I did not see it coming the after math of indulgence.
What I saw was the half tub of Weiss Coconut Chocolate Ice cream, the enabling spoon, my Jane Harper book The Survivors, an urge to splurge and I dove right in.
I wanted to wait for the ice to melt, the temptation of the ooze, the bits on the edges, the soft with the hard moments, making for consumption slow, soaked by the sense of taste without haste, my impatience salivating, the discipline I had exercised for too long now succumbing.
I was 100 pages from end of novel and 35 pages to go by the time I finished the tub.
I have enough time to digest before going to bed, so I thought, and kept reading.
The book licked by the end of the weekend, my head free and ready for the working week.
I slept deeply, a pool of drool on my pillow, missed the act of drowning.
And then it started.
Winding up my nervous system, like automata.
Buzzing from one thing to the next, the neurons firing like sparklers burning at the edges as each one fizzled out.
I felt invincible – soaring sky high like the vulture looking for prey, the Incredible Hulk of ego engorged.
The sugar rush lasted two days.
What goes up must come down
Alas! Chemical imbalance.
The nose- dive was swift and missed the mark.
Sense was depleted – logic lost, nervous energy manifesting as assumptions.
It seemed that now I was the prey and everyone wanted a piece of me.
I turned inwards and I watched myself, I did not wait. I started to peck.
An internal parasite took hold.
The voices encroached usually at three o’clock in the morning, the incessant chatter continued without the boundary of rest.
Five days and five nights of it.
I used my words to find my way out, though I did not speak. I wrote them down, the damage harder to undo, going deeper into the dark and hurting others along the way.
In my discomfort I heard a stern voice: stop this trajectory of pretence. STOP.
I sought to understand why what I had hoped to manifest was now falling apart.
I can be the change, the enabler, or I can be the arrogant ego who closes the door. Both are within me as what I think is choice. Choice clouded by the need to fill a gapping hole.
I saw the signposts along the way I did not close to them, though I wanted to.
The circuit breakers are the people in one’s life who like beacons shine their love in the acts of grace that liberate the soul and bring peace to us all.
For this I am truly grateful.