The country side always feels like rehab. Waking up without an alarm, waking up in the Sun and the silence, muffled vibrations going up and down the body. Resting. I can feel it even though I just got here, even though I'm yet to wake up in this village. Doesn't matter, I've been there before, I know how it goes, so I can anticipate it. I bet it's gonna be just as good as I remember it. Usually things are less grandiose than what we imagine, but I'm that confident. Who knows, though, maybe I just jinxed it.
The country side always feels like rehab. "Rehab from what?", they asked me. I don't know, but I feel like I need it. Rehab from myself, stuck in my railway tracks and habits, stuck in an old, outgrown identity I keep pulling along in the city, stuck on the petty little things that I am big enough to just accept and move on, yet I stay there and sink until I can't distinguish myself from these whirlpools.
I wish I was swifter and lighter, I guess I'm training for it with these writings. Just air it, air it, air it out, keep it coming.
I wish I was myself, but the longer I stay in one environment, the more courage I lose. But I won't give up finding out about roots just like that. I will fight for myself and my roots.

If you're reading all of the entries, you might ask something along the lines of: "Deer girl, what's with all of the addiction refferences? Why are you so fixated on it? How addicted are you?". I'm assuming, because that's what I asked myself (and I tend to project my lines of reasoning all over people). I would say the extent of my sobriety is admirable. On a scale from one to ten, it's a six. And I think that's admirable, yes, because it seems to me that threes and fours are all around me. I worked hard for my six, y'know?
I'm talking about a sum total, of course, when all of my addictions are piled up together for the measure.
Why am I fixated on it? I think that, in some sense, I'm an irreparable junkie, right from the start. As a kid I would spin in circles, drop to the floor, and let the dizziness come over me, together with the image of a carousel ceiling. I think I'm forever allured by the different states of consciousness. I might not want them like I used to, I might not want them at all some day, but they never cease to fascinate me. Drugs never cease to fascinate me. I think I just have some strange liking of darkness and taboos in general.
Fromm distinguishes between biophilia (love for life) and necrophilia (love for death and destruction) as two opposing factors acting in the psyche of an individual. I think I have plenty of both. Luckily, significantly more biophilia, which means that I left most of my fascinating demons behind, thanks to my love of life and health prevailing. I do like to inspect them sometimes in my mind, research, follow the trails of my morbid curiosity.
Why addictions? Up until now, my life was, indeed, about the connections: what do I connect to? More importantly, how do I connect? Why?
Addictions are what I get from my misguided connections. Addictions are my misguided connections.
Love is on the other end of that story, a path found in the weirdest of ways. Something I should write about more. Maybe, I hope I'll have the time in the following days. I hope I'll have the words for it. It's still so brand new for me.