Goddammit I hate memory sometimes.
And everything it leads to. Nostalgia. Reminiscence. A concrete sense of Self. Rambling, confessional blog posts about supposed childhood sexual traumas. And so forth.
After all that, after my whole humiliating confessional frenzy here in my last few posts (holy crap, was that all the way back in February??), I have to admit now that I'm not entirely sure my memory of these early experiences is even correct. And I've wanted to write and post this explanation for a good while now, because those posts are still sitting there on the front page, like a severed head at a dinner party; but I've been alternately too busy, or, mostly, too embarrassed by the whole ordeal to want to return to it. But I can't just leave that shit up there for anyone to read without any context or resolution. I have to put this to bed.
So here's how it all started. I was driving to work that February morning, and there was a discussion on the radio of how children respond to parental abuse. I don't remember what it was exactly, but something they said reminded me of this childhood friend (I'm going to start calling him "Bill" just so that I have a name to refer to him by). I hadn't thought about Bill in many, many years. I remembered some of our experiences together, and I remembered his big, angry father. And that's when I suddenly made the connection and realized, "Oh! Bill was abused by his father!" And everything else just followed from that.
I still believe that to be true; I believe Bill was abused (at least mentally and emotionally, if not physically or sexually) by his father. But the rest of it, I must admit now, I am significantly less sure about. I know that Bill and I "played doctor," but I don't remember all that we did. I don't actually remember how far our sexual play went. And, I am forced to admit to myself and all of you now, I don't actually remember who suggested what. I thought I did at the time, but I've since realized that's not true. It was just too long ago now for me to remember it clearly. It was so long ago that even the things I do remember clearly are suspect. And through my research I discovered that I would be forced to admit something else, something much worse: it is entirely possible that I am the one who abused him.
Reading through literature on the subject, I was surprised to find out that one of the more common, and yet least often discussed, forms of childhood sexual abuse is to simply educate a child about sex too much at too early an age. (It had never even occurred to me before my research that this could possibly be considered a form of abuse.) Sex is one of the most complicated and complex of all human interactions, and a 4 or 5 year-old child is simply too underdeveloped to be able to fully understand it (hell, a lot of adults are too underdeveloped to be able to fully understand it, for that matter); and so therefore giving a child that age too much information on the subject can often lead them to act out behaviors that they are not able to fully understand, process, or deal with in a meaningful way. That's the basic idea.
My mother's policy was that if I was old enough to ask the question, then I was old enough to hear the answer. And she was always very quick to let me know that if I ever had any questions at all, she would do her best to try to answer them truthfully and completely. And she lived by that statement. And I was a very curious boy. I had a lot of questions. And she answered every one she could. So I remember that throughout my childhood, basically until high school, I always knew more about sex (among many other things) than any of my friends or classmates seemed to. I was proud of that, actually. It made me feel grown-up. It made me feel strong. And superior. (Realizing now, as I type this, that this may have something to do with why I value intelligence so highly, in both myself and others.)
But in terms of my memories of my experiences with Bill, that throws everything into a new light. I only actually remember one thing we did that was definitely Bill's idea, and while that was a little dirty, it also wasn't exactly sexual, either (we were naked, but there was no touching); it would fall squarely in the category of "normative childhood sexual play." I don't actually remember what else we may have done, or who might've suggested any of it. But I know that in my memories of all the other boys (and some girls) who came after Bill, I was definitely the aggressor.
The hard part to admit, is that when I suddenly realized that morning that Bill had been abused by his father, I didn't then "realize" that he had actually been acting out his abuse on me, as I originally wrote. No, the truth was that I actually just assumed that was the case, and didn't recognize that I was making an assumption. "OMG, Bill was abused by his father! What do abused children do? They act out that same abuse on others. He must've been doing that to me when we played doctor! So that's why I then went on to do it others; I was acting out his abuse on me! That's where it all started! It makes perfect sense." And it does make perfect sense. But that doesn't automatically make it true, either.
I still don't know what happened back then, and I probably never will. But I have to admit that the much more likely scenario seems to be that I was actually a victim of childhood sexual abuse, but the abuser was my mother, not Bill. And it seems much more likely that I was acting out my abuse on him (and all the other boys and girls that came after him) rather than the other way around.
Bill moved away before we even hit puberty. I haven't seen or heard from him since I was a child. I have no idea what his life has been like.
If you're still out there, "Bill," I hope you're okay. And if you're not... all I can say is, I'm so, so sorry.
It wasn't my fault. I was only a child.
Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts
Showing posts with label friends. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 27, 2015
Tuesday, February 10, 2015
Apparent Exaggerations...
Still need more time to write out the full story/explanation, but I did learn something that requires an immediate update.
I knew that the language I used yesterday didn't feel quite right. It seemed inflammatory, and loaded with a ton of connotations that were not actually part of the experience I was trying to communicate. But what other language was I supposed to use? How else was I supposed to describe it?
Well, finally getting around last night to doing some very preliminary research into the topic of child-on-child sexual abuse, revealed the rather obvious fact that I'm not the only person in the world who has ever had experiences like these, and that as such, there is already a whole lexicon available to me to describe it, if I had only bothered to look.
