EVERYTHING YOU KNOW ABOUT ADDICTION IS WRONG
- Madhukar Dama
- May 8
- 10 min read
Opposite of Addiction is, Bonding.
1. INTRODUCTION: THE LIE WE BELIEVED
Most people think addiction means being hooked to a substance — alcohol, cigarettes, cannabis, heroin, sleeping pills.
Or a habit — phone, food, sex, shopping, gambling.
We imagine it as a problem of the weak.
We say: “Why can’t they just stop?”
But that’s the biggest lie society tells.
The truth is, addiction is not about the drug.
It’s about the cage you live in.
A cage so invisible, you forget you're inside it.
In the 1970s, a Canadian psychologist named Bruce Alexander asked a simple question:
What if the problem isn’t the drug... but the environment?
His experiment — Rat Park — changed everything.
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2. THE REAL CAUSE OF ADDICTION: IT’S NOT THE SUBSTANCE
In earlier experiments, rats were kept alone in a tiny cage.
They were given two bottles: one with plain water, one with morphine-laced water.
The rats kept drinking the morphine until they died.
But Bruce built Rat Park — a large, colorful playground with tunnels, food, toys, and other rats.
When rats had company, play, sex, and space, they rarely touched the drugged water.
Even previously addicted rats stopped using once moved to this joyful setting.
What does this tell us?
Addiction is not a moral failure.
It is not weak will.
It is not bad genes.
It is an escape from unbearable isolation.
And humans — even more than rats — are deeply social, emotional, touch-starved beings.
Take away their bonds, their joy, their space to be… and addiction walks in quietly.
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3. TYPES OF ADDICTIONS: THE MANY FORMS OF ESCAPE
Let’s get real. Addiction doesn’t always look like a drug.
It wears many masks. Let’s list them all.
a) Substance Addictions
Alcohol
Nicotine
Cannabis
Sleeping pills
Cough syrup
Painkillers
Energy drinks
b) Behavioral Addictions
Scrolling social media
Overeating or binge-eating
Online shopping
Video games
Pornography
Watching news or reels endlessly
Masturbation
c) Emotional/Psychological Addictions
Seeking constant praise or validation
Playing victim to gain sympathy
Needing control in relationships
Starting fights to feel noticed
Obsessing over being perfect
Complaining endlessly — it brings attention
d) Cultural Addictions
Blindly following religion without self-awareness
Gossip and judgment — gives a false sense of power
Caste pride and social superiority
Worshipping politicians and film stars
Addiction to "family honour" over truth
Even addiction to suffering itself: pain becomes identity
Not every addiction kills the body.
But all of them numb the truth that someone, somewhere is hurting — and has no one to share it with.
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4. THE INDIAN CAGE: WHEN FAMILY IS THE PRISON
In India, the addiction problem is rarely seen.
Because the cage is decorated with tradition.
A girl cries every night — but she’s told, “This is what marriage is.”
A boy wants to quit engineering — but he’s told, “What will relatives say?”
A woman spends 3 hours daily on Instagram — because no one in her home ever looked at her with love.
A man keeps working 12 hours in a job he hates — because his father's pride depends on his salary.
A teen scrolls reels all night — because his mother never asked him how he feels.
This is the Indian version of the cage:
Joint families with zero emotional safety
Marriages without freedom
Education without wonder
Careers without choice
Religions without joy
Homes without healing
Here, addiction is not seen as illness.
It’s either hidden, glorified, or blamed.
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5. ADDICTED BECAUSE YOU’RE ALONE INSIDE
Let’s stop the lectures and listen to what addiction is saying:
You check your phone 100 times a day because you’ve forgotten how to talk to people
You smoke to feel a moment of peace that’s denied in your noisy family
You eat late-night junk to feel soothed, because no one soothes you
You chase likes and followers because no one ever told you that you're enough
You seek sexual highs because you’ve never known safe, warm human touch
You work without rest because you don’t know how to just be
Addiction is the symptom.
Loneliness is the disease.
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6. WHY WILLPOWER FAILS: YOU CAN’T FIX HUNGER BY YELLING AT IT
Society loves to blame addicts.
“Control yourself!”
“Stop being weak!”
But that’s like telling a starving child to stop crying instead of giving them food.
Willpower doesn’t work when your need is not bad — just unmet.
Most addicts are trying to meet a genuine emotional need —
But through a shortcut that never delivers.
Every addiction provides something:
A break from mental noise
A sense of control
A tiny hit of joy
A feeling of being loved — even if it’s fake
A way to rebel when words won’t work
That’s why people relapse.
Because you can’t force someone to quit a lifeboat when they’re still drowning.
First, build the shore.
