According to Robert Palmer, it’s love. But let’s face it; addiction has been a problem in society for, for, ever. I remember my first foray into the notion of addiction. It was the first time I watched Frank Sinatra in The Man With The Golden Arm. I was still young and didn’t fully grasp the concept at the time. I feel pretty certain that humanity has dealt with addictions of some sort since prehistoric times. I bet the cavemen got a rush from sniffing the dust of certain crushed rocks. The human body is susceptible to cravings of monumental proportions that need to be fed; it’s that itch which needs to be scratched.
I was in high school when I discovered friends were experimenting with marijuana. By college, I was exposed to methamphetamines as students pulled all-nighters cramming for exams. Likewise, when the weekend rolled around, they dove head first into an alcohol and downer cocktail.After graduating college, I noticed how rampant cocaine use had become. Perhaps it was because I was living in New York City and it was the “in” drug. I never got involved with cocaine. I think it had something to do with my financial upbringing by depression-era parents. The truth was, I simply had no desire to take my hard-earned cash and literally put it up my nose.
Now I find myself this aging baby boomer embarking on a new lifestyle, one with less routine and restriction. It has been emotionally liberating, to say the least. I find I am more open to exploring new things, much less fearful of the consequences. Is this the reason I now have to face the fact that I have fallen to my own addiction? Can I deal with it at this juncture of my life?I am not really sure when exactly it happened. I cannot recall that first exposure, that temptation that I allowed myself to give into. I don’t recall if it was peer pressure, doing it because my friends were doing it? All I know is that I now have a serious problem that I need to face head on.
It’s a common drug and doesn’t require a prescription. I am able to secure it easily on the street with the convenience of a drive-in dealer. When I get the craving, which is now almost on a daily basis, I grab my purse and keys, and jump in the car. Sometimes it happens late at night, long after I have gotten comfortable on the couch in my sweats or jammies. It hits me like a ton of bricks, and with adrenaline pumping, I am out the door. I don’t know what the pharmaceutical term is for it, but it goes by the street name of Sonic Blast.Some addicts take theirs topped with M & M’s or Butterfingers, but my choice is Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup. When I pull up to place my order, I am anxious and jittery. Knowing I am that close makes the withdrawal more intense. As my car inches its way toward the delivery window, I practically foam at the mouth in anticipation. When I finally get to the window, I hand over my cash and peak inside to see it if it is ready yet. I once asked the clerk to put extra peanut butter cup pieces on it for me. He informed it would cost an additional twenty-five cents. Like a typical addict, I now find myself rummaging through pants pockets and winter coats, looking for errant quarters to help feed my habit.
The clerk hands me a napkin, rolled around a plastic spoon and a long straw, providing me options of how I want to inject myself. And then I see it, that giant Styrofoam cup with the clear plastic lid. I can see the frothy whipped cream and dusting of candy on top. I grab it from him and speed away, the craving having completely overtaken me. I live but five minutes from the Sonic Drive-In, and yet, there are times I have to dig into that ice cream if I get stuck at one of the two traffic lights in my path.I know I have to get hold of this problem before it starts affecting my work and my family. I had hoped I could count on my roommate for an intervention, but you know how we addicts abide by the “misery loves company” and “partners in crime” way of life. Yes, I did it. I brought her one and now she is addicted as well.
And in case you were wondering, yup, it tastes great with a turkey sandwich.