Confessions of an election-holic

My name is John, and I’m an election-holic.
It’s a gambler’s high, an exquisite anxiety that builds over
weeks and months. The payoff in victory is indescribable, and when
you lose, the depression only whets the appetite for more.
Confessions of an election-holic

My name is John, and I’m an election-holic.

It’s a gambler’s high, an exquisite anxiety that builds over weeks and months. The payoff in victory is indescribable, and when you lose, the depression only whets the appetite for more.

Lately my addiction has escalated to new levels. I read analysis 24/7, and consult the polls incessantly. How is the race going in the first district in New Mexico? Is Menendez finally pulling away in New Jersey? Just what does that generic ballot really mean?

Then the other day, I stumbled on the name of my disease, and suddenly I was confronted with the truth of my election-holicism.

I have Pre-election Anxiety Disorder.

So even though we are on the verge of a momentous election (to an election-holic they are all momentous), when I should be most in the thrall of my addiction, I was force to realize, finally, that I am powerless over it.

I’ve come to you for help.

From a young age I’ve had a grasp of elections beyond that of my peers.

It first manifested itself when I was 11, and decided to run for president of my elementary school council.

My two opponents were better athletes, and therefore more popular, so I devised a plan. I conceded the fifth grade vote, let them split it, and, with the help of my third grade sister, worked the third and fourth grade areas of the playground hard. The younger kids were flattered that an older kid talked to them.

I won handily.

Five years later I ran for junior class president. I announced early and gathered up all the important endorsements (from the athlete, geek and stoner parties), scaring off potential opponents.

Even though I had no opposition, I was nervous right up until the results were announced. That should have been the first warning sign, but I chose to ignore it.

Eventually I decided to go into journalism. Big mistake.

My cravings for electioneering started innocently enough, covering precinct caucuses in the private homes and elementary schools of the Twin Cities, in Minnesota. After I broke a few stories, important people started returning my phone calls, and I could feel the blood coursing faster through my veins. What a high!

In 1994, I plunged the spike deep into a vein, going to work on a U.S. Senate campaign. I told myself I wanted to see what the real world of politics and elections looked from the inside. Who was I kidding? I was working 18-hour days for a pittance. My addiction had taken over my life.

In November we were swamped by the Gingrich revolution, and I sank into a deep depression that had a devastating effect on my personal life. I should have walked away then, but instead crawled deeper into the belly of the beast.

I started writing a political column, then went to a daily paper to report on the state Legislature. From there I took a series of editorial jobs in different states, each a new level of visibility and involvement.

When the Internet exploded, my cravings went through the roof. Finally, I had access to the same raw material the insiders had. Occasionally a column got national notice. I could not get enough.

Acknowledging that I have Pre-election Anxiety Disorder has helped me understand why, after the disappointments of 2000, 2002 and 2004, liberals are amped up over this election. They have PEAD en masse.

PEAD was first diagnosed by Washington Post columnist Joel Achenbach two years ago. It is a manic-depressive state, characterized by unnaturally high, followed unreasonably low, expectations about elections – and perhaps most importantly, that they will, in the long run, matter as much as you want them to.

Some can handle elections, in moderation. Others, like me, cannot. And this is the most dangerous time of all, the final two weeks before a national election. The sleepless nights, the neglected friendships, the endless hours trolling the internet for … oh, let me tell you, it is so much seductive than porn!

And I’ve got it bad.

So I’ve come here today because I acknowledge freely that I cannot do this alone. My higher power and I need your help. I know I can count on you for your support as I confront this disease – and it is a disease, every bit as virulent as cancer – with every ounce of my being.

Starting Nov. 8.