For so long, I believed that alcohol, gambling, drugs — the things that were destroying me — were the actual problem. But I’ve started to realise they weren’t the root cause. They were the symptoms. They were the things I turned to when I didn’t have the tools to cope with what I was really feeling.
For years, I chased anything that let me disconnect. Anything that let me escape reality, numb my emotions, or feel just a little bit less. Whether it was a drink, a bet, a pill — it wasn’t the substance I was addicted to. It was the silence it gave me. The temporary quiet in a mind that wouldn’t stop screaming.
I’m now starting to explore what I’ve been trying to run from. That’s the hardest part.
I’ve had to sit in discomfort I used to drown out. I’ve had to face trauma I never processed. Shame I carried in silence. Grief I never named. And the feeling that I wasn’t good enough — that no matter what I did, I’d always fall short.
This is what I never let myself feel before. This is the pain I tried to bury under every vice I could get my hands on.
Recovery — real recovery — isn’t just about stopping the behaviours. That’s the beginning. The real work is about asking why I needed them in the first place. And being brave enough to sit with the answers.
I’m still doing that work. I don’t have it all figured out. But every time I choose to stay with myself, instead of escape, that’s a step. Every time I talk instead of shut down. Every time I feel something fully instead of numb it — that’s progress.
I may always have an addictive personality. But that doesn’t mean I’ll always be at war with myself. The more I understand and heal the pain underneath, the less power those behaviours have over me.
I know now that I don’t need to escape anymore. I just need to keep learning how to stay.
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