Editor's note: Caledonia Curry, also known as Swoon, is an artist based in Brooklyn, New York. Her work focuses on printmaking, sculptural installations and community-based projects. She gave a talk about her mother's addiction at the 2013 Feast Conference.
She's fired it once
already. Two of the taller neighborhood kids are nearby, one standing on
top of the other's shoulders, peering over the fence and describing
what she sees. "Your grandpa's got a 2 by 4 and he's going into the
house." The scene ends.
I could tell you dozens
of stories like this. Years later, I learned that grandpa had broken
down the door to find mom on the bed with a shotgun and a suicide note,
maybe too scared to pull the trigger.
Caledonia Curry
My mother was a lifelong
addict -- from heroin to alcohol and pills to methadone and pills. If
you asked her why, she would tell you she just liked getting high. If
you were inclined to believe the prevailing sentiment about addiction as
a kind of degenerate hedonism, you could hate her for being a junky
screw-up, and for never managing to put anyone or anything before her
addiction.
And it wasn't just my
mother. Mental illness, drug addiction and suicidal tendency ran so
thick in my family that as a teenager I just waited for the day when I
would get mine. The medical professionals in those days just focused on
the genes. They didn't talk as much about the life circumstances
surrounding the addicts.
But a few years ago, I
started to hear some different ideas. "Addictions always originate in
pain, so the question is never really why the addiction, but why the
pain," said Dr. Gabor Mate, a Canadian physician who specializes in the
study and treatment of addiction. He went on to say that nearly every
single one of his skid row junkies had a severe history of childhood
trauma.
This idea was new to me. I
began to learn more about the effects of trauma on the human psyche,
and I found my family on every page of the literature. Mental illnesses
of all kinds, suicidal tendency and addiction are all the remnants of a
past severely marred by abuse, neglect and the utter lack of control
over one's circumstances.
I learned that unresolved trauma fractures the psyche, and hardwires the brain to permanently elevated levels of stress.
The result is that
chronically traumatized people no longer have any baseline state of calm
or comfort. Owing to these chronically elevated stress levels,
substances like alcohol and heroin, which offer an intoxicating buzz to
the average person, give the chronically traumatized individuals their
first taste of soothing and calm, which make them feel normal for the
first time in their lives.
Letting some of this new
understanding take root, I found that I could begin to forgive my then
ailing mother for the harm she and her addictions had caused over the
years.
I could grieve for the
difficult life she must have lived before my birth, even if I didn't
understand the details, and I could offer her a compassion that I didn't
think I was capable of before.
And then something
unexpected happened. Released from the firewall of my rage, she was able
to open up and tell me about her own history of trauma. Caught between a
sexually abusive uncle and an emotionally abusive mother, she had
turned to black-out binge drinking at age 14, and it had been one
substance or another every day ever since.
And here's where the
light went on. Talking to my mother, I realized that nothing that our
punitive systems and shaming culture might inflict on her would ever be
greater than the internal suffering that compelled her to constantly
seek obliteration of her own life with substances and suicide attempts.
I now believe that
punishing those who are already suffering will never foster the kind of
change we all so desperately need these individuals to make.
Because this particular
addict was my mother, I had the incentive to do the hard work of finding
the human being behind the nightmare, of letting go of the disgust and
blame, and seeing an incredibly wounded person in need of our support.
This is much harder to do when the person is a stranger on the street,
or in the prison system.
My mother died of lung
cancer six months ago. I can't speak to what may have happened if she
had access to truly empathetic health care and trauma counseling. I can
say that understanding her pain, and the roots of her addiction, has
been incredibly healing for me.
We need a society that
focuses less on retribution and more on recovery for its most troubled
members. We need to design policies that enable people to end their
cycles of violent and addictive behaviors. Punishment is not an end in
itself, and may lead to more damage, and the exacerbation of these
cycles.
What if we were to take a
moment to realign our values toward seeing the injured human behind the
unconscionable actions? Could we then do better at creating systems
within which people can actually heal and change and recover?
I believe that by
starting with the right questions -- simple and compassionate -- like
"Why the pain?" we can come up with better solutions.
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