I lay in my bed. Perpendicular. Every which way. My body, immobile. Unable to get up. It has returned. Clouds of indifference. A thick fog over motivation. I was asked about this unmentionable the other week. I happily noted, dormant. I suppose I said so too soon.
It has returned. With increasing attendance. The voice in my head to escape, a devil on my shoulder. I forgot how powerful he was. Its habits, seemed long removed. But, now they are here again. Sunday and Today. I dealt with the consequences. I fear that this voice will grow louder if I don’t stop it now. But, how?
Why am I so sad that I must escape? Why can’t I logically recall in those moments that the short escape has far worse consequences.
Addiction. It’s a curious thing. The fuel behind it is often not the chosen escape, be it drugs, alcohol, food, sex, etc. The addiction lies in the decision. The decision provides one with control, when life seems to be offering none. An addict is calmed before they reach their drug. Soothed by the option- the voice speaks and they imagine their acquiescence. The drug is support. Self-provided. You need not be vulnerable to someone else..
An ability to mute thoughts. Stand at the helm.
Numb. Escape. Control.
I think I would prefer tears.