The Beast (Addiction)

[Hopeful59]

I don’t really hear what they’re saying because in the background, over the cacophony of voices, the beast whispers to me and my heartbeat kicks up a notch. It’s a strange kind of excitement that I don’t really understand. “Soon,” the beast promises and my excitement rages and I have to make a concerted effort to conceal the fact that my breath is coming in short, quick gasps. The voices could be saying anything at all now because after they tell me that they will be going out soon, and knowing that I will be here all alone, I cease to pay attention. I can no longer hear them anyway. All I hear is the seductive voice of the beast promising ecstasy, pleasure beyond human reckoning, just as soon as we are alone. I nod to the voices as they tell me things I don’t care about, where they are going and when they will be back; I can barely process the information in my current state of mind. All the while, the beast is teasing me, filling my mind with illicit pleasures to come, and my stomach is doing flip flops in anticipation of our time together.

At last the door shuts with a defining click and I am alone. Then, oddly, a strange tug of war begins in my soul. I start to question the wisdom of indulging the beast and its dark desires and its ever increasing demands. I think back to when the beast first appeared. I was alone then, too. Bored. Restless. It is true what they say: idle hands are the devil’s workshop. Too bad I hadn’t found something productive to do. I hadn’t been looking for it. Yet, suddenly there it was, this beast, beautiful and desirable and it wanted me. I smiled in my ignorance.

It didn’t seem like a bad thing initially. That first time, well it was just an experiment really. Try it and see. Find out. No big deal. Lots of other people enjoy it. It’s not like you ever have to do it again, right? So, I opened the door and the beast charged in. Even that first time, its power was astonishing. But, I wasn’t scared. No, I was intrigued and very willing. I sampled, tasted and found delightful pleasure, just like the beast promised. Oh, yes. It was good. Mind-blowing, screaming out loud good, unlike anything else I had ever experienced. Yes, I liked it very much.

My time with the beast was a well-kept secret, my once a week Sunday indulgence. And why not? I enjoyed it. Who was it hurting? Why no one! Honestly, afterwards I felt at peace, soothed, relaxed. It seemed therapeutic, a release valve for pent up anxiety, emotion, stress, need. I was sure it was helping make me a better person.

But, as time went on, I found myself longing for the beast at odd times, inappropriate times, craving more. It soon became apparent that Sunday was not enough. And why should it be? Who was it hurting, after all? More and more I began to think of the beast, dream of its pleasures. Often I saw it in odd places, simply looking at me, and I gazed upon its beautiful form, mesmerized. “I’m here,” it seemed to purr, “ready whenever you are.”

At work my mind drifted without warning. I would jolt awake from a daydream and realize I had been staring at nothing for many long minutes, my thoughts consumed with the beast and its secret pleasures. One day I got called into the boss’s office. They told me they were no longer happy with my performance. I apologized and told them I will try harder. But, as soon as I got back to my desk, I was thinking of the beast. Driving down the road became dangerous. All too often the highway disappeared as my eyes filled with visions of the beast and its promises of new ecstasies yet to be tasted. No, Sunday was no longer enough. I wanted more. My body and soul craved it, like a man lost in the desert craves water. I had to have more. And so I looked for other snatches of time when I might invite the beast in. Ah, Wednesday evenings. Yes. A few hours then. I remember the voices telling me that they are going out on Wednesday evenings, a group of friends for movie night. Do I want to come? It will be fun, they tell me. We need to get out more. No, I say. I will stay home and rest. I am tired after working all day. I know they are disappointed and I feel a brief sense of shame for my lie. But it fades quickly when I think of the beast. A little bit of pleasure to break up the monotony of the week. No one must know, of course. They wouldn’t understand.

And it was about then that a shadow seemed to fall on me. I didn’t realize it at first, though something felt off. The beast and I still met, we enjoyed our time together. Yet, the intensity of the experience seemed less than it had been. Once again I felt restless, bored. I complained. “It happens over time,” the beast said. “You just need something stronger now.” I resisted. “No,” I insisted, “this is as far as it goes.” The beast nodded. “Okay, if that’s what you want.” And the beast left. I watched it go. It never looked back. Well, that’s the end of it I thought. No more.

But it wasn’t the end of it. In a matter of days I found myself looking for the beast everywhere: on street corners, in alleys, in the coffee shop. Inside, my body twisted and squirmed with withdrawal. I wanted it, wanted it bad, needed to feel that high. So when Sunday came and the beast knocked at my door, I let it in. “You seem to be in pain,” the beast said. I nodded numbly. “I’ve brought you something to help.” It held out its offering and I looked at it wordlessly. It was stronger stuff, much, much stronger. Frightening, even.

“You look confused,” the beast said, its eyes glittering coldly. “Don’t you want it?”

“I don’t think I can go that far,” I said, shaking my head even as I felt the pull of desire.

“It’s not that big a deal,” the beast assured me casually. “Try it this once. If it’s not for you, we can go back to the lighter stuff.”

A wave of despair washed over me, even as I held out my hand. And the beast was right. It did help. Yes, it was stronger stuff, stuff I never thought I would ever touch. But, afterwards I sighed, deeply satisfied once again. At least temporarily.
“Shall I come again on Wednesday?” the beast asked as my mind swirled in a whirlpool of pleasure.

“Yes,” I breathed.

“More of this?” the beast asked. I hated the beast then, but it was too late.

“Yes,” I answered, resigned. “If that’s what it takes.”

And it was what it took: stronger stuff and then stronger still. The beast had an endless supply, a wide variety of avenues and resources and titillating pleasures. At first I resisted what I deemed to be the more dangerous stuff, but eventually there seemed no reason not to sample all forbidden pleasures. It was all the same, after all, just another way to get what I needed.

Of course I had lied to myself all along. I told myself from the very first time that it was no big deal, that no one would be hurt by it, least of all me, because no one would ever know. I was so, so wrong. The day when you get found out is like dying while in the midst of a beautiful (albeit, demented) dream and waking up in hell. The voices scream and wail and this time you hear them. When your world is crashing down around you, the voices cannot be ignored. The beast has deserted you, of course, and left you to deal with the voices on your own. You are left with nothing but shame, horror, fear. And, crazily, there is still the desire for the beast. Even as the voices around you cry out in pain that you caused, you are thinking of the beast. “How could you do these things?” the voices shout in agony. You shrug and say you don’t know. You want to tell them what they can’t understand. You want to tell them about the beast, about your need for what it gives you. But you don’t. So you promise not to do it again, ever. And part of you wants to keep that promise because you don’t want to hurt them, and because you know, although you don’t want to admit it, that the beast is destroying you.

But the other part of you wants to feel that pleasure again, at any cost, no matter what. Because as much as you hate the beast, as much as you know it is destroying everything that is important, you love it as well. Sadly, you are still believing the lie, the lie that beast is beautiful. In your denial you refuse to see the teeth and claws, refuse to admit that the beast has you trapped under its deadly paw. And until you can see the beast for what it is, you will always go back.

[rouby]

And until you can see the beast for what it is, you will always go back.

It is my opinion, that this line is the key to finding freedom from this addiction. It is the only way we can separate ourselves from our addiction- it is why I can say that I am not my addiction.

I have fought against this addiction for 14 years and only now am I seeing the pathway. Let me attest to the truth of the above quote...We go back, we ALWAYS go back because we give control to our AV.

Thanks for taking the time to write this out.

[TooSensitive]

H, so well written. A difficult read for me, being a partner, but it is the truth. Your message really hits home to the truth of this addiction.