I think I fell off the wagon last night.
No, that's not right. I know I fell off the wagon last night. Just hard to say it, is all.
She and I and her friend went out to our bar. I had my first non-alcoholic beer. I assumed that would be safe. It was even recommended to me as an option by my chemical dependency therapist. But the weirdest thing happened.
I got a little drunk!
There's this feeling you get when you first take a drink. It's more emotional and perceptual than physical; not like getting high. It's just this feeling of suddenly being happier, more relaxed, more interested in what other people are saying, feeling more outgoing and talkative. And it's an immediate reaction - you can feel it after just a few sips. And it's more pronounced and obvious for alcoholics like myself. Anyone can notice it, but it's really, really obvious to us.
And halfway through my first supposedly non-alcoholic beer, I felt it, clear as day. It must've been the Placebo Effect, there's no other explanation for it. After that one, I had two more, and thankfully, the feeling never went any further than that, but still, that was enough. Even just the beginning of the feeling of getting drunk was apparently enough to trigger me.
After we left the bar, my leg was really killing me. So I decided to take a pain pill. It's hard to say how much of that was legitimate and how much of it was just my desire to continue the feeling of getting high that had started with the near-beer. Yeah, my leg hurt really badly, but I probably could've suffered through it if I really wanted to. And there's no mistaking that I really did want very badly to get high right then. More so than I have in recent memory, actually. So, if I'm honest, I'd have to say that the sore leg was probably just a convenient excuse.
We got home, I took my pill, and the girls went back out again to hit another bar. I plopped down on the couch and started playing video games. It took almost two hours for the pill to kick in, but when it did, it felt like a long, low-intensity, sustained orgasm. Less than thirty minutes later, I took another one. And then I started drinking an energy drink, so that I wouldn't pass out and could stay up and enjoy the pleasure of the pills all night long. This is one of my favorites of my old ways to masturbate myself to death. I call it my "poor man's speedball."
In the span of three hours, I had gone from comfortably sober, to neck-deep in the exact same hole I almost died in just two months ago.
And I didn't even feel guilty about it. I enjoyed every second of it, playing my game and feeling so fantastic, until I finally started to nod off around 3 a.m.
And I still don't feel guilty about it, which I think is even scarier. I feel responsible, to be sure, but not guilty. I feel like I did this to myself, but somehow, I also feel like it was an honest mistake. (WTF??) I had no way of knowing that drinking a motherfucking non-alcoholic beer could possibly affect me in a way that was so unbelievably similar to drinking an actual beer. Yes, I totally let my guard down, and ended up fucking myself because of it, but I really don't think I could've possibly known that I needed to have my guard up in that situation. I mean, it's non-alcoholic beer, for fuck's sake! Its entire purpose is for alcoholics to be able to drink it safely! How could I have possibly known?! Yes, it's still my fault for taking it much, much further after that. But that's how addiction works. Addicts aren't like "normal" people. An addict can't just have a little taste and then simply walk away. That's what makes them an addict. And last night, I had a little taste, without realizing it until it was too late, and I wasn't at all prepared for it. And then I couldn't walk away.
I feel like I should be beating myself up about this. Feeling like a failure. But I know that's a trap. You let yourself feel like a failure, or get down on yourself too much for not being perfect, and then it's just a short step to saying, "Fuck it, why even bother?" Addicts relapse. That's just a fact. And believe it or not, the healthy response to relapse is to accept it, dust yourself off, and climb back on the wagon, resolved to hang on tighter next time. Accept responsibility, yes - but don't hate on yourself for not being perfect. Just try again, and try harder.
Learn the lesson and keep going.
I ended up not being able to sleep at all last night. And I mean that literally and sincerely - I laid in bed, awake, and gloriously high, for six hours, and did not fall asleep for even a moment. Whether from the pills or the energy drink, I can't say. It could be either. But I'm choosing to interpret it as my penance. And I'm accepting it gladly, and with humility. (I hope so, anyways. I'm trying.)
And I know one thing for certain: I'll never take non-alcoholic beer lightly again.
Showing posts with label honesty. Show all posts
Showing posts with label honesty. Show all posts
Saturday, May 5, 2012
Friday, April 13, 2012
Life on Mars?!...
