Tuesday, September 27, 2011

You're the kind of reckless that should send me running

I have this disease called addiction.

It’s not gambling, smoking, eating, hoarding or shopping – although I do have a rapidly growing collection of shoes, nail polish and products. But that’s more of a girl thing…

It’s classifying things in my life into ridiculous [sometimes unrealistic] categories.
It’s buying that one sweater when I absolutely don’t have money to spend on it, but walking with it in my hand out of the store, convincing myself I needed it.
It’s the, not so odd, glass bottle of wine that I’ve taken up on the weekends. 
It's kissing. 
It’s the feeling that I sometimes want to check Facebook even when there is no need.
It’s lying in bed on a rainy day
It’s singing hopelessly, terribly loud in the shower when I have no business singing out loud at all.
It’s the fact that I hate to text but do it anyways… a lot.
It’s worrying.
It's making others happy.
It’s having to watch TV before I go to bed. 
It's Subway. Eat Fresh.  
It’s watching full television series on my laptop.
It's keeping old notes/emails/cards from loved ones and re-reading them over and over again. 
It’s Hank Moody, McDreamy and DJ Pauly D.
It’s the act of getting addicted.

Just as I was doing a few of my addictions yesterday, the phone rang. There are few things I don't get in this world, but calls are one of them. Maybe its because I forget what my ringtone is, or maybe its because only 15 people have my cell phone number. Regardless, I picked it up not expecting much. So when I heard my doctor on the other end of the phone I perked right up. Turns out that this bad year of mine keeps on progressing. Ten minutes after I hung up the phone I had another appointment for that afternoon (which, if you have a family doctor, you know it is damn near impossible to arrange this within a few hours notice). Unless its absolutely necessary. After my 45 min appointment, I headed to Wal-Mart to pick up my new medication that, until 6 hours ago, I would have never of guessed I’d needed. I wondered how many other times I’d have to go the clinic on a day off? Or drop what I’m doing to make an emergency doctor visit? Or carry on living in a town I hate instead of traveling? Or, just get worried every time something miniscule changes with my body? I went home so frustrated, mad, pissed off and filled with questions. To top it all off, I now have a cold. Not a good combination.

Hello, my name is Alana...I have an addiction; it’s called a disease.