It’s always been difficult to control myself.

I slip into habits so easily. Feel the gentle tug of an idea calling my name through the void of my mind. It’s so gentle, I almost miss it. But then I hear. I reach out and grab it. It never let’s go.

Like poetry, it’s rhythmic. It becomes something that I begin to feel tingling in bones and fluttering across the surface of my skin. My mind wonders back to it and ever so calmly it trickles into my brain like sweet honey. It becomes so intrinsic. Without it, I feel empty.

And somewhere gathering dust in the backroom of my conscious, a thought lies. This thought forces me to conclude that these traits are all common to addiction. Any addiction, may it be routine like checking my cell phone or habit like chewing my pencils, is still an addiction.

It is as if it has trapped me. I cannot disassociate myself from it. No matter how many pencils I destroy, I still continue. And I never feel sorry about it. In my mind I think, ‘it’s a habit’. That somehow makes it harmless.

But I fear. And it is a serene fear. The kind of fear that floats like jelly between the creases of my mind. It is underlying. It doesn’t wake me up at night or send my heart into a state of terror. It just piddles and whispers it’s possibility.

Of course, this fear is that my habits turn into more than just habits. The tiny tugging that happens when one of my addictions form? What if they happen when it comes to a substance? A substance that you see floating between all the creases and folds of the world. A substance that finds a way to seep into the most rational of minds. A substance that can cause my liver to ache or my mind to deteriorate.

I silently think, no matter how much I despise these substances, what if they call to me? What power to I have to destroy that whisper?

There’s no chemical solution to a spiritual problem

I’ve seen them destroy people, reducing them to a pile of skin, bones and the remnants of sanity. I’ve seen them destroy families, tearing away one member at a time like the limbs of a creature. I’ve seen people spiral into a world of fantasy and still somehow exist in the real world. It’s never pretty, to have your body and soul split over two universes.

Maybe they enjoy the other universe at the time, but when they return their soul is still shred into two separate pieces. It can never be repaired. The only way they can fix themselves is if they exist absolutely in either universe. These substances create a bridge that never let’s you go completely across.

I cannot imagine the sorrow that follows a shredding. You’ve touched the other side and a piece of you remains. If it happens to be your sanity, your compassion, your logic, it could be detrimental. Many criminals seem to have left their empathy. Many people, their joy.

And that is my greatest fear. What if the tug is too strong, the other side too appealing? The people closest to me that I have looked up to for years have proven that they have touched the other side, they have shred their souls.

If they couldn’t stay away, how can I?

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