"Scientists have discovered life on Mars."
Dozing on the couch early this morning, between snooze alarms, I hear that sentence come from the newscast on my television, and I am instantly awake. My eyes pop open and I sit bolt-upright, throwing the blanket off my chest.
"Scientists are now saying they believe a lander sent over 30 years ago actually did discover life on Mars. Now, this isn't the little-green-men kind of life, but they say they have found evidence of biological activity on the Red Planet. In other news..."
"That's IT?!"
I'm all at once astounded, amazed, and outraged. We found life on another fucking planet - and not just any other planet, but one of the closest planets to us - and it gets a less-than-10-second blurb between the Weather and the latest update on the Gingrich "campaign"? What the fuck is wrong with that picture?!
Finding life on Mars is a HUUUGE deal! Astronomically huge, you could say, pun completely intended. Because, first of all, finding any life anywhere else would change everything we now know about our place in the universe. It would change the entire outlook of every single religion practiced by humanity! For the first time in the entire history of life on Earth, we would know that we are not alone! So, yeah, kind of a big deal.
But then to find life on Mars, specifically, would increase the importance of that discovery by an order of magnitude. Because it could mean one of two things: either, A) life actually began on Mars, and later traveled to Earth, essentially changing our entire concept of the origin of our species (for instance, a large asteroid slams into Mars, blowing chunks of it out into space, which later hit Earth as meteorites [we've already found Martian-meteorites in Antarctica]; and some of the bacteria or other organisms on some of those Martian-meteorites could've survived the trip, essentially becoming "seeds" that later flowered in our environment); or B) if life actually formed on two-out-of-eight planets in our incredibly-ordinary-solar-system - if we found evidence of a second genesis right next-door to us - then life must be incredibly common in the universe.
So hopefully you can understand why I'm a little upset that they didn't think this story warranted more than just a headline.
I have to know more. So I grab my laptop and start searching the news feeds. Doesn't take long to find an article that goes into a lot more depth. And I'm disappointed (though, I hate to say, not surprised) to discover that once again, the media has simultaneously dumbed-down and overblown another science story.
No one has discovered any life on Mars. The actual story, beyond the sensational headline, turns out to be that a team of mathematicians took another look at the hard-copy data of the soil samples taken by the two Viking landers back in 1976. They analyzed these numbers to determine their level of complexity, using a new theory that biological systems are much more complex than non-biological ones. And, using this new theory, they found data that was so complex, that they believe the only explanation is that it shows evidence of biological life-forms.
So, at most, what they've actually discovered is evidence of the possibility of some sort of biology on Mars, at some point. Hardly the same thing as finding "life on Mars." But then on top of that, this mathematical-complexity-theory of biological systems that they've based all of their findings on, hasn't even been proven to work on Earth! So all of their findings are based on a method that they haven't even proven yet!
How in the fuck do you get from "mathematicians have used an unproven theory on 36 year-old data to suggest the possibility that life may have existed on Mars at some point" to "Scientists have discovered life on Mars?!"
Unfortunately, this is something I see time and again from the mainstream news media. They did it with the whole "Large Hadron Collider May Create Black Hole and Destroy Earth" story (no, it won't). And they did it again recently with the "Scientists Have Discovered Particles Traveling Faster Than Light" story (no, they didn't). They never report actual scientific findings. Instead, at the barest hint of only the most sensational stories (black holes gobbling up the planet, speed-of-light barrier broken, life on Mars, etc.) they jump all over it, remove anything resembling context, evidence, or truth, and splash the tabloid-esque headline across the front page or the evening newscast: "Bat Boy Found on Mars Travelling Faster Than Light! 'Trying to Destroy Earth,' Say 'Scientists'!"
Ugh.
It's mornings like this that I weep for my species.
< /nerdrant >
Dozing on the couch early this morning, between snooze alarms, I hear that sentence come from the newscast on my television, and I am instantly awake. My eyes pop open and I sit bolt-upright, throwing the blanket off my chest.
"Scientists are now saying they believe a lander sent over 30 years ago actually did discover life on Mars. Now, this isn't the little-green-men kind of life, but they say they have found evidence of biological activity on the Red Planet. In other news..."
