Part of the overall problem with being an addict (and I promise this is not another post about alcoholism blah blah blah I know I get it, you’re bored, ME TOO OKAY?) is that I am in general a compulsive person. My compulsive nature made me drink way too much but I overindulge or have overindulged in almost anything and everything. I’ve discussed my colossal problem with sugar -specifically candy Red Hots, Lemonheads, anything SOUR the sourer (is that a word?) the better, you’d think I was nine and not forty-four.
I have to make little rules for myself to stay off of sugar. I can’t have candy but I can have fruit sweetened cookies. If you think it’s not really possible to binge on a sugar-free cookie you’d be so very wrong. I’ve gone through an entire bag of Michelle’s fruit sweetened Chocolata Chip or Oatmeal Cranberry cookies from Whole Foods which are not a bargain at 5 bucks a bag. You might think that eating six big cookies would be much worse for me than just say eating a little Halloween candy right? But that’s where my compulsive brain comes in. Since I’ve decided that candy is off limits and fruit sweetened cookies are still on the menu, reason goes flying out the window. I’m sure some of you will have lots of suggestions for me on how I can work on myself to overcome this but save them; I’ve been in and out of therapy for years and I’m well acquainted with my flawed thinking.
It’s too bad I went with bulimia as my eating disorder of choice because I feel with my overfocus problem I could have been a pretty good anorexic. I might’ve given Portia Di Rossi a real run for her money. Oh really Portia? 82 pounds? Well looky here, I’ve got 81.3! But I had to go with the bulimia, made famous by sorority girls and housewives not skinny actresses. I have the disease of more is better, although I fully understand the anorexic need for control, it’s the numb out I crave.
So now, twenty years past puking, 18 months out of wino-ville and many months off of candy, I’m still an obsessive lunatic! Today my obsession is with a song -specifically and embarrassingly Flo Rida’s The Club Can’t Handle Me. When I say I’m obsessed, I mean, I’ve just downloaded it on iTunes and I’ve played in sixty times in a row. I can’t make myself sick of it.. The thing with addiction is that the addict doesn’t want to do the thing they’re doing. They feel a simple and overpowering compulsion to do it. I don’t want to listen to this song anymore but I have to. Am I enjoying it? Maybe the first twenty times through. I possibly danced a bit with headphones on. But I’m forty plays past pleasure and now wanting to not want to hear it.
My obsession with songs goes back to one of the first songs I was obsessed with: Torn Between Two Lovers. Oh yeah, I have good taste. I’ve been hooked on a million bad songs since then including Hall & Oats – Kiss On My List, John Lennon – Woman, Santana -Winning, I almost had to file for a legal separation from that horrible Fray song that was on Grey’s Anatomy because my love for it started to cross the line. I’ve overplayed everything from Kenny Loggins’ Rainbow Connection to The Theme from Schindler’s List, eventually requiring an endless loop to get me over them.
I guess it’s just some defect in my brain that makes me feel I’ll never get enough – be it love, Xanax or bad Jason Mraz songs. I should really just make peace with it although I do hope that I can transfer my pull towards Flo Rida to the Gym. But probably not. Or maybe I can settle for listening to Flo Rida AT the gym.