Hello. I’m Scott, and I’m an alcoholic.
I’ve lived through the misconceptions and the fragility of policies surrounding addiction. I’ve seen the darkest depths where pain is the only constant companion. I understand that world, and I also know how to navigate through it.
Some people try to differentiate between alcoholism and drug addiction, as if that makes a real difference in the discussion. But, really, the only distinction is where we buy our substances—liquor stores versus street corners. The emotional struggles, the destructive behaviors—everything is essentially the same. It just so happens that alcohol is legal.
Back in 2020, when Oregon decriminalized drugs, I raised concerns. Living in Portland, I understood the genuine desire to help, but I could see trouble on the horizon. I felt it was a cruel move for a society that lacked clarity in its compassion. Helping without understanding can lead to unfortunate consequences.
After decriminalization, the state saw a shocking rise in opioid overdose deaths—going from 824 in 2020 to 1,833 in 2023. This surge contributed to a significant overall increase in overdose deaths during that time.
As much as I usually enjoy being right, this instance doesn’t feel good.
Now, I hear New York City mayoral candidate Zohran Mamdani suggesting a similar approach. Before New York takes cues from Portland, I really hope decision-makers will consider the potential outcomes and listen to those who truly grasp the challenges facing addicts.
This is a point that many miss: addicts often stop using only when the pain they endure becomes greater than their fear of quitting. It sounds straightforward, but it’s a logic that only those who struggle with addiction fully understand. Most want to quit, but the fear of living without their substance is daunting. For many, suffering is all they’ve known, and their substance provides a temporary reprieve. The idea of life without it is terrifying.
Over time, however, consequences accumulate. They might lose jobs, relationships, dignity, safety—everything meaningful. As the substance loses its effectiveness, the pain persists. Eventually, the misery becomes too much to bear. That’s when the pain finally outweighs the fear, and only then do they consider stopping. If the consequences are removed, the pain diminishes without ever outweighing the fear, delaying recovery.
Many believe that simply building more treatment centers will fix the problem, like dropping off a broken car for a quick fix. But that analogy misses the bigger picture. Sure, a rehab may help with the initial crisis, but continuous maintenance is essential for long-term recovery.
Most addicts don’t have a clear expectation of recovery. They often think it’s just enduring life without their choice of substance. However, true recovery teaches how to alleviate suffering completely. As Alcoholics Anonymous says, “Alcohol isn’t your problem; it’s your poor solution. Life is your problem.” Recovery guides individuals in dealing with the underlying pain while learning to navigate life itself.
Furthermore, aiming to shield an addict from hitting rock bottom, while it may seem compassionate, is misdirected. Hitting rock bottom is a personal decision, not a fixed state. It varies for everyone, and many never reach that point. When someone feels they’ve exhausted all willpower, that’s when they hit their bottom. Ultimately, pain must surpass fear.
Those outside the addiction experience often misinterpret what it means to be at rock bottom. They see homeless addicts and assume they’ve hit the lowest point, but that reaction reflects more about their perspective than reality. Many addicted individuals might feel they’re managing just fine. What appears to an outsider as failure may feel like a level of survival to someone entrenched in addiction.
I often turn to Plato’s allegory of the cave to illustrate addiction. Imagine a prisoner chained in darkness, only able to see shadows and mistaking them for the truth. When pulled into the light, the sudden brightness is painful, and the instinct is to retreat to familiar darkness. For addicts, the shadows represent their reality, and the thought of stepping into the light is frightening.
Recovery means learning how to live in that light, refusing to slip back to the shadows where suffering feels familiar. We remain trapped until we confront that brightness.
I don’t dismiss empathy; it’s crucial in addressing addiction. But true compassion demands accountability and an understanding of what works for those actively struggling.
People worry that without intervention, addicts might die—but the truth is, they’re already on a perilous path. There’s a type of misguided compassion that seeks to alleviate pain without addressing the underlying fears, ultimately resulting in more harm. Oregonians have learned this lesson the hard way. What started as an effort to help has morphed into a statewide codependent issue.
I dread the idea of New York repeating the mistakes of Portland when the lessons from these failures are so evident. It’s vital to learn from those who have endured this struggle. You can’t love someone into recovery; you can only love them to their end.