"That's IT?!"
I'm all at once astounded, amazed, and outraged. We found life on another fucking planet - and not just any other planet, but one of the closest planets to us - and it gets a less-than-10-second blurb between the Weather and the latest update on the Gingrich "campaign"? What the fuck is wrong with that picture?!
Finding life on Mars is a HUUUGE deal! Astronomically huge, you could say, pun completely intended. Because, first of all, finding any life anywhere else would change everything we now know about our place in the universe. It would change the entire outlook of every single religion practiced by humanity! For the first time in the entire history of life on Earth, we would know that we are not alone! So, yeah, kind of a big deal.
But then to find life on Mars, specifically, would increase the importance of that discovery by an order of magnitude. Because it could mean one of two things: either, A) life actually began on Mars, and later traveled to Earth, essentially changing our entire concept of the origin of our species (for instance, a large asteroid slams into Mars, blowing chunks of it out into space, which later hit Earth as meteorites [we've already found Martian-meteorites in Antarctica]; and some of the bacteria or other organisms on some of those Martian-meteorites could've survived the trip, essentially becoming "seeds" that later flowered in our environment); or B) if life actually formed on two-out-of-eight planets in our incredibly-ordinary-solar-system - if we found evidence of a second genesis right next-door to us - then life must be incredibly common in the universe.
So hopefully you can understand why I'm a little upset that they didn't think this story warranted more than just a headline.
I have to know more. So I grab my laptop and start searching the news feeds. Doesn't take long to find an article that goes into a lot more depth. And I'm disappointed (though, I hate to say, not surprised) to discover that once again, the media has simultaneously dumbed-down and overblown another science story.
No one has discovered any life on Mars. The actual story, beyond the sensational headline, turns out to be that a team of mathematicians took another look at the hard-copy data of the soil samples taken by the two Viking landers back in 1976. They analyzed these numbers to determine their level of complexity, using a new theory that biological systems are much more complex than non-biological ones. And, using this new theory, they found data that was so complex, that they believe the only explanation is that it shows evidence of biological life-forms.
So, at most, what they've actually discovered is evidence of the possibility of some sort of biology on Mars, at some point. Hardly the same thing as finding "life on Mars." But then on top of that, this mathematical-complexity-theory of biological systems that they've based all of their findings on, hasn't even been proven to work on Earth! So all of their findings are based on a method that they haven't even proven yet!
How in the fuck do you get from "mathematicians have used an unproven theory on 36 year-old data to suggest the possibility that life may have existed on Mars at some point" to "Scientists have discovered life on Mars?!"
Unfortunately, this is something I see time and again from the mainstream news media. They did it with the whole "Large Hadron Collider May Create Black Hole and Destroy Earth" story (no, it won't). And they did it again recently with the "Scientists Have Discovered Particles Traveling Faster Than Light" story (no, they didn't). They never report actual scientific findings. Instead, at the barest hint of only the most sensational stories (black holes gobbling up the planet, speed-of-light barrier broken, life on Mars, etc.) they jump all over it, remove anything resembling context, evidence, or truth, and splash the tabloid-esque headline across the front page or the evening newscast: "Bat Boy Found on Mars Travelling Faster Than Light! 'Trying to Destroy Earth,' Say 'Scientists'!"
Ugh.
It's mornings like this that I weep for my species.
< /nerdrant >
Monday, April 9, 2012
It's Not A River, It's A Bullet...
"Denial is how it kills you," he said.
They were sitting on the beach, watching the waves, the Sun setting behind them, feeling the cool, salty air on their faces, and discussing their respective abuses. They were three days into their week-long vacation, the first the three brothers had taken together since the youngest was still a baby, and the first they had ever taken together as adults. The youngest had just recently graduated college, and this trip was a sort of present for him from the older two. At that moment, he was back up at the cottage, enjoying his girlfriend, while the older two were on the beach, the eldest trying his best to educate the middle brother with whatever bullshit-wisdom he'd managed to glean by that point in his life. He felt it was his duty, in some way, as the oldest. Especially now that their parents were gone.
