I wrote to a friend tonight, suggested that as a new year’s resolution I should write more, re-start the novel and get it back on track. It got me thinking maybe I should make a few more: perhaps to get myself back on track; to get better – to be better, although I’m not sure which of those is right or applies; to make a success of a diet; to eat less, to eat better, not to cave the moment things go wrong; to find a direction or carve one out of the path I’m paving myself; to not expect a path to follow as there is no yellow brick road unless I lay the bricks myself. Maybe I ask too much of myself?
It all makes me think of what I fear – I guess this new year is the one with more to offer than any of the others, yet the one with the most to lose. I can feel my addictions beating at the door, waiting to break through. As I gained an excuse to keep one at bay I gave up the reason to keep holding off the other. I guess I’m letting loose the more dangerous of the two, albeit the one I have the most chance of holding away, controlling.
They scare me, I think I have everything sorted and then they suddenly bite back and take control again. I guess I’m a lot weaker than I would like to believe.
Other things worry me – I’m signing up for an 18 month stretch of something I’m not sure I’m capable of. It’s not the work, I’m sure with enough effort I can master that one. It’s the life and challenges accompanying it, the uncertainty it’s coupled with. I’m not sure it’s the right road to build at a time when I’ve closed off another. I suppose me fears are mastering me, rather than I them.
But, one thing’s certain, the new year’s not yet in and I’m already trying with the first one…
I sit in the bath, the water’s too hot. I have a book in my hand and Alison Krauss is playing in the background. As I sink deeper into the water my attention wanders further.
After my vague ramblings of the other night I feel I should elaborate somewhat, if only for me to remember my thoughts when I try to look back.
There are times now, more often that not when I actually stop to think and find that I can’t stop myself from shaking. People say I don’t know what addition is and I find myself struggling not to tell them what it is to me for fear of them telling me not to be so melodramatic, to stop overreacting again.
Addition to me is battling every moment you’re along, every moment there’s not someone talking to you (and even then some), trying to hold yourself back so as to stop yourself from giving in.
Addiction is sitting there clutching yourself at night while you arms shake around you, fighting not to reach out to that small piece of comfort lying on your bedside table, hoping that if you close your eyes long enough the longing might go away.
Addiction is finding excuses not to do something, finding them because you need something to help you stop and then realising there’s a day when those excuses have temporarily disappeared and caving in a moment.
Addiction is finding you’ve eaten £30 in half an hour. Addiction is hearing someone say it and wondering if they realise the power of the words they’ve just used.
Addiction is finding something to numb the feeling only to realise you’re slipping to something just as bad.
Addiction is feeling something else only to realise that it has the same roots.
Addiction is writing two pages in code only to know exactly what you mean without the solution.
Addiction is the silent tears at night when you should be overjoyed.
Addiction is the overtaking of something that should be more real, only isn’t…
I am scared. There is no other way to describe this feeling other than being scared.
Some things are getting back on track – it may not have been the line I originally intended for them to run on but they’re getting back on tract.
So, what am I scared of? I could write for hours on end just to avoid talking about it, even when I know I should.
I am scared of myself, that I have started using razors again even though I know I can’t be trusted. I know this is a dangerous dance but I am anxious to regain some sense of normality, even if only in my head. I thought the other night as I sat in the bath shaving, of every stroke the razor made, each line it traced on my skin and how it could so easily be tracing different lines, lines through that skin. At times I wonder what it is that’s stopping me as I’m not sure it’s myself and that given a free reign I would probably be so much more self-destructive. It’s times like this that make me wonder if I was wrong to stop believing in angels? Surely there must be one watching over me right now?
I am scared that I cannot control myself. I knew that I couldn’t, I proved that one and gave myself a routine to help. I thought that I could be careful, look after things and that it would all be fine, that I would keep control. I was wrong, I snapped and now I’m back to the ritualistic soup and rice cakes in an attempt to regain the control I lost. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to step free, to trust myself alone again. I’m keeping it half at bay right now but I know that I only have to lose control once more to risk it all coming crashing down without a sound, without warning. I know there’s a small collection in the bottom of my bag, enough to help me through if things got that rough, but only enough for once. If I cracked I would be letting myself in for a week or so and I can’t allow that to happen.
I am scared that while I am in control of these two small things I am in control of the elements of my life. I am scared that I left one slip everything else will come crashing down and there are some things I don’t want to lose.