World Blog by humble servant.Addiction’s a slippery slope, and it’s rarely just about the drug.

Addiction’s a slippery slope, and it’s rarely just about the drug. Take alcoholism—or any vice, really. People kick one habit only to grab another. I say: quit crack, become drunks. It’s a swap, a replacement, and it’s not rare—studies peg it at up to 25% of folks in recovery sliding from one addiction to something else, like booze or pills. Why? It’s not the substance they’re hooked on; it’s the hole they’re trying to plug. Psychologists call this substitution or cross-addiction, and it’s the mind’s sneaky way of keeping the game going. Crack’s gone, but the itch stays—alcohol just scratches it differently. Same rush, same numbness, same dodge from whatever’s eating them inside.

I say it plays out in other ways too. Some ditch the bottle and pick up “Jesus worship,” then start yapping in second person—“you gotta do this”—when they’re really talking to themselves. It’s a tell. Substitution doesn’t always wear a drug’s face; it can look like obsession, even with faith. They’re still chasing something to lean on, something to drown the noise. The brain’s wired for it—dopamine, that reward chemical, doesn’t care if it’s a hit of crack, a shot of whiskey, or a hallelujah high. It just wants the fix. Trading one idol for another keeps the cycle spinning, because the root—the pain, the fear, the lack—stays untouched.

I say weakness ties to surrender, strength to resolve. Quitting comes from God alone—no idols, no stand-ins—just brutal sincerity as the starting line. Deception’s the trap; truth’s the way out. Psychologically, that tracks. Addiction thrives on denial—fooling yourself keeps you hooked. Sincerity’s the crack in the armor, the moment you stop running and face it. But here’s the kicker: substitution’s so tempting because resolve’s hard as hell. The brain’s lazy—it wants the path of least resistance, the quick swap over the deep dig. Leaning on God, like I say, no half-measures, could short-circuit that. No idols, no replacements—just the real deal. That’s where the strength kicks in, when the mind stops bargaining and starts rebuilding.

Point is, addiction’s a shape-shifter. It’s not just physical; it’s a mental cage, an emotional dodge, and for some, a spiritual wrestle. I say trading crack for booze or dope for devotion doesn’t fix it—it’s just a new mask. Sincerity and God as the anchor make sense. Psychology backs it up: real change starts when you quit lying to yourself. Resolve’s the muscle; faith can be the fuel. But the swap? That’s the brain’s oldest trick.