"Yeah, it's the denial that gets you. That's the one thing they got right in those meetings. You can have a relatively easy time of things, and keep using for a long, long time, so long as you don't start lying to yourself about it. But the second you start thinking, 'I don't have a problem,' then the drug's got you, and you're done for."
The waves crashed on the beach in a constant rhythm, like the slow, steady heartbeat of the world. A young family flew a kite together some yards away down the beach from where the two brothers sat, and a man fished the surf down in the other direction. The middle brother sat silent, listening, not knowing what to say; not sure if he should.
"It starts off, you're just having a good time. Being young and reckless and free, and feeling as good as you possibly can. Nothin' wrong with that. But, it's inevitable - at some point, it's going to change you. That 'want' is going to slowly turn into 'need.' And it's so hard to tell when that's happening. And if you're not looking for it, you'll never see it. So that's the thing - you have to always be looking for it. Always. You have to be constantly asking yourself, 'Am I addicted to this? Am I starting to need it?' And the first time you're not 100% certain that the answer is 'No,' then the answer is 'Yes.'"
The waves crashed, and the breeze kissed their faces. The little girl screamed happily as she flew her kite, and a gull cried somewhere over the water. The middle brother stared out across the ocean at the blurry blue line of the horizon, feeling sheepish and guilty, and more than a little stupid, as he so often did when he talked with his older brother. He realized he'd never even thought of these things, let alone asked himself these questions. Am I an addict?, he asked himself. And he realized, he didn't know the answer.
"So, that's the key: near-constant self-reflection, combined with brutal honesty. It's the only way to do this shit, and be able to enjoy it, and not end up fuckin' dyin' from it. 'The price of freedom is eternal vigilance.' You have to be able to look at yourself and say 'I'm an addict. I'm a drunk. I'm a fuckin' junkie.' You have to be able to recognize that, and to accept it about yourself. That doesn't excuse it, of course. Doesn't make it ok just because you can admit it. But, if you can't say that to yourself, then you'll never even have a chance to make it right, because you'll never even know that anything was wrong."
The sky was slowly progressing from yellow to orange, and the breeze was starting to pick up. It was going to be a beautiful night. The middle brother didn't think he could ask himself those questions. And he was sure he couldn't answer them correctly. His whole life, his brothers had always seemed to do everything better than he did. And he looked up to them both, and loved them both so much. He felt surrounded by their greatness; almost comforted by it, in a way. But that only made his feeling of mediocrity that much more acute by comparison. He's talking about this like it's the easiest thing in the fucking world to do. But I can't stand to think about myself at all, so how the fuck am I supposed to be able to do it constantly? Hell, that's one of the reasons I like getting high so much in the first place, so I don't have to think about this shit.
"That is the only thing that keeps this urge in check. Without it, you've got no reason to resist at all. Remember, getting high is a constant downward slide, and at the bottom is degradation, at best; death, at worst. You wanna stay up near the top of that slide, where it's all still fun and games. Where it isn't consuming you, taking over your whole life. And that honest self-reflection, that willingness to admit to yourself, and the world, that you have a problem, is the one and only tool you have to keep yourself from sailing off down that slide and into nothing."
A constant downward slide, huh? Well, thanks for telling me that now, big brother. He watched as the fisherman down the beach wrestled to bring in a sandshark, and remembered the first time he'd gotten high. He'd been fifteen at the time, and it had been a Summer night, a lot like this one. Big brother had said, "Yeah, I guess you're about old enough now," as though he were answering a question that no one had asked. Then he'd said, "Follow me," and they'd walked out into the woods behind their family's house. They'd sat down against the base of a big tree, and passed a joint, watching the fireflies come on. To this day, it was one of the greatest nights of his life. He couldn't help but feel that this warning was coming a bit too late.
"Drugs are a tool; they serve a purpose. They're not inherently good or bad. It's all in how you use them. But they're a dangerous tool. Like a gun. And like a gun, you have to treat them carefully, and with respect, or they'll kill you. If you don't ask yourself these questions, constantly - or if you can't answer them honestly - then you're done for. You won't have any reason to slow down at all, and you'll use more and more, needing more and more to get less and less out of it, as it eats away at your body; your mind. Your soul, even. You'll lose your Self. And then what've you got? Because that's all you ever had, right? I'm speakin' from experience here. It's so easy to think you've got everything under control, and it's everyone else who has the problem, not you. But that's the Need talkin'. And you can't listen to it. You just gotta keep asking yourself those questions, never stop wondering if this is the day it's finally happened to you - because it will, eventually, some day."
