Sometimes, I’m manically, maniacally obsessed. Others, I lead my life more normally. The truth is, I crave things about which to obsess. Sometimes, those are healthy things – planning for our family, shopping (in a needed way), organizing, tidying, reading. Often, they’re things that are positive or neutral, but have at least the possibility of some negative ramifications, at least with regard to my wider life: this blog, new friendships/relationships. And sometimes, they’re downright destructive, as with my history of compulsive sexual behavior.
But as I said, I crave the experience of obsession. When I am not obsessed, I feel empty, dead even. And the phenomenon of obsession is, itself, life-affirming to me. Even when what it is that obsesses me is destructive.
This is, to be honest, a bit of a conundrum.
I feel most alive when obsessed. But obsession is destructive.
Close readers of this blog can discern the ebb and flow; you can see that my more dysthymic posts are at times of diminished obsession, and my more manic posts are at times of heightened obsession.
Right now, I’m unmistakably in one of those heightened periods. And it’s hard on those around me. Evidence is available of that on L’s blog, for all to see. I know that she’s not just upset that V is proving so entertaining to me, or that she’s doing so in such familiar ways. Or even that she feels I somehow blindsided her with the news of V’s existence.
She’s also upset because, well, because lately I’ve been a shitty friend. And even worse. And that pattern – of my being less than my best self with and for those about whom I care most – is abundantly in evidence. Or at least was, for a few days. I’m trying to rectify it. With mostly mixed results, I think.
I’ll keep you posted.