Killing the Dragon
Internet Gaming Addiction and the Five Stages of Grief
My ten-year-old is an addict. She holds her 5-inch dragon in her hands as it scorches her joy with its fiery breath.
Her dragon is a phone. Her addiction is gaming.
Once my husband and I realized that her dragon wasn’t a cute friendly pet — we tried to tame it by setting time limits, which only made its control over Rose stronger. We quickly stuck a sword in it’s heart and killed it — going completely cold turkey with phone usage.
I scheduled nothing for myself the first week of detox, anticipating that it would be a rough week, but I had no idea how rough it would be.
She mourned the dragon. Little did I know that detoxing from the phone would look like the five stages of grief.
Denial
First, Rose denied she had a problem. She loved her dragon and she could control it. It made her happy.
I didn’t use the word addict with her — since it isn’t a word in her vocabulary as of yet.
I explained that I missed my creative, active little girl — who used to spend hours coloring and loved to walk the dog around the block.
She denied that the dragon had stolen that little girl from us — but we knew he had. We didn’t budge, and she quickly became angry.
Anger
She yelled at us — screamed how much we hated her. She breathed her venom on anyone that came into her path — from her grandparents to the dog. Then it turned inward. She degraded herself with her words.
I tried all the tricks I’d learned from therapy and reading about helping your child deal with anger:
I remained calm. Though the stress inside my stomach felt like a volcano ready to explode, I kept the lava inside. I spoke quietly and calmly. I told her I was here for her — as she screamed two inches from my face that she hated me and wished I weren’t her mother.
I tried to ground her by playing soft soothing music and diffusing calming essential oils. I planned fun activities to try to get her mind off her dragon.
I took deep breaths, sometimes counting as I inhaled and exhaled. I encouraged her to do the same. — but she didn’t want to get rid of the anger and refused to calm down.
Depression
After five days of stomping and screaming, an eerie silence fell over the house. Rose curled up on the couch, covered her head with her pink kitten blankie and made herself invisible. She dozed in and out of sleep for days, barely leaving the couch, barely eating, barely speaking, just hibernating. At first, I thought this was a change for the better. I no longer had a fear of waking up and stepping into a war zone. I quickly realized that her calm was not healthy, but she’d descended into a pit of depression. She had no energy or desire to do the things that ten-year-olds do, she had no desire to do anything.
I voiced her feelings, “Your body language tells me you are sad.”
I took a deep slow breath that she could hear. “I’m here for you when you want to talk.”
I planted myself on the end of the couch she was laying on, and arranged my days around reading and researching — things I could do sitting within touching distance from her.
Weird how the complete silence was scarier for me than the explosive rage.
Bargaining
Then one day, she sat up on the couch and tried to bargain with me — as if she had been collecting bargaining chips from under her kitty-cat blankie.
“What if I use the phone for my three hours a day and never ask for more?”
“What if I’m really, really good, and never yell at you again? Can I use the phone then?”
“Can I use the phone in one week? A month? Six months? When I’m 13? When I’m an adult? — How long am I grounded for?”
“If you let me use the phone, I promise to feed the dog every day without being asked.”
“I won’t beg for the phone any more if you let me use it.”
“Can I use it just one time? I promise not to ask anymore after that.”
I answered her questions directly and honestly — except maybe the one about whether she could have a phone as an adult, I kind of skirted the edges of that one.
It was heartbreaking how much she missed her dragon — even though I knew that dragons don’t make good pets. This was the point in her recovery that the lava ceased to bubble in my belly. My body began to calm, and for the first time, I believed we’d get through this — together.
Acceptance
I remember the first time, after killing the dragon, that Rose began to play again. She ran into the front room to show us her creation. She’d made a bed for her LOL Doll out of legos. She was so excited — but no more excited than I was.
Seeing her happy, doing something she loved, made me realize that we\d made the right decision and life was going to settle down.
I’d be remiss if I didn’t tell you that Rose still asks to pet the dragon. A couple of times she’s stolen the phone, but she quickly and remorsefully repented. She takes it more in stride when we tell her the dragon died and it’s not coming back. She dreams of getting a new dragon someday and I dread the day she can.
As hard as her two weeks of mourning was, I’m glad we killed the dragon. It’s forcing me to be a more attentive understanding parent, and it’s no longer casting it’s spell on my daughter.
Rose can be herself again.
*Check out how we discovered the link between mental health disorders and internet gaming addiction in “Feeding the Dragon.”
APA References
David Farache. The 5 Stages of Grief and Addiction. August 27, 2018. Retrieved on 2020,September 12 from https://rbsrehab.com/the-5-stages-of-grief/
