In my last post ‘Even Oompa Loompas Get Old’ I stated that I don’t understand why I can’t drink any more. That is not correct. I understand exactly why I can’t drink any more. I can’t drink any more because for many, many years it controlled my life, drained tons of happiness and possibility out of it and left me hungover and ashamed. I am glad that I said what I said though because it is the way that my mind often thinks and expressing how my mind thinks, putting it out in front of me to see, is why I write this. I do get upset that I can’t drink any more, but I am not upset over the end of drinking as drinking had come to in the later years. I am upset that drinking ever became anything but the relaxing, good time that it started out being. I am upset at the evolution of my drinking and the results of it. Thank God I am no longer drinking. Thank God for that. Now then, let’s move on.
When I was drinking, well during the later years of my drinking, I found myself consumed by two different things that now baffle me as to how consumed I was by them: sex and survivalism. Well, no, not sex. I have always been a very sexual person but I have also been married for many, many years and while my wife and I have always enjoyed a great sex life that was never enough for me. Online porn and sexual stories were things that I craved and would search for on the internet while my wife and children slept long into the night. My mind satiated for fantasies and situations that I could insert myself into and I had a primal need to feel wanted in the most animalistic way. Since I have stopped drinking, however, I am still an incredibly sexual person, but I have been able to concentrate on my wife and have felt needed with her in ways far more satisfying than animals ever know about. Trying to figure out why that is has been somewhat perplexing but also painfully simple. I believe that my need to feel wanted was a replacement for the lack of want that I had for myself for so many years. It is shameful and degrading to know that you are willingly killing yourself off yet you keep doing it and a part of me realized that that was in fact the case and so someone needed to need me. Of course my wife and children did, but why? I didn’t feel as though I deserved their love. Sanity, it is something that I am welcoming the restoration to.
The other subject that consumed my mind was survivalism. You know, those shows where they replay the aftermath of some worldwide pandemic or a super volcano erupting. Nuclear winters filled my thoughts and I would constantly be preparing for them. Canned food? Check. Batteries? Check. A back up generator with three weeks worth of fuel and a solar system to back that up? Check. What have I been preparing for and why have I been so afraid of all these unlikely scenarios? I dunno. Maybe it was trying to deal with disasters on the outside knowing that dealing with the disaster on the inside was a lost cause. Either way I hardly think of these things anymore (maybe because I am too busy rebuilding from my spiritual disaster) and the lack of fear and paranoia is amazing. Sanity. Insanity.