Soap Suds & Schizophrenia

So this week’s discoveries include a semi-conscious devil living inside me that constantly whispers temptations into my ear, and the Kung Fu Panda movies are, no shit, the absolute height of cinema 🐼

You’re probably wondering who I am, so here’s the abridged version to get you up to speed.

Today I hit 25 days sober! Can I get a round of applause? Now 25 days without a drink may not sound all that big a deal, but you have to understand that before today I was really quite… unsober. I’m talking crate of beer, bottle of vodka, and bags of coke before staggering home on a half digested Valium, levels of unsober. (No not every night… I’m not a billionaire!)

I grew up a rebel without a cause. Rules were never really my thing. As a result, I ended up a tad over-clever and a smidge under-educated. Let’s just say my potential and the choices I made never really saw eye to eye. But did it stop me blaming the world for my shortcomings and lack of ability to get anywhere in life? Nah! I figured I’d just go through the world making everything worse!

I had a wife, then lost her. I fucked up a relationship with a pretty sweet girl. Then, just to add a little icing on the cake, I became a drug addict. You know what they say about rock bottom leaving nothing but to climb or some shit? Well that may have been true before the creation of synthetic drugs. That’s like handing a guy a shovel to bury himself in the quicksand at the bottom of the mountain he just rolled down.

But hey ho, thats me, the rest is history and here I am now. Becoming an adult. I have always been an awesome father though, so there is that.

All caught up? Great. Now let’s get onto this crazy ass, split personality, devil on my shoulder thing.

Last night while bathing in half a litre of red Radox bubbles, a few friends and I engaged in a lengthy group chat discussion over a halloween gathering this coming Friday. Between the mundane bouts of shampoo, conditioner, facial cleanser, and shower gels, we nailed down the finite details of the evening. Meaty stews, seasonal dishes, candles, spooky music, and card games. Lovely! I can’t wait. My fourth sober Friday, rounding out the month in a resounding success.

I couldn’t have felt any better, apart from the typical grunts and groans bought about by attempting to towel dry my calfs.

Then all of a sudden while powdering my dangly bits (something new I’m trying) I had a sudden thought.

“I should mention in the group chat I don’t want to hear any mention of cocaine (the true devil) or see it going on. I don’t mind who does what but please don’t make it obvious to me. I ain’t about that life anymore. ”

To which the other side of my brain, the cheeky slag, replied, “No don’t say that. It implies that it’ll be a thing in the first place, which is a little unfair.”

“Yeah good point,” I replied.

The sneaky devil continued. “Also, if you happen to fancy a little dabble on the night, you don’t want everyone to take the piss out of you or say no. Or even worse, say yes but then berate you with belittling jokes and treat you like your whole month has meant nothing.”

“None of what you just said is happening. Shut up. Send the message.“ My balls weren’t tacky or damp anymore. In fact, they were wonderfully smooth.

“Even if it were just a dabble, it’d be no big deal,” Addict-me said, “You’d still go home early. You’d still go back to normaI afterwards. You said at the beginning of all this you don’t mind if it’s once in a blue moon.”

Here’s where I called bullshit and punched a hole in the mirror. That’s not true, that didn’t happen at all. But it would’ve, if life were as dramatic as cinema. In actual fact, though, I didn’t become consciously aware of this coercive self-talk until around lunchtime today, when I realised I STILL hadn’t sent the message.

I get it though. I’m used to it. It’s why we refer to ourselves as ‘recovering’ addicts, but never recovered. We have to come to expect this and understand it, because at the end of the day it’s not going anywhere. We just allow ourselves to become stronger than the addict within us, and remember all the reasons we want healthier lifestyles with healthier choices.

Now I know full well that I love my life without drugs and booze. I feel great, I sleep well, I’m writing again! I have goals, dreams, passions. I want to help others clean up their lives and strive for more! And I also know that a few hours of under-the-influence fun are not gonna serve any of those goals at all.

But when you’ve lived your life under an umbrella of substance abuse and ‘wild’ adventures, you see a side that’s not presented in your cozy evening soap-operas. You’ve fully desensitised yourself to the stigma carried by those that’ve never indulged. And that’s just how it is.

Within me right now are two distinct personalities. The one that talcs his testes and moisturises his face before sleep, and the one that’d sooner powder his nose and wash it down with a whiskey chaser.

I’m like Dr Jekyl and Mr Hyde, except one half of me is a historically weak-willed, depressive man-child with IBS and a ‘woe is me’ backstory, and the other is a raving lunatic with white rings around his nostrils that insists on being the loudest, most sexually charged creature on the planet.

But we keep going. One day at a time. One step at a time. One joke at a time. Rome wasn’t built in a day. (Although in Rome’s defence I don’t think they ever claimed it was).

That’s all for today, kids, It’s way past my bedtime. Here’s where I shamelessly beg for a follow, a like; and direct you to my social media channels.

Or is it?