My Addiction

Princess here. Just letting you know that this post has been brought to you by the classically witty and often sarcastic Sid...all the way from South Africa. Enjoy!

Hi, my name is Sid and I’m an addict. They say that admitting you have a problem is the first step to recovery.

Well, I’ve been clean for two months now. I’ve told everyone that I no longer constantly crave the high I once experienced when I’d had my first taste, just over two years ago. I had convinced myself that I had finally found inner peace and that I could do this by myself. I was determined to beat this. I couldn’t erase the image of comforting my future son or the image of me wrapped up securely in the arms of my future husband, from constantly entering my mind. And I knew that the only way that I could ever attain any of this, the life I have always desired and yearned for, was if I gave up this habit of degradation. So I quit cold turkey and everything was going along just fine until yesterday.

All it took was one little whiff of the good stuff and before I knew it I had fallen off the wagon. Here I am at work at 8 in the morning and all I could think of is when I can get my next fix. My need is so bad that I neglected to do any actual work. Instead I spent all of my time thinking of ways to raise enough cash to score. Various schemes entered my head, each one as ludicrous as the next. My bursary would only be coming in next year and I couldn’t wait that long. I need cash now! No the only option left to me was to sell my kidneys. I hear you can make R10 000, which is all I really needed for a plane ticket to Pakistan. Yes my friends I am addicted to travelling.

Now I bet all of you are probably wondering what a charismatic, beautiful, intelligent, eloquent, hilarious, humble girl like me could possibly want to see or do in Pakistan. And I wish I was capable of giving you an answer that gave the impression that I had spend hours reading up on the history and culture of Pakistan. But the truth is that I am a dipshit who took one look at the following picture before deciding that I JUST HAVE TO GO to Pakistan even if it meant selling my body – and inevitably my soul – to raise the cash for the trip.

Now I know that many people would say that I am brave (code word for crazy) to attempt crossing a rickety bridge like that. The thing is that I don’t classify myself as brave (mentally unstable). Everything scares me. Everything! And I know that if I ever make it to that bridge I’d be cursing like nobody’s mother fucking business but I’d force myself to go through with it. I can see myself now, standing there, trying my utmost to control my breathing, wanting nothing more than to turn around. But I’ll do it because every time I do something that scares the shit out of me (not literally) I gain something. There’s this amazing feeling of triumph because you haven’t allowed fear to control the way you live life.

The thing is that I know me. I am the most fickle person you will ever meet. If I don’t follow through with this in the next couple of months I’ll never go. Remember Ecuador? Two years ago I proclaimed that Ecuador was my “destiny”. (Yes, I use words like destiny and fate. Yes, I occasionally read my horoscopes and watch Oprah aka Our Saviour. What? Don’t judge!) Now if you were to ask me about Ecuador my reply will be a very articulate “bleh”. I am simply incapable of sustaining enthusiasm for anything for longer than four months. That’s just who I am and I make no apologies for this.