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Years ago, someone I love fell into addiction again. I saw the mugshot. I mourned the moment those cuffs were put around her wrists. I knew she was more disappointed in herself than anyone else could be.
But the others were disappointed, too. Not in a heartbroken kind of way but in a “well, I knew it” kind of way.
The people who had been waiting for her to fail…I was angry with them on herb behalf. Because, me? I fought with prayer and love and hoped this would be the last time.
Loving an addict is mysterious torture. Being one is worse.
As David Sheff wrote in Beautiful Boy:
“Fortunately I have a son, my beautiful boy
Unfortunately he is a drug addict.
Fortunately he is in recovery.
Unfortunately he relapses.
Fortunately he is in recovery again.
Unfortunately he relapses.
Fortunately he is not dead.”
It’s not just drugs or alcohol. It’s everything that brought her there and all that happened as a result of using substances to “fix” herself.
My “rock bottom” moments weren’t nearly as low as hers, only by the grace of God. Not that God’s grace doesn’t cover all, but in this fallen world, we’re only guaranteed the gift of salvation.
Drugs (alcohol included) used in an abusive way aren’t an issue of character.
Yet, some view addiction in such a way. I have a problem with that.
Yes, addiction/dependence is a struggle “of the flesh,” but labels like “lazy” “undisciplined” or “lacking in character” aren’t helpful.
We know it's not that simple. And if you don’t know, please listen up. No one chooses addiction.
If you have (or have ever had) a “fleshly” vice – whether it be alcohol, pills, porn, sugar, etc. – you know it is much more than such reductive explanations.
At some point the “sensory” pleasure of this destructive force diminishes in the face of horrific consequences. And yet…we continue doing it, but why?
In Kent Dunnington's Addiction & Virtue, he writes of alcohol addiction:
“Loss of memory, blackouts, vomiting, dry heaves and being deathly ill are not normally counted among the variety of sensory pleasures.
Yet these addicted persons pursue their addictive objects because those objects are believed to offer definite goods, goods like the ability to communicate, being at ease with oneself, being unafraid and being part of a community.
These goods seems more like objects of the intellective rather than the sensitive appetite; they are types of moral and intellectual goods."
There it is. This isn't about how fun it is to get drunk or binge or get high or whatever.
Consider what got you hooked. Physical comfort may have played into it, but that wasn't it.
For me: the quieting of social anxiety, the soothing of stress, the numbing of a palpable fear of intimacy, and the discovery of a fleeting confidence I couldn’t find elsewhere.
It was acceptance, amusement, and allure—a way to feel like more than I ever believed I could be on my own.
Thus, when consider giving our addictions up, it's not just the loss of a drink, a drug, a feeling.
It's the loss of the person we thought it made us – someone we struggle to be without it.
It's the loss of a distorted modicum of control we had over our circumstances.
It's the loss of a lie that told us we could have both things: vice and virtue, drunkeness and dreams, numbing and meaning.
There is a genuine grief that comes with saying goodbye. Wrestle with that. Grapple with it. Accept it.
I tried for many years to reconcile my conflicting desires and weaknesses.
When I entered my late 20s, my drinking increased. I felt so unsettled. I had hoped to get married young and start having kids, but the closer to 30 I got, the more I realized I had no control over that situation.
I was weirdly late when it came to ambitions and career goals, so in the absence of those things, I was left feeling aimless and unfulfilled for a time. Drinking made it easier to stay stuck in that place.
I look back at this photo ⬆️ and think about the person I was then: Self-conscious, lacking confidence, desperate for love and acceptance, treating myself with little dignity in a lot of ways.
I didn't drink then, or later, because I was a “loser.” Others aren’t arrested or falling off the wagon because they’re “bad” or "idiots.”
The reasons are complex and sad and meaningful — they didn’t come from nowhere.
But I couldn't articulate that then. I hope I'm articulating it for you now.
So, I want you to know that the struggle is real – and those that write it off as that one thing (lazy, sinful, indulgent) don't what it means to be in it.
This isn't an excuse to stay stuck. Rather, we can acknowledge the authentic hard and recognize what it really means to work through this.
So, it's hard. But you can do it. Even if you have to keep starting over.
So, it's hard. And it doesn't matter what people who don't know…don't know.
So, it's hard. But all that it represented was a lie anyway — and now you know that.
Accepting hard truths is an important step. It doesn't mean you have to take action right away. It does mean you can't un-know the truth you've been avoiding all this time.
And though we have what appear to be “flesh-ly” problems, we can remember:
“We wrestle not against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world…" (Eph. 6:12)
The “spirits” of alcohol and drugs and their effect on us are inflicted with the darkness of the Evil one. That's why this is so difficult and why Satan so badly wants you to fail.
My friend has had a difficult road in life. Like Nic in Beautiful Boy, her sobriety has been off and on. People have written her off, but not me — and not God.
We are promised that we will have “trouble” in this world, but we can know, even in the darkest moments of addiction, that for Christ followers, He has “overcome the world.”
This world will pass. Only Christ will last. And for every person struggling with addiction, on an island of despair, the hope of heaven is the ONLY thing that is real.
Look up. Look up. Look up.
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Reason to Return: Why Women Need the Church & the Church Needs Women
Leaving Cloud 9: The True Story of a Life Resurrected From the Ashes of Poverty, Trauma and Mental Illness
The rock gleams white, a sugary lie,
Promises bliss, a feeling so high.
First puff, a blast, then a crash so hard,
Cravings take over, leaving you scarred.
Your body's a wreck, mind's in a spin,
Reality blurs, where do you even begin?
Paranoia's a bitch, whispers in your ear,
Addiction's a monster, holding you near.
Friends drift away, love starts to fade,
Replaced by the pipe, a lonely charade.
The mirror reflects, a face gaunt and thin,
Lost in the haze, where does it begin?
This ain't no joke, this ain't no game,
Crack's a cruel master, whispering your name.
A soul-crushing spiral, a downward descent,
A life on the line, a future misspent
Love this article, your writing, and your heart. Grateful for you, friend!