Climbers know fear. Whether it is mortal peril and the consequences of falling or the creeping fear of failing, fear is at the heart of climbing. Engaging fear is central to surviving – let alone flourishing – in the vertical world.

Anxiety however is something different. Essentially it is the fear of fear. Few of us have felt anxiety in the way that gun climber and ex-climbing mag editor Matt Samet has. For years he suffered crippling, all-consuming anxiety for which the treatment via prescription pharmaceuticals was worse than the affliction.

On the release of Death Grip, Matt’s book that recounts his story of hard climbing, benzo addiction, hellish treatment and slow recovery, VL caught up with him to find out how he has learnt to live with the darkness within.

Catharsis has long been central to recovery, but why did you decide to write the book and tell your story now?

To be honest, any sort of catharsis already happened long ago in my recovery, when I came to terms with what had happened, why it had happened, my own responsibility in these events, and also the slow time frame for healing from them. Probably around 2009 is when I turned the corner psychically and physically, three years after breaking free. I suppose I shared this story not to work through the particulars myself, but as a signpost on the trail warning of hazards ahead for anyone in a similar predicament: the fact a pschotropic medicine they’re taking, which they’ve been told is safe and beneficial, might actually be the source of their problems. If I’d known then what I know now, I A) Never would have gotten in with psychiatry (and obviously, with addiction) or B) Been able to tap into alternative resources when trying to break free, instead of trusting the doctors who only wanted to continue drugging me. Things needed not go down this way…



Commonly climbing is valorised as a salve – as a protection against the anxieties of the modern world – yet with the climbing-induced starvation and obsession with big numbers it seemed to become the opposite for you. Was climbing cause or solution, or is that too simple?

I think climbing was both a solution and a cause. A solution in that it got me out of the urban environment I don’t feel comfortable in, but also a cause in that, in my own obsessive way, I took it to the extreme of calorie restriction and poor self-care thinking that was just how it was done when you wanted to attain higher grades. Also, for many years I was way too goal-oriented in climbing, which certainly led to those sorts of behaviors and this skewed worldview, of craving; if you don’t view it as a laugh out at the crag with your buddies (mates), then what’s the point? Climbing should be FUN. It should always be about the process and just about being outside in some awesome spot in nature; the goals follow from there.



In the book you mention Camus’ classic philosophical investigation into suicide The Myth of Sisyphus, and obviously several times in your life you have assessed Camus question in the negative and attempted suicide, not because of the life is full of the banal quotidian but the hopelessness of drugs. When you think about the bold death routes you did, the almost-too-much solos, were they suicidal as many people would interpret them or was the recklessness something different?

I don’t think I was ever completely suicidal in the sense that Camus addresses, but more parasuicidal, at least on the meds and while withdrawing, simply because of the extreme suffering of the withdrawal syndrome, a symptom of which (a literal, physical symptom) is suicidal ideation. I always wanted to live deep down in my core; it’s just that I had become too scared to and was in a constant state of mortal terror, so I was torn in two, fighting these urges yet also powerless against them, as they were chemical messages from an outside source. In climbing, I don’t think I ever had any sort of huge death wish. I probably had a bigger ego for a time, which made me think that dangerous equaled cool, but I imagine that’s only the most superficial view of it. There was also a lot of self-learning to be had on the sharp end on a dangerous lead, and I do know that climbers have long sought such situations to test themselves, almost as a form of spirituality. E.g. “What happens when we die?” Well, “I’ll just tie in to lead Mega-Mondo-RP-Ripper Death Seam and maybe we’ll find out…” Also, you know how it is – sometimes a climb’s pure beauty appeals to you despite its inherent danger, and you can’t resist the siren song. There were many routes like that for me: the line plus the danger or mystique presented a good challenge for a young climber to cut his teeth on. I’m old now, and have a family, so have left much of that behind. And in retrospect, I suppose such goals do look reckless to a degree, or at least heedless of our very real mortality. At the same time, you can die botching the anchor-threading on a sport route, so… I don’t regret any of those climbs.





Climbing plays a complex saviour in the book, it strikes me that it is not so much climbing as action as much as it is climbing as identity. “I am not a junkie”, “I am not anxious”, “I am a climber”. Is this how it appears to you?

I think that’s true, for sure. I know it sounds egotistical to self-identify as a climber, but at the same time, if climbing is your thing – like, your main thing – something about you changes or is different from people who don’t climb. You take your identity almost from the rock or the mountains, where the rules are so different from those in day-to-day life, and so absolute, that they change your basic philosophical outlook and foster an increase in self-reliance. I suppose it was that independent spirit as well that helped me break free from iatrogenic illness and heal. Fuck, man, I just wanted to be a climber again! I’d always been a climber, since my teenage years, and that pull has never gone away. When I was too sick to climb, I missed the physical sensation of it.



Do you believe the position that there is a strong link between physical fitness and mental well being?

Yes, absolutely. I can think of no anti-depressant stronger than exercise, and plenty of studies back this up. Being active in whatever pursuit, being strong and pushing yourself at climbing, and so on wear our bodies out in the way they’re meant to be used. We’re not meant for this sedentary, junk-food-gobbling, cubicle world existence; look at how much misery it causes. It’s the best feeling, I think, that almost bliss-tired sensation you get after an epic day out climbing.

