I live hard and fast. A junkie at heart, I’m always seeking the newest shiny object or exhilarating thrill. However, this hasn’t gotten me anywhere. I’m tens of thousands of dollars in debt and relatively unhealthy from years of self-abuse due to being such a junkie. Burning through interpersonal relationships is the norm. Running away when the going gets tough is also as typical for me. It just isn’t working. This implies that I have to slow down. I need tranquilized. I need to be more deliberate with my actions and learn to delay gratification – especially when it was never guaranteed to begin with.
I need to “forget” what it is like to be me. I can honor my lack of empathy with the kiss of logic, but I cannot honor the speed at which I have lived life these first thirty years of my life. The way that I’ve burned bridges and destroyed myself must be forgotten and replaced by a new dogma: faith in calculated motion. It’s painful to move at the speed of mortals. Yet, I must slow down. These past few weeks, I’ve been writhing in pain as I slow things down. A new relationship that moves slowly, a desire to run away that must remain in check, and a focus on responsibility are all new to me. In the past, I would be progressing matters faster than a junkie’s heart beats. “Slow down,” I tell myself. It is all that I can do.
The idea of restraint does not require one to keep in check their internalized antisocial nature. That is, self-destruction is not required for restraint in a society that demands prosocial behavior. However, the heartbeat must slow. Tachycardia is unhealthy and so is the self-destructive ways of the psychopath. I feel like I’m slamming on the brakes from 100 miles per hour, but at least I anticipate avoiding running into the brick wall that lies in front of me.