The Sugar Addiction is Breaking Down the Gate
Back in Ancient and Medieval times, certain sights had a way of instilling grievous fear. Imagine, if you will, seeing a blackened cloud on the horizon. On a completely sunny day. The cloud is rapidly approaching. Its bolts of lightning, if you can see any, would be generated by the intensity of hooves pounding the ground. Hundreds of thousands of hooves. Because horsemen are coming your way. A people from the Steppes, a region so harsh, only the strongest of tribes survive.
This army is made up of grim men interested in plundering gold. They have no interest in the value of human life. They take it like they take maidens’ virtues. By force. Their surprisingly sophisticated siege engines bring down city walls easily. Their composite bows rapidly fire arrows which puncture plate armour effortlessly.
These are the Mongols. They have laid waste and started fire storms throughout Central Asia. Soon they will be at the gates of your city, and it is too late to run. While you are praying to whichever God you hope will save you, I’m shaving the neighbour’s dog, sticking its fur together in the shape of a handlebar moustache, and practicing my Mongolian for: “Dude, where’s my car?”
We need to make the best of bad situations or we fail to cope. In the case of addictions to drugs and alcohol, we need to find a new way of life. Houghton House taught me that. Unfortunately, with the recent looting of our country’s coffers by Zuma’s The Cabal™, I’ve fallen into some of my bad, old ways.
No. I haven’t relapsed on drugs nor drink. But, as my waistline clearly shows, I’ve found an addiction all the same. It comes in the form of chocolate, ice cream, potato chips, gummy sweets, flavoured cold drinks, and fast food.
I have been good. I managed to get over the hump for my nasty sucrose habit recently. But this all went belly up when I saw the headline of today’s Business Times. We got downgraded. Thanks to wholesale pillaging by Steppe warrior wannabes, all the Presidente’s men, we are in catastrophe. An economy put to the torch through deliberate economic sabotage, which has resulted in a R30 000 000 000 shortfall for taxes.
One that Overlord Zuma has now ordered to be made up for in a revised 2018 Budget, with God knows how high a tax hike.
Only He knows what little of the little we have, we’ll be left with.
Probably just enough for me to start selling my body for Smarties.
If this dire addiction doesn’t stop, I’ll be a poster child for Diabetes. Ho hum. It’s more the fight against the flab I’m concerned with. I need to be able to procreate, so I can pass on my smartass genes. That won’t happen until my breasts are smaller than my potential life-mate’s.
Self-soothing activities, such as the afore mentioned eating issues, tend to be popular with recovering addicts distressed by events like an economy under siege. They can become just as problematic as drugs and alcohol were.
Sex addictions, for instance. It’s easy to get hooked on, say, hookers or even a masseuse’s hand. An issue actually cropped up at the halfway house this week, and it got climatic, but I’m going to have to save those details for the future e-Book I Survived Recovery and All I Got Published Was this Lousy Book.
(It will be under a chapter titled Don’t Bring a Blue Light in Here, Please.)
Let’s just say it concerned an alternative to hooking up with a new beau. They (you know, “They” they) tell you to stay out of relationships in your first year of recovery, and from my point-of-view, that’s because my emotions are frazzled enough as it is. Sober stands for, Son of a Female Dog, Everything’s Real. Love is a kind of magic that releases all kinds of pleasantries, actually a particular chemical very similar in structure to amphetamines. It leads down a dark path…
Counsellors at Houghton House will try protect you from your desire for companionship. There are very strict rules in place about any kind of romantic involvement with fellow patients. Many addicts in early recovery fall to the temptations of the flesh, and elope in lust with another addict.
Feelings being extra intense in the early days of addiction recovery, and with a desire to find pleasure somewhere, you could end up involved in a rollercoaster ride (possibly cowgirl – my lazy-ass’s favourite position) where emotions play havoc and relapse is but a snort away.
I personally know of a couple of couples that coupled their way into a cr@p outcome. But I’m over a year now, so have technical licence to go wild with the oats, as it were.
I just need to check with my therapist on this. Even now, I still defer to Houghton’s therapeutic team on life issues. My association with them has led to complete trust: they’ve always had my best interests at heart, and this includes matters of the heart.
That’s because care, from what I believe to be the best rehab in town, goes a long way past the actual rehab stage. I don’t think I’d still be clean without their help.
So defer I will. If only I could follow their advice on the diet thing.
In Medieval times, there was a lot less sugar to fear. But as the Mongols were tearing down the gates, I’d be hustling to find the lute-playing equivalent of Barry White, to sow the seed before it was too late. Women had a better chance of survival (admittedly, not by much) than the men. Who tended to literally lose their heads before they could fall head over heels.
But that at least – I’d console myself with – is a very efficient way to lose some weight.