Summer is
all about amusement parks. Roller coasters, cotton candy, giant stuffed bears
as prizes and the promise of fun at every turn.
Kinda like
addiction.
In my
Christian faith, there’s a quote that goes something like “sin will take you
farther than you want to go, keep you longer than you want to stay and cost you
more than you want to pay.”
When I was a
kid, I was lured into the tilt a whirl, the ultimate in spin-y rides, twirling
and whirling at dizzy speeds for what seemed like forever while in its grip.
Going into the ride, I didn’t expect that. I also didn’t know it wasn’t a great
idea to load up on candy and corn dogs before hopping on. That was, however,
until I was spinning forty-five seconds into
the ride. Then, it became abundantly clear.
And, you guessed it, my fun food made a return visit all over the ride and
park. Amusement had turned into me feeling sick. Yay.
It wouldn’t
be the last time I’d experience this dynamic.
Cut to years
later, at age nineteen, fully engrossed in anorexia, believing the lie that
being as tiny as possible was “where it was at.” Hence, the starvation, obsessive
weight loss and, oh yeah, six hour-a-day mandatory exercise regimen, just for
extra fun. I was convinced if I looked “just right/just thin enough,” then I’d finally be happy. I just needed to keep
going, losing five more pounds here, ten more pounds there, until...poof! I was
completely finished and perfect! A transformed swan and a fun life.
I even went
so far as to make fitting into a certain blouse my goal.
By May of my
freshman year of college, I was able to fit into a blouse I wore in the sixth
grade. In this plaid, ruffled, high collar number, I felt invincible. I was
“tiny Sheryle,” not “fat Sheryle.” Wearing that blouse kept my self-appointed
pressure to “keep going” on a high setting. I didn’t see it that way, however.
I was just going after fun. When would that be happening, by the way? I was on a nonstop treadmill (no pun
intended) of waking up, torturing myself with hours of exercise, followed by more
hours of torturing myself with mandatory starvation. I kept losing weight,
eventually falling into the two digit number. But it didn’t matter. I wasn’t
“there” yet. I had to keep going. I wasn’t having fun yet. But c’mon, let’s be real. I wasn’t having a life either.
But we’re
not done with the amusement quest yet.
Cut to me,
age twenty, now romping around in the wonderland known as bulimia. I just
didn’t know that was where I was. In a desperate effort to manage pain, stress,
feelings and the truth, I had morphed from the starvation of anorexia to the
binging of bulimia. However, I only saw it as “damage control.” I was taking
care of business. There was no way I had an eating disorder. I was pursuing
happiness, in the form of relief. That meant I devoured EVERYTHING! It didn’t
matter if it was my roommates’ food, a vending machine full of candy bars or
dumpster diving (yes, really), I found myself flailing after anything which
promised to make me feel safe, loved and happy. Sweets, carbs and all manner of
forbidden food held that gleaming promise. I binged, chasing after it. But
then, that promise under-delivered. I wasn’t left with happiness. I was left
with a one hundred pound weight gain, deep depression and that sick feeling,
yet again.
Cut to a few
months later. Now, I’m twenty-one. And yes, ladies and gentlemen, I was finally
“legal.” But I wasn’t focusing on adulthood. I only saw it as “yay, I can
drink!”
Here we go
again.
Having transferred
to a new school, immersed in my theatre major, I decided, as a diet tactic, to
be social and drink.
And so, Rum
and Coke was my introduction. And then, well... ‘night, ‘night.
It should have occurred to me that alcohol
and I weren’t “bff’s.” I was giggly and ridiculous after one drink and I
blacked out a few too many times for my comfort-or fun. Perhaps I DID have fun;
I just couldn’t remember it.
But, in the
name of “fun,” I repeatedly gave it the old college try, that is, until one New
Year’s Eve blackout session, having woken up fully clothed in a tub, I realized
this alcohol “diet” was not fun.
Years later,
into my recovery, I’ve had to look at myself in some hard glaring light. I see
how I often have this “all or nothing” mentality to my personality and choices.
I’ve had to straddle the tightrope of desire versus want, need versus craving,
health versus self-destruction. And that’s not amusing. Neither is it perfect. I’ve
had to face how the glittery promise of fun is not, necessarily, the pathway to life and blessing.
“There is a
way which seems right to a man, But its end is the way of death. A worker's appetite works for him, For his hunger urges him on.”
Proverbs
16:25-26
“All
things are lawful for me, but all things are not expedient: all things are
lawful for me, but all things edify not.”
1
Corinthians 10:23
That’s what
God is for.
“For he satisfieth the longing soul,
and filleth the hungry soul with goodness.”
Psalms 107:9
The promise
of amusement, of happiness and of a pain-free life does not deliver. If we’re
not careful, when it comes to our addictions and compulsions, we can, however,
be delivered to a place or situation which is undesirable, unhealthy and
destructive. We can get on the tilt-a-whirl, expecting fun and games, yet
experience only wreckage.
“(Fill in with your own chosen fill in the
blank addiction/compulsion) will take you farther than you want to go, keep you
longer than you want to stay and cost you more than you want to pay.”
The illusion
that instant gratification, via our destructive vices, will answer our lives
can make us sick in our reality.
God has more
for us than that, however.
“For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the
Lord, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope.”
Jeremiah 29:11
It’s not an
easy process, but embracing truth can give us a great head start.
“The truth shall set you free.”
John 8:32
That
includes how amusement plays into our addictive tendencies AND how God can be a
part of our recovery, even IN SPITE of them.
Copyright © 2017 by
Sheryle Cruse
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