Lasagna’s the Spice of Life
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S himi’s parents wanted me to see him because he was spending his days smoking marijuana. He had been in a 30-day rehabilitation program about a year ago but it didn’t much help him since he wasn’t really interested in stopping the course he was on. I told his father that I’d be happy to speak with Shimi but I was honest in sharing my less-than-optimistic expectations.
“I’ll meet with him and see if I can be helpful” I said. “But curing substance abuse is all about a willingness to change and it doesn’t sound like Shimi is too interested in changing right now.”
But given that Shimi’s parents were interested in seeing him change and had extracted a promise from him that he’d show for an appointment I figured it was worth a shot.
Shimi did his part and came to meet with me. He even did me the chesed of showing up on time. We started talking and he told me that he’d spent most of the past six months living in a friend’s apartment in Beit Shemesh. He didn’t use any other drugs besides the marijuana and he didn’t tell me about any disturbing symptoms of depression anxiety or psychosis. His schedule was pretty much fixed: He’d wake up smoke marijuana cook himself lunch smoke again make dinner and then smoke some more until he fell asleep. Apparently he made a mean pizza and he really enjoyed cooking Italian food. Ravioli baked ziti and lasagna were standards on his culinary repertoire.
Nothing particularly terrible was happening in his life but on the other hand nothing particularly productive was happening either — and that was problem. Because he didn’t seem interested in making any changes I decided I’d poke around a bit and try to find out what the marijuana did for him. He told me that it helped him with his sleep and that if he didn’t smoke it he’d have “weird and crazy dreams.”
When I asked him to elaborate a bit Shimi told me about being chased through a forest by a giant of a man who was trying to smother him. No matter how fast he’d run he’d always be caught in the end. It was the same horrible dream he’d had just about every night since his adolescence until he’d found that marijuana made it go away.
The dream sounded horrible and I could tell Shimi was embarrassed to talk about it because he was having trouble making eye contact. That being said I was glad he’d shared it with me as this was an important piece of information.
I took a deep breath and then began down a road I’d been numerous times before. “Shimi I’m not a Freudian psychologist and I’m not one of those shrinks who likes people to lie down on the couch and talk about their dreams. But I’ve been doing this work for quite a while now and the dreams you’re telling me about are the kinds of dreams people have when they’ve had a bad experience as a kid.”
Shimi still didn’t want to look me in the face so I knew that I was on to something.
“A lot of times people who have these kinds of dreams have been through abuse at one point or another and they’re keeping it inside so much so that it only comes out at nighttime in the form of this nightmare that’s torturing you.”
Shimi nodded.
“And that’s why you’re trying to suppress it with marijuana.”
He nodded again.
“But it’s not really a long-term solution. In fact it doesn’t even work that well anymore.”
“What are you trying to be a prophet?” Shimi was upset. It hurts to share such a story but it wasn’t going to get any easier unless he was willing to confront his demons.
I shook my head. “Nope I’ve just been doing this for a while and I’ve probably seen around 10 000 patients by now — which means that you’re telling me a familiar story. I can help you if you’ll let me.”
“Then what do I do Dr. Freedman? Do you want me to talk about it again? I’ve talked about it so many times and it never helps! Therapists just want to talk about it! But I have to relive it every single time! How it still makes me feel like a piece of garbage like I’m nothing like I have a giant hole inside of me!”
“Then let’s not relive the details Shimi. I don’t want to do anything that will make you suffer any further ” I said.
And then I waited for two of the longest minutes I remember before telling him “A lot of times people who’ve had a similar experience also have this same hole inside of them. It’s a bitter oppressive emptiness that they try and fill with whatever comes their way. Some people hurt themselves physically and others do it with drugs or alcohol.”
“Okay Dr. Freedman... so what? Marijuana is better than nothing as far as treatment goes and it’s not like it’s killing me.”
“I don’t know if I’d agree with that statement Shimi ” I responded “But I think it does explain why you’re smoking it all day long — it fills the void inside of you.”
“So what would you rather I do then?”
“To be honest Shimi I don’t have any beautiful ideas or even some sinister plan for you. I’d just tell you to find something meaningful and to run with it. If you can attach yourself to something that you love it’ll give you a purpose. Then you can move on and it’ll help you leave this mess behind. Some people love animals and have a dream of being a veterinarian. Other people love art and might want to take up painting.”
“I like cooking ” Shimi said in a surprisingly serious tone before smirking and asking “What should I do open up a kosher Italian restaurant?”
“Why not? It’s better than sitting around and smoking pot
all day.”
Shimi sat quietly for a moment and then asked “So people can really move on and put this stuff behind them?”
“Depends how motivated they are ” I told him.
“My life is pretty terrible right now so I’m willing to try anything Dr. Freedman.”
“Then let’s plan to meet next week. You can bring me some of your lasagna as a co-pay.”
Originally featured in Mishpacha Issue 663. Jacob L. Freedman is a psychiatrist and business consultant based in Jerusalem. He serves as the medical director of services for English-speakers at Bayit Cham a national leader providing mental health treatment and outreach within the religious community. Dr. Freedman can be reached most easily through his website www.drjacoblfreedman.com.
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