Hey You, Stop Judging That Addict!

In my Morning Pages today, the same theme.

I’m starting over. Again.

A new day, a fresh start, and despite a lifetime of failures and giving in to temptation, I’m hopeful. Again.

All the same promises are made. Again.

I remind myself (again) that the benefits, the sacrifices are worth it. Just a little will power can reward so much more than the short-term high.

Why have I fallen off this wagon so many times?

Why is it so hard?

Yet here I am, starting from square one. Saying — again — no more french fries, no more chips and salsa.

You may think I’m joking, that I’m making light.

But no, I mean it, why is it so hard to keep these promises we make to ourselves?

On reflection, my goody-two-shoes nature served me well as a kid, keeping away cigarettes and pot.

I didn’t drink alcohol until my 21st birthday.

Killer drugs like heroin, cocaine or opioids never made it into my body. There was no Molly. No meth.

Gambling? An occasional activity, never a craving.

Friends lost brothers to overdoses. Coworkers became erratic, ceased coming in, would go into rehab, rebuild their lives, come back, only to fail again and disappear.

From my lofty perch of judgement I would look down and utter the tainted words — look at those poor addicts.

Tisk-tisk, I’d think, shaking my head.

Just look at those addicts. Such a shame. Why can’t they develop some backbone? Why can’t they just pull it together and stop? Where’s the will power? Don’t they want something better?

Yet here I sit, three months into 2024, starting over myself.

Again.

Multiple times a year, every year.

I’ve had glorious stretches of not eating carbs, of giving up chips and salsa, not purchasing spaghetti and bread, forgoing sweets. Fully reveling in the glorious momentum, the again-obvious benefits and energy boosts of healthy eating.

And then, at some point, I cave, and you can find me shoveling in the chips and salsa like I’ve never eaten before. It’s not the sweets for me, but the savory.

I’m suddenly cooking myself a bowl of rotini at 10:30 p.m.

Just for tonight, I tell myself. It’s not the end of the world.

And in the morning, there it is, my growing middle-aged-man gut still staring back at me.

All this to say, if I’m giving in to temptation and falling off my will-power high-horse every few weeks, how do I have the audacity to sit and judge people who fall off in the battle with truly potent, deeply addictive substances like drugs and cigarettes?

I can’t fathom the driven-to-distraction daily thought processes, the rationalizations, the gnawing itch.

The internal struggle it takes just to keep myself from digging into the potato chip bag or from having some dessert at that family gathering is epic. How on earth then do people resist the magnetic call of something like heroin or Xanax? Or that next drink or cigarette?

Many of you no doubt have tales of addictions overcome in this lifetime, the daily work it takes. And also those loved ones who’ve succumbed to a prescription drug habit they think they have under control.

Just allow me to just say, I’ve been such a hypocritical snot about it.

My upbringing luckily kept me away from getting initially hooked on things — win for me on the childhood roulette wheel! But that’s no reason for me to have spent decades looking down on addicts who “just needed to work a little harder and get their lives together.”

My bloodwork? I’m probably heading slowly toward pre-diabetes.

I’m still in the window where something can be done about it. I can stay strong and stay healthy. Yet, here I am again, having to restart my intermittent fasting window, re-stating my resolution to stop with the big portions. I’m judging folks for not “being stronger” than heroin while I don’t have the strength to keep a future comorbidity or two at bay.

It could be coffee. Pornography. Mindless television.

Checking email and social media — the dopamine hit of validation.

Sugar. Or sex.

We’re not like them, we think. It’s not as bad.

But folks, whistleblowers and endless studies will tell you, social media was specifically designed to be addictive. There are things in Diet Coke engineered to keep you drinking it and losing no weight. Sugar is said to feed cancer. Gambling industries make billions based on human psychology, with the full knowledge that addicts must make up fifty percent of their clientele.

The world pummels you from all sides. Any episode of Sex and the City or a favorite TV show? Oh great, they’re sitting around eating again, nibbling on fries or pizza, and now I’m freakin’ craving. All the beer ads during sporting events, the FOMO train of TikTok and Insta.

Entire industries, thriving off the backs of our frailties. We were hooked and hoodwinked absolutely, deliberately. It’s a miracle any have resisted.

I mean no disrespect when I say, in all sincerity, those of you who’ve been x-years sober, x-years without a cigarette, my hat is off to you. I am humbled by your strength, by the demons you continue to slay, for I apparently only have the willpower of a few weeks before I’m sneaking an M&M or chip… yet am oh so ready to judge you for falling off the wagon.

So who’s the effing addict here? What would happen if an alcoholic just snuck in one drink like my M&M? Just that one cigarette?

My apologies.

Deep breath.

Okay, I just had a glorious salad of the freshest greens, and it was delicious. I’m prepping to do my fasting window and get in my steps. I’m ready to stop having junk in the house… again.

I’m starting right here, right now, again. This time, with empathy.

Stay strong out there, folks.

Thanks for reading stories written by a real human. This story was originally published here, on Medium.com.