On the first morning of 2010, I find myself pondering the odd relationship people seem to have with conciousness- altering substances. I received invitations to a New Year’s Eve parties. I decided not to go, wanting instead to spend a quiet evening making artwork stuff and watching a couple of rented movies. Having attended no less than five Christmas parties already, all awash in rich food and cocktails, the thought of even one more made my head hurt.
Then, my boss, psychologist at the counseling clinic where I work, asked if I could help her prepare a simple but festive meal for the people from Drug Court (undergoing mandatory outpatient rehab therapy). Under threat of parole violation, they had to be at our office in “group” tonight as a sort of divergence tactic from the usual wild New Year’s Eve partying that takes place in my small town every year. Happy to be of service to my fellow man, I spent the afternoon stirring and simmering in the good doctor’s cozy kitchen.
It was gratifying to watch the clients straggle in from the cold and see our goodie-laden table laid out for them. Repeat offenders for drug and alcohol convictions wind up in our program as an alternative to jail time. They tend to be ragged and careworn, with lives nobody would envy. Often they are jobless, perhaps homeless, struggling to get through each day. Disappointingly often, they emerge from jail, rehab centers, or outpatient therapy only to relapse and become clients once more. Some of them have files as thick as a dictionary.
This was my first unplanned celebration of the holiday. The second occurred when I received a call from some folks whose aged mother is the last living survivor of my caregiving career. Fern is a very frail 92-year old who lives with her daughter and son-in-law, and they call on me occasionally to look after her if they need to go out. The daughter stated that her brother had arrived in town and that they would like to “Go out for a toddy”. They would be gone about 3 hours, could I come? *Sigh*. All right, the extra cash would come in handy after Christmas. I fed and medicated Fern, and put her to bed. Getting myself a soda from the fridge in their lovely and spacious home, I could not help but notice the beer and wine bottles lined up in the door, and knew there were many cases of each stacked in the garage. The hours passed by slowly… midnight came and went. Two intoxicated men showed up on the doorstep, apparently the brother and his sidekick. Dressed like typical ranchers, they had faded jeans, suspenders, and hay particles on their hats. They inquired as to the spare bedroom, stating that the daughter and husband were right behind them. Kicking off their boots, they collapsed on top of the bed, snoring loudly. I waited, not knowing what to do. One of these men was Fern’s son. They were in no condition to care for her, nor would the daughter and her husband be, whenever they showed up. Another hour ticked by. I knew that my little dogs, left inside my house on this cold, snowy night, had not been out in 8 hours. I wrestled with personal ethics, considered my expensive rug, at last deciding that this was Fern’s fate and her family, and there was nothing I could do about it. Checking on my charge, I found her sleeping peacefully. At last, I gathered up my things and headed home, driving carefully on the highway, leery of the erratic patterns and lane changes being performed by the driver before me. The daughter called late the next morning, aplologizing profusely.
“There but for the Grace of God go I” comes to mind. Those “under the influence” seem to lose track of any concerns other than themselves. What causes such troubled behavior? I am certainly no paragon of virtue with a perfect life. Nobody is. The phrase “addictive personality” is somewhat nebulous, though almost everybody knows someone who could be described this way. They are often really likeable folks, creative and intelligent, funny and engaging. I remember my first drink and my first cigarette, both at the age of thirteen. The beer was surprisingly fun, the euphoria settling in over my mind like a warm blanket. The cigarette made me cough and feel nauseated, and I never had another- though the girl I smoked with in that back alley became a 3-pack-a-day smoker. Over the years, through high school and college, I tried many intoxicants, sometimes overdoing it and paying the consequences. Why? It has since lost its appeal for me, though I still enjoy the occasional cocktail when out with friends, perhaps for the warm “buzz” it creates.
What is it that causes some folks to become heavy users and addicts, while others can walk away? Many humans seem to have a big void to fill, a great need. Some people are thrill-seekers, some exercise ferociously to the point of injury, some work themselves to death, some are up in the night writing and doing artwork (me), some cannot stop eating, while others strive to fill the void with sex, alcohol. or drugs. Are any of these things fundamentally different from any other? I get a “high” from making stuff, and can’t do it enough. I don’t think this would ever kill me, though lead-based paint supposedly caused the demise of Van Gogh. Some folks seem able to strike a balance in their lives of one kind or another. People do not want to curtail thier habits, good or bad. I would consider life without art practically unliveable. I have observed that people with the addictive persona, even if no longer using, may take up another obsession, whether smoking continuously, gambling, extreme sports, eating, working, running, or pursuing whatever to the neglect of everything else in their lives. Is this a drive to achieve excellence, an adrenaline addiction, or both? What are they searching for? What am I searching for? Nirvana? Bliss? Induced euphoria and “highs”? I wish I knew.
I asked my boss, the psychologist, what causes this obsessive behavior in humans. Is it genetics? Lifestyle and cultural influences? Pleasure seeking run amok? One thing I have observed is that many (though not all) of these folks seem to have a tender, caring spirit when sober, coupled with becoming shockingly callous, selfish, and neglectful of themselves and those close to them when under the influence- a real life Jekyll and Hyde. I wondered if people with addictive personalities are so kindly and naive that they simply cannot accept the world as it is, and turn to obsessive (sometimes very harmful) activities in order to numb and shelter themselves from the world at large. My friend assured me that all of these factors are true, along with some things we don’t really understand. When does dedication and determination turn into obsession, or addiction? When does it change from a positive quality to a negative? Many very fine and talented people, artists, athletes, celebrities, step over the line when it comes to substance abuse. The very qualities which create great drive and ambition in some arenas can wreck lives in others. Addictions are amazingly powerful, and although people can change, it is incredibly difficult- and the possibility of relapse looms heavily. Successful treatment often means one must learn to embrace a new and healthier addiction, or one which is more widely accepted. Admitting to oneself that there even is a problem is the most difficult of all, even though everyone else sees it very clearly.
I am pondering this thing on New Year’s day. Praying that those who are lost can find their way, for each person is just as valuable as any other in the eyes of God and creation. May we convert that “fire in the belly” into a drive which propels us to excellence, rather than causes our decline. May 2010 bring new beginnings, rediscovered joys, more connection, and prosperity to us all. May we learn to celebrate and practice these gifts rather than ride them to our doom. May we learn to take care of ourselves, in order for talents and abilities God gave us to shine for all to see. Amen.
