Deceit in Substance Form
- Chastidy Mader
- 7 hours ago
- 2 min read
Sometimes I feel the world is overflowing with love and grace. Other days, it feels empty—like a vacuum slowly draining every ounce of energy I have.
It’s like a gust of wind that takes your breath away, or the rain that soaks your hair and clothes just after you’ve gotten ready for the day. But when the world feels lighter, the sun warms your skin, and a gentle breeze brushes your hair, you wonder—is this what it feels like all the time? A breeze I mistake for a storm?
It’s confusing, interpreting your own emotions. Where do they come from? Why do they surface, fade, or linger for days? Why are they so exhausting—for the one feeling them and for everyone nearby?
Grounding yourself is hard. So is self-soothing. And I think most of us struggle with this more than we admit. We bury our faces in technology, ignoring the people around us—including ourselves. We suppress the feelings, promising to deal with them later, hoping they’ll fade. But they don’t. Even if the first feeling dulls, it festers into something bigger.
When we do that, we’re silently telling ourselves: I’m not worth the effort. I’m not worth the care.
Without realizing it, I did that for years. I skipped over my needs and medicated them just to quiet the noise. That’s how the addict was born. How heartbreaking—to show myself I wasn’t worth healing, only silencing.
“Ssshhh…” I’d whisper. “Just one more fix and the noise will stop.”
But that was the biggest lie I ever told myself.
Because when the high fades, the noise returns—a thousand screams telling you to wake up, because life is rushing past while you sleep. You’re hurting everyone around you. And the more you learn to hate yourself, the easier it is for others to follow.
The high is a fraud—deceit in substance form.
Join me for more in my new book: Heroine: Decide & Conquer
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