I'm 54 years old now, turning 55 next year, and at the age of 40, Veteran Death Care Services had me on over 35 pills a day. I don't care how many degrees you have on your wall, that's an early death sentence.
And I didn't know any better.
Because I trusted the medicine. I trusted the white coats who went to the schools and got the education. I trusted the system. The same system I raised my right hand for, pledged to die for, and came home on a stretcher for.
I was the guy who followed orders.
And one day, something clicked.
This isn't serving me anymore.
It was a slow progression. It took about 10 years to reach the end, and I'm now five years without touching a single pharmaceutical. I think I might have taken an Aleve about a year ago for a really bad headache, and that's it.
And probably one of the most important lessons this experience has taught me is how to develop a relationship with my pain.
And I'm not just talking about physical pain. I'm talking about emotional pain, too.
You see, the entire pharmaceutical industry, when it comes to pain, is built on one premise: remove the symptom by any means necessary. Remove this negative symptom that's disrupting this person's life.
And what they don't care about, and what you don't realize, is that when they remove the symptom, you forget you have the disease.
I now have a very, very personal relationship with my pain.
Because I feel it.
Because I experience it daily.
When I'm on my hikes, when something hard or difficult happens in my life, I have to face it sober. (Yes, I said sober. Those pharmaceuticals are no better than any other drug of choice.)
And because I face my pain sober, I've genuinely developed a completely different conversation with it.
When I feel it, emotional, physical, or spiritual, the first question I ask is: What's behind it?
Well, if it's physical pain, maybe I pushed myself too far that day. Maybe I took a wrong step. Maybe I'm just tired.
And the recognition of that allows me to stop, pause, and actually serve myself.
Take a break. Lay down. Rest your back. Don't walk as far tomorrow, and the next day you can do more.
Emotional pain is the same animal. I ask myself, why am I depressed? It's usually something I lost that I don't actually need anymore. Why am I anxious? It's probably an irrational fear about tomorrow because I've seen enough shit go bad that I know it can happen again.
I just don't see pain as a negative anymore.
Pain is a conversation my body, mind, and soul are having with me.
It's telling me, "Hey, wake up. Pay attention. This is important. You've got something to fix."
And as long as you are treating the symptom, you will never have that conversation with yourself. You will never actually identify the source of that discomfort because the discomfort went away. Now you have the famous "Everything is fine, thanks sertraline" look on your face.
Good luck with that.
You might think you are "feeling" better. And I'm sure your 23-year-old therapist, with her "lived" experience, can give you all the worksheets in the world to prove it.
And the reality is, as long as you continue to treat the symptoms, you will never treat the disease.