I remember being in a concert many years ago, assailed by my own thoughts, and unable to concentrate on the concert. I was enjoined to disappear and simply be the individual passively listening and appreciating the music. I could not. The music was in competition for my attention: its competitor was me. I was demanding my own attention, and so was the music. I sat it out, and could not wait to devote my mental attention entirely to myself. When I did so, I was relieved.
It occurs to me that self is the addiction. What I'm enjoined to do by God is ignore myself. I'm equally loved by God not because I'm valuable due to special skill or virtue but because God's love is infinite and indifferent. True, there's a role for me to play, like a cell has a role to play in the body, but it's the star of a one-man show; it's not pursuing its own purpose; it's not even unreplaceable: if one cell is destroyed, another will fulfil its function. I'm not important. But the whole body is. If the cell were to have its own designs, it could not fulfil its function. This is what malignant neoplasms are: clusters of cells programmed to proliferate themselves, not to contribute to the health and welfare of the organism.
The addiction of self works like this: when I become engaged in the world, self becomes alarmed, knowing that, if this proceeds to its logical conclusion, it will cease to exist. So it proceeds to get my attention. Knowing the weakness of my character and my susceptibility to emotions, it concocts pathetic states to wrench my focus away from the world and my role in it and to direct it towards me. Fear, guilt, shame, resentment, envy, jealousy, bitterness, gloom, anxiety, depression: these are perfect instruments for self to reposition me at the centre of my universe. They're not about anything. They're all nonsense. They're the devices of self to ensure its own survival.
As with any addiction, abstinence causes a 'withdrawal syndrome', and relief is obtained, albeit temporarily, by yielding to temptation.
In the concert, I went into withdrawal syndrome, which was painful. I left the concert, returned to myself, and obtained temporary relief.
As with alcohol, unless a complete psychic change is achieved, there is very little hope of recovery. The psychic change requires work, and the work requires sobriety, which means spending protracted periods not yielding to the temptation to give self and its thoughts any attention whatsoever. It means getting on with the day and not thinking or talking about myself.
What is required to recover is the courage to face the emotions associated with the withdrawal. They do, eventually, pass.