Aye, there's the placebo

My folks have a funny way of teaching me to stay off drugs. They’re particularly fond of telling me stories of several relatives (and oh, the lives they lead) and their fight against drug addiction. Or should I say for it? How their lives and that of their families were ruined. The millions they've spent on rehabilitation. Excuse my cynicism, but you know how the story goes. They tell me the neighbors think I’m addictive because of my slouched stance and my relatively light build. Doesn’t help that I’m cranky most of the time either. Bloody intelligent deduction isn't it?

Of course, all of this is supported by the many marijuana paraphernalia they never forget to buy me whenever they go somewhere interesting. They’re all legal mind you; trinkets like five finger ashtrays, lighters with the eponymous leaf on it, shirts that demand its legalization and whatnot. I’m still not sure whether it’s a cruel joke at my expense or it's their bizarre reverse psychology way of teaching me.

I’ve heard the stories but have always brushed them off after a while. I never really considered myself to have an addictive personality. I always justified these incidents as experimentation. Neither had I passed judgment on those who offer, having enjoyed some of their benefits myself. I always try to respect an individual’s capacity to discipline oneself, as much as I believed in my own discipline to do so.

To be honest, it’s the legal vices I have trouble shaking off. A recent conference on cancer once again pounded in the magnetic effect smoking seems to have on several forms of cancer. Yet, right after the conference, I find myself back in the habit accompanied by a newfound lung cancer advocacy group, as we cheekily called ourselves. Heck, we even have a Malaysian member.

Another vice is a much more intimate one only few close friends are privy to. Rest assured, it’s legal as well insofar as the law is concerned. Morals are another matter entirely. I’ve also promised myself, and concerned friends alike, that I’d kick the habit. Yet, like smoking, it’s the placebo effect it gives that leaves me wanting. Last week’s events justify it, or at least that’s how I justify it to myself. I’ve already fought with myself earlier today to stop. Guess who won? It’s the kind of vice that leads to failures in other departments, hence requiring another dose to pick up the pieces and move on — a downward spiral, of sorts, that is sadly not just affecting myself but my conspirator as well.

I’ve bought a book to help me out with it. We all know, however, that no matter what kind of program it dictates, discipline still lies in the individual. And when that fails, it’s time for the balm to soothe a battered ego again — it brings the kind of comfort that illustrates the all too simple principle behind classical conditioning.