Category: addiction

OM

The other night I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned, had weird dreams, watched Netflix, made tea, still couldn’t sleep, messed around online, eventually smoked a small joint. I slept. And in the morning I did yoga. Cat pose, child’s pose and cobra pose. I’m … Continue reading OM

Eight, seven…

Are you feeling expansive, Miss V?

There was no name from the texter, he just presumed I would know who it was.

And by the very use of his vocabulary,  I did.

My heart started beating a little faster and I really did not want it to. I placed my hand over it, closed my eyes and willed it to slow down.

Six, five, four three…

I did not want to react to him.

Two, one…

I did not want to feel.

Anything.

Even so, once I was breathing at not two thousand beats a minutes, I texted back.

I have never felt expansive. I am not in a good mood. And my name is not V. 

He immediately got all charming and witty and invited me for dinner.

I immediately refused, not asking him about the other woman he had possibly wanted to settle down with. The one who clearly hadn’t worked out because it is a pattern with him. Alone, beautiful woman, alone, let me try another one, alone, let me go back to that one, no, maybe I want to be alone, oh look, another beautiful woman.

And I know, I knew, all that. It was why when we were done, we were done.

Yet my heart was still beating dangerously quickly.

I tucked my phone somewhere deep where I’d never find it again and went for a walk. Put some distance between me and him.

My reaction had astonished me. I’d  thought I was totally completely over him.

And I wanted to feel nothing.

Or I wanted to be able to laugh and say god you’re an arrogant  jerk and bye bye see you in another lifetime.

Block him off my phone forever.

But I knew I couldn’t do that.

Because even after all this time, I felt something.

I still feel something.

And I cannot help myself.

It’s hard to explain.

Feelings.  Passion. Old hurt.

Intense dislike.

They all mix together.  They’re always there.

Abstract heart from hooks on a white background

 

Facebook

Today on Facebook I discovered that Mary had a cheese sandwich for lunch and Joe loves his wife so much he just couldn’t manage without her. Suzanne is in a new relationship with Douglas and Rosie’s dog chewed her iPhone.

I liked the cheese sandwich which already had fifty three likes, wished Suzanne a big congratulations even though it is her third relationship in three months, and gave a big shout out to the dog.

And then I updated my status.

Yo Jo’burg, it’s wet and rainy, time to impulsively buy a new pair of boots.

I got ten likes within two minutes.

I thought about ‘impulsively’ going to buy these new boots but instead watched a tutorial on how to apply liquid eyeliner and admired Talia’s holiday pics.

I have no idea who Talia is.

I stalked an old lover, stalked another old lover and thought about stalking a potential lover.

It took a lot of courage not to.

Instead I checked the cheese sandwich. It was up to a hundred and three likes. My boot post was still only on ten.

Ten, even though I hadn’t yet impulsively bought them.

Facebook makes me immobile. I get stuck. I find myself liking things I don’t like. I watch videos that are ridiculous.  I tell the whole world about my boots.  I waste an inordinate amount of time.

I forced myself to close my computer, leave the house and go to the shoe shop. I found the most fantastic pair of boots. I bought them. I photographed them. I put the photograph on Facebook.

And then, in a very strong moment,  I deleted the pic.  And I logged out. I deleted the Facebook app.

And I know it’s only the app on my phone and not on my computer.  But it’s a start.

It’s time to show off my boots. In real life.  They’re cool hey?   Feel free to like them.  Over here…

boots

Pic lifted off the internet!

Addiction

It’s confession time.

I drink a ton of coffee.
I quite like sugar.
I have a whisky, or two, almost every evening.
And I take half a sleeping tablet at night before I go to bed.

But when a friend of mine said Violet, you have dependency issues, you’re an addict and you need to get help, rehab help, I got really pissed off.

I love my coffee. I hang out in coffee shops, I write, I order another coffee, I work, I sip, I love it. And it’s just coffee for goodness sake.

Sugar, well, I know I shouldn’t, but you know, a piece of red velvet cake with my coffee every now and again is very nice. And it isn’t every day and hey, it’s not gonna kill me.

Whisky – come on, my Dad’s been having a whisky every night for the last 70 years and he’s (mostly) okay.

It’s the sleeping tablets that are the bigger problem.

Yes. My name is Violet and I am an addict.

And I get that I’m talking exactly like an addict but hey, does it matter so much? Half a tablet a night? For the last five years?  They’re also not gonna kill me.

Are they?

I mean, they might be why I’m a little bit ditzy and forgetful, also why I struggle to wake up in the mornings, but you know –

I only take half.

And I do at least sleep.

But according to my friend I should be getting medical help, therapy and treatment because all these terrible things I do mean I have dependency issues, I am a dependent person, I use crutches, I am an addict, my life will be shorter, ruined, I will die…

REALLY?

Am I in denial?

I genuinely don’t think, apart from the stilnox and even them, that any of these things are soooooo bad for me.

Anyway, I climbed the moral high ground and smugly told him I flushed the pills down the toilet.

Which I did in a very brave and mad moment.

BUT APPARENTLY THAT IS WORSE THAN TAKING THE FUCKING THINGS.

He yelled at me.

Are you nuts mad, come on Violet, what’s wrong with you, how can you flush them down the loo?

Hey, calm down, I said. I thought you’d be proud of me.

You’ve put them in our water supply you idiot. You’ve put them in MY water supply.

Oooops.

I did.

And I’m sorry but not sorry.  I hope he sleeps really well.

And stops telling me I have a problem.

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