It never fails. Right around this time every year, I begin to feel the old urges coming on.
I try to fight them. But it is very difficult. All around me, it seems the world is plotting against me. It’s so hard to resist the temptations. The stores are filled with samples, small but promising, providing a glimpse of a wonderful future filled with wonder if only I purchase these for just a minimal fee. Books and magazines flaunt the porn of this obsession. In every neighborhood there is someone who shares my affliction.
Months ago, it was much easier. I promised myself I would be strong. I told myself over and over that I could do it. Even after all of the years of failure, I really thought I could do it this time….just like the last 10 times.
It is always the same.
Those who share my struggle will recognize it. Yet there is no 12-step program designed for us. No sponsors. We are on our own to fight it.
Each year I convince Merle to help me, and every year he gives in when I break down. He knows he wouldn’t be able to talk me out of it. He gave in again this time and was with me when I lost the fight this week. My husband becomes an enabler, and turns a blind eye to the money that he knows I will spend to feed this sickness; even encouraging my hope that this time things will be different.
It would all make sense if only the rush would last a little longer. That is part of the problem-I always forget how things end. In the beginning, I start out with high hopes. Visions of success fill my head, a dizzying array of color and design swim before my eyes. Not even the sure knowledge of the physical pain that will inevitably result in the aftermath of the binge can restrain me as once again I give in to this disease.
Within just a few weeks, I will lose the buzz, I will find the requirements necessary to keep it going to be boring and time-consuming. Then my guilt will kick in. The evidence of my neglect will be everywhere, its haunting presence mocking those early optimistic dreams. It always ends badly.
They say that the first step toward healing is to admit that you have a problem.
My name is chlost, and I
try to be am a gardener.