Knowledge Isn't Freedom.

Self-awareness only made me sicker.

Photo by Chaitanya Rayampally on Unsplash

There is a lot to be said about self-awareness in addiction.

Unfortunately, I’m vastly unqualified to say most of these things.

I do, however, have a Masters Degree in the “Psychosis of Sean Corcoran” (soon to be PhD!) and thus can speak freely on my own experiences.

I may be wrong — I often am — but there seems to be a general consensus that awareness and struggle rarely co-exist.

An overweight person mustn’t be aware of his weight, nor its potential detriment to his health, or else he would be doing something about it. How can somebody bilaterally acknowledge their problem, whilst also holding a fork?

And — more to the point — the problem gambler must be in complete and utter denial of their addiction; an idiot walking in circles, unaware that the house always wins.

In my experience, though, this was far from the case.

I was extremely aware that I was a gambling addict for many, many years before I was able to “get clean”.

I knew what this disease was doing to me. I knew — for the latter 80% of my time actively gambling — that I was never going to win back the money I had lost. And I knew that the rapidly growing ‘itch’ to end my life was a direct result of my gambling. That is to say — I knew that if I didn’t stop gambling, it was going to kill me.

Understandably, when I’ve spoken about this with friends, they always share a common sentiment:

H̶o̶w̶ ̶f̶u̶c̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶s̶t̶u̶p̶i̶d̶ ̶a̶r̶e̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶?̶ “How could you have been so aware of everything, and not stop?”

And honestly? I get it.

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“If the stove is hot, take your hand off it, idiot.” — Ancient Chinese Proverb.

And look, I’m not here to teach you why it isn’t possible — just that it is. (You’re going to have to subscribe to somebody way smarter than me to learn the ‘why’.)

What I can tell you is that there is an excruciatingly painful gap between knowing and stopping.

And I think this is important for people to learn because, in my opinion, it teaches this:

Knowledge only gets you so far.

I think we tell people to “admit they have a problem”, as if that’s the finish line. We then look at them with confusion and disdain when it isn’t the end of their problems.

But you see, admittance is really only just the beginning. It’s simply the point where you stop being an oblivious passenger, and realise “oh shit, I’m actually driving this thing”, as you hurtle down life’s side-walk flattening friends and family.

And for me, the period where I continued to gamble after admittance was the toughest.

I could no longer hide behind my own mental psychosis. Whilst I was a victim, yes, I wasn’t really a victim of anything other than my own actions. Yes, the gambling industry is predatory. Yes, payday loan companies are predatory. Yes, I was a full-blown addict, trapped in a vicious cycle — but I had put myself there, and kept myself there.

Further to that — when I was in denial, I was at least sheltered from the utter destruction I was inflicting on those around me. Now? I could see my actions for exactly what they were — abhorrent — and live with the daily fact that I continued to gamble, irrespective of that.

I didn’t cope well with this. I mixed alcohol and (prescribed) benzos, and gambled harder — all in a vain attempt to delete my new-found self-awareness.

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And so, again:

Knowledge isn’t freedom.

Freedom only comes through truth.

The difference?

Knowledge is academic; truth is visceral. Knowledge is admitting you have a problem; truth is accepting the fact that you are completely powerless to it. Knowledge is knowing the stove is hot; truth is smashing your ego to a point where you can finally admit that — despite everything you know about hot stoves — you can’t stop hanging onto it with everything you’ve got.

If you’re sitting there today, fully aware of the damage you’re doing but unable to stop, don’t feel like an idiot. You’re just at the most painful part of the process: the part where the “sane” world thinks you should be fine because you know the answers, while you’re still white-knuckling a steering wheel with your eyes closed.

You aren’t alone — I’ve been there, and there are countless others there right now, too. I promise.

You can’t think your way out of addiction.

Love,

Sean x

Day 972

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