Entangled In The Web Of Addiction

In an earlier post, I wrote about addictions being like a spider’s web. I want to add more along this line of thinking.

Spiders have more than one way to trap their prey, but the best method is their web. One of the functions of a web is to trap the prey by entangling it or sticking to it.

A few years ago I was bicycling down a country road when I noticed a spider’s web like the one pictured. As I rode, I thought about two things: The beauty and intricacy of it’s design & what I would’ve felt like if I had rode into it. I’ve gotten spider’s webs on me before and I know that time would’ve aggravated me, to say the least. I would’ve been swiping my face and every where else trying to get that sticky mess off me.

I can only imagine what a fly feels like to be trapped in a web and to see the spider approaching. Struggling frantically, to no avail, to free itself. For the fly, death is literally knocking at the door.

This is exactly what happens with addiction. An addict becomes entangled in its sticky web. Except in the early stages of addiction, the addict doesn’t struggle. He doesn’t want out of his addiction. As far as he is concerned, the addiction has too much to offer him. It gives him too much pleasure. In fact, because of denial, he doesn’t even realize that addiction has spun its sticky web. By the time the addiction has caused him enough pain to want out, it’s too late. The addict is trapped and the more he struggles, the harder it is to get out. For the addict death is literally knocking at the door.

Family and friends can try to persuade him to seek help, but until the addict makes the decision himself, he will continue being trapped.

I recall the first time that a nurse told me I was a binge drinker. I was infuriated at the thought! Binge drinking is what college students do and I was 40 years old. Besides, I didn’t have a drinking problem. Nope! Not me! What I was doing was completely normal.

Deep down inside though, I knew something wasn’t right. Why did I feel so guilty about going to the store to buy a bottle? Why was I worried about what the saleslady was thinking? But to hear someone openly tell me that I had a drinking problem was a whole different matter. I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t accept it. I was in denial. Alcoholism already had me entangled in its sticky web and I certainly didn’t want any help getting out. Death was knocking at my door and I didn’t want any help escaping it.

During part of this time I was attending a mental health program for individual and group therapy. Part of this therapy was seeing an addiction counselor. Part of treatment included going to A.A. meetings.

I’ve heard it said in a lot of A.A. meetings that an alcoholic or addict has to hit rock bottom before they are willing to stop drinking or drugging and begin the climb up. For each person, the “bottom” is different. For some it can be when their family threatens to leave them. It could come when the doctor tells them they have a serious medical condition brought on by their drinking. Some lose their jobs before deciding to stop. Some may decide to stop when they are arrested for driving under the influence. And yet, for some, it takes a harder bottom than these for them to stop. Some people can lose everything and are still entangled in the web of addiction.

For me, my bottom came due to the intense guilt I was experiencing brought on by my drinking. Oh yes, it felt so good to be under the influence of alcohol, but the guilt was eating me alive. Finally and reluctantly, I gradually stopped drinking.

Eventually, I started going to meetings on my own, outside the treatment program. In particular, I started going to meetings that Calvin and Sherri have at their house. I begin to realize that the people there really cared about me. If I was willing to help myself, they would do what they could to help me. They eagerly gave me their phone numbers; telling me to call them any time day or night when I felt like drinking. Or if I had any other problem for that matter.

Little by little as I listened to these people talk and thinking about my own drinking habits, I began to accept that I just might have a problem. Notice that I said “might”. Denial still had me partially trapped in the web, although I wasn’t drinking. My O.C.D also added to my questioning my problem.

I continued going to meetings and I didn’t drink for over a year before I allowed the web of alcoholism to trap me again. But compared to my past drinking, it was short lived.

Notice that I said “allowed”. We drink and use drugs for one simple reason. We choose to. We can also choose to stop. The spider’s web can only hold us if we are willing to stay trapped. When we admit that we need help, then we are ready to take certain step to become untangled.

The Consequences Of Not Properly Coping With My Anger

I continue to have the feelings of anger that are related to my dad’s death that I mention in the December 4 post, but they don’t seem to be as strong as they have been. I haven’t thought about trashing my apartment lately. I realize that I’m continuing to avoid dealing with them properly, but I’m afraid of the intensity of my emotions that I fear will be released. I also realize that I can’t properly grieve and eventually begin to heal by avoiding it. Also, if this anger isn’t dealt with appropriately, it’s likely that I could really take it out on my sister or someone else close to me.

