Maybe I don’t have BPD (e.g. June 12), but could be labeled with APD (Addictive Personality Disorder). People are said to be “addicted” to food, caffeine, smoking, alcohol, drugs, spending, gambling, sex, work, TV, video games, tattoos, even jogging. I’ve wasted time on most of those over the years; I’m down to two.
By the way, in my opinion the “disorder” label is just plain rude: it means confusion, disturbance, disarray, or deranged. I don’t cotton to such remarks!
At times I’ve met the APD criteria: “impulsive behavior and indulgence, non-conformity, and/or tolerance of societal deviance.” ‘Know what God calls that? The lust of the flesh, and the lust of the eyes. I’ve also exhibited “self-esteem problems and issues with conflicted parents.” Guess what? That’s called The pride of life.
I confess a half-century of self-indulgence: Childhood? Candy & Cake. ~ High school? Cafeteria Cookies. ~ Square dance years? Pizza and Pop. ~ Later? Daniels & Daiquiris. ~ Office years? Muffins and Mochas. ~ Homemaker? Baking & Barbecue. Except for a South Beach hiccup a few years back, my carb addiction has been resolutely uninterrupted.
This country is replete with candy stores, bakeries, pizzerias, coffee kiosks, and burger joints. I read a suggestion of deliberate stimulation by the food industry. David Kessler writes, “Once you understand you are being stimulated, then you can begin to fight back to prevent being manipulated.”
So: my plan is to treat these villainous places as I do enablers, liquor stores, and dope dealers. And it couldn’t hurt to recognize fat, sugar, and salt as The Three Terrible Whiteys. I will add that the key to any plan must be the promise: if the Son makes you free, you shall be free indeed.
They say you can’t teach an old horse new tricks. That’s because horses train a lot easier when they’re young. But the method makes sense: grains, carrots, and apples; and a 15-minute session every day (less, if the horse is cranky). Put a bit in its mouth, and drive it from behind.