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I have family in town. This means that control over my television has been relinquished to whoever gets to it first. Also, my family is my mother, and if Momma wants to watch a show, Momma is going to watch a show. It’s why I’m currently watching all of the court shows on television and literally watching Lauren Lake’s Paternity Court as I type this.

My life is not better because of this, for the record. Also, I really had no idea how many court shows were running daily.

One show in particular that has been brought to my attention is My Strange Addiction on Discovery Life.

Good. God.

For starters, I didn’t know the Discovery Life channel was a thing and definitely didn’t know it was part of my cable package. Secondly, how on God’s green earth do they find these people? In just the three days since I’ve been watching this show, I’ve seen people addicted to things like eating rubber tires, taxidermy (more on this later), cycling, eating VapoRub, their blow-up dolls (both in relationships with a single entity AND full-fledged relationships with several blow-up POOL TOYS ... BRUUUUUUH!), eating diapers, etc.

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I’m not going to say this show makes me feel normal because that’s not true. It actually makes me feel sad for the people on it because their friends think they need an intervention—which I think it’s safe to say that they do. Typically, the individuals involved don’t actually think there’s anything wrong. Part of me hates stealing people’s joy; however, in no way, shape or form should anybody be ingesting ACTUAL rubber tires.

Or eating MATTRESSES.

One particular story that KILT ME DEAD was the story of a New York City woman—actually, she lives in Brooklyn—who has taken to being an amateur taxidermist.

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That’s cool. Taxidermy is a thing. I mean, it’s got the letters -dermy in it. #Winning.

So she’s got a skill, right? Except she does this on her own time. Like, she finds dead animals, picks them dead things up with her BARE FINGERS and brings them home and puts them in her freezer. In her freezer was LITERALLY a bag full of dead mice that she had yet to stuff. Cats, dogs, WHATEVER. Does she worry about parasites or germs or bacteria or shit that can kill you? Naw, b. That’s for suckers.

I don’t even have to ask, but I’m going to anyway: Do you know how disgusting that is? I actually almost threw up watching her handle a dead mouse with her fingers on her dinner table. No questions asked—if I came across this woman and went on a date and we ended up back at her place and I saw that shit, I’d be OUT immediately. For one, stuffed dead animals ain’t my bag, baby. But once I found out she don’t even use gloves? Lawdhafmercy.

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All of the stories are like that. I sat and watched a man sit on a couch and discuss his very real relationship with his blow-up doll. I can’t remember her name, but he was having an honest back-and-forth with her. The doctor concluded that he was in significant emotional pain and the doll was his way of coping. According to the psychologist, he could have been under a bridge with a needle in his arm—he just so happens to be at home in love with a blow-up doll.

What I learn from this show is that there are a lot of people with very real mental issues. And of course—and this goes without saying—you can never tell just by looking at somebody what they really have going on. Most of the people I’ve seen on the episodes I’ve watched looked like everyday people you’d see on a Target trip or shopping for groceries at CVS.

The more I watch, the more I look to watch new episodes (episodes I haven’t seen, anyway) because I’ve been introduced to a world I find hard to believe is real. Yet here are people with issues you can’t see on the surface. Honestly, it makes me want to check in on people that I know to make sure everybody is OK. Those calls to constantly check on your friends seem more real than ever.

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Also, you REALLY never know what folks are doing behind closed doors. I’m sure over time I’ll stop watching the show because I’ll get tired or sick enough that I’ll just pass altogether. The people featured, though, will continue with their problems, and I hope that those who need help get it.

Just know, if I see ANY OF YOU eating tires, I’m tellin’ your momma.