The Fish and the Damage Done
Written by Carl Tuttle jr.
Hi my name is Carl and I'm a fishaholic. There I suppose that I've taken the first step to recovery by admitting
I have a problem. You all Apparently have the same problem or you wouldn't be here. Right away let me welcome you to the first official meeting of Fishaholics Anonymous. Now let me continue with a harrowing tale of passion and addiction.
I was a regular guy once. Living a regular guy's life. Doin' regular guy stuff. It was the winter of '02. My wife and I were living in a 1 bedroom apartment in a small town. My wife had brought home a baby guinea pig along with a small glass aquarium in which to house her. After some deliberation, we decided not to use the aquarium and instead to house her with our other guinea pig in an already established cage. So there it was sitting in the living room unused. It looked so harmless and innocent laying on the floor with our cat inside. How was I to know that a small glass cube could ever take such control of my life.
Christmas was drawing near and the 10 gallon tank was still only a cat toy. One day my wife calls and asks if she can take a few mollies off of someones hands. They were apparently breeding out of control as mollies tend to do. So one fateful evening in utter naivete my wife brought home a few mollies. This is where the downward spiral begins.
We got into fish-keeping like a man diving headfirst into shallow waters, a rogue in a nation of fish-lovers. No Gravel, the cheapest filter we could find and inconsistant water conditions quickly started killing off the fish. Hey I was young. What did I know about tank cycling.
It didnt take long for me to realize that these dieing fish were not gonna be enough for me. So after putting gravel into the tank, I began the overstocking process. I started with some tetras and other cheap stuff. The water was dirty but I didn't care, so long as I had my fish. It was only a matter of time before the trouble really began: going to pet stores to stare at the fish for hours, talking to the employees and listening to them tell me that this was safe and ok "Everyone's doin' it." I was in back alleys taking home fish I'd just met and knew nothing about, waking up with strange fish in my aquarium. I put my trust into the same people that were feeding my addiction. Of course they were gonna tell me what I wanted to hear.
I was hooked bad, but when I heard about Oscars, things only got worse. At first I was reluctant t try having an Oscar. My friends told me how much fun it would be. "Try it" they'd say "Once you've had an O you'll never go back" After a bit of persuasion, I ran back to the fish store and picked out an Oscar. I took him home and left the shady fish store types behind. The little I learned from them was hardly better than lies. So sparticus swam in an overpopulated, underfiltered 10 gallon aquarium.
Soon my problem grew beyond just having fish, but this crazy Oscar made me want happy, healthy fish. After questing online for only a few moments, I was able to unlock a wealth of information about Oscars and fish in general. Good God there were clubs and organizations for people just like me. I could look at fish and tanks and fish in their tanks and filters and airpumps...The list was endless.
A fever was holding me in its merciless grasp. There was only one cure. The sweet taste of my latest fix swept over my tongue just as I thought I was going into remission. An entirely new tank setup brought that never-to-soon feeling of contentment and bliss back to my life. Once again I was drifting across a great chasm on a balsa wood glider. I could look down into my world of fish and feel happy...Very happy.
My Oscar was very agreeable with his new home, new filter and new heater. Sparticus relished in his new bigger playground. Or was it mine. The line between fish and human was growing thin. I began thinking like a fish, always looking for the strongest current to move with. I was expiramenting with different foods, toiling to find what he liked most. I bought toys hoping to entertain him. My friends were right. The O was taking control of my life. My attentions were all on him.
By the summer of '03 the population of the new tank had dwindled to an appropriate level. Many of our fish were given away after we returned from a movie to discover that one of them had been eaten by my beloved Sparticus. Alarms went off in my head. None were safe from the wrath of Sparticus. He was a God amongst fish, a deliverer of biblical justice, a cruel dagger to pierce the heart of the wicked. I knew what had to be done.
Ya know the old addage "If you love something let it go."? Well I believe wholeheartedly in that or maybe I just I merely say so, to justify my irresponsability. I knew the other fish would have to go before I bought the Oscar. So one afternoon I bagged up some fish and returned them to the river that gave them life. Quite a sad fate for a fish I suppose: to live out the rest of their days in a pet store never again to feel the love that they so direly deserved. Was it a better alternative to being eaten by an Oscar with the taste of blood? I'll never know for sure but I still ponder it late at night when the water trickles quieter. Sometimes I think I hear the voices of those fish in my head, unforgiving of my sins.
My fish craving was weak once again. My will was strong and I was confident in the newest setup. I had two bottom-feeders and another fish half-again-as-large as my overly playful Oscar. I assumed that they'd get along well taking into account Phil's size. It took little time for me to see that my thinking was flawed. God's blueprint apparently had something else in mind for Phil. Again I was blind with desire. My logic was cloudy at best.
Phil's demise began with a few playful nips from Sparticus. I didn't worry. He was fast enough to get away. The nipping continued. A few weeks and Phil had developed a gash on his head. He was hurting himslef, running into filters and such. I certainly couldn't lat blame on the Oscar. I was weka in growing fond of Phil. I couldnt give him up, couldn't do what was required couldnt admit that eventually sparticus would kill him. They say "Duty is heavier than a mountain." but the weight was too much for me.
I felt a storm coming, a need for something new to quench my eternal thirst. Withdrawal was taking over my body and I was very afraid. I teetered on the brink of a harsh reality, standing ready to topple into a fantasy Utopia where my fish could coexist in harmony. I spent evenings surfing the net, looking at thousand gallon acrylic tanks, pictures of fish, anything and everything fish related. During the days I scanned the classifieds and the Trader Paper looking for good deals. I sat and daydreamed about my next hookup. What fish I would have, Filtration and heating, How wonderful it would be. Fish danced in my head, and obsession that could seemingly only end in death. I heard them calling, mocking me from the creek next to my work. Going to the petstore was impossible. I could stare and empty gaze into the tanks and imagine I was one of the fish that I could never have.
Phil's condition was worsening. The gash in his head had long since healed, but he was losing scales everday while running form Sparticus. I kept putting off the inevitable. He should have been moved weeks ago. In his weakened state, Phil was eating very little. He was falling apart and so was I. I knew I would pay the price for being an addict someday.
That day I'd gone out to look at a new/used tank that I intended to purchase. It was quite aways off. I was giddy like a little girl on her first day of school. It was the biggest deal I'd ever been part of. My only hope was that it wasn't a sting operation. The seller ende up being a closet fish addict who got a bigger better tank. I payed the man, hoping that he would use the money to seek treatment. The purchase of the new tank only brought about a bigger frenzy. The drive home was swift as I flowed down river 31 through Noblesville like a migrating salmon. I couldnt wait to tell my wife what I'd bought, but I arrived home to a horrific scene.
Our apartment looked like the sight of a midevil execution, the crimson of lifes' blood everywhere. My wife layed on the bed crying. It was a relief to see she was alive. Upon closer inspection of the tank, I noticed Phil was gone. A suicide. We had a jumper.
Sanity collapsed around me as reality slipped through my fingers. Blackness filled the void where once a beutiful fish existed. If there was something that pushed me over the edge this was it. I payed the price for my mistakes with my fish's life. The rest is a blur.
The weeks have rolled on since but the pain is far from over. I was spinning out of control, but I think my loss was the wakeup call that I needed. I always think about fish. In fact righ now I'm at work writing about fish. When I get home I will upload this to my website about fish.
My name is Carl. I'm a fishaholic, a fish addict if you will. Oh what a sweet disease it is. Maddening like an itch on my neck I cant seem to scratch, perfection that is just out of reach. Striving for perfection is afterall what sets us fish addicts apart from the average fish-keeper.