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Love Addict: Addiction
“We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned, so as to accept the life that is waiting for us.” ~ Joseph Campbell
There’s so much fear that lies in the nighttime, where you no longer have that other head to turn and face, or the phone call to finish up the day, or even the good-night text. The daily sharing is gone; you must sit with your worries and trials and beautiful moments with only yourself, or in passing conversations with friends three days after the fact.
Certainly, I can imagine that the same as before, another person will show up in my life, that in fact, this will be the one I’ve being waiting for. But it’s easier to fall back on what I love about being with this person that I’m letting go.
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If you ever decide to remove something from your life cold turkey – and if you already haven’t a few times over, you certainly will – watch the ups and downs that inevitably take over almost immediately. Whether it’s coffee, or cigarettes, chocolate, a person, you will spend 10 minutes contemplating how amazing you feel, how you can’t believe you didn’t give this thing up before, that you probably already worked through your addiction/attraction while you still consumed it, whole, raw, unsatisfying.
There’s usually about a two-five minute “in-between” (though it can be as short as 10 seconds), where your mind moves on to something else. Then, suddenly, coffee/cigarettes/chocolate/that person rises up and is all you want in the world, and you can’t imagine another moment without it. You start to list in your head all the ways you can make it work, that’s it’s not that bad for you, that really, it adds to your quality of life, and you would be a less capable person without it.
You think about going to that party next weekend without it, and how everyone there will have it, and you will just eye it longingly for hours, though you are trying to pay attention to the guy who is explaining how his heroic dog saved a caterpillar from impending death-via-renegade-basketball. You wonder if you’ll be able to make it through the trip to the lake minus it, plans already set in stone that included sun, water, mojitos and incessant references to it. You ache at the thought of 2 nights, 2 weeks, 2 months later when you will wake up in the middle of the night mad for it, no way out but to fall into it or take a cocktail of sleeping pills or smoke as much pot as is left in your resin-encrusted bowl.
Six days stretch out before we talk again, and I know I will settle on what is right. Then I will settle on the other right. I will feel completely clear that this is the right path, that he and I are respecting ourselves and our relationship tremendously by bowing out when it’s still good, but we know it isn’t it. I will feel completely clear that to hold him and stroke his head, to have him rub my back, to read to him when the rain hits the roof, to watch him breathe a sigh of relief when his escaped dog returns, that somehow we know it is it, for now.