Since I was a teenager, I've combatted fever blisters. The seeming result of a promiscuous youth. The physical pain of these sores when they show up hold nothing to the mental and emotional upset they arouse. Providing a lifetime of recurring shame and guilt over yet another character defect from times gone by.
Though I've tried many remedies, nothing seemed to keep them at bay or slow them down once they arrived. Until my wife came upon a suggestion of taking a certain amount of Lysine every day. With great skepticism, I gave it a try. It's effectiveness was truly amazing. I went far longer than anytime in remembrance without one of these anguishing pests emerging. It seemed to be the solution I've always looked for.
Then, last week, one struck. And the reason? Did this new wonder solution quit working? No, I did. I started taking a smaller dose contained in a smaller pill. "Maybe I don't need so much of this stuff. Plus, this one is easier to get down. Softer on my throat". In true addict form, I thought I could get the same results from less medicine. And the disease was just lying in wait for the opportunity to strike. Literally days after I let up on the proven regimen, WHAM!
So why would I write about this relatively embarrassing tidbit of medical history? Because it demonstrates my propensity for the easier, softer way. For trying to achieve results without putting in the requisite, proven effort. For convincing myself that the disease isn't really that cunning, baffling, and powerful. To remind myself of these facts in a relatively innocuous forum. So I don't have to remember them in the deadly and potentially unrecoverable tailspin of relapse.
Commitment. Consistence. Persistence.