Battling Addiction and Not Overcoming it
Lately, I have been absolutely captivated by nothingness. Somewhere between writer’s block and psychiatric watch. I told myself and others who noticed I was off. Perhaps it was a phase, growing pains, something of that sort. Or a big lie, for I have always believed in the mantra itself; “life is nothing but a beautiful lie”, but this time I felt as though I spent too long staring in the eyes of the facts to portray this lie any longer.
I know it isn’t much in the grand scheme of things, but this time I decided to write this. I used every inch of motivation to write about this topic, one last time, because I felt as though now more than ever I couldn’t escape it. For I have been battling, fighting and losing a war with myself. One that I have recently realized I cannot control.
So, here it is; the story of battling addiction and not overcoming it.
It started when I was fifteen. My first opioid. I’ll never forget it. A year prior to that, I was diagnosed. Insomnia, and depression. I had tried over the counter pills enough to be immune, and decided that if I was going to beat this thing called depression I would need something stronger, and something prescribed. Since then, not a single day has gone by where I have not been able to shake the addiction. The seed was planted in my mind, and has now grown into something I myself can’t even understand or sterilize.
A year from then, I was on the Prozac. The Zoloft, the Ritalin, the Ativan, Lorazepam… then Oxycodone, Percocet’s, T4s, Valium… it spiralled. I was completely out of control, unless I was completely sedated. Looking back, I wonder often, what the fuck happened in that year that lead to such extremes? Well, ironically, I realized that I was not only alone in these idiosyncrasies, but that I was too detached from reality to even see the reality of the situation. Meaning; addiction is a mental illness, and even in 2018 mental illnesses are not being tackled or given proper remedies. That is not to say that there has been no progression, however the progression perhaps has just scratched the surface. Here’s why:
1. Mental Health Problems are Still Society’s Favorite Scapegoat
Maybe not THE favorite — but one of the top. I cannot seem to forget the speech that elected President Trump made about the mass school shooting and how this was a result of people with mental health issues. I think about that speech a lot actually. Especially when I see that ballot when applying for jobs or other applications that states; ‘do you have any of the following disabilities’ ‘depression’ and I refrain to select it — even though my depression is so conspicuous to my inner self that I could cut it with a knife. Then I get the job, and I think I’m fine. It’s a PR job, it’s intense, and not one day goes by that I don’t think about how different things could be if I had maybe ticked that ballot. Why didn’t I do it? Well I, like most people, needed the money and could not risk not getting this job because of my mental health problems. Then one day, I take the elevator and start to cry like a baby. For reasons I am still unsure, for when I have my days the simple act of cutting the grass could trigger me into complete and utter panic. I stand in that elevator, alone, heaving and frantically pressing buttons, completely out of control and wishing I was dead. The door opens and I run to the toilet. As I look in the mirror all I can tell myself is, “you should’ve ticked the fucking ballot.”
2. It’s in our Generational DNA
Now, I don’t even have to find the statistics and hyperlink them to tell you that being a teenager in 2018 means debt for some BA at a University (that sometimes feels like daycare), struggles to find a job that pays off that debt, struggles to find a job that can pay a down payment on a house when you already feel the social pressure of living at home when you’re 23 and your dad keeps reminding you he moved out when he was 15… and need I go on? Not to mention the pressures to get into University — for you are probably unlikely to even get a job as a manager at a department store without a degree of some kind — and the pressure to decide which degree will get you a job and which degree will make a great mousepad. Cynical? Perhaps, but it is no bias or opinion to face the facts that being a millennial or a teen is not as financially feasible as it’s been for our parents (who psychologically have a hold over us to be our best selves). Where does this generation really even fit in? On Instagram maybe. For it portrays a hyper realness that eases these pressures, and gives us our daily dosage of digital dopamine. On Instagram, I can still get some social validation without having to face any of the harsh realities that lie in my own path. Maybe that is a stretch, for Instagram isn’t some world I can just tune into like Tron legacy — or is it? I still haven’t decided. All I know, is when I was 15 I wanted to lose weight. I wanted to so bad for I thought if I just lost some weight, all the other shit in my life (SATs, boys, parents, University application results…) wouldn’t feel as heavy — for I had lost the weight and I would look great. So, I went on twitter, Instagram every day and found my #thinspo that kept me on track of my goal. It was my own, it was control, it was a disorder that I didn’t understand at the time — but in every order, there is a secret disorder. That blossomed into a full fledge eating disorder, in which I am still battling. It developed into skipping meals, puking meals, smoking and popping pills to achieve that goal. I needed it, for I couldn’t afford to feel anymore failure. Now, I see some of those #thinspo photos on Instagram, or similar, with their likes and their comments and I instantly feel triggered. Then I see the photos of the people I know, slimmed, photo shopped, even celebrities do it! They don’t have the same pressures and debts, but hey even Kim fucking K thinned out her own daughter’s arms and stomach in a IG pic… so once again, I’m not alone and we are all completely fucked up, self-hating narcissists who are dangerously addicted to an online presence that bares little reality.
I guess I chose to live in two different worlds. One in which was hyper real, dopamine, temporarily satisfying and completely fake. Heaven was digital, hell was digital… but it was a world and it was fascinating and interesting. It made me confident and likeable but it was well fake. The other one was insatiable, and ruined. It was real and there was no hope. Politics, future, dreams… that version of life I had been told about didn’t seem to be in my hand of cards. It was hard to live in that world because everything seemed so wrong but there was no solution on how to make it all better. Everything was just ruined.
