Thursday, November 4, 2010

Is That A Crackpipe In Your Pocket, Or Are You Just Happy To See Me?

     Okay folks.  The topic for today is going to be addiction.  What can I say about addiction?  LOTS.  Like, it's a cruel bitch that will rape you in the middle of the night and drag you to the depths of Hell.  Or, it sucks.  Or, Fuck.You.Addiction.  Yeah, addictions suck ass.
     I have, unfortunately, been addicted to lots of things in my life.  Cigarettes, food, sugar, caffeine, exercise.  I tried to be addicted to alcohol, but that didn't really work out so well (fortunately).  Lately though, I have noticed that my addictions have all started to come together, like they are trying to duke it out and see which one wins the prize of being the ULTIMATE addiction.  It's like I can't find the one that works the best for me, so I have to dabble in them all to feel sane.  Problematic?  I think so!!  Take for example, food.  I used to eat like crazy.  Really shitty stuff.  Pizza rolled up in a burrito, mashed potatoes topped with gravy and a doughnut.  Things like that.  I liked to eat because I liked the taste, but I also turned to food when their was even the slightest problem in my life.  My cat died?  Gotta eat.  Work sucked?  Pass the cheese fries.  I stubbed my toe on my bed frame?  "Are you gonna eat that?".  After I had gained about a gazillion pounds and couldn't take a dump to save my life, I decided that food had become my enemy.  So, one day, I just quit.  I had had enough.  But, I had to replace it with something.  Something, something.  What could I replace it with that would make me feel good and not kill me??  Hmmmm...I know!!  EXERCISE!!  I will exercise until I feel wonderful!  It sounded like a plan.  So I joined the Y and started doing classes.  Classes, classes, classes.  Nothing wrong with that.  Except that if I was unable to go to a class for some reason, I became fearful.  Fearful that I would not be able to maintain my new weight.  Fearful that I would not be able to keep up the next time.  Fearful that a plane flown by terrorists would fly into my house.  It was ridiculous.  Physically I felt good, but mentally I was still a basket case.  Then, BAM!  Pregnant.  Partial bed rest.  No more exercise.  Food.  Yummy food.  Food I had missed.  Food I dreamed about.  It was awesome.  Wendy was my favorite person in the world with Ronald coming in at a close second.  Disgusting.  When I think of all the shit I ate during that pregnancy, I want to vomit.  So, what happened after the baby came?  EXERCISE!!  BLAH!  And so the cycle continued.
     The worst of my addictions, by far, has been my addiction to cigarettes.  Those mutha fuckas take no prisoners.  I don't even know what it is about them either, because they stink, they taste bad and they leave you feeling like you are drowning in phlegm.  In other words, THEY'RE AWESOME!!  I actually used to feel safe with them, knowing I had a pack in my purse or pocket just waiting for me.  Packing the box, unwrapping the tight plastic film, pulling the protective foil from the box and slipping that first, new cigarette from the pack...aaaaaaahhhhhh.  Just a little slice of stinky Heaven.  I was so dependent on them.  Never left the house without them.  And if I didn't have something to light them with, it was like they were taunting me, laughing.  "Haha, bitch!!  You're gonna have to light me on your electric stove!"  GROSS.  Feeling that way about something so fucking Gnasty makes me loathe myself right to the core.  How the hell could I love something so Goddamn disgusting?  I can't even stand the smell of human skin, much less the smell of an ashtray mouth.  And yet, even though I had quit, even though they make me feel like hell and smell like a dog shit in my mouth, I still went back.  And quit.  And went back.  And quit.  And went back again.  Begging for their forgiveness and promising never to badmouth them again.  Man, I suck.
     The thing is, I don't really know what causes this in me, or anyone.  Is it a disease, hereditary, depression, or just an inability to cope because someone didn't give you the proper skills?  I have no idea.  What I do know is this.  Somehow, some way, I need to regain control.  Oh, who am I kidding?  I never had any control to begin with.        

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