He'd heard this gun metaphor before. It was one of big brother's favorites. He honestly didn't know if he had a problem or not, but how could he say that out loud, to this man he'd looked up to his entire life? This person whose approval he had sought for as long as he could remember, almost even more than he had their parents'? He watched the little girl flying her kite, as happy as a person ever could be, and he thought about it, really thought about it for the first time. He knew he didn't use anywhere near as much as either of his brothers, but he also knew that they were both a lot more successful than he was, and that they didn't struggle with anything the way he always seemed to. And this had always seemed to come so easily to them. But lately, it'd been all he could do to make sure he didn't get sick at work. He could even remember a couple of times where he'd had to choose between getting high and getting groceries. It hadn't been that hard to bum food off of people. Easier than he'd thought. Definitely easier than bumming dope. He was sure his brothers had never been in a similar situation. They'd never allow it.
"But as long as you can do that, as long as you can ask and answer those difficult questions without flinching, then you'll be alright. You'll be able to see the bottom of that slide coming at you, and you'll have a chance to do something about it. You'll be able to say, 'Whoa, hold on a minute here! This isn't what I want. I gotta cut this shit out for a while.' But you have to be able to recognize that there's a problem before you can hope to do anything about it. Ha, don't look so worried, little brother. We come from a long line of drunks and junkies and users - it's in our blood. Their voices are inside of us. Listen to them, and they'll tell you what to do. They'll steer you right."
He didn't know what to say. What could he say? He understood, and on some level he already knew. But he couldn't do anything about it. He wasn't like them. He couldn't be honest with himself that way. He didn't want to. He knew he felt safe when he was with his brothers, like they'd be able to take care of everything. And he knew he never felt that way when he was by himself. His whole life, he'd wanted nothing more than to be like the two of them. But he knew he never would be. And now, he also knew, that would be the end of him.
I need to say something, he thought. He watched that little girl with her kite and he remembered those days, what that felt like, and he knew they were gone, and he wanted to be like her. And he felt the sting in his eye and he felt his lip begin to curl and he thought, I need to say it, I need to say it now, I need to say it right now... And he felt the breeze come on strong all of a sudden, in the opposite direction, a gust of moist brine blowing through him. And he saw the kite dive from the sky in the sudden reversal of force, saw it dive straight at her, saw it smash her in the face and knock her to the sand. Her shrill screams filled the beach, and the gulls took flight in alarm, screaming with her, as if they knew.
"Come on," big brother said, standing up and brushing the sand from his legs. "I bet those two're done by now. Let's see if baby brother has any of those joints left. We'll get twisted before dinner."
...
This story was inspired by a piece of my dreaming last night. In the dream, I was one of the two characters on the beach (not saying which), but I decided to write it in third person, just as an exercise. As before, I just let it come to me, one piece at a time, sort of letting the story tell itself.
As much as I enjoyed writing this, I can't wait to have something else to write about. It can't all be drug addiction and death. I know I must have something else to say, some other story to tell.
Patience, child...
They were sitting on the beach, watching the waves, the Sun setting behind them, feeling the cool, salty air on their faces, and discussing their respective abuses. They were three days into their week-long vacation, the first the three brothers had taken together since the youngest was still a baby, and the first they had ever taken together as adults. The youngest had just recently graduated college, and this trip was a sort of present for him from the older two. At that moment, he was back up at the cottage, enjoying his girlfriend, while the older two were on the beach, the eldest trying his best to educate the middle brother with whatever bullshit-wisdom he'd managed to glean by that point in his life. He felt it was his duty, in some way, as the oldest. Especially now that their parents were gone.
"Yeah, it's the denial that gets you. That's the one thing they got right in those meetings. You can have a relatively easy time of things, and keep using for a long, long time, so long as you don't start lying to yourself about it. But the second you start thinking, 'I don't have a problem,' then the drug's got you, and you're done for."