The book paints a very bleak picture of pharmacology and psychiatry as industries – almost secular Scientologist, so strong it made me think about Scientology, do you think pharmacology and psychiatry have a place in the treatment of mental illness?

Yes, I suppose I almost do align with that view in this case. Interesting! Far be it from me to tell anyone what to do, and I’m not a mental-illness denier per se. I do believe believe people experience what are labeled as “depression” and “psychotic episodes”, etc. The real problem, however, is who gets to define mental illness and who gets to define what sorts of treatment are appropriate? Clearly psychiatry and Big Pharma have a stranglehold on this role, but with all the dubious things that have gone on – overprescription, off-label marketing, forced drugging, electroshock, knowingly bringing unsafe pills to market – you have to wonder about how much profit and power motives are interfering with actually helping people. From what I experienced, the meds did way more damage than good, and I’m much happier and healthier off them. I believe we suffer emotional and cognitive darkness for a reason; the key is to listen, to treat such things as teachers, and to consider that there are many more ways than just swallowing pills to manage these conditions and even get better. Many great books have been written on this very subject, in particular Mad in America and Anatomy of an Epidemic, both by Robert Whitaker, and Toxic Psychiatry, by Peter Breggin.



Besides being a strong critique of pharmacology, one thing that resonated with me is your attempt to rebut the idea that all ‘negative’ emotions need to be cured, rather the darkness can be accepted as a part of who we are and channeled productively. Can you expand on that idea.

Again, I just think, for me at least as one example, I’m a fairly dark person, with a fairly grim and cynical worldview that can lead to a “depressive” outlook and bouts with “anxiety.” If your brain is on and you’re looking around at all the greed, corruption, violence, and environmental destruction around us, it’s hard not to get down, to feel depressed and vulnerable and more than just a little bit hopeless for your own well-being and the future of the human race. But I don’t think this is something that needs treatment or medical intervention. Why can’t it be good enough for me to just be who I am, to accept this, to look it right in the eye until it doesn’t scare me anymore? That’s really what it took for me to get better: admitting who I am, how I think, and then learning to love myself for it.



As well as effecting your climbing, you are also a writer and editor, how did the benzos impact on your ability to create with words?

Well, on the highest doses and during the withdrawal years (2005–2006), I had fairly fuzzy or at least slowed cognition and of course was often so anxious I could barely sit still. I know I was also more disinhibited while on the pills, and wrote some “humor” columns in a snarky way that I wouldn’t do now – there’s no point, really, in pissing people off. I felt the impact most strongly in 2005, but worked my way out of the hole slowly, reading magazine articles, then short books, then novels again, trying to hone my focus. I also stayed constantly involved in editing and writing, even at the worst, so that that part of my brain wouldn’t atrophy. It was also very helpful in reordering my thoughts, rebuilding my vocabulary, distracting myself from the symptoms, and promoting healing.



How is your relationship with climbing now?

Great! I love it more than ever, don’t get too obsessive about weight or goals, and pretty much invariably have fun when I go out, wherever that might be and however hard I’m climbing. I’ve put more of my energy into first ascents than before and don’t get too hung up on redpointing whatever grade, which has also been a lot more fun. I’m one of those mad bolters who likes to get out and explore. Also, being more time limited now (lots of freelance work, family life) I tend to use my climbing time better. These days, when my wife and I go to the gym with our toddler son, I end up inadvertantly doing 4-by-4s because when it’s my time to climb I don’t stop doing as many problems in a row as I can, because I know dad duty will start again shortly. Having a kid has actually forced me to be less lazy….



Long has there been recreational drug use in the climbing world but at least in recent years there has been a reasonable amount of serious discussion around the potential for performance enhancing drugs use in the sport, and not just at the elite competition level. What are your observations on that area?

Not sure – I’m so divorced from elite-level climbing these days, I haven’t followed many of the discussions. I suppose with the (limited) profit motive of being a pro climber, there could be some pressure to take performance-enhancing drugs, but all I can think when I hear that is: Climbing is supposed to be fun, it’s good for your body in the very act itself, so why gunk things up with a bunch of sketchy chemicals? I’ve never so much as even taken a supplement like creatine to climb harder. I just figure, I climb as hard as I climb. Usually I’m failing because my footwork is crap and I’m totally gripped, not due to a lack of strength. In all my years, I’ve never met another climber who took steroids, but you always hear rumors. Still, it seems like a lot of trouble to go to to get a few more free blocks of chalk or whatever…



Finally, my co-editor wants me to ask one last hard-hitting question – was there some Photoshopping done on the cover, mostly in the realm of hair colour…?

Ha ha, that photo was taken in 2007, six years ago, and I definitely have way more gray hair now. So yes, I was “de-aged” in that sense. The good news is, I still have all my teeth.



Thanks for your time Matt.

Death Grip, A Climber’s Escape from Benzo Madness is published by St Martin’s Press and is available now both as a hard copy and digital download. For more information go here.