When do you honestly like yourself the most? And when I say, “the most,” I am not just referring to a fun night, that is now a memory on your Instagram. Nor something of substance, or instant gratification of any sort. What is it in life that comes from yourself, that makes you like, or even better, LOVE yourself? Trust me, my readers, I do know, far too well, what it is like to be lost in substance and fast good feelings. Chained to addiction and depression. I am told very often that I am strong, for overcoming my self-inflicted struggles, as well as the ones that were forced upon me- I do not believe that it takes any certain soul, strength or psyche- to break the habit.
Genetics is an unfair gambling game. In the life you live, you can make your own choices- but you cannot choose what you look like, who your family is, or whether or not you’ll develop Huntington’s. Unfortunately winning the “addiction gene” is another attribute we cannot dispute. Though there is no official biological addiction gene- as surgeon Dr. Glen Hansone quotes:
“Just because you are prone to addiction doesn’t mean you’re going to become addicted. It just means you have to be more careful”.
The term heritability now comes into context. It plays a role in what makes us individual as people: the term phenotype is defined as our physical and biochemical appearance. The second function is two more or less describe our personality traits and what makes us, us. Genetic variation: both physically and mentally. Well, thanks to my mystery of a biological mother, my genetic code happen to win the addiction gene, on many counts. Uppers, downers- you name it, mama probably did it. Including her early days of being pregnant with me; and coping with the adoption, by drinking.
No human needs a specific gene to be able to fall into the toxic, yet temporarily sensational release that is- not being sober. No human needs a specific gene to be able to catch on that playing with toxic temptations to numb or forget up treacherous, traumatic event- feels so arousing. Almost comforting. This usually takes place when there is a lack of support, that isn’t attempting to help mend together a new void.
I speak of this topic today; in an informative voice. That is a world of choices, be reminded that you are the one who makes them, and who chooses to learn from them after. Addiction is a little harder to grow from, than a bad day or event. Addiction is another part of you. He or she are made up of broken atoms from atomic bombs thrown unwillingly into your life. A quantum ghost of yourself. As someone who speaks empathetically on this topic, during my dark times, I was intrigued to get to know this drug addicted duplicate side of me. I thought she at one point made me a good writer; I thought she made me a “bad-ass.” Nearly a year; and I still hear the ringing in my ears that would pierce my skull as I would sit at my desk, lining up in preparation for another test. I always had a gram, rarely ever less. Addiction left me a mistress to constant emotional and physical distress. I thought I could never fit into that black dress… The biggest test that got me out of my mess was telling myself “I deserve better than this.”
Humans do hold some capability to redefine their genetic codes. Though there are some things in some of us (Like Huntington’s) that we have to carefully decide how we will make our lives (if one WANTS too) worth living. I thought I liked myself best when I wasn’t sober. I’d be me, but more lively, witty. But highs never last, natural or not. All of us all crash. Shortly I would find myself in a mental cage, temples throbbing my regretful and painful choices- all for what? Towards the end of using I would sit and stare at nothing. Hoping that words would flush through me, just as Dopamine would flush my receptors, each time I picked up that plastic scepter.
Breaking my habit was like racking up broken and torn fall leaves. That would so shortly, put my mind at ease. I could sleep again. Eat again, live again. Eventually, gain confidence with every pound I put back onto my 60 pound something frame. That day came because I choose it too. You don’t need to look for who will do that for you; you can’t always have someone there. Even when you are in what feels like the darkest mental lair that you so dared to explore. Realizing that the night before only left my body and brain sore.
Though I am more susceptible to develop an addiction and did, does not mean by any means the lucky ones whose odds of addiction are lined up higher than mine- you won’t get addicted. Addiction always turns physical but starts as mental. Convincing yourself that the cotton-mouth conversations, will next day be realized as a train you’ll never see again leave the station. I found creation once I got past my deadly white temptations. A permanent, content, mental vacation. It’s never too late to find out how you honestly like yourself.