The waves crashed on the beach in a constant rhythm, like the slow, steady heartbeat of the world. A young family flew a kite together some yards away down the beach from where the two brothers sat, and a man fished the surf down in the other direction. The middle brother sat silent, listening, not knowing what to say; not sure if he should.
"It starts off, you're just having a good time. Being young and reckless and free, and feeling as good as you possibly can. Nothin' wrong with that. But, it's inevitable - at some point, it's going to change you. That 'want' is going to slowly turn into 'need.' And it's so hard to tell when that's happening. And if you're not looking for it, you'll never see it. So that's the thing - you have to always be looking for it. Always. You have to be constantly asking yourself, 'Am I addicted to this? Am I starting to need it?' And the first time you're not 100% certain that the answer is 'No,' then the answer is 'Yes.'"
The waves crashed, and the breeze kissed their faces. The little girl screamed happily as she flew her kite, and a gull cried somewhere over the water. The middle brother stared out across the ocean at the blurry blue line of the horizon, feeling sheepish and guilty, and more than a little stupid, as he so often did when he talked with his older brother. He realized he'd never even thought of these things, let alone asked himself these questions. Am I an addict?, he asked himself. And he realized, he didn't know the answer.
"So, that's the key: near-constant self-reflection, combined with brutal honesty. It's the only way to do this shit, and be able to enjoy it, and not end up fuckin' dyin' from it. 'The price of freedom is eternal vigilance.' You have to be able to look at yourself and say 'I'm an addict. I'm a drunk. I'm a fuckin' junkie.' You have to be able to recognize that, and to accept it about yourself. That doesn't excuse it, of course. Doesn't make it ok just because you can admit it. But, if you can't say that to yourself, then you'll never even have a chance to make it right, because you'll never even know that anything was wrong."
The sky was slowly progressing from yellow to orange, and the breeze was starting to pick up. It was going to be a beautiful night. The middle brother didn't think he could ask himself those questions. And he was sure he couldn't answer them correctly. His whole life, his brothers had always seemed to do everything better than he did. And he looked up to them both, and loved them both so much. He felt surrounded by their greatness; almost comforted by it, in a way. But that only made his feeling of mediocrity that much more acute by comparison. He's talking about this like it's the easiest thing in the fucking world to do. But I can't stand to think about myself at all, so how the fuck am I supposed to be able to do it constantly? Hell, that's one of the reasons I like getting high so much in the first place, so I don't have to think about this shit.
"That is the only thing that keeps this urge in check. Without it, you've got no reason to resist at all. Remember, getting high is a constant downward slide, and at the bottom is degradation, at best; death, at worst. You wanna stay up near the top of that slide, where it's all still fun and games. Where it isn't consuming you, taking over your whole life. And that honest self-reflection, that willingness to admit to yourself, and the world, that you have a problem, is the one and only tool you have to keep yourself from sailing off down that slide and into nothing."
A constant downward slide, huh? Well, thanks for telling me that now, big brother. He watched as the fisherman down the beach wrestled to bring in a sandshark, and remembered the first time he'd gotten high. He'd been fifteen at the time, and it had been a Summer night, a lot like this one. Big brother had said, "Yeah, I guess you're about old enough now," as though he were answering a question that no one had asked. Then he'd said, "Follow me," and they'd walked out into the woods behind their family's house. They'd sat down against the base of a big tree, and passed a joint, watching the fireflies come on. To this day, it was one of the greatest nights of his life. He couldn't help but feel that this warning was coming a bit too late.
"Drugs are a tool; they serve a purpose. They're not inherently good or bad. It's all in how you use them. But they're a dangerous tool. Like a gun. And like a gun, you have to treat them carefully, and with respect, or they'll kill you. If you don't ask yourself these questions, constantly - or if you can't answer them honestly - then you're done for. You won't have any reason to slow down at all, and you'll use more and more, needing more and more to get less and less out of it, as it eats away at your body; your mind. Your soul, even. You'll lose your Self. And then what've you got? Because that's all you ever had, right? I'm speakin' from experience here. It's so easy to think you've got everything under control, and it's everyone else who has the problem, not you. But that's the Need talkin'. And you can't listen to it. You just gotta keep asking yourself those questions, never stop wondering if this is the day it's finally happened to you - because it will, eventually, some day."
