Withdrawal And Detox

20/02/24

In my incessant search for comforting words and guidance for how to negotiate this marriage breakup, I stumbled across an article about love addiction.

Now, before I go any further I feel I should be clear: labels, particularly ‘trendy’ ones, sort of repel me.

Phrases like ‘healing your inner child’ and ‘love addiction’ bring out my piss taking side, and it feels really affected to apply the words and descriptions to myself.

However, I do recognise that labels can be useful when trying to target searches for useful information, and the particular article I first read was ringing some major alarm bells for me. So I went with the repellent ‘love addict’ description, searched out more articles, and continued reading.

Well! Talk about recognising yourself.

Article after article had these lists of signs and symptoms. I was either ticking them all, or as near as dammit.

It made me go cold and still, almost a shock reaction.

All the descriptions of behaviour and thinking were me to a T;

• the need for contact (fix), of any kind;
• the temporary high, followed by massive slump after such contact;
• the willingness to do anything, be anything, just to keep the subject of obsession around;
• obsessively thinking about him – trying to construct reasons to see or speak with him;
• dismissing/ignoring/minimising the negatives and only seeing/acknowledging past positives;
• the excuses and rationalising when on the receiving end of horrible treatment;
• the feelings of panic, almost a sense that one might die without the other person.

Then I found a couple of pieces that also talked about the physical experience of withdrawal that a love addict will experience when their ‘fix’ is taken away, either when the relationship ends, or if the other person becomes unavailable in some other way..

Again, I’ve got the whole list going on;

• complete loss of appetite;
• the constant nausea and vomiting;
• panic attacks and breathing issues;
• insomnia;
• difficulty with basic self-care;
• exhaustion

This is where the clouds in my brain parted for a moment, and, despite my horror at seeing myself described so vividly, I actually felt a bit better.

If the desperation I’ve been feeling is rooted more in addiction than love, then I shall deal with it on that basis.

Instead of floundering around, trying to work out if I can possibly ‘make’ him love me again, or make myself stop loving him, I can focus on gaining tools to deal with the mental side of the addiction.

I know I can do this. A problem with a rough set of rules is a thing I can get a grip of.

I need to keep reminding myself that I have an addict brain talking to me at the moment.

Each time I find myself dwelling on him, replaying, and wishing I could rewrite, our relationship, I must endeavour to stop this trained brain in its tracks.

SNIP, SNIP – the unhealthy bonds are being cut.

I must say this to myself several hundred times a day, but if that’s what it takes, then that’s what I’ll do.

I still can’t bring myself to block him completely, but I’ve muted messages from him so they don’t flash up on my phone, and have forbidden myself from initiating contact.

As for the physical aspect of these withdrawals…

Well, if all this retching and puking and general crappiness is actually removing him from my body, then fine, I’ll work through it.

Maybe, knowing it’s ultimately achieving something worthwhile, I won’t be so distraught when I’m on my knees at the toilet bowl. Understanding that it’s detox, that it is going to end, gives me more faith that I can handle it.

Whether or not I fully believe there is such a thing as a love addict (and I still struggle on some level with the term), looking at what I’m experiencing from this new perspective has been helping me to cope.

It’s a good thing really, because the symptoms seem to have gone into hyper-drive since having this revelation. It’s been really, really rough:

• nausea and vomiting that seems even more extreme (I didn’t think it was possible);
• absolutely zero appetite (struggling to even swallow solid food);
• weird, disconnected head space;
• panic attacks, complete with hyperventilation, throughout my waking hours;
• repeated phone checking and massive urges to make contact in some form;
• obsessive thinking about him that plagues me most of my waking hours, and some sleeping ones. 

Fortunately, there’s a big but (I like them and I cannot lie): there have been one or two moments where I’ve felt a glimmer of strength returning and a sense of clarity starting to emerge.

Just like when I quit smoking, there are going to be things that trigger me wanting a fix, and I need to minimise those triggers as far as I can.

I packed some of his stuff into a couple of boxes. One of his sweatshirts still smelled of his aftershave, but my new, more knowing side rammed it into the box, instead of letting me bury my face in it, crying.

Actually taking those steps to remove the triggers, the reminders of his prior presence in this house, is a bloody tough task though. The addict Jess still doesn’t want it to be over, and by Christ she’s throwing some almighty emotional tantrums over this.

Gaining knowledge is one thing, changing behaviour takes a lot more time and a lot more effort.

Even though I’m still a massive mess, I do feel like I’ve taken quite a big step forward on this journey.

It’s a relief to feel a tiny bud of gumption starting to emerge from the manure.

Please stay with me gumption. I need you.

JP