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This isn’t easy, folks, but there’s something I’ve been hiding — I have a serious problem. It’s consumed me on a regular basis for the better part of three years now, but up until recently, I thought it was all under control. There’s nothing wrong with having a good time, right? If someone wants to go out and get a little crazy, that’s between them and the Lord. Still, as these things tend to do, it snowballed. No longer was I just taking the offers as they came. Now, it was a need. Something that I actively sought to a point of near bodily harm.
It started out innocently enough. A friend asked if it was something worth trying and we rolled with it. For her, it was just a fun story to tell and a good enough time. For me, it was the greatest experience of my young life. No longer was the world in black and white. Now there was color: yellows, greens, browns, and greys. It was like being Dorothy on her visit to Oz, taken out of the humdrum Dust Bowl and thrown into a magical land with all sorts of new sights and smells. It was like the veil had been lifted on what was right and wrong, and before you could say “blackberry,” life was all about the taboo. That was when the dark times started setting in.
Have I paid to do it? Shamefully enough, yes. Too many mornings start with coming to in a seedy hotel with a rank taste in my mouth and a gurgling in my colon. There are 20 fewer dollars in my bank account and absolutely no light to be found. Every time, as I sit on the throne purging my body of the poison it has consumed, the inner monologue is the same. “That was the last time. Never again.” Without fail, though, the next night rolls around and we’re playing the same game. The shameful things that have been done just to achieve that one taste of sweet glory haunt me. It’s only in the moment that things seem clear.
I can still remember hitting rock bottom. That point of no return came about two weeks ago. It was the Wednesday of rush, and everyone seemed prepped for one hell of a time. As always, the chapter planned to float one of the many beautiful rivers that surround our campus. I hadn’t missed even one of these in all my years of college, and the opportunity to soak up some sun and have a few brews on the river was as tempting as ever. I meant to go, I really did. Calls were made, tubes were pumped, and coolers were stocked for one of my favorite days of the year. That’s when tragedy struck. As I left my house, ready to enjoy life clean for a change, I ran into an old acquaintance. We got to talking, and within minutes we were back at my place. While everyone was waiting, ready to have a great time, I was feeding my demons at noon on a Wednesday. I was supposed to bring extra tubes, but I blew it all for a brief shot at the stars.
So I sit before you now, a man with nothing to lose. My teeth have taken on a disgusting new shade. My stomach is in constant limbo, unsure whether it’s a fart or something squishy trying to escape my hind end. It’s time to reach out to people who care, because if things don’t change soon there’s no coming back. This is my confession. My name is Karl Karlson, and I’m addicted to eating ass..