He'd heard this gun metaphor before. It was one of big brother's favorites. He honestly didn't know if he had a problem or not, but how could he say that out loud, to this man he'd looked up to his entire life? This person whose approval he had sought for as long as he could remember, almost even more than he had their parents'? He watched the little girl flying her kite, as happy as a person ever could be, and he thought about it, really thought about it for the first time. He knew he didn't use anywhere near as much as either of his brothers, but he also knew that they were both a lot more successful than he was, and that they didn't struggle with anything the way he always seemed to. And this had always seemed to come so easily to them. But lately, it'd been all he could do to make sure he didn't get sick at work. He could even remember a couple of times where he'd had to choose between getting high and getting groceries. It hadn't been that hard to bum food off of people. Easier than he'd thought. Definitely easier than bumming dope. He was sure his brothers had never been in a similar situation. They'd never allow it.
"But as long as you can do that, as long as you can ask and answer those difficult questions without flinching, then you'll be alright. You'll be able to see the bottom of that slide coming at you, and you'll have a chance to do something about it. You'll be able to say, 'Whoa, hold on a minute here! This isn't what I want. I gotta cut this shit out for a while.' But you have to be able to recognize that there's a problem before you can hope to do anything about it. Ha, don't look so worried, little brother. We come from a long line of drunks and junkies and users - it's in our blood. Their voices are inside of us. Listen to them, and they'll tell you what to do. They'll steer you right."
He didn't know what to say. What could he say? He understood, and on some level he already knew. But he couldn't do anything about it. He wasn't like them. He couldn't be honest with himself that way. He didn't want to. He knew he felt safe when he was with his brothers, like they'd be able to take care of everything. And he knew he never felt that way when he was by himself. His whole life, he'd wanted nothing more than to be like the two of them. But he knew he never would be. And now, he also knew, that would be the end of him.
I need to say something, he thought. He watched that little girl with her kite and he remembered those days, what that felt like, and he knew they were gone, and he wanted to be like her. And he felt the sting in his eye and he felt his lip begin to curl and he thought, I need to say it, I need to say it now, I need to say it right now... And he felt the breeze come on strong all of a sudden, in the opposite direction, a gust of moist brine blowing through him. And he saw the kite dive from the sky in the sudden reversal of force, saw it dive straight at her, saw it smash her in the face and knock her to the sand. Her shrill screams filled the beach, and the gulls took flight in alarm, screaming with her, as if they knew.
"Come on," big brother said, standing up and brushing the sand from his legs. "I bet those two're done by now. Let's see if baby brother has any of those joints left. We'll get twisted before dinner."
...
This story was inspired by a piece of my dreaming last night. In the dream, I was one of the two characters on the beach (not saying which), but I decided to write it in third person, just as an exercise. As before, I just let it come to me, one piece at a time, sort of letting the story tell itself.
As much as I enjoyed writing this, I can't wait to have something else to write about. It can't all be drug addiction and death. I know I must have something else to say, some other story to tell.
Patience, child...
Friday, April 6, 2012
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Emptying, to Form...
Where am I going with this?
What am I doing?
What's wrong with me? Why am I so unhappy?
What do I want?
Do I love you, completely?
Do I love you, at all?
Or do I just need to feel loved by someone?
...
No. No, that's not the right question. I do love you. We've been through way too much together for way too long, have too much history, for me to not love you. There's a part of me that will always love you, in some way.
The question is, do I love you the way that I'm supposed to? Do I love you the way that a husband should love his wife? Or do I just love you as the one person I've been closer to in my life, and shared more of myself with, than any other?
And is there a difference?
Questions, questions, questions! Everywhere I look it's more fucking questions! WHERE ARE THE FUCKING ANSWERS?!!
...
I've moved out, temporarily. Checked myself into a hotel for the week.
Why? What do I hope to gain from that? Am I just trying to "shake things up" - just introduce a little anarchy into my life to see what happens? Am I just trying to force a random change? Or am I trying to step out of my life, to gain some perspective? Or am I just hiding? Just running away?
