How Many of Us Are Addicts Here?
Gabor Maté, the renowned addiction specialist, often poses that question to his audiences. Usually a third or so of the audience raises their hand. They are what most of us think of when we use the word “addict.” They were addicted to illegal street drugs. I am one of those people. During the last two years of the 90s, I never drew a sober breath. I was in the death grips of an addiction to heroin, and everything that goes with it. Addicts like me are generally thought to have made “bad decisions,” to be “undisciplined” or just plain “bad,” or even to have gotten “the bad gene.” Most people don’t want to be a member of that group. But Dr. Maté then offers up this definition of addiction, after which all of the hands in the audience go up:
“An addiction is manifested in any behavior that a person finds temporary pleasure or relief in, and therefore craves, but suffers negative consequences from in the long term and is still unable to give it up.”
By broadening the definition, we all end up in the same boat—users of illegal drugs, pharmaceutical drugs, nicotine, caffeine, alcohol, sex, gambling, shopping, eating, work, exercise, gaming, pornography, poitical power, the acquisition of wealth, the hoarding of objects, Facebook, Netflix—anything that follows these basic guidelines:
All addictions are an attempt to regulate an unbearable mental state
There is relief in the short term
There are negative consequences in the long term
Addicts are unable to give up the addiction, despite the negative consequences
Being an addict is not a choice, it is an adaptation
Why?
Maté answers this very complicated question, by rephrasing it: Not “Why the addiction,” but “Why the pain?” He very simply explains that there are two kinds of children: Ones that got their needs met, and ones that didn’t. The ones that didn’t get their needs met learn to adapt. These adaptations are to survive—and they work in the short term. In the long term, they become maladaptations and often become addictions. Not getting your needs met as a child is traumatic. Comedian Russell Brand, also a recovering addict, has also talked often on the topic of trauma as the cause of addiction.
When we talk about trauma, our minds tend to go to very dark places—physical or sexual abuse—but neglect is also traumatic.
My Story
When I reflect on my experience with drugs and recovery, I still can’t help but wonder—”What the hell happened to this kid—I mean, heroin? Really?” I come from an upper middle class family—we were five kids who had parents that stayed married their whole lives. We had a beautiful summer home on a lake in the Adirondack Mountains. We had two cars in the garage, plus a couple more in the driveway. My parents were well-loved members of the community—maybe even falling into the category of “social butterflies.” What could be so bad about all this—that I ended up numbing myself close to death each day on heroin? There was not physical or sexual abuse—the kinds of things that can be associated with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. What I’ve learned is that there is something called Complex PTSD, that can come from neglect over time. And that neglect, as in my case, can be purely emotional.
I can now look back compassionately at my Mom’s circumstances—she had unresolved trauma of her own. Her mother died in a motel fire, and her father was an alcoholic who committed suicide. My Dad also lost his Dad at a young age, and he became aloof and emotionally unavailable as an adult. They were both from a different time when stuffing feelings and just getting through things was valued over seeking help to explore feelings and talk them through.
I am grateful I am from a different time. I need help. I need to talk. I need to work things through. That little kid that was starved for attention and followed my stressed-out and silent Mom around from room to room as she did household chores—that kid is still inside of me. That dynamic has played out painfully throughout my life, as I relentlessly sought attention of any kind, and continually pursued partners for relationships, despite being emotionally unavailable. Any amount of attention was never enough, any relationship was doomed to failure. The pain was unbearable. As a kid, I used to spin around and around, making myself dizzy—in an attempt to escape the pain. As an adult, heroin became the answer—the complete absence of pain, anxiety, fear—complete peace (with horrible and well documented side effects).
The Dark Night of the Soul
Dr. Nicole LePera, in her book How to Do the Work, Recognize Your Patterns, Heal from Your Past, and Create Your Self, talks about “The Dark Night of the Soul.” She describes it as an emotional rock bottom—where you can’t continue with your habitual patterns of behavior. She says you can be feeling extremely fatigued, even get physically ill—and that it actually feels like a kind of death. For me, I believe this experience culminated in my heart attack.
Gabor Maté believes that all disease processes originate in the emotions. I now no longer believe I inherited the gene for addiction, or that I inherited the gene for heart disease. I believe I inherited emotional trauma from my Mom and Dad. I also believe they did the best they could—and now I have to do the best I can. That means facing all this stuff, acknowledging it—and doing the work to heal from it. I have a deep sense that my life depends on it—and I want to stick around as long as I can, and continue to be a different kind of parent to my own kids.
—Scott