Dear Evil Past Time,
I know you have been an international favourite/addiction for quite some time now. I was slow to come around and give you a test ride, but once I did, my life has never been quite the same.
Over the last few months, we’ve built ourselves a lovely little relationship based on my boredom, and your ability to fill time.
I’ve spoken with countless people in my life, mostly working professionals, and we all agree you are like the professional’s version of crack. We are addicted. Just like all addictions, our addictions to you are all slightly different. Some, spend exorbitant sums of money on additives to speed up our climb; some prefer to dedicate all their free time to the pursuit of the next achievement; and, some try to quit you cold turkey with varying levels of success. Some of us just know our addiction will never end.
My addiction seems to run deep. Too deep…
I give you countless hours of my time. I’m truly afraid to know just how many hours I have dedicated to you. How many hours of my life I will never get back.
You gladly take that time, and eat it up. It seems to keep your soul alive.
Without any fanfare or expectations you have helped me through some tough times. Without even knowing it, you have provided me with a distraction when I’ve needed one most. I know I have never said this before, but thank you for giving me something to focus on, when I’ve needed something pointless to occupy my mind; for keeping me from driving myself crazy with demons worse then you.
The one thing you have not gotten from me is a penny. I will not feed your multi-million/billion dollar coffers. You will not get my spare change from me (instead my Starbuck’s chai tea latte indulgence will consume my precious money). You can just have more of my time. Countless hours actually when I get stuck and frustrated for a period of time. I will take 3 days to get to the next achievement, as I watch the clock count-down to the next time available quest. I know, I know, you parent company hates this approach, but somehow the challenge is part of what keeps me coming back.
In pursuit of never ending lives, and saving my precious pennies for my other addiction (Starbucks), I’ve even tried to trick you into giving me more lives immediately. This resulted in a wait time of 33456 minutes. AKA, a small freaking lifetime. I couldn’t keep dealing this annoying process, and I couldn’t find a way to undue my mistake, so I deleted you and started over. Yes that’s right, I started over. I got stuck at the exact same spots again. I got to repeat my frustration, all in the name of enjoyment. I almost broke up with you permanently, but your claws are just too deep into me.
You are now a joke between my husband and me. He does not see your allure. He doesn’t get it. But, oh, how I love you and how I get it. I defend you. I defend our relationship. He accepts that you are part of me, and if I’m staring at my phone to long he understands that I am focused on you. At times, he even attempts a round or two with you. I am happy he gives you a try, because maybe one day he’ll get it. But, I also feel like I am betraying you, by letting him have a turn.
Oh, and you stupid owl, how I hate you in particular. I have a cunning ability to constantly make you fall and take away one of my precious five lives. Mr. Owl, I know you taunt me. You laugh at me. You enjoy my failures. You drive me crazy!!
Some days, you force me to live my life in 30 minute installments. Waiting. Wishing. Hoping. Time cannot go quickly enough. You beg me to come back, yet you wont let me enjoy you until 30 minutes is up.
Other days, when the frustration is high, I think it’s time to initiate our break-up. Some days, I think it’s time to permanently delete you, just like I did Facebook. A few seconds I could easily erase you from my life. But, then, I realize, I will be lost. I will not have a something to do when I’m sitting in a doctor’s office waiting for my name to be called; or sitting at my desk dreading working on that next item; or watching a particularly boring TV show.
Yes, for now, Candy Crush, please know that our love affair will continue. Know that we will have lover’s quarrels. From time to time we will frustrate each other. Even if I don’t visit you for a few hours or days, know that I am still addicted. But, at least for now, I am as committed to you, as you are to me.
Sincerely,
One of Your Many Addicts
I’ve decided my psychologist must think I’m crazy, even if my actual medical diagnosis doesn’t say crazy anywhere (see that post here). Now, I know what you are thinking – she’s trained to deal with crazies. This is her lives work. She’s probably seen worse. I cannot possibly be the craziest person that she’s ever dealt with.
I once thought that too. But I was wrong. You see, I am now confident that I am actually the craziest (is craziest even a word?).
Why you ask?
- The first day I met her I’m not sure I even reach the chair before I burst into tears. I went to discuss stress management techniques (this was before our miscarriages even started), and I had a complete emotional breakdown. I don’t think I’ve ever cried like that with a perfect stranger before.
- She provided sound advice for over a year, which I, an educated professional, promptly chose to ignore. And the irony of this isn’t lost on me – I went to her for advice on how to deal with stress and when she gave me her advice, which is what I asked for, I discarded it. I’m a sure when I finally did attempt to quit my job she actually thought “I told you so. Imagine where you’d be today if you had just listed to me a year ago”. Okay, maybe she didn’t actually think that, but I would have if I were her and I think she should have.
- Some days I meet with her and I seem to have it all together. I’m guessing she must be able to see through this, but yet I question why she lets me have these delusional sessions.
- I went to one group session and never went back. Reason being – I didn’t have any sympathy for the other people in the room (which made me feel slightly horrible about the type of person I am). My thought process went something like seriously, you are sad because your boyfriend dumped you? Or you got fired from your job a year ago and you don’t know how to go on? Seriously, you’re 20, you will have more boyfriends, don’t let some guy define you. Have more respect for yourself. And go get a new job, they aren’t that hard to come by in this booming part of the world. You are qualified. Get some confidence. Yes, that’s right, my life sucks worse and I’m holding it together better. Yup, I have no sympathy or compassion for others and I’m a horrible person…this has to qualify me for some sort of crazy.
- I have held my life together, almost perfectly from the time I was 14. And I always portrayed the perfect façade – no-one knew just how deep some of the hidden pain has been – heck, even I didn’t realized it. And it has taken until now before I ever been willing to admit that it’s not all sunshine and roses. There must be a psychology word for this delayed nervous breakdown.
- I refuse to have a breakdown like I assume other people would. Instead, I take all logical steps to control the situation and my outward emotions. Career Counseling – maybe that will provide me with a solution or at least help me find one? Psychologist to help me deal with stress – that should help. Of course it would help a bit more if I actually followed advice better.
I now acknowledge that I’m crazy. I never would have before, but now I think I am and I think I always was, I just did a great job hiding it. Not crazy like I need to be locked up in a padded room in a strait-jacket. Or at least I hope not. But I guess if my councilor felt I was padded room crazy she’d be negligent for not referring me to a padded room specialist – right?
My Perfect Breakdown 