I learned right off the bat that I was not, in fact, molested. I was not abused. What happened to me would be characterized as "Normative Childhood Sexual Play," even if it was a little more advanced than most. The difference being, I was never coerced, or threatened, or manipulated, or made to do anything I didn't want to do. All this friend of mine did was suggest the ideas; I went along with them willingly, even excitedly. And I enjoyed them completely, to the point that I then went on to suggest them to all my other friends for the next 20 years.
What I went through was a normal part of growing up that pretty much everyone goes through at some point. The big difference for me, was that it happened to me about 10 years earlier than the average. I was regularly having sex in elementary school, and I was having the kind of sex that most other people don't even know about, much less start trying to engage in, until middle school or high school. (Oddly, I steadfastly maintained my virginity, however technical, until I was much older; I think having so much sex as a child made my virginity seem more precious to me somehow, and I was determined to save it until I found someone I really loved.)
I still think my friend was abused, though. It's the only explanation I have right now for how he could be so sexually aggressive, and adventurous, and knowledgeable, at such a young age. And so it's still possible that, from his point of view, he was acting out from his history of abuse. But whether he was attempting to abuse me or not (who knows how he would've responded if I'd said no), I wasn't abused. I went willingly, and loved every minute of it.
And while I feel a lot better now, knowing that I don't actually have to wear the "childhood sexual abuse victim" label for the rest of my life, there's still a lot left here that I need to unpack. I'm still not sure what all this means, or what I'm supposed to do with this new information.
I knew that the language I used yesterday didn't feel quite right. It seemed inflammatory, and loaded with a ton of connotations that were not actually part of the experience I was trying to communicate. But what other language was I supposed to use? How else was I supposed to describe it?
Well, finally getting around last night to doing some very preliminary research into the topic of child-on-child sexual abuse, revealed the rather obvious fact that I'm not the only person in the world who has ever had experiences like these, and that as such, there is already a whole lexicon available to me to describe it, if I had only bothered to look.
I learned right off the bat that I was not, in fact, molested. I was not abused. What happened to me would be characterized as "Normative Childhood Sexual Play," even if it was a little more advanced than most. The difference being, I was never coerced, or threatened, or manipulated, or made to do anything I didn't want to do. All this friend of mine did was suggest the ideas; I went along with them willingly, even excitedly. And I enjoyed them completely, to the point that I then went on to suggest them to all my other friends for the next 20 years.
What I went through was a normal part of growing up that pretty much everyone goes through at some point. The big difference for me, was that it happened to me about 10 years earlier than the average. I was regularly having sex in elementary school, and I was having the kind of sex that most other people don't even know about, much less start trying to engage in, until middle school or high school. (Oddly, I steadfastly maintained my virginity, however technical, until I was much older; I think having so much sex as a child made my virginity seem more precious to me somehow, and I was determined to save it until I found someone I really loved.)
I still think my friend was abused, though. It's the only explanation I have right now for how he could be so sexually aggressive, and adventurous, and knowledgeable, at such a young age. And so it's still possible that, from his point of view, he was acting out from his history of abuse. But whether he was attempting to abuse me or not (who knows how he would've responded if I'd said no), I wasn't abused. I went willingly, and loved every minute of it.
And while I feel a lot better now, knowing that I don't actually have to wear the "childhood sexual abuse victim" label for the rest of my life, there's still a lot left here that I need to unpack. I'm still not sure what all this means, or what I'm supposed to do with this new information.
Monday, February 9, 2015
We Are What We Remember We Are...
I realized this morning, that I was - rather technically, I must caveat - molested by one of my very first childhood friends. And that this series of events was directly responsible for shaping a very large portion of my personality; of who I still am today.
I'm honestly not sure how I feel about this. There's way too much story there to be able to tell it all right now. But I had to at least get this much, the realization of it, the acknowledgment of it, out of me and into existence, before I forgot it again, or subsumed it in some other way.
I feel like I'm supposed to be upset about this. But I don't think I feel particularly upset about it, at least not yet. (There is a small part of me, however, that is upset at myself for not being upset about it, for whatever that's worth.) I'd always remembered - and still remember - our "playing doctor" as being entirely consensual. (As much as it could be, at least. We were about the same age at the time, so technically, legally, neither of us could consent; but we were also the only ones involved. So how does that work?) So, I've never felt - and still don't feel - victimized in any way. I feel no enmity or ill-will towards this individual, and never have. And the parts of my Self that I can now suddenly attribute to my early friendship with this person (at least, the ones I know about) are not things that I've ever felt particularly bad about or wished to be different. Nor have I ever felt a need to investigate their root, or determine their origin.
Which I guess is part of why it feels so strange to suddenly know where they all come from. I received an answer to an absolutely massive question, before I had ever even asked it in the first place. There's an almost vertigo to it; the sensation of it makes you dizzy. A memory you've had for almost 40 years, and suddenly, from out of nowhere and apropos of nothing, one tiny little detail you'd left behind somewhere along the way comes back into focus; and it fits like a keystone into place with all the other memories it connects to: that time, that place, those people; filling in a hole you never knew was there; and now you see it all so clearly, understanding it all for the very first time, after 40 years; and that realization leads to another, which leads to another, cascading down through your history like a line of dominoes, until suddenly four decades of Self have been re-written. You understand yourself now in a new, better, more complete way, a more whole way, than you ever have before. But you also know now, that you're not who you thought you were; and you never have been. So, then, who are you?
That's kind of a lot to handle when it all hits you in a matter of seconds while you're driving down the highway late to work on a Monday morning.