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7. WHAT REAL RECOVERY LOOKS LIKE: CREATING YOUR OWN RAT PARK
You cannot punish someone out of addiction.
You must love them into freedom.
Here’s what heals:
Human touch without conditions
Friendships that allow imperfection
Work that feels meaningful
Rest that doesn’t need guilt
Nature that asks for nothing
Laughter that isn’t bought
Tears that are heard, not fixed
Create your own Rat Park:
Leave people who shame you
Leave jobs that numb you
Leave homes that silence you
Make a room for joy
Keep soil under your feet
Play like you were never hurt
Even if nobody builds it for you —
Build it for yourself.
And maybe, someone else will find shelter in your healing.
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8. REAL STORIES: ADDICTION AS MISSING BOND (SHORT CASE SKETCHES)
Riya, 15 — Addicted to reels. Her mother only speaks to scold her.
Amit, 38 — Addicted to work. His childhood dream was painting, never even tried.
Savita, 46 — Addicted to sleeping pills. Her husband hasn't touched her in years.
Manjunath, 72 — Addicted to politics. His children don’t visit. He shouts at the TV.
Every addict is a story of abandoned needs.
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9. HEALING, NOT SHAMING: WHAT THE WORLD MUST LEARN
You do not beat addiction by beating the addict.
You do not scare it away with slogans.
You heal it with a life that no longer needs an escape.
If a rat leaves drugs when given joy —
Why can’t a human heal when given love?
Let us stop punishing pain.
Let us start listening to it.
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10. CONCLUSION: IT WAS NEVER YOUR FAULT
If you are addicted,
You are not broken.
You are not bad.
You were just alone in the wrong place,
Trying to survive with what you had.
Addiction is not your enemy.
It’s your wounded child, screaming for you to come home.
Come home.
To your body.
To your breath.
To people who see you.
To trees and soil.
To food that feeds, not numbs.
To touch that comforts, not consumes.
It was never the drug.
It was the empty cage.
And you have the key.
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HEALING DIALOGUE
“It Was Never the Drug. It Was the Empty Cage.”
A conversation between Raghu and Madhukar
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It was just after sunrise when Raghu arrived at the mud house on the edge of the forest. His shirt was untucked, his mouth reeked of gutkha, and his fingers smelled of stale cigarettes.
But his eyes… his eyes were soft. Tired. Hollow. And begging for something he couldn’t name.
Madhukar, barefoot in his half-sleeve khadi shirt and cotton shorts, was boiling water over a wood fire. No calendar. No clock. Only the sound of birds and the breath of trees.
Raghu:
“I’m not here for a lecture. Just… help me stop this mess.”
(He pulled out a packet of gutkha and a lighter from his pocket.)
Madhukar (nodding):
“Then don’t hide it. Sit. Keep your poison on the floor. Let it watch us talk.”
Raghu sat cross-legged but restless. He looked at the gutkha pouch like it had a grip on his throat.
Raghu:
“I know it’s killing me. I’ve tried to quit. I’ve gone to doctors, tried patches, joined groups. But I always come back.
Am I that weak?”
Madhukar (gently):
“What if your strength has been surviving in a cage, not breaking out of it?”
Raghu looked confused.
Madhukar:
“Tell me something. When did you first hold a cigarette?”
Raghu (after a pause):
“16. After my father slapped me in front of relatives. I walked out and bought a Gold Flake from the roadside stall.
It made me feel… free. Like I didn’t have to listen to anyone.”
Madhukar:
“And gutkha?”
Raghu:
“After marriage. There was always silence between us.
I needed something to chew.
Something to keep my mouth busy — because nobody wanted to hear what I felt.”
Madhukar:
“And alcohol?”
Raghu (looking away):
“Once I got the job. I hated it. Still do. But everyone said I was lucky to have it.
Drinking helped me forget what I had become.”
Madhukar stirred the boiling water and poured two cups.
Tulsi leaves floated inside, fresh and fragrant.
Madhukar:
“Everything you just said was about pain. Not the substance.
The cigarette was not a joy. It was your first rebellion.
Gutkha wasn’t flavor. It was your gag.
Alcohol wasn’t celebration. It was anesthesia.”
Raghu (whispering):
“No one ever asked me these things.
They just said I’m a drunk, a fool, a burden. Even my wife says, ‘Just quit or die.’”
Madhukar (leaning closer):
“Because they don’t see the cage.
They only see your smoke, not your suffocation.”
Raghu broke. He wept — not like a man, not like a child — but like someone who hadn’t been touched by kindness in decades.
Madhukar (softly):
“Raghu, your body is not your enemy.
It’s carrying the weight of years when you weren’t allowed to feel.”
Raghu nodded.
“My stomach’s bloated. My mouth burns. I can’t sleep. My gums bleed.
