I don’t know if I can do this. I attend meetings 6 or 7 times a day. My whole life is now about beating this addiction. I wake up, brush my teeth and go to a meeting. Then I come home and have breakfast, read the newspaper take a shower and go to a meeting. Then I come home, have lunch, and watch Sportscenter and then it’s off to another meeting. You can see attending these meetings is consuming my life, but then so was my addiction. I am beginning to thing I replace one addiction with another.
My sponsor tells that I need to attend the meetings while I learn the skills I need to build my willpower and restructure my confidence. I have to find another outlet to feel safe. I suppose that is what addictions are. Escaping reality to a place that gives a false sense of security, only to have it pass, followed by guilt and remorse and the need to feel safe again. Good grief that is a vicious cycle.
I am going to cheat, no one will know.
I can’t.
I am alone; I can do it, just once.
No. I just about ruined my life.
These meetings are becoming my life.
I can feel the anxiety building up; my blood is pumping faster and faster. This is a sickness! It is physical and mental. I really could use a prescription or something. This will power and meeting stuff is for the birds. I need to call my sponsor. That is what he is for, to help me get through these weak moments. I’m pretty sure I won’t get past this all on my own.
I need to call my sponsor.
Don’t call that loser, you know what he is gonna say.
That’s why I am going to call him.
You don’t want to call him, you have something else in mind.
I’m calling him.
My fingers tremble as I try to find my sponsors number in my phone. It doesn’t help that I really don’t know how to use this thing. Texting, email and games, and the internet, I am glad I got a phone that just makes phone calls. The rest is too distracting. There is his number! He better answer, the anxiety is still building up, I am not sure how much more I can take. Oh good, it’s ringing.
Please enjoy the music while your party is reached.
I love this song! Billy Idol rocks!
On the floor of Tokyo
Or down in London town to go, go
With the record selection
And the mirror’s selection
And I’m…
Damn, he answered before the best part of the song. It would be a bad idea to hang up and call him back. I don’t think it would go over well.
“Hello. This is Johnny.”
“It’s me, I need help, I’m in a bad way.”
“Easy, easy, what’s going on bro?”
“I’m weak, I’m really struggling right now, it’s been two weeks and it seems like a year. Just one, that’s all I need, to take the edge off. Then the anxiety will be gone and I can relax.”
“No, we talk about this in the meeting, you need to find something to occupy your time, divert your attention. Develop a hobby or read a book. You can do this bro.”
“It’s all I can think about, just one, just one…that is all I need, something to take the edge off.”
Our conversation goes back and forth like a D.J. sampling a record. Wiki, wiki, wiki. My sponsor does his best, trying to change the subject, give me words of encouragement and letting me know that I am not alone. Once I tell him that being alone is my problem, he says that he’ll come over to house, it will take 20 minutes.
You can do it before he gets here.
No, I can get beat this.
It’s not like your breaking the law. Pussy!
That doesn’t help.
I’m not here to help.
One of the first things I did when I realized I had a problem was throwing out all of secret stashes. Not that I had a choice! Getting rid of everything is part of the program. Man, I had shit everywhere, under my bed, in the closets, the bathrooms and the kitchen, and it was always easy access. Something must be left somewhere, I had to over looked something. I am careless, that is how I got outted about my problem.
I looked everywhere, can’t find anything, I guess I did too good of job cleaning the place up.”
Sportscenter, I am going to watch Sportscenter as a distraction. Not women’s beach volleyball! I just want to see scores, this isn’t helping. Johnny will be here is ten minutes, I am almost there, and I think I am going to make it. Oh my, what’s that under the table? A bottle.
You’re not going to make it.
Yes I can, Johnny will be here in just a few minutes.
Open up the bottle, you know you want to.
I am to leave it on the table.
No you’re not, it’s too late the wheels are in motion and you know it.
Temptation pulls with the gravity of the sun, it is sucking me in. I have all the tools of my disease in front of me. I need to call Johnny.
Please enjoy the music while your party is reached.
Oh, oh I’m dancing with myself.
Oh, oh I’m dancing with myself.
“This is Johnny.”
“How far are you?”
“There was an accident, it backed up the road.”
“Hurry!”
Johnny is good sponsor; he tries to talk off the ledge. It seems so much easier to step over than to step back, but he understands that. He knows exactly what I am going through, he has been there, he just celebrated 1000 days. One thousand days, that seems impossible. He keeps talking; I am listening but not listening. The attraction and allure of the bottle is too much.
By the time Johnny reaches my house, I have taken matters into my own hands, my guilt is dripping off the tip of my nose and its source shrinks away in my hands.
A bottle of lotion and women’s beach volleyball was all it took to end my 14 days of effort.
One Comment
Good use of foreshadowing – via Billy Idol’s “Dancing with Myself” – and effective, mood- and tension-immediate voice/action/addiction writing. Excellent for its set-up, at once laugh out loud and/or sad, depending on how one reads addiction to sex/masturbation, as you’ve presented it.
I’m guessing this was (maybe initially) intended as a play on the phrase “addicted to the bottle” – clever, by the way – but, intentionally or not, it has other mood reverberations. =)
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