I reached my saturation point during a birthday party for a friend. We, meaning some friends of mine, had been invited two weeks ago, and only planned to join the party for maybe an hour, two at most. I was too tired to even bother with it, and resented going, but did so because ‘it was the right thing to do.’

I am fairly skilled at putting on my game face, and can be the life of the party even when everything in my world is rocked to its core. I’ve done so before, and engage actively in the practice, simply to distance myself from my inner monologue. At some point, the facade broke. It wasn’t a burst of impatience or anger, but the slow withering of my shell over the 5 hours we were there.

I would have left earlier, but again, I came with other people who were still enjoying the company. I stayed for them, but my weariness was wrapping itself around me like a heavy blanket. I felt exhausted. When more people arrived, when the crush of bodies grew thicker, I couldn’t stomach it.

I had done my duty. I’d done the right thing and still, I was stuck here. I looked at my friend, prayed he would understand, but somehow, he didn’t see it. I realized I was still smiling. In spite of what I felt, the tidal wave of crushing gray coming around my brain, I still looked like I was having a good time.

I called a service and just when I saw them turning up the drive to the front of the house, I made good my leave, handing them the keys to my car for when they wanted to follow. It always seems when you want to disappear, no one will allow you to do so. When I left, the peace I sought, flooded in.

I understand the addict. I’ve known them personally, helped them professionally, and understand why they give up their independence to a chemical. If I could inject something in my blood to make that sensation of peace overwhelm me, I’d be addicted too.