Bikes
Bikes, gotdam do I love bikes. Pretty sure that’s my autistic vehicle of choice. In a way, darn, would be cool if I had chosen to obsess over a multi-ton diesel powered conical wheeled masterpiece, but alas, no. Two wheels, two pedals, simple medal frame, some gears and a chain. I’ve owned many bikes in my lifetime, and each of them has meant so much to me. They have been my steeds, and I don’t even have to feed them or clean up their poop.
Bikes are a Drug
I can’t quite tell you how it feels to ride my bike. It’s a taste of freedom, arguably the best feeling in the world. My body works while my mind can take a break. It’s a drug. The good kind? I don’t know exactly. Probably not something that can be binned into a good or bad binary assignment. But it does feel a lot like a drug. There have been times in the past where riding my bike was a coping mechanism. And I would legit ride until I couldn’t physically anymore. Sure sounds like an unhealthy abuse of a good thing huh? Damn, why do I always have to abuse shit?
Everything is a Drug
Now that I think about it, it’s not just biking where this sort of relationship occurs. Whenever I find something that makes me feel any type of way, I seek to control it and manipulate it to my benefit. Not entirely sure if that is something all too unique to me, but it occurs everywhere. Since I was young, this has been a part of my personality. I’ve got addition problems. Eventually seeking to control the addiction and use it as a coping mechanism. No bueno. I’ll get addicted to anything that makes me feel some type of way, legit ANYTHING. Beyond weed and alcohol, I’ve been addicted to NSAIDs, cough medicine, even fucking bubble gum. Makes you wonder. Why am I like that?
I’m Addicted
I’ve got some theories, all of which have now been confirmed within a short conversation with Gemini. LOL. I think two main points resonate most. Coping and genetic predisposition. It’s very likely that my brain is programmed with a deficiency, or improper wiring let’s say. My dopamine receptors could be very sensitive, limited, or heavily encoded. The coping mechanism theory is strong as well, because my whole life I’ve been masking. Not to mention that my autism has been facilitating deep monotropism.
Extreme is Supreme
Finding a healthy balance of doing the things I enjoy and not taking advantage of them or abusing the way that they make me feel has been impossible at times. It comes in waves, my ability to control myself. Sobriety is fleeting. Regressing to a state of nonchalant abuse has unfortunately been the inevitable result of every period of sobriety. The amount of times that I have had my last “hit”, it’s embarrassing. I’m embarrassed to admit that I don’t have control over myself. My prefrontal cortex is letting me down, it’s not me letting me down, couldn’t be. Could it be? I made a joke earlier that my coping is either working my body into dust or launching myself into space. Why can’t I just roll, maybe do some low level flight. It’s always got to be so extreme, so dumb. I’ve got such a laid back energy most of the time, but then there is this part of me that cannot be chill.
No End in Sight
I leave this post unresolved. I feel like it’s a lie to say I’ll be sober forever. I know I have enough self-control to not blast off into another solar system, and I don’t really see myself driving myself into oblivion (however, that really is the more likely of the two I’ll admit). I was sober for nearly 7 months. It was great. I hope to beat that record, maybe I’ll make it to a year someday. I hope I don’t die overdoing what I love. I really hope I don’t die doing what I hate. Alas, death awaits us all, hopefully it’s patient.
