I finished up ‘waffling’ at the end of yesterday’s post. I think I’m about done portraying the anomalies of viewing porn alone for so many years in the Seventh Circle. Many freakish occurrences have gone on, rest assured. Maybe I’ll never grow tired of sharing what has happened to me. I’ve forgotten a lot of it. Perhaps that’s my own brain protecting me, who knows?
What I’m certain of now is trying not to go back to it. I threw my television in the garbage can because not only was it bad for viewing porn, I thought that beings made out of electric current were teleporting through it to pay me unwholesome visitations for free. My mate Sam reported something similar to me, stating that goblins were travelling through her plug sockets. I saw these beings with my own eyes, but of course a quack wouldn’t believe me. So, I don’t own a TV. But one of my mates has said he’s got one in his hallway for me to take away. Plus the sex shop is open until 4 on a Sunday today. And I also found an old speed dealer’s phone number in my bedroom. Wahey! Party time in play!
This dealer and I haven’t spoken for years. I’d be surprised if the number was still in service. I’ve neither deleted the number or rang it yet. I’m not in two minds: I’ve decided that I’m not using. But the number has a lot of sentimental value. He was a dealer of mine for a long time. It would feel kind of nostalgic if I could get in touch with an acquaintance possessing familiar swag. I’d kick back behind closed doors to relax on my own, how I used to in the past. Except that isn’t much of a feasible option.
A useful ‘tool’ in addiction is to ‘play the tape forward’. I might score nice and sharpish off the dealer, should the number be still in use, and obtain a good result, but that pesky psychosis is only around the corner. Being a warrior of the Lord, capitulated by a drug comedown, and fenced in by sly shady spineless evildoers, is not a healthy situation, and one I could quite easily do without. They’re all over me like WiFi soup at the moment, and would be delighted if I slipped up on my mission and took my foot off the gas.
How do I steer off course? I hear you ask. Well, by trading all the love I have in this world for a night of sexual lust with a wrongdoer, which I hate to do. My enemies are virtually nothing without me on poisonous chemicals, obsessing over one of their own. I can’t see me using porn again, it’s been over a year, and I’m starting to fear what the creators of it would have in store for me after all this time. T[its] ‘N’A[rse] a plenty I’d say. Knock yourself out.
I intend to stay clean and focused, in a spiritual combative state. I’m getting psychically attacked from all sides, including novel angles, every moment of the day and night though. My friends are lining up to betray me, as it says in the bible. I am being duped by ALL members of the public, it feels like. They know my identity in full, identity In Christ, and they hate everything about me because of it, because I live in a lawless town of lawbreakers.
I think they are all jealous of a free spirit full of joy in touch with His Creator who doesn’t fear a single one of them. Now there.
Think about Christ. What chance have the rest of us got, if they executed God’s One and Only Begotten Son?
I’ve been in some sticky places in psychosis and the bible really helped me out, after scaring me sideward a little bit first, by telling me in no uncertain terms that I’d been a naughty boy and need to improve. So improve I have. I received some earth-shattering news from it last year. It told me who I was and what I was doing here. Now I am fairly sure that I have a biblical heritage to put it mildly. Whenever I go straight (on the clean and narrow) in accordance with some dates from the bible, I get rewarded spiritually. I’ve known this for some time and I’ve shared it here before. That’s why 30 days No Fap is big in the SA (Sex Addicts) community. I have my own string of important streak times and dates to adhere to. I’m on course again for notching up some decent clean time.
I have a Serenity Coin from the fellowship for abstaining from alcohol for three months. I treat it like the most special poker chip in the world. It’s such an important iconic token, I keep it in my wallet, removing it for inspection regularly. The crux is this: I have to return it to AA if I take a drink. That would hurt, as I’m getting used to showing it off to all my chums in recovery, most of whom lie about their streak length. I didn’t think I’d be able to give up drinking for so long, and I still don’t think I can keep on keeping on not drinking. The aim is to keep proving myself wrong.
It’s the same with the cigarettes. Three months away. These are even harder than the liquor. At least with beer, I can (and do) enjoy a non-alcoholic. People are always warning me about drinking this crap in pubs. They reckon I will fall for the real thing sooner or later. I’m more concerned about sharking two ciggies off some punter and chaining them around the back, or wandering to the offy to buy a 20 deck. I’m aware that I’ve expressed an interest in the solidity of my future by cancelling these habits. I’m ensuring I still have a functioning liver and set of lungs in the foreseeable. Should I relapse on these substances however, this summery unfolding of oxygenated clarity vanishes up in smog.
Pressure’s on then. Every day, as a TI being slowly tortured and murdered by state-sponsored terrorism, I feel like keeling over and reaching for the booze and fags. I feel like I’ve earned them. I wouldn’t blame myself, considering what I go through at the merciless hands of irreligious villains on a daily basis. That’s what makes it so appealing, because of how low I feel on a particular bad day, when the harassment is tuned up to full whack.
But then I simply ask myself, is being a fighting mercenary so bad? They only pick on the bright ones. My life has merit and meaning, honour and valour and dignity…if menticide can happen to me so easily than what’s to stop it happening to our kids? I have to rise up and be righteous. After all, it’s eternity that matters, not this ‘but a breath’ shenanigans beeswax down here on Earth.
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