So, yeah. This one's gonna take a while to unpack, I guess.
I'm honestly not sure how I feel about this. There's way too much story there to be able to tell it all right now. But I had to at least get this much, the realization of it, the acknowledgment of it, out of me and into existence, before I forgot it again, or subsumed it in some other way.
I feel like I'm supposed to be upset about this. But I don't think I feel particularly upset about it, at least not yet. (There is a small part of me, however, that is upset at myself for not being upset about it, for whatever that's worth.) I'd always remembered - and still remember - our "playing doctor" as being entirely consensual. (As much as it could be, at least. We were about the same age at the time, so technically, legally, neither of us could consent; but we were also the only ones involved. So how does that work?) So, I've never felt - and still don't feel - victimized in any way. I feel no enmity or ill-will towards this individual, and never have. And the parts of my Self that I can now suddenly attribute to my early friendship with this person (at least, the ones I know about) are not things that I've ever felt particularly bad about or wished to be different. Nor have I ever felt a need to investigate their root, or determine their origin.
Which I guess is part of why it feels so strange to suddenly know where they all come from. I received an answer to an absolutely massive question, before I had ever even asked it in the first place. There's an almost vertigo to it; the sensation of it makes you dizzy. A memory you've had for almost 40 years, and suddenly, from out of nowhere and apropos of nothing, one tiny little detail you'd left behind somewhere along the way comes back into focus; and it fits like a keystone into place with all the other memories it connects to: that time, that place, those people; filling in a hole you never knew was there; and now you see it all so clearly, understanding it all for the very first time, after 40 years; and that realization leads to another, which leads to another, cascading down through your history like a line of dominoes, until suddenly four decades of Self have been re-written. You understand yourself now in a new, better, more complete way, a more whole way, than you ever have before. But you also know now, that you're not who you thought you were; and you never have been. So, then, who are you?
That's kind of a lot to handle when it all hits you in a matter of seconds while you're driving down the highway late to work on a Monday morning.
So, yeah. This one's gonna take a while to unpack, I guess.
Saturday, October 20, 2012
Our Dreamings...
My brotherfriend wrote me the other day about some of his dreams. This is something we often do. His writing sparked this conversation between us:
My dreams have been all psychic angst lately. Last night I took a sports car out for a test drive, and immediately crashed it into a harbor or boat dock or river channel or something. The night before I had to let Her be gang-raped by a group of nasty, drug-addled urban pirates, because it was the only way to get us both out of the situation alive (if I'd tried to stop them, they'd have just killed me and raped her anyways). Others have been more mundane - She and I fighting or bickering in some strange, emotionally-amplified way; uncomfortable, awkward, ego-bruising social situations. In one memorable one, I was living in my office on the weekends for some reason, and as I was laying in my tiny office bed masturbating one Saturday morning, the whole office suddenly showed up for work/a party (it was a party, but people were working - ??) and I was caught naked and furry-handed, as it were, and then fired in the most humiliating manner imaginable.
So - this may be a dumb question, but how do you feel about these dreams after you wake, is it more of a nightmare response - quickened pulse, hard breathing, kind of thing? Do you take them as expressions of turmoil, or do you see much omen in them?
I don't think that's a dumb question. When I wake I can usually feel the residual, coming-down edge of adrenaline, the fleeting wake of anxiety. Not quite a quickened pulse or hard-breathing (it's been a long time since I had a dream that upset me to that degree; what I wouldn't give to have a true full-bore, holy-fuck nightmare), but I can tell that something just happened. Then I'll remember the dream, and that will lead to a feeling of "ugh, fuck" and then I'll be in a bad mood for a little while. (Or sometimes longer, depending on how bad the dream was. The gang-rape left me pretty fucked up for most of the day.)
I don't generally interpret my dreams, or try to divine from them, unless there is something unusual or interesting about the dream; some quality that makes it stand out from the usual nighttime fluff and cerebral noise. Whether pleasant or painful, if it feels like "just a dream" then I usually treat it that way. But dreams that are particularly vivid, say - I will pay more attention to those, and go over them afterwards again and again, sifting for relevant or interesting data. Those dreams where I have an interesting quality of consciousness - where I am more aware than usual, that I remember in more detail upon waking, etc. - will also usually attract my attention and therefore garner greater scrutiny. I've also learned to recognize certain signs over the years that I know mean something to me. For instance, whenever a dead person appears in my dream, and does not speak, I know that something different was happening that night, and that was not just an ordinary dream. (For some reason, dead people never speak in my dreams. They communicate, but only through body language, facial expressions, and hand gestures. They never say anything. And I only ever remember after I wake up, "oh, wait a minute - that person is dead.") Dreams with multiple layers, dreams with puzzles or labyrinths, dreams where I am lost, dreams where the lights go out, dreams where I display some vulgar magickal ability; these all usually mean something to me.
As for how I interpret those dreams worthy of attention - as coded messages (either from myself or Other), as portents or omens, as communications from or meetings with outside spirits or entities, or what-have-you - depends entirely on the specifics of the dream itself. It's just a sense of that particular dream. What did it feel like? That's probably what it was.
Most of my dreams lately have just been the usual noise. The fact that they've been less than pleasant is due, I believe, simply to the fact that I've been under more stress than usual lately. I've been working hard, both at work and home, and not relaxing enough, or expressing enough, and so the pressure-release valve of my unconscious is blasting all that psychic bong-resin out the back of my head as I sleep. That's how it feels to me, anyways.