Yesterday, I talked to my therapist, Kara, about my feelings. She asked why I was mad at Daddy. I told her because he died without giving me a chance to say good-bye. Kara pointed out the fact that it wasn’t Daddy’s choice to die when he did; he had no control over it. I began to look at it in a different light. If only a little bit. My anger toward him lessened.

If it’s not Daddy’s fault, then whose is it? God’s? Should I blame God for allowing my daddy to die? Is it right or fair to blame Him? A synonym of blame is to “hold responsible”. God is, after all, responsible for giving us life and He can take it away. Still, in a way, it doesn’t seem right blaming God. Does He make mistakes? Is God cruel and unjust? Sometimes it seems like it, but yet I feel guilty about blaming him. As I consider this, there’s a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach and I feel physically sick.

It has also occurred to me that some of the anger and blame could be directed toward the nursing home where Daddy lived for over four years. I believe some of the nurses there really cared about Daddy, but others I don’t know about. I kind of wonder about the nurses who were on duty that night, but it’s just my mind questioning things.

If there is one person at the nursing home that I would like to hold responsible for my dad’s death, that would be the administrator Mrs. R. I believe there is only one person she cares about and looks out for and that’s herself. Do I have hard feelings for this woman? You better believe it!

Daddy had bipolar disorder and as a result he had a lot of manic episodes while at the nursing home. During one particular period , I was having a very difficult time dealing with it. He was constantly paranoid, believing that many people were out to get them. He was constantly accusing the staff of stealing from him and plotting against him. He was also very grandiose; “I’m the king of the mountain. I’m absolutely right and everyone else is absolutely wrong!”

Yes, Daddy was extremely hard to be around during these times, but I expected someone like Mrs. R. to be a professional and try to help the family. But did she? H*ll no! She raised as much h*ll as Daddy did. She wanted him put out, threatened to have him arrested. She angrily told me that he couldn’t get along with anyone. She emphasized “anyone!” I discovered later that Mrs. R. didn’t know her staff very well. There was more than one nurse who told me they didn’t have any problem with Daddy. Undoubtedly, they had a more professional and caring heart about them than their administrator did.

After Daddy got better, but still sometimes accused the staff of stealing something, Mrs. R. would say “There he goes again!” According to her, there wasn’t anyone else in her nursing home that was as bad as Daddy.

Whenever I would go see her about something where the nursing home was at fault, she would always do one of two things. She would either just sit there and look at me or she would say “You’re free to take him somewhere else if you’re not happy with him being here.” Not one time did she every say the words “I’m sorry”. It was different with the assistant-administrator and the social worker. They seemed to at least have some compassion.

During the time that Daddy was experiencing his manic highs, I really wanted to go off on Mrs. R. and tell her exactly what I thought of her. Probably the only reason that I didn’t was because a close friend cautioned me about trying to get along with her for Daddy’s sake. Now that he’s gone, what’s stopping me? If that woman had went through the motions of expressing her so-called sympathy, that might have been my breaking point. I really would love to ask her why she would start showing concern now.

While sharing this post with you, I’ve begun to realize that I have more anger than I thought. While writing this, I wondered what good does all this anger do for me? Once again I need to remind myself that anger is a part of the grieving process and needs to be worked through in order to heal properly. Even without the grieving part, anger is still part of being human and needs to be properly dealt with.

When I begun writing this, the anger was like a spark within me. Now, it feels more like a fire beginning to blaze.

My Problems With Obsessions And Addictions

Sometimes I wonder about the differences between obsessions and addictions. Whether it's the one or the other, they can sometimes really drive me crazy. Take for instance this blog. My main purpose for it is to both express my thoughts and feelings on different things and share them with my readers. But I get so caught up in a multitude of other things such as adding widgets to it that I neglect the main purpose of having it to begin with.

I view obesssions and addictions like a spider's web. Once I get caught up in them, it's extremely hard for me to break loose. I can spend countless untold hours browsing the Internet and researching certain things that interest me at the moment. Once I get it in my head, I can't let it go.

