Confession

Maybe this is not the best place to share this. Maybe I should not make it public. Maybe this could destroy my credibility and shock many of my friends. But maybe this story can also be a heads up for other people. So screw it.

I'm an addict. A junkie, a user, a dopehead, call it what you want. I need my daily dose so bad I changed my life for it. I left my friends and got rid of every last piece of furniture I had. And I moved to a place I barely know, just to get the best stuff there.

Maybe I'll regret it later. I can already feel my skin ageing faster, my hair changing- after no more than a week. But I hadn't felt so good in a while so whatever. I let go. Don't think.

Funny how those things start. You never quite see it coming. I mean, I had a few experiences before, but didn't go all the way. And last summer, I decided to cross the line.
You know how in every movie, book or personal story, they always tell you that one single shot is enough and that you're then hooked for life? Turned out all of it is true. After this first shot, I got so freakin high I became obsessed with one thing only: getting this feeling once more, stronger, longer, again and again.
We seem to hear mostly about the negative sides of addiction. I personally like to see the full half of the glass.

Of course it is not all peaches and cream; beyond the drug itself, it becomes a way of living. And I saw what it does to the hardcore addicts. You can spot those guys from a mile around and some of them are doomed, purely and simply. They look like living clichés and have to spend the rest of their lives wandering around just to get another hit. Painful. I try not to think about it too much but of course, it's always there somewhere.

You can find some good “stuff” in many places. I chose Portugal because I still have to make money, and 70% of my work comes from Brussels. 10 days there and the rest of Europe per month should be enough. Easy and cheap trips, money problem solved.

Obviously, the clients, the people I train and coach, not even mentioning my acquaintances, will notice something's different. They will probably look suspiciously at my skin, wonder what's wrong with my hair... I don't know how long I'll be able to sustain this situation.

But every morning I still wake up convinced I did the right thing. I look out at this desperately blue sky, check out the waves from my balcony and have to pinch myself.

Then, when I'm sure I'm fully awake, that this whole situation is not the product of my twisted imagination, I go get my daily dose of surfing.

And it's good.