I need to remember that this is about “progress, not perfection”. Lately I have crossed over into internet chatting again. To an extent that I’m hesitant to write about it because I’m hesitant to surrender it. Fortunately, things have remained constrained to more or less appropriate times: the end of the day, shortly before bed, nothing of pressing urgency to attend to. I’m inclined to say I have it under control, but I know that’s likely a rationalization.
It never stays like that. Work stress, pressure to perform, feeling constrained and resentful at my work, at my kids, at my girlfriend, at my ex, at my family, at my lot in life, at my debt, at my colleagues, at having to travel for work, at not travelling enough, at not exercising like I want to, at… . That’s the thing about rationalizations and resentments; there’s an infinite supply of them. Infinite motivation to be angry, to get high, to drink, to fuck.
The last one is my poison. The medication that has been proven to shake my world to its core. Chatting, as innocuous as it is these days, turns to want of more. Kinkier women, taboo’er fetishes, boundaries aplenty to push. Then the meet-ups begin. Then the obsession begins. Finding someone as desperate and as crazy as me until the whole thing blows up.
Always having the need for a bigger rush, a bigger fix. Yesterday’s fun won’t do today. I need more.
I need to nip this in the proverbial bud, lest I find myself at another pathetic bottom. Alone, Godless and at the mercy of anything but me. These are hard words to write, but it is my truth. It is what I need to see to be able to vanquish it again for a time.
As one of my recovery friends says, “I know I have another slip in me. I don’t know if I have another recovery”.