+ + +
Every night, when I lay down to go to sleep, I perform a Dreamlands visualization. I see my Astral standing naked on the bed where we're sleeping, and I take my Silver Key off of my bedstand where it hangs, and put it around my neck; as soon as it is around my neck it morphs into the Silver Key (complete with "arabesque" symbols, etc.). At that point, a hole opens up in my bed, revealing a staircase leading downward into the Dreamlands. I count out each of the Seventy Steps of Light Slumber, down to the Cavern of Flame, where I then have to perform some feat in order to convince the gatekeepers Nasht and Kaman-Tha that I am worthy to travel in the Dream. It is usually something gruesome and grotesque, such as flaying myself alive and magickally creating a robe to wear from the strips of my skin; or transfiguring myself into some many-limbed, many-eyed, many-teeted, many-tentacled thing that tears its way out of my body, or burning myself alive in magickal fire until all my flesh is burned away and I am just a spirit of living flame. Stuff like that, whatever I come up with that particular night. It's different every time. If I'm then judged worthy by the Gatekeepers, they will open a doorway in the CoF revealing the staircase of the Seven Hundred Steps of Deeper Slumber, which lead down to the Enchanted Wood that is the entrance to the Dreamlands, and I will then begin to descend those, again counting out each step as I go. I always arrive in the CoF naked, but always leave robed. I almost always make it to the CoF before I fall asleep, and I am almost always judged worthy. I have made it to the Seven Hundred Steps of Deeper Slumber many times, but have never made it to the Enchanted Wood before falling asleep. I often fall asleep in the CoF while performing for Nasht and Kaman-Tha.
Just curious - is there a particular reason that your feats are all body horror related? Is there any relationship between those feats and the kinds of dreams you have? I really like the path working, and might use it myself - but I wasn't sure if the transformations were something you feel is important to the entire process, or if it is the best way for you to convince Nasht and Kaman-Tha that you should be permitted to descend the Seven Hundred Steps of Deeper Slumber.
I've never felt any anxiety about these nightly grotesqueries; they've never upset me. If anything, they're kind of a thrill. I'll never get to do any of these things in real life, so it's kind of fun to get to do them in my head, and let my imagination run wild. So, no, I wouldn't say that they have anything to do with the unpleasantness of my recent dreams. Though I guess it's certainly possible. I've never kept tally of the number of good vs. bad dreams I've had after passing through the Cavern of Flame.
As to why they are all "body horror" related (which I originally read as "bloody horror"), I'm not quite sure what you mean. I guess I can see now that the three examples I gave were each an instance of me mutilating my body in some fashion, but that was just a coincidence; I didn't mean to imply that I always need to rend my flesh in some manner in order to impress the Gatekeepers. I've also often done astral work, or summoned a creature, or something else. So, the only real requirement is that it be a feat of magickal or psychic prowess.
All I'm really trying to do there, is impress upon Nasht and Kaman-Tha that I am worthy to enter the Dream. That I am both powerful enough to take care of myself, and that I am familiar enough with the kinds of oddities I am likely to find at the bottom of that long staircase that I am probably not going to go mad as soon as I get there. Probably. I am trying to display to them, both the powers of my imagination and an ability to control the dream. And then no doubt the simple fact that it's a Mythos working must also color my imagination in some fashion, leading to a greater incidence of performances of "unimaginable horrors." You work with the Mythos, and you're gonna get some tentacles. That's just unavoidable.
I imagine that everyone's experience with the Gatekeepers would be unique to the individual magickian/dreamer, though. I'd be really interested to know yours.
Monday, August 13, 2012
Friendships In Chaos, pt. 3...
It happens to everyone in recovery, at some point.
After sobering up, you run into an old friend, and realize that they have the same problem.
Maybe it's a new development. Or maybe they've always been an addict or alcoholic, but you just couldn't see it before, through the rose-tinted glasses of your own addictions. Either way, the question you now have to face is: what do you do?
When I got together with my old Temple last weekend, it was immediately obvious to me that in the last couple of years, while I was away, one of my old friends has become an alcoholic. The first thing I noticed, as soon as I saw him, was that he's put on at least fifty pounds. He's always been a thin, handsome guy, so the weight is really apparent now. But he doesn't look fat; he just looks bloated. When I got there, he was finishing up a scotch. I assume it was his first, but I don't really know, because as soon as he finished that one, he poured himself another. And twenty minutes later, when he'd finished that one, he poured himself a third. Then we went out to dinner, where he had a 32 oz. beer, and two large bottles of sake, all by himself.
Now, that's a lot for one person to drink in just a few hours, but that doesn't automatically make him an alcoholic. The nail in the coffin was that, even after all of that, he didn't seem drunk. He was a bit red in the face, and he was obviously loose and feeling good, but he didn't seem sloppy; he wasn't slurring his words or stumbling or anything like that. So, either it takes that much alcohol just in order for him to get a good buzz on, or he's really good at hiding just how drunk he really is. Either way, combine that with the weight gain, and it's clear this is a chronic thing with him. And just in case it wasn't certain already, at one point he made a "joke" about how he doesn't even taste his first two beers of the night; that as soon as he gets home from work, he immediately pounds two beers, and then he interacts with his wife and sons. He seemed to think that was funny, but I'm not sure why.
