The Trap of Becoming Your Illness
What I’m about to write about is rather a sensitive subject, which a lot of people disagree on. So as you read on, please remember, it’s simply my personal view, presented as something to consider. I’m not trying to convince anybody. So if, as you read, you don’t agree, then move on.
I recently met up with a friend I hadn’t seen for over two decades. She looked terribly ill. When I asked if she was okay, she said she’d recently been diagnosed with a number of mental conditions. She reeled out a string of acronyms – as I recall, ADHD, OCD, PTSD and BD – which I recognised as attention deficit disorder, obsessive compulsive disorder, post-traumatic stress disorder and bipolar disorder.
Now, when I first met this woman more than twenty years ago in China, she was teaching English, and planning a trip through India and South East Asia. Back then she presented as a vivacious and audacious traveller of the world, ready for anything, and open to the full spectrum of life. So now, seeing her beaten down like this was quite distressing.
I asked her what had happened over the years since I’d seen her last. She related a string of failed relationships, followed by a period of drug addiction which culminated in a car crash in which she’d been the driver.
‘Was anybody hurt?’ I asked, and she shook her head.
‘No, not really,’ she said, then added, ‘But I had to go to court, and it really messed me about … sort of put the fear in me …’
‘The fear?
‘Yeah … it made me feel vulnerable all of a sudden …’
I nodded that I understood and empathised.
But as the conversation continued, she kept referring back to the list of ‘her’ illnesses, using the acronyms each time, saying ‘my this’ and ‘my that’ – and it felt as if she’d turned them into her possessions. And it kept happening throughout the hour or so of our conversations – she kept referring back to ‘her’ condition, talking about how she had to be careful now … of practically everything – food, environment, people, social situations and so on – in case one or other of ‘her conditions’ were ‘triggered’.
I asked her where she was living, she said she was on sickness benefits with a small studio flat and a National Disability Insurance Scheme allocation which gave her a government paid therapy session each week as well as someone to help her with cleaning and shopping. And so it went, with her constantly circling back to ‘her conditions’ … my ADHD…’ and …my OCD …’ and so on.
Now, I understand that life can leave its cuts and bruises – and I got that she’d had it hard since I’d seen her last, and that the car accident had been traumatic. But still, I felt as if, far and beyond the residual effects of her misfortunes, she was now allowing herself to be dominated and crippled by all those acronyms, and the ‘conditions’ they signified.
Not only that, but I felt as if doctors and psychologists were complicit in this insidious imprisonment of her beautiful spirit. They’d clothed her with all these glib, and easily consumed acronyms which, from my point of view, added nothing to her life but fear and a sense of hopelessness.
And given she was now getting so much free stuff from various government institutions and programs – accommodation, services and so on – the effect was that now she had an investment in being ill. Because if, somehow, she was to shed all those acronyms and become well, she would lose what she now depended on. As such she was locked into a self-definition that was being universally validated. She had become the acronyms they’d clothed her with.
A monk once taught me a valuable lesson, which I’ve mentioned in previous posts.
I’d been meditating in silent retreat in a Thai monastery for some weeks when, as happens, a powerful gust of rage overcame me that was connected to childhood memories I’d had recall of. So it happened that, at a morning interview, when the monk asked me how I was, I said, ‘I’m angry.’
He smiled and said, ‘Oh, so you are ‘Angry’ now … I thought your name was ‘Roger.’
I did a double-take, shooting him a mystified look.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, you just said you are ‘Angry’ … so I should call you ‘Angry’ now?’
A little irritated with what I thought was a clumsy attempt at humor, I said, ‘No … you asked me how I was, so I was telling you, that’s all.’
‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘But there is an important lesson here. I’m simply emphasizing that language can be a powerful thing, particularly when the words ‘I’ and ‘my’ are used. When we say ‘I’m this’ or ‘I’m that’ … or ‘my this’ or ‘my that’ … through a subtle form of suggestion, we’re claiming possession of those things. We’re locking them in to our sense of self.’
‘Well, what I am I supposed to say then?’
‘Better to say ‘anger is here’ … or ‘there is anger’ … but not ‘I’m’ angry.
I frowned.
‘Isn’t that a little pedantic?’
He shook his head.
‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘To say ‘anger is here’ separates you from the feeling. It indicates that the anger is not yours. Nor is it a part of you. That it is just passing through. And that makes it easier to let it go and move on.’
Being in the mood I was in, I peevishly dismissed his point, thinking it insignificant. But over time I came to realize the veracity of what he told me that morning. I began to see how the way we language things in our life does indeed reveal our underlying attitude to them and the way we’re dealing with them – particularly when we use possessive pronouns with various things, unconsciously claiming them and embedding them into our life.
So I began phrasing things as he had suggested, both to myself and others – saying ‘anger is here’ instead of ‘I’m angry’ … and so on – resisting the use of possessive pronouns as much as possible. And it had an effect. Each time suffering arose in any of its forms – whether pain, anger, sadness, or anything else, I gained strength from the reminder that it was only passing through, like an unwanted visitor – that it was only a temporary occurrence. Same with pleasure or good fortune – in resisting any possession of these things, I was reminded not to cling to it.
Our life is a vast spectrum of experiences, from pleasure and good fortune, to hardship and suffering. Like currents of water within the one river, they flow into each other, in constant flux. As such, to live well, we need to be able to flow with the various currents of life, without getting stuck in any one of them. And that means keeping our self-identity separate from whatever is flowing through us – whether good luck, pain, pleasure, or anything else.
And that particularly applies to illness.
Oh, by the way …all the best for the new year.
Much love to you all,
Roger
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Roger’s book, ‘BEING STILL – MEDITATION THAT MAKES SENSE’ is available now. Just click on the links below:
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