Addiction to Love......?

When I was in high school my addiction was at its fever pitch. I thought about it all day. I thought about whether I would give in or not when I got home. I didn’t want to. It was an addiction. Addictions are unhealthy. I was out of control. How long could I go without losing control? Never very long. 

Could something so simple create such relief? Was it simple or insidious? I didn’t know, I just knew I had to relieve the pressure.

When the pressure built to intolerabile levels I would rush home after school, dash into my room like a full bladder dashes to a toilet. In my bedside table lived my dirty little secret: my notebook and pen. Was it really so simple as that? Would it really work this time the way it had in the past or was this when the rug would be yanked out? Addictions could never be trusted. 

I would lay on my floor, open my notebook and empty the vault with the pen. It took hours to get everything out but relief always came. Addiction fulfilled. 

It needed to stop. I wouldn’t tell my friends or family what I was doing in my room all the time. So much shame. 

I noticed that I could distract myself so I wouldn’t think about writing all day and then the pressure wouldn’t build the same way. So I did. I distracted myself. I wasn’t needing to write the way I used to. Good, I didn’t want to be controlled by my addiction. 

I still sometimes wanted to write but it wasn’t compelling the way it used to be. Years went by with me and my journal drifting farther apart. 

Then I married Tyler and he listened. He listened to all my long intricate boring stories, for hours he listened. He became my journal. Was this the pressure release I experienced in high school? Not quite, but it felt good. I stopped writing completely. It seemed so nice, this cocoon of ours. Talking, listening and holding each other. But even caterpillars don’t live in cocoons forever. 

With Tyler as my journal I became possessive of him. What if he was gone when I needed to talk? What if he was on a date and I couldn’t call him? What if I wanted to complain about him? 

It felt good in the beginning, but instead of pressure, now frustration was building. 

So I returned to my addiction. Consciously choosing to immerse myself again. Instead of longing for Tyler, I longed for my journal. God, the sweet relief! Hours, days, weeks spent with my lost addiction. I missed it so much. 

My addiction was back and, God, it was glorious!