My platform is my pain. The story I have to share is one about the devastation of addiction, the shape-shifting of it’s forms and faces that it appears as in my life. From alcohol to drugs, to sex and love and food, the demon it has been and also the master and the teacher.
The withdrawal from my ex-boyfriend whom I left my husband for was some of the worst, most crippling pain I have endured. The grief and loss, confusion, and self-loathing was as close as every breath. It accompanied me from the moment I opened my eyes and became conscious, to the tasteless food I forced myself to consume to stay alive, to my work in the prison of my computer screen, where I sat solitary with only the company of my mind. That was a terrible place to exist. This pain of withdrawal was there through my prayer and meditation and yoga practice as I overlooked a pristine rice field in Bali. It sat on my shoulder, an unwanted companion, as I drove on my motorbike to the market and purchased eggs, limes, and coconut oil. It even followed me into my dreamworld where there were emotions and scenes of yearning and longing, dreaming of my ex and his new girlfriend traipsing the streets of Seoul where we used to walk hand-in-hand together.