Are You A News Junkie?

I’m in rehab again.
I passed out on the toilet while reading a newspaper, the word tourniquet squeezed around my arm, the syringe was empty of articles when my husband found me.

This recent concoction I got from the news stand on the corner because my husband had hidden my phone where I follow news outlets on social media. I was desperate for a fix. I told him I was going out for a boba tea which I don’t like. I hid in the bathroom and overdosed on the strong stuff—

The Senate passed a tax bill…
Inflation soared…
Interest rates increased…
Another murder of an innocent…

It filled my blood with toxic information that never seems to change. The news is the same, just a different week. But it doesn’t matter. I’m addicted.

I know it’s bad for me. I know it’s changed me. I’m a fact checking monster. I’ve lost friends. My daughter told me to stop sending her articles. I talk in my sleep. My husband was tired of waking up at 3am to my ticker tape mouth, “Travis and Taylor tied the knot… don’t eat lettuce…

But I’m addicted.

I’ve been to rehab a few times at Rude Awakenings Rehab Center. Last time, the counselor forced us to unsubscribe from every news outlet, stop reading journalists with a heavy pen and an opinion. The facility has no internet because it’s already caused too many deaths.

And the media won’t tell you the numbers. They want you hooked to their left and right bashing. The fear mongering is a high that tears into your soul, makes you suspicious of the bunny on your lawn. Maybe it’s a rabbit-shaped camera spying on you. The bunny is part of “them.”

I met a guy four rehabs ago who became psychically dehydrated from watching the news 24/7 and needed 8 pints of common sense to revive him. One gal was driving and was so high from a podcast she crashed her car. The fire department used the jaws of life to extract her. She didn’t want to be rescued. She needed to finish listening to the interview with Kate Hudson. One guy at the facility was released from jail on good behavior. He promised to stop stalking Rachel Maddow. He was considered a “Bulletin Beggar,” always hungry for more spewing.

Yes, I was going to NA (News-Aholic) meetings. It became rote. I knew the drill.

Hello, I’m Carissa and I’m a newsaholic.

I like my new group. My roommate is clingy, an aftereffect of detox. She preferred a different drug. Disaster stories. I enjoyed a plethora, a cocktail of Politics, World, Local, Financial, Celebs, which communists just took office, the Jew haters who want me dead…

No reporters or journalists here at Rude Awakenings because they’re the legal pushers. Freedom of the Press means freedom to scare, lie, deceive. And some of them are best at selling the harsh stuff, whether it’s true or false, it’s a quick high that can knock you on your ass for five seconds, leaving you wanting more so you can stand up and stress again.

In the past, I’ve met a few celebrities at rehab. They don’t care about being anonymous with their drugs of choice. They announce their favorite headlines on social media. The fake news is the bad stuff. Their fans drink the “Kool Aid” willingly. It’s pure, sugary lies. The drug that makes you vomit, pass out, attack neighbors. It’s a bad high. It doesn’t metabolize, making some people batshit crazy, impossible to cure.

The rehab hospital only allows good news. There’s a special TV room. The only thing streaming are replays of heartwarming information and Lassie re-runs. I watched stories about the dad who saved five kids from drowning, the couple who got married and Tom Hanks showed up to their wedding, the woman who lost her job and cat but won the lottery and opened a cat sanctuary.

Our rooms are little libraries. Built in shelving filled with historical, poetry, novels, self-help books and memoirs. The latter are specially selected. Their stories are about people who were once junkies but recovered. Novels are carefully hand-picked too. Mostly historical fiction because it’s a story from the past, a place we cannot visit.

The first night here was rough. I had convulsions. I needed my fix of my favorite news sources. I sweated it out then read “All Creatures Great and Small.” A 1970 memoir written by a veterinarian about cuddly animals is a safe topic.

They say articles can be in your system for years, like a smoker’s lung. My last Xray showed I still harbor Princess Diana’s car crash and the two-year-old killed on United Flight 175. I’m not normally a morose person, it’s just a side effect. Because some addicts are empaths we feel other’s pain deeply. Addiction is harder on us. It would make sense that an empath would avoid the news but some of us addicts aren’t satisfied with a quick fix. The headliner is not enough. I can’t just read about a fatal car accident. I need to know who the person was, did they have a family, was she a cheerleader in High School?

I feel terrible for the homeless junkies. They use newspapers as blankets. They’re wrapped in toxic words. Old news isn’t as detrimental as an article fresh off the press. The print is faded, so is the effect.

During the 2024 presidential election over 400 Rude Awakenings Rehab Centers opened. Beds were full. They were turning people away. HHO (Hysterical Hatred of the Other) was a new drug that was depleting people of common sense. And the media served up heaps of stories. At the same time, thousands were overdosing on an age-old drug that’s back on the market and more popular than ever. It’s called the “-ism Three”—Marxism, Communism and Antisemitism.

Alas, group therapy comes with rules and boundaries. No discussion of any drug you’ve used in the past. If anyone brings up old news even the Bay of Pigs you’re booted from the program. One gal was still detoxing from the Affleck-Garner divorce. She was warned. Celebrity news is banned too.

Our discussions are about recovery. Your drug of choice doesn’t matter. We focus on what we DO have in common. Love, connection and a well smoked pastrami are what’s important. We all have a junk drawer so there’s hope for recovery and humanity.

Are you a recovering News Junkie?