This winter has been brutal. Before I say anything more, let me say—I realise my problems are first world problems because I have the privilege of staying under the comfort of a warm duvet, whereas people less fortunate than me have had to face this brutal winter in much more difficult circumstances. But in the limited sphere of first world problems that people like me have, mine is unusual and merits an airing.

So back to where I started – this winter has been brutal. Why? You ask me? Well, for one, Omicron. After braving the deadly Delta wave, we’d cautiously started meeting people again, albeit masked, and making plans for the future. But as soon as we had reached a kind of new normal, Covid reared its ugly head again. Things went back to square one, and I found myself stuck inside the house again with an uncertain future and an overcautious husband.

Another reason this winter seems brutal is that I desperately miss my sister. It has almost been 6 months since she moved to the US and even longer since I met her last. The prospect of meeting her anytime soon seems bleak—I need a visa. I don’t recall ever having gone this long without meeting my sister, and I find it disorienting. I find myself unmoored without her calm, confident presence.

And last, I’m bored out of my wits. Yes, I am. I miss going to work. The structure of an office day is what I miss the most. I miss interacting with different people. I even miss the not so nice things about an office – the latent sexism, the competitiveness and the lack of empathy of the corporate world. You may ask me why I don’t resume working in an office—I’m freelancing from home as of now—but that is a story for another day.

So here’s where I find myself – uncertain, unmoored and bored. In these circumstances, as any sane person would do, I have found myself an addiction. No, no, I’m neither an alcoholic nor a drug user. My addiction is very unusual. I’m addicted to reading. You may think I’m trying to sound intellectual and snobbish by claiming to be addicted to reading. I’m not. A reading addiction is as bad as any other and it debilitates the addict in the same way as any other addiction does. How am I so sure about my addiction? I’ve read around 20 books in January alone. Do you realise how much time reading so many books requires? It means I read night and day, non-stop. Trust me, this is not a “look-at-me-I’m-so-smart” type of situation; it is a “look-at-me-I’ve-a-problem-help-me” type of situation.

Just like any other addict, I get a dopamine kick whenever I indulge in my addiction. As soon as I finish one book, I need to start a new one, even if it is 4 in the morning. Don’t chain smokers do the same thing? I sometimes spend the whole day glued to my book, ignoring my other interests, my responsibilities, even my husband. Nikhil doesn’t agree that my reading is a big problem yet or that a reading addiction is a bad thing. But I know better. Anything done to excess is harmful. And it would be wrong to say that all this reading is towards a good cause, say because I want to become better read or smarter. No, I read all kinds of books – the good, bad and the trashy. Not all of them benefit me. The only reason I read is to give my brain a way to escape from the problems I face in everyday life. There’s no harm in escaping from your life sometimes, but when you neglect your real-world in favour of your make-believe world, you kind of know that something is not right.

So, what am I doing about this unusual addiction? There is not much I can do about it. The internet—my go-to place when I need answers—is quiet about this addiction. I doubt there are any “Readers Anonymous” groups. So my options are limited and completely dependent on my willingness to become better. As of now, I’m trying to control myself so that I don’t end up in a place where I have to stop reading altogether. I mean, most alcoholics are forbidden to have even one drink in case of relapse. What if that happened to me? It would be awful if I couldn’t read again. So I’m trying to self-modulate. During the day, I try to keep myself busy so that I am never free to pick up my Kindle. I’m trying not to add any more books to my TBR or read reviews of new books so that I don’t get tempted. However, it is the nights that are the most difficult because I can’t sleep without reading and once I start, I don’t know when to stop. If things don’t improve soon, I may ask Nikhil to hide my Kindle. Whatever it takes, right?

If you think my problem is genuine or if you have a similar addiction, then please share your coping mechanisms. It would help to know I’m not the only one with this strange addiction. If there are more of us, we can make a “Readers Anonymous” group if nothing else.

~P