Are you wearing green? Blogger M. A. Peel comments that she “met a psychiatrist once who believed that the national Irish affinity for drinking was a product of centuries of oppression/emasculation by the British,” and… Happy St. Patrick’s Day
All of the characteristics of addiction that she listed in her book led me to one word….
ABUSE
The most valuable thing I got from When Society Becomes an Addict was something which Anne Wilson Schaef did not even appear to see.
I found her analysis of society’s addictions to be very powerful, and it helped me understand a lot more about the world in which I live and answer many questions which had been plaguing me about it. But as I read the book, I discovered something even more interesting to me. The more she talked about the behaviors involved in addiction, the more convinced I became that addicts and abuse survivors are one and the same. Every behavior she described was either something I already understood as being caused by abuse, or something new which I could now see would come from abuse.
For example:
She states that we create crises in order to feel, and that addicts are often so out of touch with our emotions that we feel dead, unable to respond to the world. Creating crises becomes a form of self-injury, serving one of the same purposes: to feel something, to know that we are alive. In reality, she says, we feel very deeply but don’t know how to handle that, and we have little abilty to know what exactly it is that we are feeling. And this is all very characteristic of abuse survivors: we have had to block off our emotions in order to survive our abuse. It was not safe to feel; if we had really known at the time how scared or angry or sad we were, what our abuse really felt like, we would not have survived it. (And some of us don’t.)
Schaef talks about dissociation at length, but calls it “forgetfulness” and “blackouts.” She explains that when people are deep in addictive behavior, they can drive around, go drinking, get into fights, fly to another country, and do almost anything wide awake with no memory of it. This is a form of dissociation (losing time) which will be familiar to most multiples — in fact, to most self-aware abuse survivors. I suspect that addictive forgetfulness and blackouts are part of the same thing, particularly given the high correlation between abuse and addiction.
The process of recovery, ideally, is one which slowly heals this forgetfulness and allows us to feel safe being present in our lives. Schaef connects it to addiction even further, saying that “any addictive pattern or process can blur our thinking and block our memory. It causes us to lose contact with what we know and have learned.” This is part of the reason that addiction is considered a “progressive illness” in twelve-step circles — that is, among people who understand it and are working to recover from it. When we engage in our addictive behavior, we can lose all the healthy behaviors that we have learned.
Low self-esteem is also a common, if not guaranteed, effect of abuse prior to recovery. Schaef states that addicts perceive the world in negatives, are hypercritical and judgmental, focused on perfection. Our society’s ideas of luxury and decadence, according to the media, are things like eating dessert without feeling guilty: we are struggling with extreme self-judgement and the codependence of obsessing about what others think. All of these things are forms of low self-esteem and effects of abuse. Abuse survivors become hypercritical and judgmental because we have learned that we are bad people — otherwise, why would we have been abused? Even when we intellectually know that the abuse was not our fault, it is very hard to internalize that fact.
We struggle to be good enough to avoid further abuse even after we have escaped our abusers. Codependence is also essentially an automatic result of abuse. It is Stockholm Syndrome: we have to identify with our abusers in some way to survive. We internalize the abuse and continue it through things like believing terrible things about ourselves and creating more chaotic and damaging environments in which to live, as well as more obviously addictive behaviors. Essentially, we judge and abuse ourselves emotionally (if not physically as well) to escape further abuse, as if we were being chased by a mad gorilla and had to attack ourselves to calm it down.
She also talks about the way that addicts equate responsibility with blame. And this, too, is an effect of abuse. Addicts, Schaef says, think that “cause and effect” means “if something happened it is because I made it happen.” The effect of abuse is to sever cause and effect — to break those concepts so that we don’t have a real sense of what cause and effect mean or how they go together. After all, abuse is the least logical thing in the world, the act with the least apparent or reasonable cause. The mother who explodes in rage when her child loses a library card, or the boy who fondles his baby cousin, is proving that people’s actions don’t make sense. Survivors often spend their entire lives trying to find the sense in these behaviors, which usually leads to the above experience of attacking oneself for experiencing (and therefore causing) them. Many of us are convinced that we must have done something to bring it on ourselves, because it’s easier to believe that than that people can do something so damaging for no good reason.
This also feeds into the confusion of addictive thinking: it’s much easier to believe that “Because it’s 5 p.m. somewhere in the world” is a fine reason to drink if you don’t see connections between things. Personally, I get tripped up by my loss of cause and effect all too often. Some time ago, someone was “spoofing” people in a chatroom I was in, which I realized when I saw that I had apparently said “san fransisco” (sic) without noticing it. And yet, even though my first instinct was that there was a spoofer, even though I didn’t remember typing anything of the sort and I had just been reading and not typing anything, even though I live near San Francisco and can damn well spell it, I still seriously and repeatedly questioned whether I hadn’t just typed it by accident somehow and sent it all without noticing.
Equating responsibility with blame, furthermore, makes people very defensive. We always have to be on guard against attack, or we might get abused again. (This, of course, does not stop that from happening.) And this defensiveness makes it difficult for people to deal with their own abuse, both for fear of being blamed for it again as well as simply out of fear of the pain they have already experienced. As a society, we accuse survivors of “victimology” when they speak out about their abuse — “You just want attention!” And, usually, that kind of attack comes from abuse survivors who resent that someone else can talk openly about the same abuse that they suffered.