Addicted to Pain

I think about addiction, about the addicts I’ve spoken to and how, in their moments of candor, addiction can make its own awful sense. One thing I hear over and over again is how awful the clarity is, when it comes. An addict will have these moments, when they see how they’ve turned out or what they’ve become, they see the wreckage in their wake and they know it’s awful. They know what a monster they’ve become, what pain they have visited on others. It’s a crushing realization, and the most awful thing about it is, they know they’ll never be able to face it without having a drink, or without doing whatever it is that they’re addicted to doing.

One of the hardest things was for me to realize that I’d had the power over my depression all along. I knew that ultimately, part of me didn’t want to let it go. I liked feeling beautifully tragic and alienated, and it shamed me to discover that I had clung so much to my own pain. I did let it go, ultimately, and my writing and music have suffered for it, but I am a more whole person now, and my relationships are better.

You make trade-offs. Sometimes, you don’t even know you’ve made them. I used to think I had one good book in me; now I’m not sure I’ll ever write it. But, I’m able to invest in others in a way I never could before. I can afford to be less guarded. I am more comfortable in my skin. You make trade-offs.

What trade-offs have you made? Is this dynamic so real to me only because it’s been such a part of my own biography, or is it something that others have as well? I often think about the addicts, about that moment of clarity and horror, and I think about how, if they could only let the moment be, just let it pass over them and through them instead of trying to manage it with a chemical or a behavior, maybe they could return to us.

gauche
11 Dec 09