Going back and forth between these worlds was exhausting and mentally tormenting and left me completely lost when faced with myself. I was disconnected from these worlds because in my mind I knew that they both couldn’t coexist. I could keep planting seeds, and digging for gold but somehow each hole I dug was just filled with worms. Even worms die eventually.
Everything I saw that was hyper real was catered to me and fed me what I wanted. Everything that was actually real was completely disappointing, and left me depressed. That temporary happiness may just be the closest I’ll ever get to real happiness, but it was fake and that prohibited me from allowing that world to take over. I dreamt of leaving both and completely disconnecting, but knew that if I ever did I wouldn’t be able to cope. I was in too deep, and needed that next hit of dopamine. I needed that reminder that the world wasn’t so bad, and that if it all blew up that wouldn’t be the best thing for it. I searched desperately for reason but couldn’t find it anywhere but in places that created the right algorithms for my own psych, but in reality, I was potentially psychotic?
I would bounce between insane hits of happiness and utter loneliness and sadness. I had no sturdy frequency or control over my own emotions. I was scared to face who I was outside of each world, and I knew deep down that I could make no sense of who I was to be in each world. Each day I thought, just get through this day and worry about the next later. I was shockingly dependent on things that I didn’t even think mattered and was constantly unsatisfied with the things that did. Was this just depression? Or a disease? Was I insane? Or just normal? Was this society, that risk society that that German philosopher wrote about? Was this the eternal return that Nietzsche was talking about?
How to live=how to avoid any risks. How to just make do and get by, and not question because the answers were too unfathomable. We know we can’t trust the news, the banks or the politicians but we don’t think of why. This is a norm and it’s what we’ve been handed so we must just make it work somehow. Therefore, we don’t need truth, or trust or leadership because to us it’s not reality.
3. Oh yea, the actual Opioid Crisis
Who in the right mind would prescribe a fourteen or fifteen-year-old antidepressants or opioids and not be 100% sure that the medication was A) taken properly, B) monitored C) absolutely necessary… Once again, it is more common than it should be. This time, I actually gathered statistics because it is maybe not as obvious to those reading.
- Everyday 128 people in the United States die after overdosing on opioids (2018)
- The misuse of and addiction to opioids — including prescription pain relievers, heroin, and synthetic opioids such as fentanyl — is a serious national crisis that affects public health as well as social and economic welfare
- The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention estimates that the total “economic burden” of prescription opioid misuse alone in the United States is $78.5 billion a year
- The Midwestern region saw opioid overdoses increase 70 percent from July 2016 through September 2017
- Opioid overdoses in large cities increase by 54 percent in 16 states
- 10 percent of Americans take antidepressant medication.
- More than 60 percent of Americans on antidepressants have taken them for 2 years or longer.
n The rate of antidepressant use in the U.S. increased by almost 400 percent between 2005–2008.
My Conclusion:
Life is shit and what is all the anger for? How unfair how the evil feels unaccounted for?
It’s all a mess and I’m a wreck and life’s insatiable and awkward, time is just a bad word and love is just a curse word. It quickly turns to war and it quickly fades away, nothing is enough and this era is just ruined too much to want to stay.
And anxiety I felt more across as part of my own identity. Hegel says that anxiety is formed from freedom. And when I have too much freedom, I get peril and choose self-destruction. My obsession with control helped me understand myself. I used my own mind to think of fairytales and stories that I watch in my mind because I can control the intimacy and plot. I cannot connect to TV or movies — only books because I control some of the storyline.
But I’ll find another way, I’ll hope for better days. Tomorrow is good, let’s focus on that. Let’s find reason in all of what seems so deceptive. I’m not better but I can be. I’m not alone but I want to be. There’s a reason we’re all here and there’s a reason for a ruin, so things can grow again after downpours and snow.
And suddenly, everything became beautiful. For I spent my whole life fearing beauty and quivering before it, because it felt more powerful than the omnipotent itself. And was it? You know exactly what I am talking about if you’re inside — like Hunter Thompson said, you only know you never want to see the edge, well once you’ve seen the edge. Or whatever he said. He knew either way that there was nothing beautiful about life — so you might as well enjoy the ugly. Beauty is what makes us all so starved. Fills our pockets, inspires us to create and so on. It’s what fuels love, and hope. It’s so much of our own psych our own being, yet beauty is rarely found within. We cannot say we usually find it in our own being. Other people, other things and feelings — that make us feel temporarily some form of beauty.
But when that’s all stripped away, and believe me it is — as there’s nothing beautiful about thousands of people dying from addiction— it became easier to find. It was found in the simplicity of coffee shops, hugs, happy hours and so on. It was redefined by pathology after it had been slaughtered by normality. Beauty was the most absurd yet enjoyable thing in life. And slowly I had realized it was all I ever wanted. All I ever thought I needed to be loved. Karl Marx said that it wasn’t about being a citizen — but a consumer — but he never discussed where beauty played its part in all of that. Where it laid its bed to rest, its hand to laugh, its finger to point… its diminish by the fast-paced lives we all were living. Where no rest, laugh or point truly mattered. So, when it’s reborn it’ll be more beautiful than ever before. Each hair, eyelash and exchange. One day beauty will be beautiful again.
