Circling the drain
I had a tough conversation with my wife a couple of days ago, about the ugly way this addict’s brain works. She is a substance abuse disorder counselor who can sometimes be a safe person to lean on, plus as I said, she is my wife So yeah, that.
So we are driving and she is distracted by her phone which is kind of the norm for us, I listen to loud rock music and sing along, and she scrolls while we drive. On this drive, we were headed to meet some friends for dinner, as we slowed down at a stop light my wife came to a stopping point and turned the radio down. She asked me if I was alright, and said I seemed a little on edge. I was surprised she noticed and my first instinct was to remain silent. I decided instead to engage with my struggle.
I remember trying hard to connect to my emotions at that moment, so as I paused she patiently waited for my response. My first response was a bit fragmented, I told her I felt off, maybe angry, but I did not know why. Then I blurted out, “It feels like an existing thing like I just do not want to exist right now.”
She allowed me space to expand on the statement; as I often do, I told the truth about the feelings in my head. At that moment I just wanted to slip into the warm embrace of heroin. That darkness that wipes everything else away, I just wanted to escape, run, hide, fuck it all. That is the scary part about the truth of my addiction and recovery story. I concede that some do not think as I do, but what I have realized for a long time is that I never lost sight of the escape hatch. I know it makes no sense. I know I will likely never use it again. I think of my addiction as a little escape hatch into an empty sad lonely space. When I picture it, it is a rusted-out submarine hatch in a floor of an ugly basement, it is overgrown with weeds, mostly hidden and almost impossible to access, but I know it is there. So without warning every once in a while that old addict will whisper “hey escape”.
My wife listened and when I said there is simply no escape for me anymore, she quickly helped me try to reframe. She said, of course, there is, we can escape, name the place, London, Italy, and she mentioned other spots near and far. I scoffed and said we cannot just go, and she said what are you talking about we just got back from Italy. I smiled as I thought of Italy, and then I reasserted my argument. Well, I said sadly travel was not the escape I was looking for. I explained that sometimes I just want to disappear. Feel nothing—blip off the radar.
She reminded me that particular escape was impossible, I whined for a bit, asking then maybe I could maybe just use nicotine instead, this is a terrifying idea now that I write it, I mean how close are heroin and nicotine in my head to appear in the same shitshow? I knew after inserting this little gem of wisdom that this was all just an old addict’s brain kicking against boundaries. For some reason I have always been that person, find a barrier and just start kicking. I swear sometimes I want to take a fucking breath underwater just to prove that boundary isn’t real! See what I mean by ridiculous thoughts?
In my recovery, I have many tools I keep in my mental toolbox that keep me safe, by far the most powerful is honesty. Almost equally powerful is the willingness to prove that I am honest by telling on myself. I learned early on in my recovery, the only way to understand how sick my brain was, would be to tell someone what I was thinking and then listen objectively to the response that followed. I learned if something upset me, or made me squirm, that was a thing I needed to focus on. When I shared this darkness with my wife, I knew it represented vulnerability and could make her a bit afraid. However, she was amazing in letting me feel the feelings that come with the darkness of addiction and recovery.
If you are struggling tell someone today, the problem is never the struggle, the problem is the silence.