So, now the big question: what do I do?
The answer is surprisingly simple. I don't do anything.
Now, he's my friend, and I'm obviously worried about him. But I have to remember that there really isn't anything I can do. I'm aware of the situation, and I'm going to keep my eyes open, but that's about it in terms of my available options here. If an opportunity arises at some point down the road for me to somehow subtly let him know that I know what he's going through, and that I'm available for him if he needs anything, then great. If not, that's okay, too.
Ultimately, he's responsible for himself, and no one will be able to help him unless he believes he has a problem and he wants help with it. If I were to confront him about his drinking in some way, all that would serve to do would be to alienate him and strain, or possibly even end, our friendship. And if he does end up needing help at some point down the road, then that's the worst thing I could possibly have done, because then I wouldn't be there to be able to help him anymore.
There's also the hammer/nail problem of being a newly recovered addict. As in, "when you're a Hammer, everything looks like a Nail." There is nothing worse than the self-righteous douchebag with a handful of weeks sober, who suddenly decides to start going around diagnosing everyone else as alcoholics, as though being a drunk somehow made them an expert. But even beyond simply not wanting to be that asshole, what's more important is that I could be wrong. It doesn't seem all that likely in this situation, but it's definitely possible. Maybe he doesn't usually drink like that; maybe he had a hard week and was just blowing off some extra steam that night. There's no way for me to know, and it would be premature for me to judge him after just a couple of hours. And newly sober people do have a tendency to start seeing addicts and alcoholics everywhere. And yes, part of that is because they are everywhere, and because we don't tend to notice them as easily when we are one of them, and then they suddenly stand out like sore thumbs once we clean ourselves up. But it's equally as true that we tend to project our issues onto other people, and see problems that aren't really there. Not everyone who enjoys a few drinks has a problem, and it's easy for the person who does have a problem to lose sight of that. And there's really no way to tell if someone really has a problem, or if you just think they have a problem, and so it's usually best to just keep your mouth shut and observe for a while, and just try to make yourself available.
Another thing that is important to remember in this situation, but that is often forgotten, is that there is a big difference between being addicted to alcohol and being a dysfunctional drunk. It seems pretty clear to me that my friend has become addicted to alcohol. But, as far as I can tell, the only negative effect that seems to be having on his life, is his health. (And maybe his wallet.) And if that's all - if he's still doing his job well, and maintaining relationships, and being a good husband and father and friend (all of which seem to be true) - then who am I to judge him? We each have to decide how much our own health is worth to us, and it's no one else's place to tell us how much it should be worth to us. (Our families might have some say in that decision, but that's about as far as it goes. As a friend, I'm certainly not in any place to be telling him how to feel about himself.) And so if he's enjoying his drinking, and he doesn't mind the toll it's taking on his health, or he thinks that is a reasonable price to pay for the amount of joy or pleasure he is getting out of it, and it isn't interfering with his ability to maintain his responsibilities and be a decent human being, then that's entirely his decision to make, and I really have no reason to be sticking my nose into his business.
And there's one more wrinkle to this situation that applies to this friend in particular. I can't forget that he is a powerful chaos magickian. And we magickians (chaos magickians in particular, I think) have a much greater tendency to get ourselves into trouble. As a general rule, we push boundaries. We try to find the edge of things, and then live there. (Another way I don't fit the general model, as I tend to bounce back and forth from edge to edge in order to find the middle.) But we also have a much greater tendency to find our own solutions to the problems we create for ourselves. We get ourselves into trouble more often than the average, but we're also good at finding ways to smooth those problems over. Self-empowerment is what we do. I've seen many, many other magickians in similar situations over the years; situations where just about anyone else would be in over their head and need to ask for help, but the magickian is able to navigate the situation safely themselves, and find their own way to get better. So, if it were anyone else, I would be much more worried. But because I know he is a damned good magickian, I can feel confident in the fact that he has a much greater chance of successfully pulling himself out of this hole he's digging right now, if and when he ever feels the need to.
So, for now, I'm just going to keep my eye on him, and just try to be there if and when he decides he needs my help. If I get a chance at any point during the AGM next week, maybe I'll try to tell him a little bit of my story, just to let him know that I've recently been in the same situation.
At the very least, I want to pay attention to him, as a living, breathing example of the possible future I only recently so narrowly escaped.
After sobering up, you run into an old friend, and realize that they have the same problem.
Maybe it's a new development. Or maybe they've always been an addict or alcoholic, but you just couldn't see it before, through the rose-tinted glasses of your own addictions. Either way, the question you now have to face is: what do you do?
When I got together with my old Temple last weekend, it was immediately obvious to me that in the last couple of years, while I was away, one of my old friends has become an alcoholic. The first thing I noticed, as soon as I saw him, was that he's put on at least fifty pounds. He's always been a thin, handsome guy, so the weight is really apparent now. But he doesn't look fat; he just looks bloated. When I got there, he was finishing up a scotch. I assume it was his first, but I don't really know, because as soon as he finished that one, he poured himself another. And twenty minutes later, when he'd finished that one, he poured himself a third. Then we went out to dinner, where he had a 32 oz. beer, and two large bottles of sake, all by himself.
