Post by Ann on Jan 21, 2010 9:02:02 GMT -5
Another CelticCrone piece:
In the angst of perpetual relapse, I have spent a lot of time contemplating a way to reduce the allure of the "I can just have one" myth. I think the imagery that works best for me in deflating that temptation is visualizing the quitting process as a WPA dam project.
When you quit, your goal is to build a barrier between yourself and your addiction. Your challenge is twofold: find a way to keep the raging current of addiction held back, while you simultaneously construct a structure study enough to tame it permanently.
The first goal entails endless strategies for diverting addiction's course temporarily. The second is the tedious process of building the dam. You must build a framework of support ("Q-beams" work well!), then slowly build upward. Each craving outlasted, each trigger ignored, is a brick. Patiently, you watch it grow into this monument to self-control, strong enough to not only hold back the torrent, but to transform the churning water into a calm reservoir.
At some point, you look at this massive structure you have built and, swollen with pride, deem it indestructible. You overlook the fact that its permanence is dependent on constant maintenance and vigilance against wear. You look at this enormous barrier and wonder what harm could one cigarette do -- one tiny, tiny hole in this monstrous dam. You forget that just on the other side is your addiction, standing almost as tall as your barrier. You are lulled by the calmness of the water, forgetful of it's angry, raging past.
At first, it works, this dam of yours. A small, innocuous drip seeps through that tiny cigarette hole, but the dam is not endangered. Slowly, slowly over the days ahead the drip becomes a trickle and the trickle starts to pick up speed. The mortar around the opening loosens and tiny chinks are washed away.
The destruction now begins in earnest; ever larger pieces are blown out by ever increasing gallons of water. What took months and months to build is transformed to rubble in days and hours.
Standing amid that heap of bricks and mud, the courage to begin again, the stamina to start all over -- brick upon brick upon brick -- seem beyond your grasp. The weight of defeat and guilt sap you of strength and hope. Even the knowledge that you succeeded in this endeavor once before does not soothe you when you're standing ankle deep in ruin.
You are the architect of your dam, but you are also the maintenance crew. Do not let the glory of one role allow you to neglect the other.
In the angst of perpetual relapse, I have spent a lot of time contemplating a way to reduce the allure of the "I can just have one" myth. I think the imagery that works best for me in deflating that temptation is visualizing the quitting process as a WPA dam project.
When you quit, your goal is to build a barrier between yourself and your addiction. Your challenge is twofold: find a way to keep the raging current of addiction held back, while you simultaneously construct a structure study enough to tame it permanently.
The first goal entails endless strategies for diverting addiction's course temporarily. The second is the tedious process of building the dam. You must build a framework of support ("Q-beams" work well!), then slowly build upward. Each craving outlasted, each trigger ignored, is a brick. Patiently, you watch it grow into this monument to self-control, strong enough to not only hold back the torrent, but to transform the churning water into a calm reservoir.
At some point, you look at this massive structure you have built and, swollen with pride, deem it indestructible. You overlook the fact that its permanence is dependent on constant maintenance and vigilance against wear. You look at this enormous barrier and wonder what harm could one cigarette do -- one tiny, tiny hole in this monstrous dam. You forget that just on the other side is your addiction, standing almost as tall as your barrier. You are lulled by the calmness of the water, forgetful of it's angry, raging past.
At first, it works, this dam of yours. A small, innocuous drip seeps through that tiny cigarette hole, but the dam is not endangered. Slowly, slowly over the days ahead the drip becomes a trickle and the trickle starts to pick up speed. The mortar around the opening loosens and tiny chinks are washed away.
The destruction now begins in earnest; ever larger pieces are blown out by ever increasing gallons of water. What took months and months to build is transformed to rubble in days and hours.
Standing amid that heap of bricks and mud, the courage to begin again, the stamina to start all over -- brick upon brick upon brick -- seem beyond your grasp. The weight of defeat and guilt sap you of strength and hope. Even the knowledge that you succeeded in this endeavor once before does not soothe you when you're standing ankle deep in ruin.
You are the architect of your dam, but you are also the maintenance crew. Do not let the glory of one role allow you to neglect the other.