Dealing With Anger And Grief

Sometimes when I’m sitting up late at night a feeling of anger overcomes me. Perhaps this feeling is best described as rage. One of the first things I think about is throwing something. Not something light, but something heavy like a book or a remote control. Then I think that’s not good enough. I want to just trash my apartment.

To begin with, I was giving credit to this to my staying up late. I do think it has some bearing on these feelings, but after last night I think there’s more to it.

I recently purchased a book titled “The Healing Journey Through Grief” by Phil Rich. Before going to bed the night before, I read the first few pages in it. When I started reading, I felt calm and relaxed. A short time later I was feeling like throwing the book against the wall. It was then that I started to realize my anger had something to do with Daddy’s death.

It had been several weeks since I had written in my personal journal. When I thought about writing in it concerning my feelings the night before, it didn’t seem like a pleasant task. To be honest, I was afraid of where it would lead. The feelings of anger continued to nag at me and I reluctantly picked my journal up and began to write.

Despite the title of the book, I decided that it didn’t feel very “healing”. I also wrote that I felt like a storm was brewing within me. The following is an excerpt of what I wrote:

“Who or what am I angry at? Putting my finger on everything seems a difficult task & one that I don’t know if I want to do. To explore all of my feelings concerning this seems to mean that I make myself extremely vulnerable.


I feel angry at Daddy for the way he died, not giving me a chance to say goodbye.”

I also discovered that I was angry with God for allowing him to die like he did. After I finished writing, I felt like there was something still inside me that was hidden, but this wasn’t the time to try and uncover it. I just felt too drained.

Last night at A.A., I shared this with the group. Afterward, Sherri talked a little about her mother’s death a few years ago. Sherri said because she was sick, she wasn’t with her mother in the hospital when she died. She was angry with herself for not being there. I also realized that I was mad at myself for not being with Daddy.

On the way home last night, another friend, Jerry told me about how he was mad at everyone, including God when his son died at an early age. He later realized that he had done everything that he could and didn’t have a reason to be angry.

Jerry asked me if I told Daddy that I loved him. I said that I had but couldn’t recall if I did the day he died. A feeling of fear and dread overcame me. Then I remembered that I probably had told him based on one of our last conversations that day.

Jerry said if I told Daddy and he knew I loved him, I didn’t have anything to be angry about. As I listen to Jerry talk, I knew that he was just trying to help me and perhaps in a way he did. But I believed that despite all this, being angry was just a part of grieving. In a way it seemed like Jerry was telling me that I shouldn’t be angry or maybe that I didn’t have the right to be angry. Perhaps that’s not what he meant.

When Mother died, people told me that I had to “brace up and be strong”. I would get so mad. It was like they were telling me that I didn’t have the right to grieve. I know they were just trying to help and probably didn’t know what else to say. If there was one thing that I learned from Mother’s death it was to be careful what you say to someone who just lost a loved one. That’s a time when you’re extremely sensitive and the wrong thing, no matter how helpful it’s intended to be, can be very hurtful. Sometimes the best thing to do is just give the person a hug and simply say “I’m sorry.”

The Fragility Of Life

Whereas ye know not what shall be on the morrow. For what is your life? It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away. James 4:14 (KJV)

[Following John Ritter’s death in 2003] It’s a huge shock. It just makes me realize how fragile life is. ~ Sylvester Stallone

Whenever I think of the word "fragile", I think of something delicate like a ceramic cup or maybe one of those porcelain angels a lot of women like to collect. You have to be extremely careful with them. If they are knocked off, they will shatter into a million pieces.

The dictionary defines fragile as something "easily broken or destroyed" and in "need for careful handling".

Lately, I've been thinking about just how much this describes life. We go about our lives engaging in our daily activities living like we have no concerns and never stopping to think that we’re one breath, one heartbeat away from death.

We never stop to think just how fragile life is. Just like a porcelain angel our lives can be shattered into millions of pieces, never to be put together again.

We act like our lives are in our own hands, never stopping to realize it’s God who ultimately holds us in His hand and at any moment that He chooses He can end it.