Now, that's a lot for one person to drink in just a few hours, but that doesn't automatically make him an alcoholic. The nail in the coffin was that, even after all of that, he didn't seem drunk. He was a bit red in the face, and he was obviously loose and feeling good, but he didn't seem sloppy; he wasn't slurring his words or stumbling or anything like that. So, either it takes that much alcohol just in order for him to get a good buzz on, or he's really good at hiding just how drunk he really is. Either way, combine that with the weight gain, and it's clear this is a chronic thing with him. And just in case it wasn't certain already, at one point he made a "joke" about how he doesn't even taste his first two beers of the night; that as soon as he gets home from work, he immediately pounds two beers, and then he interacts with his wife and sons. He seemed to think that was funny, but I'm not sure why.
So, now the big question: what do I do?
The answer is surprisingly simple. I don't do anything.
Now, he's my friend, and I'm obviously worried about him. But I have to remember that there really isn't anything I can do. I'm aware of the situation, and I'm going to keep my eyes open, but that's about it in terms of my available options here. If an opportunity arises at some point down the road for me to somehow subtly let him know that I know what he's going through, and that I'm available for him if he needs anything, then great. If not, that's okay, too.
Ultimately, he's responsible for himself, and no one will be able to help him unless he believes he has a problem and he wants help with it. If I were to confront him about his drinking in some way, all that would serve to do would be to alienate him and strain, or possibly even end, our friendship. And if he does end up needing help at some point down the road, then that's the worst thing I could possibly have done, because then I wouldn't be there to be able to help him anymore.
There's also the hammer/nail problem of being a newly recovered addict. As in, "when you're a Hammer, everything looks like a Nail." There is nothing worse than the self-righteous douchebag with a handful of weeks sober, who suddenly decides to start going around diagnosing everyone else as alcoholics, as though being a drunk somehow made them an expert. But even beyond simply not wanting to be that asshole, what's more important is that I could be wrong. It doesn't seem all that likely in this situation, but it's definitely possible. Maybe he doesn't usually drink like that; maybe he had a hard week and was just blowing off some extra steam that night. There's no way for me to know, and it would be premature for me to judge him after just a couple of hours. And newly sober people do have a tendency to start seeing addicts and alcoholics everywhere. And yes, part of that is because they are everywhere, and because we don't tend to notice them as easily when we are one of them, and then they suddenly stand out like sore thumbs once we clean ourselves up. But it's equally as true that we tend to project our issues onto other people, and see problems that aren't really there. Not everyone who enjoys a few drinks has a problem, and it's easy for the person who does have a problem to lose sight of that. And there's really no way to tell if someone really has a problem, or if you just think they have a problem, and so it's usually best to just keep your mouth shut and observe for a while, and just try to make yourself available.
Another thing that is important to remember in this situation, but that is often forgotten, is that there is a big difference between being addicted to alcohol and being a dysfunctional drunk. It seems pretty clear to me that my friend has become addicted to alcohol. But, as far as I can tell, the only negative effect that seems to be having on his life, is his health. (And maybe his wallet.) And if that's all - if he's still doing his job well, and maintaining relationships, and being a good husband and father and friend (all of which seem to be true) - then who am I to judge him? We each have to decide how much our own health is worth to us, and it's no one else's place to tell us how much it should be worth to us. (Our families might have some say in that decision, but that's about as far as it goes. As a friend, I'm certainly not in any place to be telling him how to feel about himself.) And so if he's enjoying his drinking, and he doesn't mind the toll it's taking on his health, or he thinks that is a reasonable price to pay for the amount of joy or pleasure he is getting out of it, and it isn't interfering with his ability to maintain his responsibilities and be a decent human being, then that's entirely his decision to make, and I really have no reason to be sticking my nose into his business.
And there's one more wrinkle to this situation that applies to this friend in particular. I can't forget that he is a powerful chaos magickian. And we magickians (chaos magickians in particular, I think) have a much greater tendency to get ourselves into trouble. As a general rule, we push boundaries. We try to find the edge of things, and then live there. (Another way I don't fit the general model, as I tend to bounce back and forth from edge to edge in order to find the middle.) But we also have a much greater tendency to find our own solutions to the problems we create for ourselves. We get ourselves into trouble more often than the average, but we're also good at finding ways to smooth those problems over. Self-empowerment is what we do. I've seen many, many other magickians in similar situations over the years; situations where just about anyone else would be in over their head and need to ask for help, but the magickian is able to navigate the situation safely themselves, and find their own way to get better. So, if it were anyone else, I would be much more worried. But because I know he is a damned good magickian, I can feel confident in the fact that he has a much greater chance of successfully pulling himself out of this hole he's digging right now, if and when he ever feels the need to.
So, for now, I'm just going to keep my eye on him, and just try to be there if and when he decides he needs my help. If I get a chance at any point during the AGM next week, maybe I'll try to tell him a little bit of my story, just to let him know that I've recently been in the same situation.
At the very least, I want to pay attention to him, as a living, breathing example of the possible future I only recently so narrowly escaped.
Saturday, August 11, 2012
Friendships In Chaos, pt. 2...
We also did a ritual last weekend, my friends and I.
I haven't done that in a very long time. Not even by myself, let alone with my old Temple-mates.
It wasn't even a proper ritual, really. Just a little, nothing, throw-away rite. But I was amazed at how it made me feel. To be in that place. To be with those people.
To be doing magick.
