Today’s post to this blog is somewhat different from what has, to date, been a chronicle of learning to use WordPress and the art of blogging. There are a couple of reasons why today veers off the path thus far taken. First, as explained in my last post, a losing battle with the cold/flu/crud demolished my carefully wrought editorial calendar and I’m so far behind I’m beginning to wonder if I shall ever catch up. Concomitant with this is the fact this is a brand new blog and I don’t have several posts stashed up my sleeve to cover just such circumstances. Second, it was always a thought lurking in the back of my head that I would occasionally drop a sample of my fiction writing into these posts.
The combination of an editorial calendar in shambles and the nearly overwhelming clamor of my fans — well, Mom counts, doesn’t she? — leads to something different today. Without further ado, here is a little something I pulled out of the file for today.
Why didn’t someone stop me?
The face staring back at me out of the mirror shows only too clearly the ravages of my addiction. Eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot, face gaunt and drawn, the three-day growth of beard stubble, shot through with more white than gray, all give evidence of yet one more binge. I don’t know how much longer I can continue to abuse myself this way, to say nothing of those who love me in spite of myself, and who must bear the pain of watching me tear myself apart with these ever more frequent binges as I sink deeper into my addiction.
Once, long ago, I could have been stopped – I could not stop myself, but surely someone could have stopped me. And yet what little honesty is left in me forces me to admit that I was warned. There were those who tried to tell me that even the least taste could have consequences beyond imagining. Once you start down that road, you will be helpless. The obsession for ever more and more of that which will drive you to madness will only grow.
I laughed and said, “Not me!”
The folly of youth, knowing itself to be immortal, feels certain the path followed by others can be avoided.
At first it was just small amounts and it happened infrequently. See? I can handle it! Foolish youth! But cunningly the need grew, the obsession mounted. More! Ever more! I tried to control the obsession, strictly limiting myself to just a taste, only once in a while. More! Ever more!
Now the obsession, the addiction is full-blown and controls me. I am no longer the master, the connoisseur sipping delicately. I am the slave, driven by the lash of my addiction, sacrificing everyone and everything to the uncontrollable need for more, and ever more.
My master is calling me, again. I won’t bother to shave. I force myself to take a shower. But my master calls and I go.
Why didn’t someone stop me before I ever sat down to write that first story? My keyboard waits, and I must write.
Your comments, positive or negative, will be appreciated.