But I can’t stop. I feel dead when I’m sober.
Only when I drink… I feel something. Even if it’s shame.”
Madhukar:
“You don’t want the drink. You want to feel alive.
And the drink lied to you — it said it will give you life.
But it only rented you a moment of escape, while robbing your mornings.”
They sat in silence.
A squirrel ran up a tree. Smoke from the fire rose like a prayer without a temple.
Madhukar (pointing to a nearby tree):
“Do you see that neem?
Every morning I chew a leaf. Not for health.
But to remember what bitterness without running away feels like.”
Raghu:
“Then what should I do?”
Madhukar:
“Nothing sudden.
No declarations.
Just begin creating a world where addiction is no longer needed.”
Raghu:
“How?”
Madhukar (counting on fingers):
“Wake up barefoot.
Touch soil.
Drink water from your own hands.
Chew tulsi when you want gutkha.
Walk before the world wakes up.
Talk to a tree for 10 days straight — it listens better than most people.”
Raghu (half-smiling):
“This sounds like nonsense.”
Madhukar (smiling wider):
“That’s what you called your joy too — nonsense.
But the body remembers.
You just need to stop giving it shortcuts.”
Raghu:
“I’m scared. What if I fail again?”
Madhukar:
“Failing is when you give up on yourself.
Relapsing is just remembering the cage.
Next time you pick up a cigarette, ask: What am I unable to say to myself right now?”
Raghu (whispers):
“I’ve always felt invisible.”
Madhukar (placing a hand on his shoulder):
“You were never invisible.
But you were wrapped in masks of ‘respectability’, ‘success’, and ‘duties’.
That’s why you couldn’t see yourself either.”
They sit long in silence.
A cow walks by lazily. A koel sings.
The world does not rush.
Madhukar (final words):
“Addiction is not a demon to be killed.
It is a wound that just wanted you to stop pretending.
When you begin to live a life that doesn’t require hiding…
The need to drink, smoke, or chew — will leave quietly.
Because the child inside you no longer needs to escape.”
Raghu finishes his tulsi tea.
He doesn’t make a promise.
He doesn’t throw away the gutkha.
But when he stands up, he leaves it behind — quietly — without drama.
Madhukar doesn’t clap.
He just smiles.
A smile that says: “I saw you. And you’re safe here.”
And that’s how healing begins.
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“YOU WEREN’T ADDICTED. YOU WERE JUST ALONE.”
(For every man who lit a cigarette instead of screaming)
---
you didn’t wake up wanting the bottle.
you woke up not wanting to feel.
and the bottle
offered silence
without asking questions.
you weren’t chasing the burn.
you were running
from the ice
that your mother left in your bones
when she looked through you
instead of at you.
you weren’t kissing the cigarette.
you were kissing goodbye
to another version of yourself
that never got held,
never got heard,
never got asked:
“are you alright, really?”
they said
“quit smoking, you’ll die.”
but you were already dying
from the moment
you smiled through a funeral inside.
they called it addiction.
you called it oxygen.
they called it weakness.
you called it the only thing
that made the voices shut up
for five goddamn minutes.
your father told you
“real men don’t cry.”
so you inhaled pain
and exhaled smoke
until your lungs
learned to whisper shame in their sleep.
you drank not to forget.
you drank because
no one ever taught you how to remember
without drowning.
you chewed gutkha
not for taste —
but because it hurt less
than biting your tongue
around people who confused silence with obedience.
you were not addicted.
you were abandoned.
by your family,
by your self-respect,
by a world that taught you
how to earn a living
but never how to live.
they put medals on your chest
for being responsible
and never asked
why you needed pills to fall asleep
and lies to stay married.
you became a walking apology
in a shirt that didn’t fit
with a wife who didn’t know
the name of your fears.
you laughed at parties.
you cracked jokes.
but every joke was a cry
that learned to wear lipstick.
your liver wrote you a letter.
your gums bled out your truth.
your breath reeked
of everything you couldn’t say.
they said
“try willpower.”
as if you hadn’t already
burnt it
down to ashes
and rolled it
into every cigarette.
no,
you weren’t addicted.
you were a child
locked in a man’s body,
told to grow up,
stand straight,
earn, feed, obey,
perform, suppress,
succeed, suffer,
and smile.
your cage had no bars,
but it had expectations.
your chains were not iron,
but duty and shame.
and then one day —
you met someone
who didn’t ask you to change.
who said,
“leave the bottle here. let it listen.”
who didn’t throw the cigarette away
but asked
“what are you swallowing down with every puff?”
you cried.
not because you were weak.
but because
someone finally saw
the boy
inside the man
inside the bottle.
and you realized —
the drug was never the problem.
the cage was.
and the door
was open
all along.
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