I had completely forgotten just how much I love doing that. How much I love even just the sensation of doing it! The feeling of energy flowing through me, like a conduit. Finding the sense of the "flow" of the ritual, and then letting it pull me along. The pleasure of power coming into me, and erupting out of me. The drama, the spectacle, the art, the dance and the poetry of The Ritual.
It felt like making love with a best friend I hadn't seen in years.
When it was over, I found myself swallowing back tears. And once again, I was struck by the sudden and almost overwhelming realization of just how desperately I missed this thing that I had willingly let go, honestly believing that I no longer had any use for it.
And maybe I didn't have any use for it back then. And maybe I still don't. But it's clear to me now, that I need to find a reason to do it. Because it is obviously a lot more important to me than I had allowed myself to believe. It is clearly filling a hole in my life that I didn't know was there; that I thought I had already filled long ago.
I know now that I need to do this. I don't know why I need to do it yet, but I know I need to do it.
And I can't help but notice that this all happened only two weeks before I get the opportunity to spend an entire week doing nothing but playing with magick, with a group of the best magickians from all over the world. Isn't that strange?
I'm sure it's just a coincidence.
I haven't done that in a very long time. Not even by myself, let alone with my old Temple-mates.
It wasn't even a proper ritual, really. Just a little, nothing, throw-away rite. But I was amazed at how it made me feel. To be in that place. To be with those people.
To be doing magick.
I had completely forgotten just how much I love doing that. How much I love even just the sensation of doing it! The feeling of energy flowing through me, like a conduit. Finding the sense of the "flow" of the ritual, and then letting it pull me along. The pleasure of power coming into me, and erupting out of me. The drama, the spectacle, the art, the dance and the poetry of The Ritual.
It felt like making love with a best friend I hadn't seen in years.
When it was over, I found myself swallowing back tears. And once again, I was struck by the sudden and almost overwhelming realization of just how desperately I missed this thing that I had willingly let go, honestly believing that I no longer had any use for it.
And maybe I didn't have any use for it back then. And maybe I still don't. But it's clear to me now, that I need to find a reason to do it. Because it is obviously a lot more important to me than I had allowed myself to believe. It is clearly filling a hole in my life that I didn't know was there; that I thought I had already filled long ago.
I know now that I need to do this. I don't know why I need to do it yet, but I know I need to do it.
And I can't help but notice that this all happened only two weeks before I get the opportunity to spend an entire week doing nothing but playing with magick, with a group of the best magickians from all over the world. Isn't that strange?
I'm sure it's just a coincidence.
Friday, August 10, 2012
Friendships In Chaos, pt. 1...
Even though I can't talk about my concerns about the upcoming AGM, I had an experience with the IOT last weekend that I actually can talk about. As usual, I can't discuss what we were doing, but for whatever reason, I had cause to get together with my old Temple this weekend, and that brought up a lot of feelings that went beyond simple nostalgia.
I realized, first and foremost, just how much I miss my friends. It's a shame that my friendships got all wrapped up in the Temple the way they did, but it just worked out that way; most of my best friends were in the Temple, and the rest of my relationships with the larger group of my friends were through my friendships with my Temple-mates. And so when the Temple slowly dissolved, and I lost interest in (and reasons to do) magick, then I also suddenly lost my connection to almost all of my friends. They all live at least an hour away from me, so it's a bit of an investment of time and energy (and finances as well, with current fuel prices - even with my new fuel-efficient car) to go see them. And over the years I'd just gotten used to having this set reason to see them all regularly: the Temple and the IOT. So, with that gone, I no longer had a regular excuse to get together with them. If we were going to see each other, I was going to have to make the effort to stay in touch, and make the trips out there and back, just for the sole purpose of hanging out together.
But I didn't want to do that. For a lot of reasons. A lot of it boils down to the fact that I just don't do that. Maybe I don't do it just because I've never had a reason to before, I don't know; but I know that it isn't something I do. I like having friends, but I don't feel like I need friends in order to be happy. So, if it takes any significant amount of effort to maintain a friendship, I just won't bother. And I can't overlook the fact that I was high and drunk during a lot of this time, as well, which affected things in a variety of ways. It left me with even less energy to expend towards maintaining long-distance friendships, as well as numbing me to any sense of loneliness I may have otherwise felt; I was comfortably drunk and/or high, so I never felt like I was missing anything by not having relationships with these people anymore. And it was also creating a lot of other negative effects in my life, as well, and I wasn't exactly eager to share those parts of myself with my friends, people whom I'd like to impress, if I'm able. And beyond being a fat and lazy drunk, I was also going through a lot of other issues at the time that I didn't really feel like advertising: identity crises, marriage problems, spiritual voids, etc. Frankly, I just didn't want anyone to see me like that.
And it's only now, after seeing everyone again this weekend, and the "looking back" that naturally flows from that experience, that I realize - it wasn't just that I didn't feel like I needed friends, or that I felt it wasn't worth the energy to maintain those relationships - it's that, for a variety of reasons having to do with my own feelings about myself, I actively did not want any friends. I wanted to be alone. So, I just went about my life, and didn't bother trying to maintain these friendships, and didn't think much about it. And before I knew it, two years had gone by. And if it weren't for the fact that I had to get together with them again for the AGM this year, it almost certainly would've been even longer before I saw any of them again.
