That Old Siren Song

Brushing up against addiction…

Photo by Jordan Whitfield on Unsplash

Nothing can bring you peace but yourself – Ralph Waldo Emmerson

Back when I was still drinking, taking drugs, and gambling there was this loud Feeling that would pervade my body. It directed my action. Shaped my behaviour. And defined my way of being. It was a feeling of impatient anticipation. Although, that makes it sound far too quiet. I guess a more accurate description would be – a feeling of perpetual desperation. A feeling of longing to be anywhere but where I was. It felt as if I was standing on the high dive in my speedos shivering my balls off while some faceless foe held me back from leaping into the pool. It felt as if I was always – ‘almost there’. And the thing that was going to get me ‘there’ was when I finally launched into that glorious pool below. That’s when it would all be okay. That’s when this vociferous Feeling that nagged at me would be satisfied. That’s when this Siren Song that drove me would be silenced.

I haven’t felt that Feeling in a long time…

See, more than three years ago – I got sober. I stopped gambling. And I started sorting my shit out. This meant that for the first time since I was 16 years old, I was able to live my life without being compelled to follow that Siren Song to whatever deleterious situation it led.

That is, until recently…

Over the last few months, I’ve started to hear that tune once more. The only difference: its source has changed.

In order for me to explain, there’s two things you should know:

1) Up until recently I hadn’t used social media for more than six years.

2) Before I started The Curious Platypus I had never blogged.

But in March of 2023 – everything changed. I now had a legitimate reason to return to social media and a damn good reason to start my very own blog: I wanted to share my writing online.

So, I fired up the old Facebook. I made a new Instagram. And not long after, I launched my Substack. At first things were fine... Since I had no interest in using Facebook and Instagram as anything more than free-digital-billboards to promote my writing, the apparent allure of social media wasn’t enough to kick off that old Siren Song. Instead, it wasn’t until I posted my first few pieces on Substack – quickly sharing them on these two other social platforms – that I started to hear that old tune. That was the moment when the addictive side of me started to stir…

I noticed three things almost immediately:

1) I became hyper-fixated on writing as many new pieces as I could, as fast as possible so that I could start consistently posting them online. That way I could keep this productivity train I’d launched charging full-steam-ahead. And ‘hyper-fixated’ is the right word as this desire to get more pieces of writing online ASAP filled my mind nearly every moment of the day. All I wanted to do was write. That was the first sign it was that old Siren Song: it was making me obsessive.  

2) The day after I’d post a new piece of writing, I found myself compelled to keep checking these two social platforms all throughout the day, so I could see how my piece had been received. And I knew this was a problem because as a former addict I’d put one rule in place when I came back to social media: I would only allow myself to go on these purposely-designed-to-be-addictive-platforms once a day, at night, for no more than half an hour. Which hitherto, I’d been perfectly fine with… but now, that little voice was trying to sell me any lie it could to get me to break my rule. That was the second sign it was that old Siren Song: it was lying to me.  

3) That Feeling had returned. Suddenly, I felt antsy. I had the anticipation. The impatience. The expectations. And worst of all, the desperation. These sensations were, once again, making their presence known. And they were accompanied by that loud voice in my head that was nagging me to get more writing done “NOW” and to check those platforms “NOW”. That incessant voice was also spinning all kinds of tales designed to convince me that what I was doing wasn’t addictive behaviour. That was the third sign it was that old Siren Song: that voice in my head was trying to convince me that I didn’t have a problem. 

“After all,” (it would say) “you’re not drinking, you’re not taking drugs, you’re not gambling – you’re just focusing all your efforts on writing the next piece so that you can keep being productive. Where’s the harm in that? You’re just monitoring how your writing has been received on these social platforms so you can figure out how to be more productive next time. Where’s the harm in that? Besides, being productive is how you get ahead, it’s how you reach your writing goals – this is a good thing...”  

This is one of the more sinister things about addiction: its Siren Song corrupts you. It takes over and starts convincing you that it’s wants are your wants, and it’s voice is your voice. And then once you can’t tell the difference it convinces you that what your doing is “normal”. And when what your doing isn’t visibly destructive like substance abuse or gambling, but is instead something our society celebrates, like being productive, then convincing you of these lies is even easier for it to do.

And so, when I finally admitted to myself that it was in fact that old Siren Song that was ringing in my ears and that it had cloaked itself in my goal of sharing my writing online – I knew I had a problem… 

The problem wasn’t just that that old Siren Song had infiltrated my psyche and my writing – it was that I couldn’t silence this old tune with the same method I’d used before. 

I’d gotten over my other addictions through abstinence. I white-knuckled my way through that harrowing stage where their Siren Songs were at their loudest, until eventually, their tunes started to fade. But this time that wasn’t going to work. I couldn’t just stop sharing my writing online. Writing is something I love, and a huge part of writing is sharing your work. And so, I couldn’t just abstain from it.

I now had a real dilemma: how was I going to tune-out that old Siren Song so that I could still put my writing online? How was I gonna stop myself from getting taken over by this all-consuming Feeling so that I could continue to follow my newfound passion? Or to be more precise, how was I going to get my addictive personality to navigate this potentially addictive terrain in a healthy way?

How was I going to stop myself from turning yet another thing into an addiction?

