F R E E D O M

“How did you know you needed to be healed?” Amber asked her older neighbor Bliss.

“It’s quite simple really. I was just in pain, physical and mental pain.” Bliss answered.

“What did you do to get healed?” Amber asked.

“Let me explain by going the scenic route because it may be helpful. But I must warn you that when I take the scenic route it can get long and I often forget the original question but still trust where I’m going, that what you see as I drive is intended for you to see.  Are you okay with that?” Bliss asked.

“Of course.  I won’t interrupt.” Amber replied.

“Good. Let me explain that I first went the western medicine route but after taking lots of pain medication for a long time I discovered that healing under those terms alone equated to living in numbness.  The physical pain had disappeared and euphoria replaced the mental pain. The only reason I opted for different treatment was because I was scared of getting addicted.” Bliss explained.

“To the pain meds you mean?” Amber asked.

“Well yes, I thought that’s what I was scared of at the time but later realized I was scared of what addiction might have implied cause it runs marathon-like in my family and I ain’t really so fond of them. It ain’t mentioned as an excuse but from a scientific perspective it matters.  Well, I was told it matters. 

I actually became an addict as a child. Food was my drug of choice. Well, that’s what I was told and it’s a shame cause of all the addictions to choose from it’s the least exciting. It’s not like I’ll ever hear sirens coming up behind me if I stand on the corner at midnight to pay a dollar in exchange for a cookie. As it was I was once a Girl Scout that stole thin mint inventory from myself and as far as I know there’s no Girl Scout prison for mint addicts but then again maybe someone is building a Do-Si-Do prison as I speak. I’m no stranger to gaining and losing. Losing is easy and so is gaining. All that’s hard is going back to the drawing board. That process takes something out of a person that at times never returns but overall it’s an inner struggle to conquer oneself for inner and outer alignment. But yeah, ‘they’ call it addiction.

Told you I’d go all over the place.  Do you wanna know why I just called myself an addict as a child?” Bliss asked.

“Of course. Why?” Amber answered.

“Cause that’s what my psychologists told me about my weight fluctuations.  It’s also what they touched on in Overeater’s Anonymous.  Lack of control, impulsivity, brain wiring, blood science and constant ’over’ eating to fill a void. Truth be told, I over did everything but only food stood out.  They all said it’s an addiction but not impossible to overcome.  Thing is, once you open your door and give a homeless pet a name they fucking attach it to their identity and yours. So now the person has linked their identity to the word addiction and gained extra life hurdles they don’t need. Words are heavy all by themselves but the ‘addict’ gets to carry the added weight of mainstream affliction under a distorted presentation of implied failure.  A child addict gets a pass that identifies them as a victim but the pass is confiscated in adulthood which is the juncture where the world eerily begins taking record of unresolved sorrows that reveal themselves over standard dinner conversations so that later they can be read and recited as a villain to themselves as projected from the belief of others.   

We live in a world that grooms us into addiction before we even leave our amniotic spacesuits. ‘Addicts’ are designed for and defined by political podiums and perspectives as a tool of perceived separation. Surely our president is inhaling more than air each day. Why the hell does someone’s addiction to salt not get so much as a second glance while another’s addiction to cocaine gets him handcuffed to the state? They don’t care about Joe’s hypertension so they line the goddamn shelves with sea salt, table salt, rock salt, pepper salt, salt called soup and whatever the hell else will earn his ass a lifelong prescription to Dr. Medicare who is ironically waiting for him in the back of the same store, all so he can forget who he is, all so he can be wiped the fuck out with the other shelf bounty hunters before they all go apeshit rogue on the whole fucked up system. I’m real sorry for gettin’ my panties bunched up.” Bliss said.

“No, I’m sorry I brought the subject up, Bliss. I don’t want you to be angry.” Amber answered.

“I’m not angry really, at least not at anyone besides myself.  The gap between knowing and doing is so wide sometimes it’s a wonder how so-called addicts don’t get forever lost in the craters. I had a friend now crossed over that once shared with me the story of how she was regularly raped as a kid. I never forgot the time she asked me if I knew the difference between a rape survivor and a rape victim. I told her I didn’t know and she said there is no difference, that the world created one for folks to choose between and that depending on a number of factors folks will choose one over the other, often the one most supported and then they’ll live out their lives to make their choice true.

Why am I telling you this? Cause I want you to remember why I called myself an addict to consider that all things aside, maybe all things being equal, that it’s possible I’m not an addict of food and that my true addiction is a desire to live in alignment with my truth but that maybe my truth was tied to the stake and burned alive by a society not having time, money or desire to deal with my individualistic issues so sent me home with one of those pre-measured, pre-packaged meal kits to serve my life with.  For me the box contained a lifetime prescription of anti-depressants, a certificate for a therapy dog, some pre-filled forms to give the state to be paid not to work and a box of Kleenex. Not one motherfucker ever asked me who I was. Not one. All they cared about was what was done to me or what I did to others so they could tell me why I should forget, why it didn’t matter or how to stop being myself.

But guess what? My tears are your tears so the Kleenex they gave perpetuates the addiction and keeps the addict alive. Don’t you ever go believing you’re an addict of anything but the thoughts in your own mind falling over one another and trying to escape the contents of the box you’ve been left to feed on and which aims to starve you of a hunger that will forever pervade your every sense. The hunger to be you, without adjectives, adverbs and the adoption of feeble minded presuppositions.

Maybe I don’t eat to fill a void. Maybe I am a void. Void of what eats others. Maybe I’m not an addict and just really like ice cream, hell, maybe I fucking love it when it’s licked off of my breasts in my sexual food game fantasies and maybe I’ll share some of them at my next counseling visit to see what he prescribes.” Bliss laughed.

Amber giggled and wasn’t sure whether to ask her more about her healing so didn’t.

Bliss took on a somber tone and continued. 

“By the way, I do remember you asked me about healing. Acupuncture and sleep may have saved my life.  Not until I was rested did I start writing about the words that held too much meaning for me and by too much I mean my actions were too attached to fulfilling the definitions I understood. 

I prayed for discernment while I wrote so I’d know where to refine, redefine or completely let go. The only way to do that was to find a space of my own where I could recognize the sound of truth buried in my very own heart. I needed to know without being told or asked who I was or am and once you know that you know everything but I don’t mean that literally, just that you know who you are not which is an insightful space where people, places, things and your purpose in the world becomes clearer.

It’s like going from a lifetime of 10/10 vision to 20/20 and gaining wisdom into how, when and why the world touches you as well as the intent of the individuals and institutions that deliver the touch. Anything that falls upon your senses with less than the spirit of unconditional love cannot be your truth no matter how heavy it lands. When you realize this you will naturally move in whatever direction your truth leads and the real beauty is that this is freedom because you carry it with you wherever you go and because no one can take it away.” Bliss said with a joyous smile.