But seeing everyone again this weekend also made me realize, I don't feel that way anymore. I miss my friends. And I want to be a part of their life again. And I want them to be a part of mine. And it is very much worth my time and energy to make that happen.
But I'm worried that I won't be accepted. I'm really not the same person that I was two years ago. And I know they're all expecting me to be. Not because they're trying to force me into some pre-determined mold or anything; that's not what I mean. It's just, that's the person they've known me to be for years, so who else could they expect me to be? But I'm really not him anymore. I'm not dark the way that I used to be. I'm not a pervert the way I used to be. I'm not into the same things I used to be into. I'm sober for fuck's sake. I'm not even really a magickian anymore. I've mellowed out and matured so much in my old age (I'm not even forty yet, but I feel like an old man). And I'm worried that when they get to know this new version of me, that they'll find him boring, and lame. (And, I have to admit, a part of me is worried that I might feel the same way about them, as well.) Being around them makes me feel pressured to be the person I was. And I have to try keep that from changing me too much; I have to let it affect me a little (what's the point of having a relationship with someone if you don't let them affect you at all?), but I can't let it affect me so much that I compromise myself in order to fit my perception of their expectations of me, or in order to gain their approval. I need to be myself - or at least the version of myself that they bring out in me - and I need to be okay with the fact that maybe some people won't like me as much anymore.
But I definitely know that I need to try now. Because being with them again just felt good. And it felt like the right thing to do. And it made me realize that, even though I haven't let myself feel it for a long time, I really do miss them.
I realized, first and foremost, just how much I miss my friends. It's a shame that my friendships got all wrapped up in the Temple the way they did, but it just worked out that way; most of my best friends were in the Temple, and the rest of my relationships with the larger group of my friends were through my friendships with my Temple-mates. And so when the Temple slowly dissolved, and I lost interest in (and reasons to do) magick, then I also suddenly lost my connection to almost all of my friends. They all live at least an hour away from me, so it's a bit of an investment of time and energy (and finances as well, with current fuel prices - even with my new fuel-efficient car) to go see them. And over the years I'd just gotten used to having this set reason to see them all regularly: the Temple and the IOT. So, with that gone, I no longer had a regular excuse to get together with them. If we were going to see each other, I was going to have to make the effort to stay in touch, and make the trips out there and back, just for the sole purpose of hanging out together.
But I didn't want to do that. For a lot of reasons. A lot of it boils down to the fact that I just don't do that. Maybe I don't do it just because I've never had a reason to before, I don't know; but I know that it isn't something I do. I like having friends, but I don't feel like I need friends in order to be happy. So, if it takes any significant amount of effort to maintain a friendship, I just won't bother. And I can't overlook the fact that I was high and drunk during a lot of this time, as well, which affected things in a variety of ways. It left me with even less energy to expend towards maintaining long-distance friendships, as well as numbing me to any sense of loneliness I may have otherwise felt; I was comfortably drunk and/or high, so I never felt like I was missing anything by not having relationships with these people anymore. And it was also creating a lot of other negative effects in my life, as well, and I wasn't exactly eager to share those parts of myself with my friends, people whom I'd like to impress, if I'm able. And beyond being a fat and lazy drunk, I was also going through a lot of other issues at the time that I didn't really feel like advertising: identity crises, marriage problems, spiritual voids, etc. Frankly, I just didn't want anyone to see me like that.
And it's only now, after seeing everyone again this weekend, and the "looking back" that naturally flows from that experience, that I realize - it wasn't just that I didn't feel like I needed friends, or that I felt it wasn't worth the energy to maintain those relationships - it's that, for a variety of reasons having to do with my own feelings about myself, I actively did not want any friends. I wanted to be alone. So, I just went about my life, and didn't bother trying to maintain these friendships, and didn't think much about it. And before I knew it, two years had gone by. And if it weren't for the fact that I had to get together with them again for the AGM this year, it almost certainly would've been even longer before I saw any of them again.
But seeing everyone again this weekend also made me realize, I don't feel that way anymore. I miss my friends. And I want to be a part of their life again. And I want them to be a part of mine. And it is very much worth my time and energy to make that happen.
But I'm worried that I won't be accepted. I'm really not the same person that I was two years ago. And I know they're all expecting me to be. Not because they're trying to force me into some pre-determined mold or anything; that's not what I mean. It's just, that's the person they've known me to be for years, so who else could they expect me to be? But I'm really not him anymore. I'm not dark the way that I used to be. I'm not a pervert the way I used to be. I'm not into the same things I used to be into. I'm sober for fuck's sake. I'm not even really a magickian anymore. I've mellowed out and matured so much in my old age (I'm not even forty yet, but I feel like an old man). And I'm worried that when they get to know this new version of me, that they'll find him boring, and lame. (And, I have to admit, a part of me is worried that I might feel the same way about them, as well.) Being around them makes me feel pressured to be the person I was. And I have to try keep that from changing me too much; I have to let it affect me a little (what's the point of having a relationship with someone if you don't let them affect you at all?), but I can't let it affect me so much that I compromise myself in order to fit my perception of their expectations of me, or in order to gain their approval. I need to be myself - or at least the version of myself that they bring out in me - and I need to be okay with the fact that maybe some people won't like me as much anymore.
But I definitely know that I need to try now. Because being with them again just felt good. And it felt like the right thing to do. And it made me realize that, even though I haven't let myself feel it for a long time, I really do miss them.
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