Alright people, this one’s a bit serious. As you may have gleaned from the title, I want to talk addictions and obsessions. And I don’t mean the “Oh, I just cannot function without my morning mocha!” kind of addictions. I mean stuff that bothers you. Stuff that’s having an impact on your daily life, mental state and relationships. You know — the big, scary, shameful, don’t-wanna-talk-about-it stuff.
Let’s kick off this party by looking at the nature of addiction. Why do we keep going back to particular things — or people — when we know they’re harming us? I am going to madden you by quoting not only myself, but myself at the age of 18. Kindly indulge me, for the reason I hark back to such an age is because, at the time, I was beginning to understand the nature of an obsession that occupies me to this day. More on that in a bit. Here’s what was going through my mind at the time:
I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m trying to make myself a complete person through various modes of acquisition. I have a constant desire to know everything; to have all the right answers; to find out how everything works. I mindlessly stuff myself full of food that I’m not hungry for. I fixate on numbers and plans and routines. These are attempts at filling empty space, satisfying some obscure desire whose origin I am unaware of. I shy away from the big questions — death and religion are too complicated, too terrifying to contemplate in any proper detail. Love is elusive, and yet I ache for it, both from myself and those close to me.
I take a perverse delight in ripping myself to shreds – it’s almost a game. It feels strangely gratifying, but terribly damaging. Perhaps it’s a defensive move; putting myself down before others get the chance. The self-loathing that plagues me is incredibly infuriating and tiresome, and yet despite my irritation with it, I can’t seem to stop criticising, magnifying every flaw, and making outrageously exaggerated, damning statements against myself.
It really hurts when people who were previously very friendly and are still close to my heart start ignoring me. I crave feedback, attention, validation in any form, and when I don’t receive it, it gets me down. Equally upsetting is when I can’t make people happy. I want to save the world.
Life is exquisitely wonderful and terrible at the same time.
A bit melodramatic, sure, but I reckon the “addictions are attempts at filling an uncomfortable void” concept is pretty decent.
When I wrote this I was recovering from a three-year fight with anorexia. Though no longer scarily thin, I had gone back to fearing calories, overanalysing everything, and allowing food to control me. I felt as if I had been removed from the world and forced into the background, viewing the events of my life through the incomprehensible haze of jumbled numbers, questions and constant analysis. It was, to be eloquent, pretty freaking shitty.
These days I eat like a viking, but I will never be able to view food as a purely pleasurable indulgence. It is way too laden with emotional connotations, and continues to be the subject of fixation, analysis and anxiety. But the good thing is that I have learned to manage it. While it’s often on my mind, it doesn’t drag me down. I’ve downgraded food from Mortal Enemy to Gosh, You’re A Bit Annoying Sometimes.
Obsessions are often lifelong affairs. They’re hard to shake. They become familiar and comforting — a ballast to cling to when the seas get rough. But that doesn’t mean you have to live with the full force of their self-destructive awfulness. Here are some ways to turn down the volume:
- Know your triggers. In other words, figure out what trips the switch, and do your best to avoid it. I know that I can not find out my weight. It doesn’t matter if the number is high or low — the point is that it is a cold, factual figure to analyse and fixate upon. Now that I am aware of this, I make sure that I never put myself in a situation where I might find out. I don’t own scales, and if I have to get weighed for medical reasons, I ask the doctor not to inform me of the number. It’s oddly liberating. It’s one less thing to worry about.
- Write it all down. Track your addiction or obsession in a diary. When you’ve been writing for a month or so, look back and try to find patterns. What made it worse, and what kicked it to the curb? Approximately seven years later, include excerpts from your journal in a self-referential blog post. If that doesn’t seem too gauche.
- Find constructive ways to fill the void. Ask yourself what’s missing from your life that is driving you toward this behaviour. How can you address the gap in a way that makes you happy? If you are inclined toward self-punishment, how about embarking on a gruelling boot camp regime? It’ll hurt, but in a good way. Plus, abs! Hot!
- Let people know. While I was on my hellish holiday in Anorexico, I would frequently decline social invitations because I was afraid I would be made to eat in front of people. Naturally I did not tell anyone that this was the reason for my absence, and they were forced to conclude that I had become a total bitchface. Anything that encourages secrecy and lying is bad — bad for you, and bad for the people around you. Be honest. Let people know what’s going on. Who knows — maybe one of your friends has been through a similar thing and will have some valuable advice.
- Laugh at the evil voices. When your head is being plagued with voices of self-destruction, the best thing to do is belittle them. Talk back to them. Laugh at them. Recite their phrases back to them in the voice of the pimpled adolescent from The Simpsons who drops tacos in the deep fryer. Make the critical voices seem ridiculous and you’ll be less likely to trust them.
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