Panic

Since this critique is on a work that deals with a delicate subject, I would like to reaffirm that the following is my interpretation.

Ocean’s Panic is a nuanced portrait of addiction. I come from a family of addicts. My vice is nicotine, and I continue to battle with it. The vast majority of people caught in the often soul-crushing and life-destroying cycle of addiction are aware of their dependency’s destructive nature. Anyone who has experienced addiction (whether it be to chocolate or drugs) knows about the constant internal turmoil it creates. Addicts are torn between knowing they are locked in a self-destructive pattern and excuses for that pattern. I cannot tell you how often I have picked up a cigarette to combat anxiety about being addicted to cigarettes. This is irrational to the extreme, and understanding the illogic and continuing to dive further into it leads to a surreal existence. It feels as if one lives in an alternative reality where one's mind is fractured into a thousand contradictions that begin to resemble the state of frenzy reflected in Panic's protagonist's bulging eyes and discombobulated face.

Panic perfectly describes the state of advanced addiction. A maelstrom of fear, lack of control, self-hatred, and regret wear away at the soul and fill one with a sense of dread that can only be dispelled in the short term by a retreat into the pattern of behavior from which it originated. Of course, this self-perpetuating cycle of misery can only be broken by uncompromising rejection of its causes, but this is easier said than done. The chaos of Panic’s subject is the inevitable and deadly result of addiction, but the self-awareness it displays is the hope of a better tomorrow.