I’ve been escaping some uncomfortable emotions lately. I’m mostly using pot to numb them, but I’ve been known to eat a feeling or two. Refined sugar seems to activate brain signals in a way that feels soothing, albeit short-lived. For the past two weeks I have stuffed myself with whatever cheap sugar was nearby because I am finally coming to terms with four decades of a refusal to apply myself. There’s half a Bavarian cream donut in the kitchen that is calling my name. We met earlier this morning when I ate the first half.

I want to be and achieve a great many things, but I’ve had trouble gathering momentum. Often, it’s because I just don’t know where to start, it’s also imperative no one finds out I’m stupid so instead of asking, I give up and pretend I don’t want the thing anyway. I’ve gotten so good at this over the years that I even fool myself.

I do think I am reasonably accomplished for 40. It’s just that the achievements I reached aren’t the same things I value accomplishing now. Of course, they were at the time. That’s time’s bend on things, isn’t it? Intentions can be twisted through hindsight. It’s only after experiencing a world we’ve imagined, are we free to imagine a different version. Once I got the house and kids, I knew what that was like. Now, I’m wishing I had focused on my career first, forgetting that I’d have the exact opposite problem had that been the case. Everything would be perfect if I had just… So it’s me, the decidedly unsatisfied, that is the cause of the problem. Once I awoke to my own role in my stuckness—things got bleak. I am my own worst enemy in a battle of wills.

I ate the donut.

You know, there is something to be said for diving headfirst into bad behavior. I’ll tell you what, that donut I just ate was delicious. What is that chocolate donut icing? There is nothing else in the confectionary world quite like that slightly crunchy, deeply chocolate donut icing. Combined with the light, oily donut dough that melts in your mouth—unbeatable. If you check in with me a few hours from now, I will tell you exactly why I should have passed on that donut, but in the moment I ate it, and still in this moment, a sweet remnant remaining on my lips, the decision feels like a good one.

Once while attending a meditation at a Buddhist temple, I heard some good advice on bad decisions. Once you have decided to indulge in a bowl of ice cream, enjoy it. Don’t coat your feeling of pleasure in a sticky layer of guilt and shame. I really like this way of looking at pleasure. Allow it. Just as you allow any other emotion. The cruelest trick we played on ourselves is to make normal human coping behavior pathological. What else should you do when you feel stressed about Monday’s presentation at 9pm on Friday? Eat the ice cream! Ice cream is what life is about. I mean is there really anyone out there these days that wouldn’t choose their vice over an additional 7.6 years of life? Is old age worth it without the good stuff?

Some goody two-shoes might say that over time, you will find what is healthiest for you brings the most pleasure. I hope to meet you there, man, but I need my pleasure with a guarantee at the moment.

I can sense the days are numbered for my own vice. I’ve stopped thinking of it like ice cream. It’s blended with the every day. I don’t enjoy it in the way that I used to, and I don’t enjoy anything else without it. It’s time. Sometimes a bad decision is a bad decision. The thing that trips me up every time is I’m so damn dull without it. Do you know what it’s like to be with only yourself all day, every day? I’m sure a lot of us do, now. I don’t know about you, but I am boring AF. A few months ago, I had a lull in the days work so I watched a documentary about ants on YouTube. I watched silently at my desk, jotting notes of interest. This is the kind of person I am alone. I am a person who is called by donuts and studies the social hierarchy of ants.

I’m learning I love these weird parts of myself. But I’ve grown more awkward with people socially. It’s time to stop escaping confrontation with what makes me feel different, so I can finally calm the fuck down and see that most people are just like me, doing the best they can where they are now. As I’ve heard time and time again during this process, you can’t selectively numb your emotions. Numbing pain, also numbs pleasure. Delaying grief, delays joy. I’m not afraid of the pain as much as the boredom. I don’t want to admit that without the effects of my trauma, I am really a very normal and boring person, living an unremarkable life, seeking to feel safe and loved, and blessed enough to realize it before it slips away. Not much to write home about.

I want to try to make it something. My life, I mean. I want to apply myself and ask for help. I want to be a person who is unafraid to fail at something hard. I want to show my kids what it means to work toward a goal for no other reason than the desire to achieve it. I want to strive.