Some things are just too good to give up...
I don't know if I am the victim or the perpetrator; I'm not even sure what I do is a crime. I do know that I am not alone, that there are many people who feel confined by heavy obsessions, unable to take control of the pleasures in life. No matter how hard I try, I cannot seem to keep thoughts, related to my addiction, from entering my mind. It is simply too irresistible to hold on to my feelings and too compelling to allow me the freedom to let go. There is no recollection at what age the strong yearnings began to surface, but faint memory recall tells me that it was around the time of acne.
Sure that my obsession had engulfed my senses completely, I knew that any sweet looking object of my desire would never stand a chance of escaping me. Once my eyes made contact, and anticipation caused me to sweat, my nose would pick up the aroma of perspiration, an odor that seemed as natural as honey to bees and my ears would hear nothing but the sounds of my own delight. I would not be satisfied, complete, unless I could have what I wanted, when I wanted it. Whether I was alone, with my husband, or with a friend, I had no control and often no pride. At times I feared for my own health, knowing that too much of a "good thing" could lead to an untimely death; maybe the anxiety would kill me quickly, or the anticipation, just a slow and painful death.
I would never know when the urge would come to do it again; it came and went, unpredictably, like the weather. Though I became a prisoner of my own senses, my eyes did not always have to see something to trigger the extreme impulses of desire, nor did I have to hear, or taste, anything in particular. It seemed as though my reflexes had become self-activating, automatic. I could be in a store, in the car, on a picnic, anywhere, anytime, and the undying compulsion to fulfill my needs seemed insatiable. There were times when I had to give in to my desires and the only sounds I could hear were coming from my conscience, laughing at my fragility to abstain. I would always be hoping secretly that no one else could hear the sounds of ecstatic victory over temptation, or the sounds I made of remorse, over defeat.
Could it be genetically inherited? Could either, or both, of my parents suffer from the same inability to control their most powerful needs? As a child, I had often found traces of self-indulging activities left behind by my mother. She would hide the evidence in drawers where no one supposedly ever looked, where her secret could remain just that; but I knew. My father, on the other hand, was very quiet about his likes and dislikes, maybe too embarrassed to admit to gaps in perfection; he took great pride in setting a good example for his children. I am left to wonder then, just where the compulsive behavior originates, the lack of self-control, the inability to be pleased with life unless I can have what it is that I desire? In fact, I want it now, though I know my husband won't be home for another half an hour... well, I won't let that stop me!
I quickly get up from the desk where I had been productively working on an English assignment and made my way through the house, trying to remember where I could find the pleasure by which to quench this unbearable thirst of the soul. Ah, there it was, right where I had hidden it! My heartbeat instantly quickens, my palms get sweaty as I approach my delight of the senses. I pick it up and all guilt disappears; I stroke the outside knowing what is on the inside, letting the anticipation of the foreplay savor the moment. It will end all too soon. I know I shouldn't do it again; I did it after breakfast this morning, but as always, I lose to my obsessive love of this delight, and quickly rip off the wrapper, revealing the smooth milk chocolate inside. I eat the chocolate bar like it was my first, licking every morsel off my fingertips, not stopping until I have consumed the whole thing. I make sounds of delight, the sounds that come from deep down in the self, sounds of complete and utter satisfaction. Once more, I have experienced pure ecstasy... pure chocolate... pure seduction. I feel the need to light up a cigarette; I remember that I do not smoke.
© 2020 Janet Vincenti