We all think we’re superior to the crackhead. Admit it. Its frightening to imagine that somewhere out there is something (or someone), that could be your crack, if given the right circumstances.
And by “your crack” i mean your obsession. I’m not trying to belittle addiction – far from it. I’m trying to shine some light on the way obsession sneaks up on us.
Believe it or not, in the middle of a regular week, any one of us can suddenly realize that we’ve forgotten to pick up the kids because we have been playing Bejewled for 3 hours.
Or you have 10 minutes to get to work – but despite being up for hours, you are still not showered, dressed or ready to leave the house because you’ve been sifting through Facebook wall posts all morning.
Then there’s the human crack. The person who is just no damn good for you, but who invades your brain at an alarming frequency. The person whose blood you crave despite knowing you’re not really a vampire.
Or maybe it’s the Snickers bar in your freezer that calls out to you. Or that one item you saw in a catalog that would “complete” your home decor. Or is your crack the second hand smoke wafting your way that smells a little too much like your 20’s?
The crackhead is within us all.
Maybe the inner crackhead needs some sort of methadone substitution. Like fro-yo instead of gelato? Perhaps our inner crackhead is like the inner child. Maybe if we embrace it, it will stop crying out. Or maybe it needs a more “just say no,” tough-love approach? (On second thought, maybe not. We all know how well that works.)
I am becoming increasingly aware that life isn’t as static as we’d like to believe. There are surprise fuses within us just waiting for a spark. The explosion can either create a warm fiery glow, or it can take out a city block.
Perhaps the first step towards taming our own personal crackhead is offering up a simple introduction. Trying to get a sense of what your obsessional object might be. I know a lot of people might say that once you meet your demon you should run far and fast in the other direction. But, I’m not so sure. That never works in the horror flicks. The person who’s running always trips and falls only to be devoured by the psycho who has been walking slowly and steadily behind them the whole time.
Maybe like homeopathic medicine, we need a taste of the poison in order to cure it.
I have no answers. All I know is that my name is Jenny and I am a crackhead.