Love Lies

21. Scott

I’ve been to rehab twice. It’s no picnic. Do not believe it if you read in the press that rehab is some sort of day spa for the rich and gormless. Rehab is full of people who’ve fucked up and that alone is enough to make me want to run a mile in the opposite direction.

I have an addictive personality. It took lots of eminent doctors (each with a string of letters after their name) a long time to come up with that. They could’ve just asked my mum. People with my condition find it difficult to relax, bore easily, rarely have successful relationships and they toe tap.

Keeping on the move, filling my day, just doing stuff was seen as a good thing when I was a kid. Uncles would pat me on the head and give me fifty pence, tell me I was keen and dedicated when I ran around the football pitch more than the other boys and practised harder at keepy-uppies. I was that fanatical about my training that people used to ask me whether I wanted to be a football player. Maybe. I didn’t know for sure. What I did know is I didn’t want to be still. Because still people aren’t successful. The best a still person can hope for, the pinnacle of their career, is to end up in the middle of Covent Garden, painted bronze, pretending to be Rodin’s ‘Thinker’. A hat full of loose change at his feet for making like he’s a statue; what’s that about? How can

I find doing something over and over again makes me feel good, deep, deep in my soul. It makes me feel useful and purposeful. Am I the only one who has noticed that we are just one breath away from admitting that it’s all futile? Everything. The busier I am, the less chance there is of that thought swallowing me up. Doing something over and over again is soothing. Some of my addictions, most actually, are harmless. No one minded when I became addicted to the game Uno or Ludo or even Four-in-a-Row. Clink yellow counter slips into place, two in a line. Clink red counter blocks. Clink yellow counter going for the diagonal now. Clink red falls. Clink yellow dropped so quickly it might not be noticed. Clink red thrown in randomly. Clink yellow four in a row and then crash. It was that crash I relished; the sound of releasing all the counters to start a fresh game. I still love to hear a game of Four-in-a-Row in play, it’s so relaxing. No one cared much when I became addicted to records; as long as I bought them myself and I didn’t steal to pay for them, I could have as many as I wanted. My addiction to learning the guitar was actively encouraged. But then it started to go screwy.

In my adult life I’ve been addicted to fags, wanking, running, alcohol, food, sex, drugs, work, fame, tattoos, coffee, playing dominoes, playing cards and playing the fool. This is not a definitive list. More off the top of my head. And, to be clear, the addictions aren’t mutually exclusive, some run in parallel.

Problem is, while they say the devil makes work for can’t do moderation. So, what I have to do is get addicted to safe substances. Chocolate is not that. If I’m jowly I’m as good as dead. Fern is safe. No one can have a problem with a man obsessing about a girl. It’s what makes the world go round.

In many ways I wish I hadn’t ever found drugs, of course I do, I’m not insane. I prefer waking up in the morning and having a clear memory of the night before. I prefer waking up in the morning and finding that my clear memory of the night before doesn’t paralyse me with shame and regret. Indeed, I simply prefer waking up in the morning. Taking drugs reduces my chances of any of these three things happening.

But, if you ask anyone who’s ever been in love whether it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all? They will confirm yes it is, even if they’ve been left with a big gaping hole where their shattered heart once beat. If they don’t agree, I’d say they weren’t really in love, probably in lust, more like. Drugs are the same; just as many people feel about a worthless lover, I can’t help but regret that I’m going to have to spend the rest of my life without them. Everyone assumes drugs are

Music is the same. Music makes things more. More meaningful, more true, more important. The difference is music doesn’t stop. There is no come down.

But should I tell you the hardest substance to kick, the addiction that crawls through my body, pumped by my own heart into my bloodstream, to rule every fibre of my being? Success. Success is addictive. And relentless. And fruitless. And I’m hooked.