Which is all gone now, completely. All that's left is this gentle pressure behind my eyes. And a lot of missing emotions. Hello, Land of Emptiness.
I have to be honest, this is substance abuse minus the substance. And serious abuse at that. It's not like drinking too much coffee, or needing sleeping pills at night, or even alcoholism. This is like shooting heroin.
I keep wanting to downplay it, but it's really that severe. I have a day off, no immediate responsibility, and I scramble for my next hit. Not "like" an addict. An addict. A somewhat functional addict, but I'm not the first. The further I drift from my secret substance, the more terrified I get, and the faster I run back to it as soon as the opportunity strikes.
It's sex. It's the computer. It's avoiding people. It's drinking coffee and not eating. It's not doing homework. It's obsessive thought patterns. It's a million different actions that add up. All those things I've learned keep feelings at bay. And considering I'm a wreck minus the addictive behavior, all I need is a series of little things to seriously tip the scale toward numbness. And I have a metric ton of little things.
I've knocked some of the bigger "little things" from this list: denying my gender, denying the abuse, denying my multiplicity. But I have a lot more to go.
And I guess the bottom line is, the addiction is to dissociation itself, not the behaviors that facilitate it. Dissociation can be as addictive as heroin.
(cross-posted from my journal)