I'm about to relapse, please help!
in Psychology ·
Look, my friend—even if you were handed a magic shot on a silver platter, do you honestly believe that would be the end of the addiction? I truly believe that emotional dependency is a far more complex beast than physical craving. When it comes to the latter, a person can become attached to anything at all. A vaccine isn't going to shift your fundamental outlook; it won't change who you are at your core. Sure, perhaps it might help you get back on track enough to function temporarily, but... for how long?
And frankly, excuses are what I find most difficult to stomach. Take my brother, for instance—he’s cycled through countless hospitals (where, quite frankly, they mostly just made things worse for him), and I lost count of how many times he agreed to enter a rehabilitation center only to flee. He’d hitchhike home after just three days because he realized he actually had to learn to appreciate what he was given—that he had to wash his own dishes, that he had to actually get off his butt in the morning. There were wonderful people there; there was so much he could have learned—but every single time, he quit because he felt it was too "grimy," because he "had to work," or because nobody there was willing to tolerate his aggression. And so, here we are: a thirty-year-old man sitting at home like a corpse. He has no friends left—and no, they didn't abandon him; they kept showing up, over and over... he's the one who pushed them away. All he has left are pills, the television, his own internal terror, and, of course, those debts he'll never actually settle. My brother has cancer, Mom is fragile and working all day, I'm stuck in university and completely overwhelmed—my health is honestly failing from the sheer stress of it all. If I end up in surgery, heaven knows who will be left to look after me. So, I am heading out now to make an appointment with a psychiatrist.
And frankly, excuses are what I find most difficult to stomach. Take my brother, for instance—he’s cycled through countless hospitals (where, quite frankly, they mostly just made things worse for him), and I lost count of how many times he agreed to enter a rehabilitation center only to flee. He’d hitchhike home after just three days because he realized he actually had to learn to appreciate what he was given—that he had to wash his own dishes, that he had to actually get off his butt in the morning. There were wonderful people there; there was so much he could have learned—but every single time, he quit because he felt it was too "grimy," because he "had to work," or because nobody there was willing to tolerate his aggression. And so, here we are: a thirty-year-old man sitting at home like a corpse. He has no friends left—and no, they didn't abandon him; they kept showing up, over and over... he's the one who pushed them away. All he has left are pills, the television, his own internal terror, and, of course, those debts he'll never actually settle. My brother has cancer, Mom is fragile and working all day, I'm stuck in university and completely overwhelmed—my health is honestly failing from the sheer stress of it all. If I end up in surgery, heaven knows who will be left to look after me. So, I am heading out now to make an appointment with a psychiatrist.