Well first things first: if you think I’m about to provide some profound wisdom on how to solve such an issue – I’m not. Because the truth is: I don’t think addicts like myself ever really ‘solve’ these sorts of things – we just get better at managing them. And so, with that addendum out of the way, here are three practices that help me manage that Feeling:

1) I label the Feeling. That’s why throughout this essay I’ve been referring to this thing as ‘that old Siren Song’ or capitalising and italicising the word ‘Feeling’. Putting a label on this Feeling makes it more concrete, which helps me recognise when it is trying to take hold. It helps me know my enemy in a way that helps me defend against it. Labelling this Feeling also helps me distinguish it as something that is separate from me. It helps me put a healthy amount of distance between me and it, which helps protect me from being taken over by it’s urges and it’s lies.

I also choose to call myself an ‘addict’ even though I am more than three years sober. This reminds me that I am the type of person who is prone to falling victim to that old Siren Song. Which means I am the type of person who must be responsible with how I engage with anything that has the potential to give rise to my addictive tendencies. Doing this also pushes me to give this issue an appropriate amount of respect – that way I don’t kid myself into thinking, “I don’t really have a problem.”   

2) I write about the Feeling. I write in my journal about all the different sensations, urges, desires, emotions, and negative mental chatter this Feeling provokes. I write about how it makes me feel out of reach of myself. I write about how it scares me. I write about all the different ways in which being taken over by this Feeling makes me a worse version of myself. And, as is evidenced by this very piece, I also write about this Feeling with the intention of sharing my experiences with others. Not to preach, or teach, or even really to help, but rather selfishly: so, I don’t have to keep this stuff all to myself.

Beyond getting this stuff off my chest, writing about this Feeling helps me makes sense of it. It helps me put it in my own words so that I can understand it in a way that is personally empowering. It helps me return to what I’ve written so that I can see patterns in how this Feeling takes hold, which further enhances my understanding of how to defend against it. Writing about this Feeling is also another way I keep it at arms-length. It is another way I’m able to remind myself that this Feeling is separate from me. By identifying it’s patterns, scrutinising it’s lies, and examining it’s effects – I’m able to clearly see the difference between these things and who I truly am.

3) I feel the Feeling. Whenever this Feeling gets particularly loud – I try to stop what I’m doing and feel it. I stay as mindful as I can, and I pay attention to how this Feeling feels in my body and how it sounds in my head. I pay attention to how expectant it is. I pay attention to how hopeful it is. How self-absorbed it is. How impatient it is. How antsy it is. How desperate it is. How it nags at me to get more writing done “NOW!” How it nags at me to check those platforms “NOW!” And I pay attention to how it lies to me.

I don’t allow this Feeling to send me mindlessly jumping off the high dive. I don’t allow it to launch me into unconscious behaviour where I suddenly find myself adhering to its demands. I don’t succumb to it’s nags. I don’t indulge it’s ridiculously unrealistic and ego-centric expectations. I don’t lose myself in it’s lies. And most importantly, by staying mindful – I don’t allow it to take over.

Instead, I just sit there and feel it. 

This helps me see this Feeling for what it really is: a passing sensation that only causes me anguish and distress when I try to resolve or resist it. A passing sensation that I can simply recognise in my body without taking any action. Allowing myself to simply feel this Feeling without any resistance – drains it of its power. As I’m able to see that nothing bad happens if I don’t adhere to its demands. I’m able to see that it does not need to be resolved or satisfied. I’m able to see that who I truly am is impervious to the desperate pleas and pernicious lies of this Feeling.

Assuming the role of ‘feeler’ of this Feeling also helps me fortify the boundary between me and it. By creating a clear barrier that safeguards me from identifying with this Feeling I save myself from falling into old unconscious patterns. This is also what empowers me to take back the reins. It's what gives me back control of myself.

This is the most powerful thing these three practices have in common: they save me from identifying with this Feeling. They protect me from getting taken over by it’s lies. And they remind me that my true inner voice has much more resonance than it’s Siren Song. 

But I’ll be honest with you…

After three years of sobriety, I’d gotten complacent. I thought the issue of addiction was somewhat behind me – which meant I was not doing these practices as much as I should have. I was not giving this issue a healthy amount of respect. Which is why I’m actually kinda thankful that this experience of sharing my writing online made that old Siren Song sound once more. As it was the wake-up-call I needed to start doing these practices again. It was the reminder I needed to stay on the lookout for anything that has the potential to arouse my addictive tendencies. And it was the slap in the face I needed to remember that, at least for me: overcoming addiction doesn’t just mean getting sober – it also means continuing to actively engage in practices that help you stay on top of your addictive tendencies so that, in this particular case, they don’t infiltrate things you can’t abstain from. I mean, I never would have guessed in a million years that something like sharing my writing online would have provoked my addictive tendencies – but it did. Which just goes to show that you never know what form that old Siren Song will take.

I’m thankful for this recent experience for one other reason: it helped me put something into words that I never had before... Brushing up against addiction again made me realise that whether its drugs, alcohol, gambling, social media, or productivity the true evil of addiction is the same: you lose yourself in it. You start to identify with that Feeling and that makes you think you need to satisfy its demands. And this traps you in this cycle where you act out all this unconscious behaviour because you’re always trying to escape that desperate feeling of being ‘almost there’.

When you confuse that old tune for your true voice you doom yourself to only one option. You forget that you don’t have to keep jumping into the pool. You forget that you can always turn around and go back down the ladder. You forget that freedom comes from breaking the cycle – not from getting another hit. Because as any recovering addict will tell you, no matter how many hits you get and no matter what form those hits come in – it’s never enough. You never get ‘there’. That’s the most sinister lie that old Siren Song sings: it makes you believe there is actually somewhere to get. It makes you believe that where you are right now and who you are right now isn’t enough. And it makes you believe that the solution can be found outside of yourself. 

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