Self Control

Despite his public denials – to his wife, his family, workmates and friends – and his private one to himself Bradley knows that his problem is getting worse. The frequency of his indulgence has crept up steadily over the last several months and Bradley has been forced to find more inventive ways to hide, or at least disguise and deflect, from the manifestations of what he still insists, to others at least, is a habit rather than an addiction. Bradley can’t deny the pleasure, the release he experiences when he gives in to the persistent cravings which explains, if not justifies, his increased partiality. But sadly he no longer feels sated for long and the urgency for more is never far away; the pressure becoming harder to resist. In addition to the impact on his daily routine - not least because of the secrecy and deception (that truthfully is fooling very few) - his relationships are beginning to suffer. It distresses him very much to see his wife Sue so upset by it all and once friendly colleagues avoid him in the office. Mints, aftershave and air freshener can no longer extinguish the ever-present smell and his obsession gets in the way of other interests and activities. He has become fixated, dependent, a bore, an embarrassment. There is sympathy but also ridicule. More than one of the friends who have stuck by him – more than he deserves he knows  - has suggested medical help but although he now appreciates that something needs to change Bradley wants to try alternative solutions first.

The therapy group that specialises in personal disclosure and mutual support meets in the local village hall every Thursday evening. Arriving a little late – right until the last minute he was unsure about going through with it, even though his marriage and his job both probably depend on his participation – Bradley is struck by the eclecticism of those already assembled. All ages and women as well as men. He didn’t expect that. Appreciative of how difficult it can be to talk, to open up, to admit to the scale of the enslavement his new companions are gentle with him and it’s almost an hour before the group leader nods encouragingly in his direction. Clasping his hands together to lessen, if not completely still, the shaking he stands, clears his throat and says:

‘My name is Bradley and I’m addicted to flatulence.’