The Addictive Brain: It's Not a Choice

I was speaking with a long-time friend of mine several months ago. We don't chat often enough, so once we get on the phone he tends to give me the complete download. That's who he is, and I enjoy the updates so when my ear gets tired we say goodbye for another few months.

We've known each other now for about a quarter century. Long enough that I know a lot about his family, but the one I always like to check up on is his sister, who has struggled with alcohol pretty much her entire life.

Two check-ins ago he was expressing significantly more frustration with her than typical and said something to the effect of, "I don't get why she can't just stop. She must know how hard this is on the family."

I told him that I'm sure she does, and that I'm also sure that knowing how much she is hurting the family is a significant impetus for her to drink more. Then I explained that alcoholics, drug addicts, food addicts, don't actually need a reason.

There are a couple of things that are true about most addictive-minded people. They don't need a reason, and once they start they can't typically stop.

One of my favorite episodes of The West Wing actually has the Chief of Staff, who is a recovering alcoholic on the show, explaining to his lawyer that alcoholics can't have a taste or a sip, and that he doesn't understand people who can leave wine in the glass at dinner.

Anyway, my friend and I talked for quite some time, after I was sure he wanted to hear what I had to say on the subject, and I explained that addicts typically know very well how much they are hurting people and letting them down. The guilt and shame of that knowledge tends to add to the list of reasons we are attempting to numb our feelings.

I shared what I had learned once I got in the "rooms." We talked about the 500-pound phone, neuropathways, and why it is so difficult to stop the behaviors.

I shared with him what I had learned about things like sugar and alcohol hitting the exact same spot in the pleasure center of the brain. When I found that out, it was a huge "holy fill-in-the-blank" moment because when I was a kid I literally couldn't get enough sweets.

My grandmother would find places to hide the chocolate, and I would always find it and eat it all. At the holidays she would always put out Hershey's Kisses with the green and red wrappers in a crystal dish she had. Once I started eating those, I couldn't stop.

Addiction is not a choice, just as anxiety and depression aren't, and I am confident that most addicts don't want to hurt the people they love. But it's not as easy as deciding to stop and then stopping.

It is really interesting to me because after being in the rooms and learning what I have about addiction and the addictive mind, it explains a LOT about my childhood. It also makes trying to live "sober" feel like living inside an experiment with human test subjects...and I'm the test subject.

In some ways I actually count myself a lucky addict because I have never had a drug problem, and in fact have never liked taking medications unless absolutely necessary because I just don't like putting things in my body that take control away.

With alcohol, it's never been a constant thing for me. I have never really felt like I had to drink, and for most of my life I was an athlete to one extent or another, so it didn't fit who I was.

But the other side of alcohol for me is that the times in my life when I did choose to drink, for whatever reason, usually team celebration related, I couldn't stop. More often than not, not stopping eventually meant doing something really stupid, like fighting and/or getting arrested.

So yes, I consider not being dependent on drugs and alcohol lucky.

However, as someone once told me, addiction is like a squeeze ball. If you've played around with a squeeze ball or stress ball, when you squeeze it what happens? It pops out through your fingers or the side of your hand somewhere. It has to. Addiction is very much like the squeeze ball.

I was once at a meeting I used to go to regularly. It was an early Saturday morning meeting that always had about seventy people there. This particular Saturday morning someone brought up the topic of "cross addiction," and as we went around the room I listened to lots of purists, lifelong alcoholics who believed alcoholism and alcoholics were somehow special. So me, still being a bit of a smart ass back then, and more importantly wanting to make a point, when it came around to me I asked for everyone who was drinking coffee to raise their hands, or mugs or cups, and just about every hand went up. I then asked for everyone who had been out front smoking before, during, or after the meeting to raise their hands, and although it was a smaller group of people it was still a majority. I then closed with, "Don't tell me cross addiction isn’t really a thing."

There are even so-called "healthy" addictions. Running. Cycling. Skiing.

I was a runner for most of my life, and now because of getting older I've had to slow down. After a recent surgery, when the doctor told me, "Walking is your friend," I started walking a lot and then going for a slow, gentle jog on Saturday mornings. A couple of weeks ago I walked my personal best for the week of just a bit over forty miles. This is a healthy addiction that started to become unhealthy.

