Rope: A Bondage Story (I)

 dsc_4969a© 2017 City of Broken Dreams


I believe whatever doesn’t kill you, simply makes you stranger.

—Heath Ledger as The Joker in The Dark Knight


The thing about addiction is, no matter what it is that you are addicted to—whether it’s shooting smack or pulling on the arm of a one-armed bandit—it’s still a fucking addiction. And even though there are some addictions that are more likely to kill you than others, in the end, your addiction will always destroy you.

She isn’t stupid. Having already had her fair share of addictive vices in her relatively short life, she fully understands the rules of engagement when it comes to the relationship between her and the monkey that has ostensibly made a permanent home on her back.

Even with the rope—despite its relatively innocuous nature—she fully realizes that her dependence upon this particularly idiosyncratic device, if allowed to get out of hand, could easily slip out of control and turn against her. She knows this; she understands the potential risks and repercussions, and yet, at this moment in time, she doesn’t really care. 

And the reason for why she doesn’t care, is quite simple:

She can now sleep, without the shadow of never wanting to wake up looming over her.

She can be awake and still be sober.

She can live the semblance of a relatively normal life without teetering perilously on the edge of the abyss.

When the morning comes, she rises from her bed to greet the dawn of a new day. She accepts it, she embraces it. Long gone are the days when she would shrink back from the morning light like a vampire withering in the rays of a newly risen sun.

She is like a butterfly unfurling herself from out of the chrysalis; but when she emerges, she does not flex a brand new pair of freshly sprouted wings. No, this butterfly does not need wings to stay afloat. It is the rope that keeps her suspended, that prevents her from the fall.

Each and every day, upon extracting herself from the warm cocoon of her bed, she secures the rope in its proper place; she pulls it tight, ensuring that it doesn’t slip, that it doesn’t lose its hold on her.

It wasn’t so long ago that the day was like an adversary, attacking and invariably defeating her with an unrelenting onslaught of desirous sickness and desperate toxic cures. But not anymore. The day is no longer her enemy; her life is no longer a battlefield that threatens to serve as a backdrop for her defeat. Just as long as she has the rope, that is.

It is the rope that gives her the strength to believe that she will be able to circumvent her once inevitable calamitous fate. It is the rope that hoists her to her feet so that she is able to stand tall and face the reality of an unknown destiny.

The past, the past, the past …

Her past still clings to her with some varying degree of irritation. Some days the past is like the sloughed off skin of a reptile: shed and discarded, but not completely forgotten; an amorphous reminder of her former self, left behind in some dark corner of the room like a neglected dust bunny. While on other days the past is more like a phantom limb: an absence, a void; but one that still occasionally tingles with the faintest facsimile of sensation at the most random and inconvenient of times.

On the days when the past is more present, she is even more dependent upon the rope than on the days when it is not. But make no mistake: she needs the rope—every day and always. And this is how she knows, that like all of her past dependencies, the rope is an addiction, just like any other.

She has always been grateful for the fact that she was able to escape the inevitable outcome that would have been a premature death as a result of her past chemical dalliances. However, it would appear that despite eliminating her penchant for the more deadly of her poisons, in the aftermath of her recovery, she has seemingly awoken a new kind of appetite. A different, stranger kind of appetite. An appetite for the rope. 

But unlike the substance abuse of her not-so-distant past, she doesn’t think that the rope will ultimately kill her. If anything, she feels as if the rope is the key to her survival, that it gives her the ability to live her life as opposed to bringing her closer to death. However, the level of her self-awareness and wealth of knowledge regarding the devil that is her proclivity for addiction, has primed her to come to a certain realization: That like all of her past addictions, the day will likely come when the rope will either turn against her or fail her.

And yet, in spite of all that she knows regarding the nature of the beast, she still continues to feed the carnivorous creature that lives deep down inside her lowly depths. Perhaps she does so because she so intimately understands the symbiotic nature of the monster in relation to her own survival.

She is an addict, after all; there is no use in denying herself of this reality. And perhaps ironically, for addicts to survive, they must be addicted—to something, to anything.

And so she continues to feed the addiction because she needs the addiction.   

And her addiction is so very, very hungry.


   Notes

The Dark Knight. Screenplay by Jonathan Nolan and Christopher Nolan. Dir. Christopher Nolan. Warner Bros. Pictures, 2008. Film.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s