I’m not saying these two (depression and addiction) go together–but there does seem to be a painfully in-your-face relation between the two in my life.
So, I’ve been blogging for over a year now. A year and a half? Over 200 posts, and in each, I’ve been incredibly open–bringing to light sensitive and personal matters such as loneliness, mental health issues, failed relationships, and even my biological father’s suicide.
Insides out. Guts spilled. Blood for ink. All in the open. Put on display with hopes that others will read, connect, and find even the faintest sense of comfort in knowing they’re not alone in how they feel.
But in all of this vulnerability and transparency, never have I really touched up on the brittle subject that is addiction–an issue so prominent in my life that it has plagued me for the last decade. So, in this here post, I intend to finally shine a light toward that dark corner of my cage, and make its presence known.
Come out come out, whatever you are.
Life isn’t Enough.
In my personal opinion, we’re all addicted to something. Oh, we’re not? Wait, you’re not popping pills on the daily? Cool, but that’s not what I meant. What I mean is that we all have our own little obsessions which we’d hate to live without but aren’t necessary to the continuance of life. You have the gym rat, the shopaholic, the gambler, the food addict, the workaholic, the alcoholic, the adrenaline junkie, the sex addict, the pill junkie… Rarely do I come across someone in life who is simply high on life. And even then, everyone has their dirty little secrets.
I’ve always said it like this: life is the basics of a cake. It’s enjoyable if it’s all you know. But then you’re introduced to icing, sprinkles, whipped cream, ice cream… At that point it’s like, “WHY WOULD I GO BACK TO REGULAR, BORING OL CAKE?!”
Desperate for Flavor.
Take that icing-less cake, drop it into a bowl with a cup of depression, mix it up, and get a taste of the most bland, dry, nothingness you’ve ever tasted. You may as well be eating paper. No, it’s worse than that. You may as well be eating a spoonful of dry air.
And depression–depression in my head is like a constant flat line. Some people describe it as the feeling of dying, but for me, it’s the feeling of already being dead and six feet deep. I’m never happy, I’m never sad… I just am.
So, I’m not sure what it is, but that concoction of bland cake and depression leaves me gagging hard. Leaves me desperate to get flavor on my tongue to wash down that bleh.
Cause and Effect.
I suppose, at its core, this is a simple case of cause and effect. But, you know, the kind with the simplicity of a blizzard brewing over the Sahara Desert.
One of the ingredients listed in that cup o’ depression is something along the lines of lacking feelings for things you once loved. For me, I find it extremely difficult to find satisfaction/pleasure in everyday activities. The norm. On the daily, I drown in a proneness to boredom and a thirst for excitement that can’t quite be quenched.
I flip every cushion, check behind every door, sail every sea to no avail. Nothing. There’s nothing on this earth that can make me feel ANYTHING.
Well… not exactly. I too like icing on my bland cake. I like sprinkles, whipped cream, ice cream, and I like a lot of it!
But even still, once I’ve filled myself with all the deliciousness I thought I craved, I put down my fork and knife only to realize I’m still hungry.
Thanks for reading, guys! I’ve been away for several days, but I’ve been busy driving back to Texas, selling my furniture, and stuffing my car with what I can. It’s all done though. The chapter of Texas is over. Now it’s time to write the next.