I have known several runners who have dealt with chronic shin splints and stress fractures. They just had to run, even to the point, or past, where they were hurting themselves.

When I was cycling a lot, I used to do a bike ride for cancer research every summer. Each year I trained more and more. The last year I did this I rode 3,500 miles in the months leading up to the ride trying to break the five-hour century. We wound up riding in the remnants of a tropical storm, cold driving rain for the first three hours. I was on pace for about half the ride and then wound up with what was diagnosed as exercise-induced asthma. I couldn't push at all because my lungs kept seizing up. I also wouldn't stop. It took me eight hours instead of five or six, and my family and friends were all extremely concerned, but I was going to finish.

Most of my working life I was a workaholic. I loved being the first one in and the last one to leave. It didn't matter if it was engineering, consulting, teaching, or coaching. It was all the obsessive/addictive mind.

Then, of course, I had to run after work before I could eat. For a long time that's how I thought of it. You can't eat until you run. You have to earn your dinner. Nothing wrong with that thinking, right?

It's funny because...where's the line?

I was successful as an engineer in my early life and worked on some cool projects, but at what cost? I was hugely successful as a consultant, but by what standard and at what cost? I got to work with some great companies and travel the world. I got to run through Washington, D.C., checking out the monuments, and around the cobblestone streets of Brussels. I got to ride my bike in the Swiss Alps. I met a lot of cool people and had a lot of fun.

But in all that running and riding and traveling what was I missing?

I missed my sisters' and my nieces' and nephews' lives growing up while chasing what?

I've veered off a bit, but to make a point or two, mainly, that addiction is addiction. Lately it's been Peanut M&M's and Sprite, but it doesn't matter what it is. It's not a choice.

I don't want to think about how much of my life I've wasted glued to a TV screen. There's a game I have to watch, or a show I need to see how it ends. This one is easy to understand, sort of. When I was very young it was what I would do to get out of the room where the screaming was happening and to drown it out a bit. I'd fall asleep listening to some strange blend of my parents fighting and whatever TV show was on. It made for some interesting dreams while fading in and out. Later it became a great way to procrastinate. Unfortunately, now it doesn't work. TV doesn't quiet my mind anymore.

Bringing this back to my friend...

I just wanted him to know this wasn't his sister's fault, and that the best thing he, and they as a family, could do was reach out to her to say hi—not to check on her, and not to try to fix her—but simply to support her in whatever way they could.

We talked about why treatment doesn't always work, and we talked about how this was a daily struggle for her. Sometimes hourly. Sometimes minute to minute. I tried to explain that if he could make her feel more listened to and less judged, it might make the 500-pound phone a little lighter. He thanked me at the end of our call.

A few weeks later, maybe more, he called. He sounded less like himself. He told me that his sister had not been heard from for a few days, so they called for a wellness check, and she was found dead in her basement. He then thanked me.

I was in tears, feeling like I should have tried to help more and sooner.

He said he and the family were thankful for that conversation because it helped them understand a bit better who she was and what she had been living with all her life. He also said that he and his sister had had some of the best conversations they had ever had during that period because he had stopped trying to fix her, check up on her, or get her to stop. He had simply been calling to say hello and chat.

I'm not sure why this is what I chose to write today, except it's been on my mind since his last call, and I know writing about the addictive mind is long overdue for me.

I'm not sure I said what I wanted to say in the right way, or even made any sense, but I guess here's the gist:

Addiction is not a choice. It is a disease.

For those living with this disease, in whatever form—alcohol, drugs, chocolate, work, fitness, television, relationships—it is not your fault, and you don't have to try to deal with it alone.

For family and friends of those with an addictive mind, being accepting, understanding, supportive, and patient is one of the best things you can do. Take the time to truly listen without judgment, and ask, "What can I do to best help you?"

They most likely won't know how to answer, but knowing you are there, and not going anywhere, is in fact a huge help.

For people struggling with addiction, one of the hardest and most important things they can do is pick up the phone.

Knowing who they can call without being judged is priceless.