One of the first times my late brother decided to go off heroin, the drug that was threatening his life in his early twenties, I asked him what withdrawal felt like. He told me he cannot think about anything else but the drug, getting the drug, its effects, that he experiences severe pain in various areas of his body, especially the bones, he shakes and cannot sleep and when he does sleep, tranquilized by pills and absolutely exhausted from the day’s pains, all he dreams of is more drugs.
There is no way I am likening shaking a work addiction to heroin withdrawal. The horrific ordeal that eventually led to my brother’s demise, what he called life, is something I never wish on even the worst enemy. There are however elements I can recognize.
I have been a sober workaholic for a bit under a month. So, still very much in the throes of withdrawal. I have no bone pain (if I don’t count the ones my age and gender bring), but the anxiety, the inside loneliness of a certain kind (my brother used to “brag” about having invented it), dreams in which I return to previous jobs or people offer me others, they are all there.
I keep checking my email several times a day, even though the only thing I get is a news bulletin I am subscribed to and my Substack news. I keep searching LinkedIn for ideas, people to connect with, “just in case,” ideas I keep wanting to write down, for “future jobs”. At times I just find myself phone in hand looking for I know not what.
Imposed by external circumstances and my inability to put up with BS anymore, I found myself in a full detox vacation, also the longest one I have ever had. Amazing vacation, apart from my withdrawal symptoms (potentially exacerbated by the first time vacationing without our son as well), it is now coming to an end and we are on our way home.
4:39 seems to be the hour. Anxiety wakes me and assures me that if I check email there will be something waiting for me there, for sure. Nothing. Oh, no, did I say email? I meant LinkedIn. Ok, let’s go. Nothing there either, of course. Except maybe there is something: a thought of warning.
It usually took my brother about two weeks tops from the moment withdrawal symptoms subsided to fall off the wagon again. I never asked him why, but I can infer that what pushed him were invitations from friends who swore by life on the drug, false promises about it being “different this time.” He always, always fell for it.
At 4:39 this morning, as I feverishly clicked Follow on various organizations and names on LinkedIn, the voice of reason (or was it my brother looking out for me from wherever he is) whispered: watch out! For in the draught of withdrawal, in the silence of detox, there comes a time, and this feels like it for me, when, tired of the aches and anxieties, any job starts looking like THE job. And I understand that, to have truly taken a step towards health means to pause, pay attention and ask the right questions of myself and the potential employer, even as the storms of withdrawal rage within me.
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