Addicted to Addiction
The setting is always the same: hard plastic chairs set in a circle, a musty scent plaguing the air, and a random assortment of people who all ended up in the same position: on their back, belly up, and completely hopeless to their addictions. While their stories vary from person to person, everyone has the same furrowed brow, that matches their fear of an unmanageable life.
While reading literature at home and flipping through all the support groups, I see that there are more and more groups organizing, trying to get each themselves help. There must be a hundred groups ranging from “NA” to “AA“; from “Anorexics Anonymous” to “Over-Eaters Anonymous“. It seems that in this day in age, society is completely reliant on finding someone else that has their same addiction, and trying to get help for it. As my eyes scan the trails and trails of support groups, I stop abruptly at “Kleptomaniacs Anonymous“. I sit there in disbelief for a moment, and then try to search for “Group Therapy Addicts Anonymous”. Oh there it is. Right between “Sexual Compulsives Anonymous“ and “Narcissists Anonymous“. -Wait what?
I roll my eyes in disbelief, and I pack my gym bag to head out to 24 hour fitness. What ever happened to having problems, and working them out on your own? As I drive across town, and walk into my gym, I ask myself how we managed to become a society where enough isn’t ever enough? We always want more. If it’s a darker tan, or even a nicer, better car. Having nice things, or being in “good” condition, isn’t standard anymore. What? This house only has 6 bedrooms and 5 bathrooms? With a family of three, we must have at LEAST 8 bedrooms, and Won’t settle for anything less.
I park, and stroll into 24 Hour Fitness, and I’m immediately surrounded by gym-a-holic men, who are not only shaped like upside down triangles, but seem to have heads the size of their fists. As they strut around on their knuckles, their little tiny legs dangling and dragging behind them, I just smile to myself, and thank god that I was addicted to drugs, and not to the bench press.
What has this world come to, when looking good or feeling good, isn’t good enough anymore? Don’t get me wrong, There are people out there that have real problems that affect not only themselves, but the people around them, as well as society as a whole. But where do you draw the line?
I frequent the gym quite regularly. I have a set schedule: four days a week, where I elliptical, run, lift weights, do my core routine, and circuit train. If I decide to go to the gym more than that, I limit myself to a brief elliptical and hot tubing and a swim. Every time I go there, regardless to the time, I always see the same triangle people.
I like to think that I am fairly good shape, and consider myself to have a slim athletic body type. While I might feel good about myself, for some reason I always seem to have people raising a brow, like I’m being judged on the runway, or something. I won’t lie, one of the appeals of the gym is seeing gorgeous men there, lifting weights getting sweaty, and of course the shower. But why does everyone feel that they have to always do more, more, more?
I went on a date a few weeks ago, with a young man in his mid 20’s, fairly attractive, and clearly on the track to be successful. That wasn’t was attracted me to him though. He had this incredibly dry humor, that not many people possessed or could relate to, like I did. Not only was he funny and charming, but he seemed like he had a real head on his shoulders.
On our second date, I took him to Paris on the Platte, a “hip” restaurant in LoDo that’s open late on the weekends. (which is definitely the appeal to me).
Mistake Number One: He ordered himself a sandwich and chips, and when the waitress asked me what I would like, he replied, “He’ll have the chicken ceaser salad.”…
Mistake Number Two: when I turned to him and told him I was vegetarian, he responded, “It’ll be good for you.” …
Mistake Number Three: We were talking about what we did in our free time (our first date had been a berief meeting at a local coffee shop), he told me he liked cars and hiking. He asked me what I did with my free time, and I responded that I go to the gym four times a week. He said,” Really? It doesn’t show. You should go more.”…
While he was in the bathroom, I got up from the table, and walked out. I walked 3 miles home, in the middle of the night, because I had met a toxic man. This asshole thought that it was okay to not only be a raging ASSHOLE, but express that my body wasn’t good enough. I have no visible love handles, and I like to think that I was in pretty good shape, considering I was just getting in shape for summer. I wanted to BETCH SLAP that DECK, but I figured walking out would be a bigger impact.
It’s men like this that make people feel that they have to do something drastic in order to “recover” from their horrible experience. Whether is was go blow a gram to loose some weight, console yourself by diving into a greasy hamburger, or flying to the gym to power lift, people feel that they need to have an adverse reaction to themselves, instead of realizing that these people are just asshole. So what? Someone called you fat. Doesn’t mean I have to run to the gym, diet pills in pocket and membership card in hand. There comes a time when you have to take the time to be addicted to not being addicted. And the best way to do that is to accept that that only person who can hurt you as well as the only person that can help you, is yourself.
Matty B.
