“Uncle Steve Watches A Lot Of TV”

Ah, the chattering brain. I can’t claim to love it. Some days I downright hate it. Thoughts of imaginary conversations, endless postulates of ‘what-if?’, circle around and around, driving me to distraction and madness. Maybe I’m overstating things, but not by much.

Spending time in my imagination instead of in reality goes back as far as I can remember. As a kid, I was picked on a lot. My way of dealing with bullies was to go into my imagination where I had superpowers that would allow me to defeat them or escape from them. Probably one of the reasons I don’t remember being at home is because, when there, I was living in worlds I’d created in my head instead.

I had plenty of fear when I was a kid, too. Fear of other people, fear of what they might say to me or do to me if I said or did the wrong thing. I developed a habit early on of practicing my conversations ahead of time. When I got older and started becoming interested in girls, this tendency amplified. Dramatically. If I say this, then she’ll say this, then I can say this. Or what if she says this? Well then, I’ll say this and this and in case she says this then I’ll… and on and on and on.

A real turning point happened a few months after I got clean. I was seeing a therapist at the time, and I told him about a grand realization I’d just had: that in all those imaginary conversations, the person I was talking to was imaginary. As in, not real. As in, I was really only talking to myself, hearing the other person say what I wanted to hear them say. He did me one better and told me that I wasn’t real in them either. In those imaginary conversations, I was saying what I wanted to hear myself say, being an idealized version of myself and not the real me.

Thanks to my Recovery, I’ve had the opportunity to see how these habits aren’t necessary any more. I’ve had the chance to realize that they aren’t all that helpful, and that sometimes they are in fact a huge hindrance. In time, I came to see how all these imaginary conversations and scenarios were part and parcel of my disease. They all stem from my inability to accept the things I can’t change, manifested as attempts to control.

When we try to control the uncontrollable, our lives become unmanageable.

Letting go of this habit is not something that happened overnight. In fact, it is still something I struggle with, just not nearly as much as I used to. When I first started working on it, I tried to do so with an iron grip. Whenever I noticed I was having an imaginary conversation, I came down on myself, chided myself, told myself not to do it. I’d deliberately think of something else, or run a favorite song through my head.

As time has passed, I’ve learned to be more loving towards myself. Nowadays, when I hear the imaginary thoughts, I work a mini- first step. Sometimes it’s as simple as, “Yep, I’m still an addict.” Sometimes, when the thoughts are persistent and don’t fall away, I take the time to do a little inventory. I check in with myself. I try to feel everything that I’m feeling. I examine my fears, knowing that much of my attempts to control stem from that. I push through the imaginary stuff and get to the real. Saying a little prayer never hurts, either.

I’m working, too, on learning to love this part of myself. Lately, I’ve been doing it in metaphor, which seems to help with the more difficult aspects of my disease. Instead of coming down on myself, or thinking ‘there I go again’ with the imaginary thoughts, I think of it as good ol’ Uncle Steve watching TV.

The shows aren’t real (even if they’re reality-based), the commercials are downright annoying, and sometimes he has the volume up way too loud. Like some people who take their TV shows way too seriously, he gets caught up in the drama, the characters and the possibilities, wondering what’s going to happen next and unable to turn away from the screen for fear of missing some crucial happening. But none of it is real. Sometimes I want to watch what he’s watching, too, but then I remind myself that it’s ‘only a TV show’ and more often than not I am content to just let him watch it.

I’m not sure if my over-active imagination counts as an actual character defect but, if it is, then using it in this way, thinking of my addict self as Uncle Steve, is using that defect as a positive trait. It’s a way of embracing that part of myself, accepting it, while at the same time not allowing it to rule me or run my life.

I don’t mind that Uncle Steve watches a lot of TV. I’d much prefer him do that than tear up the house in a drunken stupor, or—worse—go outside and mess up the neighborhood. Uncle Steve tearing up the house? That’s me back in active-addict mode. Uncle Steve messing up the neighborhood? That’s addict-Zach creating chaos in the lives of others. So, yes, it is just fine with me if Uncle Steve watches TV all day long. Even if the volume is too loud sometimes.