Addiction

 At the (Zoom) memorial service for D they referred to his addiction a number of times. I had personally known about the addiction for over four years and attempted in any possible way to assist him.

To that end I read a lot about addiction. I must have surely written about addiction here, although I see I have no 'addiction' tag.

In the past year I needed to talk about the situation with someone and my youngest son, living with us and being a particularly emotionally intelligent human being, would talk with me about addiction. This was important for him to do so too because as a young man he had come into contact with some troubled souls himself.

He had also been subject to a vicious verbal attack by a troubled young woman and for some time had a trauma response to those incidents and the false rumors she spread. 

We talked again this morning around the sense that the addiction can't be healed until the person shows some self-compassion. One thing I distinctly recall Tara Brach say about addiction was that she never saw someone heal who wasn't compassionate towards themselves. 

I would say this to D but I am not sure it registered. I think he had given himself some lofty goals to achieve in life and when he fell short of those standards, he blamed himself, along with others who rightfully deserved to take some blame.

From our discussion this morning I recall J saying something like 'it's about achieving balance' and I think balance was a tough thing for D. He went hard at life, at his goals, to the point of exhaustion, never resting on his laurels.

One day, he had achieved something pleasing, probably more funding for his not-for-profit and I remarked that was great news. But, no, it wasn't near enough, he said. I suggested to him, 'celebrate the wins. Celebrate the moments of your life'.

However, as one speaker noted at the memorial service, the song that came to mind was Frank Sinatra singing 'My Way'. D did it his way and although I know, and for sure, that D appreciated my efforts, it didn't make a mark on the fact that he would always do everything his way.

I haven't kept chats or emails, and I did that with purpose. So, I have only my memories of what he said, or shared.

It's such a funny little anecdote but one that endures. He was holed up in a hotel in an extremely bad way after a shock that would destroy most people. He simply wasn't able to function and I got a bit bossy to try to get him to move.

"Where is that paper? You need to find it. You need to read it out to me."

"I am looking for it." 

There was some agitation in the voice but only slightly.

And then, as if an aside in a Shakespearean play, "She is so nosey."

I laughed out loud. In this desperate moment, he had made me laugh. Classic D.

At the memorial service the sentiment and some peoples' words were summed up in the notion that 'the addiction was beyond any of us', which is true. But, it is only true in the sense that it was eventually true.

I agree with Gabor Mate that addiction begins with unmet needs in childhood. We need to feel unconditionally loved. Any hint that we have disappointed our parents is a very heavy load to carry through life. D felt that. I tried to put a different spin on it; that fathers often felt the need to toughen up a son because they needed to prepare them for what can be a very tough world here on Earth.

From both his parents, he needed unconditional love, consistently. That love would have grounded him; given him a faith in his own goodness. He felt he carried darkness and to some extent, he did. 

Along with the darkness he carried great light. As his wife said, he was full of contradictions, a very complex man indeed.

There is something I say to my prisoner correspondent each time he writes of an execution, something that, of course, is deeply troubling to him.

I say, 'Remember, we are all just walking each other home.' (credit to Ram Dass)

When I was in Sydney in September Olivia Newton-John died. I heard of her death via D who sent a very brief email. We had stopped chatting at this point. I was emotionally exhausted by June this year and suggested we just email for a while. He thought of it as a "disposal". I said, no, you dispose of ice-cream wrappers not VIPs on your friendship list.

Anyways, we exchanged emails about Olivia, an icon and secret love for him, and then I asked how he was doing. He was doing well, he said, a dream job, a new girl. (might have said that already in the past week). And, he said to please look after myself; that there would always be a tender place in his heart for me.

I sensed danger, a danger I have only just now tapped into. I sort of challenged him; wanted to know what it had all been about. I basically wanted to keep him talking. He knows me so well, knows that I will keep digging. He replied very briefly.

"I love you. I have loved you for a very long time."

Now the danger was sky high. It was all sounding near the end. But, he said he was great. It was so confusing.

Some stuff after that; my protective nature abounding; his continual message of different kinds that he could look after himself. Such bullshit. He must have been so unwell; maybe sensed he had limited time.

My eldest son went to school with Sam. They met in the fifth grade and he was one of the lads that made up a thick and rich group of friends. Sam wasn't able to wing school like the other boys; to play hard, do a bit of homework and still get good grades. In response to this, he didn't try much at all.

Eventually the school thought it was time to move on and another very good school picked him up for the final year of his schooling. When he overdosed, after being clean for a good period of time and probably not really meaning to die, I secretly felt the Headmaster was responsible for the end of his life. What they had done was to remove his support; remove him from those who loved him; given him confirmation that he had not met expectations.

His memorial service was attended by hundreds of people; desperately sad for he was only in his 20s. I hugged his mother after the service. Sam had spent many a weekend with us. She said this: The boys didn't know how much he looked up to them; wanted to be like them.

In some way, addiction comes down to the relationship with the Self. Does one measure up to the expectations one has created for oneself and that those special people in a person's life has for oneself too? Is one unconditionally loved? Certainly, all the boys adored him. Sam and D had an almost identical cheeky boyhood smile.

Kim Eng said something interesting in the past day. She suggested that there are no relationships but just relating to someone in the present moment. In this way, we could avoid all the pitfalls of relationships; the judgments, the expectations, the comparisons. It definitely sounds more kind.