Life on the Rocks - Peg O'Connor

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of friends in order to be with people who use in the same way they do or worse than they do so that they can appear “normal” or “not as bad.” They engage in faulty, yet persuasive, addicted reasoning, willing to use anything as evidence that they do not have a problem; no amount of reasoning will persuade them otherwise. Each time the addict makes a promise to cut down or stop, but does not, the chains get more constricting. Each time she does something she promised herself she would never do again, the chains become tighter still.

      Yet, for many reasons, some people begin to wriggle against the chains of addiction. Whether it is an experience that scares them to death (not uncommon), or losing something that really matters (also not uncommon), or looking in the mirror and not recognizing themselves or not liking what they see (quite common), some people begin to work themselves out of the chains. People whose descent into addiction came later in life have more memories of what life can be like not using. Some will be able to turn and see the fire and the half wall and recognize the puppets causing the shadows. Those whose use started so young that it is all they really know will often experience the fear and confusion Plato described. But, as sometimes happens in recovery, they can start to come out of the cave, too. And, often, they are guided by another who made it.

      The brightness of the light can be painful, as many addicts realize once their use stops. The pain from physical withdrawal can be excruciating. People fear pain, and that fear can enchain a person, too. There’s also a kind of emotional withdrawal. Substances and addictive behaviors provide the possibility of relief from pain and suffering. This possibility sustains us until we can use. The difficulty of emotional withdrawal shouldn’t be underestimated. Many people fear facing an emotional tsunami. Those who used to numb feelings or avoid painful memories may feel defenseless. Often we lack the tools and skills to name our emotions; our emotional palates are usually limited. This is why some, even many, will retreat back to the familiar darkness of the cave. Too much is new and scary; they may feel and be ill-equipped to lead their lives in different ways. Back with using friends, they will find comfort, or what we understand as relapse.

      Some will make it farther out of the cave and allow their eyes to adjust. They may struggle to stay in recovery and remain balanced. So many of their old coping behaviors will not work, and they will be faced with a seemingly endless task of learning how to rebuild their emotional lives. Some will achieve and live in recovery for a good while and later relapse. People relapse for all sorts of reasons. Often these have to do with old ways of thinking and behaving that may begin with a foray into one area of life that at some point becomes a roaring comeback in other areas of life. When people who have had some recovery relapse and go back to the darkness of the cave, they may be met with derision—an “I told you so” attitude. But at least they are returning to something familiar and can tell themselves, “I tried but couldn’t do it.” This may serve as justification for not trying again for a long time, if ever again.

      Those who do make it out of the cave and manage not to relapse are few and far between. They know how precarious their recovery is and what they need to do to maintain it. People in long-term recovery are often the ones who need to go back into the cave, not as saviors, but for their own survival. People with years of recovery often say that newcomers help them stay sober because their pain, loss, and confusion are so fresh. Their stories remind old-timers of life enchained in the cave. Old-timers can share their stories, too, and in the process show newcomers different ways to be in the world.

      Of course our stories are real and deeply personal, but, siminlar to allegories, they can wield a transformative power. Hearing shared refrains of their own experiences in stories and allegories provides people with an important corrective lens. It leads some to see and understand themselves and the world differently. Equipped with this knowledge, people can begin to transform their lives.

       Chapter Three

       EXISTENTIAL CONCUSSIONS

      SUFFERING IS A PART OF LIFE. WHETHER BROUGHT ON BY the “slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,” as William Shakespeare’s Hamlet ponders, by our own actions or those of others, or by unpredictable natural or man-made disasters, suffering happens.9 Humans are resilient and able to tolerate all sorts of suffering. And many do believe, along with Friedrich Nietzsche, that what doesn’t kill us only makes us stronger.

      Many of the classics in Western literature are tales of meaningful suffering. We devour these stories because we love how people are able not only to make sense of their suffering but also transform it so that it serves a higher purpose. A perfect example is Sydney Carton in Charles Dickens’s classic, A Tale of Two Cities. Set in France at the time of the French Revolution, Sydney Carton is an unexceptional, possibly alcoholic, young attorney who lacks any confidence or purpose in his life. Carton does bear an uncanny resemblance to a French aristocrat, Charles Darnay, who has been sentenced to death at the guillotine. Carton loves Darnay’s wife, Lucie. Out of this love, Carton tricks Darnay and trades places with him so that he may be executed. It isn’t until he sacrifices himself for love that he finds meaning and peace. His last words are some of the most famous in English literature. He says, “It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest I go to than I have ever known.”10

      As noble as it may be to make huge sacrifices for others or to dedicate one’s life to a higher calling or purpose, there are times when it is simply not possible. Life presents many instances when a person cannot make sense of her suffering. This is the kind of suffering Nietzsche identifies as intolerable and life destroying. In the throes of this sort of suffering, a person experiences an existential concussion.

      A concussion is a brain injury that results from a blow to the head or violent shaking. The brain is either shaken or moves back and forth within the skull. A concussion alters the brain’s function for a period of time that is directly related to the severity of the concussion. By analogy, an existential concussion is caused by a sharp blow or a violent shaking of a person’s life conditions—such as a sudden death, traumatic injury, or end of a long-term relationship. An existential concussion is both a cause and a consequence of acute suffering that is characterized by a lack of meaning.

      These concussions have degrees of severity and some combination of the following manifestations is common: compromised decision-making ability; significant impairment in perspective such that one is not able to inhabit alternate viewpoints; disorientation in the world such that one does not know who one is, where one belongs, or how one fits in the world; difficulty in transforming one’s suffering into something meaningful; despair that one has no freedoms and no possibilities; absence of meaning and value in one’s own life that expands to nihilism about there being any meaning and value in the world; and loss or destruction of the primary framework in which a person orients her life.

      Existential concussions can occur in a variety of ways, but all of them involve a separation from the primary framework that has provided a person with adequate conditions for making sense of all her experiences, including suffering. Consider a person of faith who suffers a series of tragedies. She may wonder if she has done something to deserve this. She might also start to wonder about a God she’s always understood to be loving and kind allowing such suffering. Or, even more upsetting to her, she may wonder how God could inflict such suffering.

      Her faith had been the axis around which her life revolved to explain both good fortune and loss. Having that axis tilt might cause a mild to moderate concussion. Having that axis ripped out suddenly would cause a severe existential concussion. Knock out the axis and everything it held in place will fall. When this occurs, the framework of her faith no longer provides viable conditions for making sense of what has happened. Nothing in her faith provides an explanation or amelioration, and so the sufferer may reject all or part of the framework. She may reject it in defiance with a mighty scream, or she may reject it with a quiet whimper. If enough time passes, the person who has lost her faith may become incomprehensible to herself and to those with whom she shared a faith. She is alienated from herself and others, which only exacerbates the effects of an existential concussion. This alienation may fuel behavior that becomes addictive.

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