date — ha! good luck with that. My self-esteem completely obliterated. But hey! I would be getting out of my house, free from addiction AND possibly getting laid? Heck yeah. SIGN ME UP, BAY-BE!
Option 4: To be free — it wasn’t even an option — The beautiful life I have today wasn’t even in the realm of possibilities.
Each night I would come up with a new master plan to cure it. I will gain control.
I mean I tried everything. I remember on a specific Tuesday in 2016 I had two appointments.
10am: I was under anesthesia. I convinced a doctor to check for “leaky gut syndrome” because it could be causing nutritional imbalances in my gut which could hypothetically be leading to my bulimia. Brain/gut connection, ya know? (That wasn’t the cure)
5pm: Hypnosis Session (cool. helpful. but not the cure.)
I’m telling you…. I. Tried. Every. Thing.
Each night I went to bed determined that tomorrow will be the day. I will be free. Each morning I would wake up still gripped in the chains.
It was a sunnamabitch.
BUT My willpower was FIERCE. My determination was STRONG.
Each day I’d faced the world with resolve and a new plan — determined that “TODAY WILL BE THE DAY!”
If I just have enough willpower and control….
Willpower and control.
Willpower and control.
Willpower and control.
Illusions.
The disease was controlling my every thought. How can I “control” addiction with an addicted mind? It was just giving me the illusion that I was in control.
My world was crashing around me — I was more desperate than ever… BUT at least my HOPE was… just kidding, my hope was nearly gone too.
Coincidentally, the more I tried to control my addiction, the more out-of-control my life became (Spoiler alert: it wasnt a coincidence)
I was tired, dude. I’d run out of ideas. I give up. I give up.
Huh. Interesting. It was the only idea I hadn’t tried — giving up.
Not giving IN to the addiction. Giving UP. Giving up on trying to control the addiction. Relieving myself of the heavy burden and responsibility of fixing myself.
I literally had nothing to lose. I’d already been evicted. I was sick. I never left the house so friends were a distant memory. I was completely in debt. Completely desperate.
Fuck it. I’ll try it. Last-ditch effort. I’ll try giving up control.
So I thought hard. Digging through my rolodex of miracles, desperately trying to believe in something, anything greater than myself. Something who could restore peace in my soul.
I believe in love.
With conviction - with my entire soul - I gave up. I surrendered my control to the universe — to the love and energy that connects everything.
Surrender and release.
Surrender and release.
Surrender and release.
In Every single moment.
I am free.
