A
compulsion toward anything: food, alcohol, drugs, sex, anything at all, has its
roots in pride and the terrible willfulness that pride encourages us to express
as our due. "After all, I'm worth it”, we say, as we help ourselves to one
after the other of our delicacies or forbidden delights. Then, when we realize
we're hooked, we compound the problem of our addiction by reacting to our
evolving symptoms as though they were the problem. Some of us become quite
adept at dramatizing our helplessness against the awful things that are
happening to us. We even get our friends (fiends that is) and an occasional
do-gooder to look on us as the poor, unfortunate victim, rather than the author
of our sad plight.
Until
we dare to cease our diversionary tactics and take an honest look at the real
cause of our wrong relationship with the "goodies" (mostly
"baddies” really) of the world, we will be unable to bring about any
meaningful changes in our life. First, we must see that we created the problem
ourselves, through our proud, egotistical willfulness. Then, we must see that
getting mad at the results and doing battle with them only compound the
problem.
The
frustration and despair that attend our efforts to free ourselves are simply
the pitiful cries of our pride, as it finds itself sinking in the quicksand of
its own creation. It would be better if we simply gave up and did nothing but
no, we must attack our symptoms with renewed vigor, as though the sheer force
of our anger could give us control over the enemy that has enslaved us.
Finally,
we do submit and before long, we are wallowing hopelessly in our sick
"pleasures” and seeking solace from the very people and vices that we once
regarded as enemies. They still are, of course but in our hopelessness we are
not seeing very clearly; in fact, we don't want to see clearly and we don't
want to have anything to do with anyone who does see clearly. After all, no
matter how much we want to deny it, we can never completely escape the
knowledge that we are not showing ourselves in the best light as long as we are
trapped in a compulsion. Whether flailing about in protest or simply wallowing,
we are not a pretty sight. All our hang-ups follow this pattern, whether they
are with people, places, things or whatever.
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