The Words I Never Said // A Collection of Essays

Letter #13 // Drugs, neurophysiology, and a construction site

Dear Friend,

I have a problem. I think I'm addicted to dopamine. And not just to any dopamine: a bite of chocolate or a fresh checkmark on my to-do list aren't as euphoric as seeing your reflection is. Truthfully, over the last week, I got to see how dangerous these types of feelings are. Schools should start some prevention campaigns to save young people from them as they do with drug abuse. I've never taken drugs, but, you know, the feeling I got when taking the bus home that one late evening more than a week ago terrifyingly resembled the effect a good dose of cocaine would have, at least how I imagine it would. Yet euphoria is only one aspect of the entire experience. Something more worrisome is how easy it is to develop an addiction to that particular type of dopamine. Worst of all, a thorough understanding of this neurophysiological mechanism doesn't shield me from experiencing it.

Oh, how pathetically I waited for my next dose after that day, how unrealistic the scenarios my imagination had created were. I got to experience first-hand how confirmation of an expectation sometimes exerts a more powerful rush of dopamine than any pleasant surprise, except that I learned this looking from an opposite angle. Like a tiny naive laboratory rat, I appeared at the right place at the right time and I completed all the necessary actions. However, my reinforcement didn't come — right when I had been expecting it the most. It was an incredibly bizarre feeling. It was an especially specific type of frustration, an intense dopamine withdrawal that was forced onto me despite my rational knowing how absurd all of this was. Although not in any way resembling sadness, which I'd be usually expecting in a situation like this, this state took me home earlier than usual. And despite that it still tickles my brain a little to this day, it also somewhat stifled the rampages of my subcortical brain formations, it lowered the impact of the previous dopamine portion I got. I went back into my cacoon but not because of pain — that I didn't feel. No, for the next few days, I chose to embody the truest hermit to return to myself. Because, apparently, dopamine has the side effect of eroding one's identity. 

Perhaps this personality erosion due to that particular type of dopamine could be compared to liver degeneration that occurs in cirrhosis caused by alcohol abuse. But, come on, I've only tasted my poison for a little bit and I'm already perishing, so what would happen if I consumed it for a longer period? I promised myself to be vulnerable. One night recently I even dreamed of being in my most vulnerable state together with your reflection. And yet now, watching myself from the side, I am completely baffled: at what cost did I become vulnerable, at what cost did I let those novel thoughts get to me, at what cost did I give into them?! And the most horrible part is not even the loss of self-control or emotional independence but the bitter knowing that I'd choose the exact same path if I got the chance. I'd still dive in headfirst, maybe this time doubting it even less. Seemingly, I am a hopeless slave to dopamine.

What a fascinating object is the human brain — this was the conclusion I arrived at as I continued analyzing my experiences and thoughts, especially after that one unforeseen dose of dopamine I got. The frustration was no more than a primary, instinctive reaction. Later some more anomalous thoughts and feelings followed that were, oddly, not negative at all. Those were idyllic life visions, like some form of photoshopped reality. Unlike the former ones that emerged in expectation of dopamine, these fantasies were calmer, more simple, warm, and pleasant; they were easy to fall asleep with. At first, I just dwelled in them with joy until suddenly, tossed back into reality once again, I realized I was drowning in the burning acid of loneliness from which I couldn't get out all by myself. How dramatically this lack of independence contradicts almost all of my previous letters to you where I always emphasized my indisputable personal power to determine my life and fate. From a more grand perspective, I still believe this, but now, with my neurotransmitter levels being completely out of balance, I'm looking for the quickest possible solution. Even as I sense a brighter future ahead, I can't not suffer here and now.

I suddenly remember Maslow's hierarchy of needs again. I've written to you multiple times about it and the problems I'm facing while trying to solidify the third level. Previously, I would always accentuate my need for friendly, cooperative, and congenial bonds. I've built a fairly steady foundation in this regard. But, silly me, I left that part to stand by itself and rushed to construct the palaces of esteem and self-realization above it without acknowledging the fact the third level still needed a crucial pillar of romantic relationships. Then I watched everything collapse and acted surprised. Now I am forced to go back and rebuild this third level from scratch. This is so awfully annoying since this is the level where the least circumstances actually depend on me. What kind of shitty construction side even is this: I don't have any blueprints or skills for laying bricks, and the building materials are sometimes delivered, sometimes not, or I start building with one type of materials, and then the suppliers bring something entirely different?!

Meh. To be frank, rotting in my own cacoon is quite fun, unfortunately, this is probably only because I know I'll be able to do it for... one more day. Today is my second one. And... truthfully, although I never got the dopamine I had longed for so much, I must admit my hopes and expectations haven't yet fully waned. They still whisper somewhere in the backrooms of my subconscious and because of those exact whispers, I'll most likely give in to the same ritual this week too. After not getting the craved reinforcement, I'll repeat the behavior for several months onwards anyway, despite the frustration, as if I was actually that one tiny laboratory rat, feverishly pressing the lever even as it's not getting the food it craves. Perhaps nothing will change and my expectation will never be fulfilled: then, after some time, it will finally perish. On the other hand, what if that's not the case? What if one day I'll get what I oh so desire again? This possibility is enough for me to take risks and experience harsh disappointment every week. Because at least for now there are no other sources for this type of dopamine. And, oh my goodness, no other substance can ever cause such euphoria, a short taste of which still makes me reach for it to this day. All that is left for me... is expecting you could possibly relate to this somewhat.

See you soon, my dealer!

— Your high Friend.

(December 3rd, 2022)