Drama-holics Anonymous

by Dawn Downey

I’m a drama-holic. I want to stop the drama, but I’m powerless.
I blame it on all that neuro-peptide-pathway-connector stuff. Somebody told me about the great time they had at a party that I hadn’t been invited to. That make me feel left out and it fired the hey-what-about-me connection, which then gave my brain a shot of the I-knew-it-nobody-likes-me chemical. I got the water bill in the mail and it was twice as high as usual. That made me feel stressed, which fired the I-hate-opening-the-mail connection, which then gave my brain a taste of the I’ll-never-have-enough-money chemical. When similar circumstances re-occur, connections are strengthened, assuring a constant buffet of delicious chemicals. It’s a non-stop dessert cart for my brain.
And I have a powerful sweet tooth. I’m addicted to drama.
The biggest drama in my life has been playing out for half a century. It’s a conflict between failure and success. I tend to stick with an activity only until I start to get really good at it. I feel successful. Then I quit. Quitting is key because it maintains the sense of inadequacy that has underscored my entire life. Quitting sustains the drama of self-criticism. It gives my brain a hot fudge sundae.
For the several years that I’ve been taking yoga, I have fought the urge to quit. But I’ve stuck with it, and the body’s become stronger and more flexible. I’ve slowly advanced from beginner to level 2. I was feeling successful. But the addiction to the drama of inadequacy had to be fed. If the drama ends, there’s no desert.
So, out of the blue, I injured my knee. I missed yoga for three weeks. I returned to class. Two months after the knee healed, I broke my wrist, which kept me from class for six months. When I returned, muscles had atrophied, joints had stiffened and I wasn’t quite good enough anymore. Things were back to normal. And my brain got a seven-layer chocolate torte off the desert cart.
I’m also starring in a costume drama. I bought a pair of shorts three years ago. Two years ago, the top button stopped closing. I keep the shorts because the fact that they used to fit assures me of ongoing theater. With healthy eating and regular exercise, the button closes. Then old familiar eating habits return. Button won’t close. This play has been in production for two years.
Last week, I put the shorts on and low and behold, I butoned them without even thinking about it. I didn’t even notice it until midway through my morning walk. I was excited. I congratulated myself. I spent a whole day of wearing those shorts, proud that I’d achieved my goal.
But the day after button success, I felt edgy. Life was out of whack. I craved something that would get it back in balance. When the urge to grab a handful of chips hit me, I forgot to just watch the urge come and go. When the urge to buy a package of Mint Milanos hit in the grocery store, I forgot to just watch that urge rise and fall. When the urge to have a brownie at a party hit me, I forgot to watch that urge, too.
After those shorts fit, I dove headfirst into an entire three-pound bag of tortilla chips, a whole package of Mint Milanos and – multiple brownies. A couple of days later, the top button missed by a mile. The shorts drama was back. I felt bad, I felt self-critical. But the brain got its chemical fix- a hot fudge sundae from the desert cart.
The drama addiction is insidious because the story lines can be microscopic. My latest attempt to psyche myself into dailly exercise was to tell myself that it’s just like brushing my teeth. No big deal. Just another way of taking care of the body. The body requires maintenance, and the older it gets, the more maintenance it requires.
But even this innocuous idea of taking care of the body creates a goal that I have to work towards. Daily exercise is the goal. On any morning when I resist, there’s a little conflict. It’s resolved when I remember the words “oh yeah, no big deal, just like toothbrushing.” It’s only a 25-second drama, but it nets my brain one chocolate chip cookie off the desert cart.
If you think you’re free of the need for drama, take a look at your intimate relationships. Addictions flourish there like mosquitos in standing water. But go easy on yourself. Start with the little things – the things your partner does that you have no logical reason for disliking, but you want to change anyway.
There’s that irresistible urge to squeeze the toothpaste tube the way you want it squeezed, and to turn the toilet paper roll back in the direction that you want it. After all, that’s the right way, isn’t it? If you’re having the same little conflict every day, it might be time for Drama-holics Anonymous.
Wanting things to be different than the way they are is the seed of drama. I want to feel adquate when I feel inadequate. I want to be better at yoga than I am right now. I want the button to close when it won’t. I don’t want it to close when it does. And it’s not enough for me that I do my regular walk, I want to want to do it. Addiction to drama comes in all sizes, invades every crook and cranny of my life and is often impossible to discern.
Well, thank goodness I don’t have to cure it. Because the desire to cure my addictions sets up another conflict with myself. I’d better cure myself. I’ll be a bad person if I continue these addictive patterns. I’ll be a spiritual failure if I don’t rise above my desires. If I don’t live up to that standard, I’ve got conflict, which is essential for any good story.
You don’t have to cure or heal or change anything. Just see everything. Awareness itself burns craving into a harmless pile of ash. Watch everything, without doing anything about what you see. See everything about yourself without explaining, understanding, analyzing, criticising, approving or disapproving. And if you don’t see anything at all, watch the reaction to that. You will see that the reactions, and the urge to react, will vanish. That leads to a more peaceful life, especially at home.
But there’s a hidden danger in watchfulness. The more I watch myself dispassionately, the less I know about what I see. The more I watch, the harder it is to pin me down and prove that I exist somewhere. I think I need to feel like a failure, but everytime I enjoy a success, I can’t find myself inside that description. I define myself as resistant to exercise. But on every day that I do it eagerly, I can’t find me inside that definition anymore. I think I’m a drama addict, but when I watch them, the addictions come and go. I can’t even place myself inside that description anymore.
I’m left with a paradox. It seems useful to uncover your addictions. It seems skillful to watch them rise and fall. But if you do, you might see yourself disappear.