I think I’m pretty good at keeping myself in check, most of the time.

Lately, I’m faltering.

I’ve had a number of predilections in the past that consumed me. When something, someone, has my attention, my focus narrows and I find myself unable to focus on anything but that, but them.

As a kid, I ripped my nails. As someone who has never been the uber feminine girl, I found they’d peel, and I needed them to be even, so I’d tear them. Biting seemed a bit overboard, but I’d rip cuticles and nails until they were no longer askew.

I’ve gone through more phases than I care to count. Hobbies, started with such ardent enthusiasm, only to be discarded later when I moved on to the next one.

In the last several years, I had begun to think I was changing. Perhaps settling into myself a bit, no longer feeling the compulsive need to _____; whatever the case may be.

Obviously, I’m wrong.

Too much time alone at night when insomnia strikes, or in the car for my lengthy commute leaves me considering a full return of my wicked ways. Planning, strategizing, daydreaming.

My experience with drugs of the recreational sort is non-existent. Except when I’ve seen it in a professional setting, my own perception is remarkably naive. Yet, I’d think this stage of the game is similar for both myself and the drug addict. Imagining the next time you can get your fix, how you’ll do it, how you want it to go. What will happen, how you’ll react. The only thing that gets you through the time in between is the memories of the last time and the idealization of the next time. The time in between decreases as my need swells.