I don't know. I don't know if I ever knew.
I'm grasping at straws here. Suddenly, every single little thing is pregnant with meaning. Is this The Answer? Is this what I need? Will this make me better? Will this solve my problems?
How can I get better when I don't even know what's wrong? How can I find The Answer when I don't even know The Question??
Am I looking for fulfillment? Or do I just want a happy, satisfying marriage? Are they mutually exclusive? Or are they one and the same?
...
I keep coming back to this one thought. That I need to clean up my act. That everything will be better, and I will be happy and content, if I just give up the drink and all the rest, start working out and losing weight and eating right, start meditating again and studying the Tao, etc., etc.
But then I also can't shake the feeling that all of that is just a bunch of middle-aged, white, American, liberal, hipster bullshit.
But I'm following my gut, aren't I? That's what I'm doing right now. I'm following my gut instincts, blindly, in a desperate attempt to get away from wherever the fuck I am right now, to someplace, anyplace else.
And it's my gut that's telling me to follow that path. That salad yesterday (my first in I-can't-remember-when; it's been all pot pies and beer lately) was the best thing I've tasted in a long, long time. It's was, literally, unbelievably, shockingly delicious. And there was absolutely nothing special about it - just greens, some veggies, and oil & vinegar. I keep thinking about how wonderful it would be to just spend some time sitting still and being quiet. I keep dreaming of my gomden the way I've so often dreamed of the pipe. That stupid little weekly email quote from Pema Chodron felt like the Universe speaking directly to ME.
And it's my head that's telling me it's all a load of crap.
That means something.
Doesn't it?
But what if all of that only feels right because it's my safety net; because it's safe and familiar because that's what I do when I get lost in these existential crises? ("Existential Crisis" - jesus, talk about a first-world fucking problem. How spoiled of a brat do I have to be to even be taking any of this seriously? But, what, am I supposed to pretend I have the experience of a migrant worker in Guatemala or some shit?? I DON'T. I can only be who I am. And I am a white, middle-aged American liberal, who is fortunate enough to have the luxury of being able to engage in this kind of introspective panic.)
But what if that's what I do when I get in these situations because that's what I'm supposed to do in these situations because that is The Answer to these problems?!
Ugh, this is making me dizzy.
...
And way, way back in the deep down of me, I feel this fear. This fear that I'm going to die here. That I'm never going to get out of this maze of questions alive. That any reprieve is only temporary, and that I will always end up right back here.
That they're going to find me, cold and still on a hotel bed, the same way they found my mother.
I'm scared of the way that feels like Destiny.
...
And She says, "I'm sure it hurts! I can't imagine caring so much about so many things. It must be exhausting! Maybe you should get back into the Tao so you can let things go and ease your pain..."
And I can't help but laugh! She has no idea I've been thinking that, or writing this here, at the exact same time. Out of the mouths of babes...
Is it another sign? Or am I just connecting dots to find the pattern in the chaos that I want to see?
...
Is all of this just because I don't like myself? Is that why I feel compelled to do all of those self-improvements? Because I feel like I would like myself better?
...
When I'm drifting like this, grasping at straws, lost and desperate in this vague and undefined way, I find that I start to obsess about strange things. A lot of the time it starts as ordinary, banal escapism. But sometimes it leads me to the Way Out. The most famous example of this in my life so far, was reading Wild Cards in the bath way back when. In about the strangest way possible, it was those baths that led me directly to my first direct experience of the Tao. Changed my life forever.
Right now, it's The Moth.
I can't stop listening to it. Every story just makes me feel, so much, and so powerfully. And so I guess there must be something about that feel-ing that I need right now, just like I needed to disappear into the warm water back then. I would assume then, that also like the baths, I probably will only be able to explain this obsession in hindsight.
Follow Your Instincts.
It's the only thing I feel like I can do right now. When all else fails (and, let's be honest, all else really has failed here), then Follow Your Instincts.
It's the only thing I feel like I know, for certain.
...
Yesterday, the quote on Zen Pencils reminded me of Bill Hicks' "It's just a ride..." quote. I got a strong urge to submit that quote to the author/webmaster. In doing that, I had to find it in my PDA so I could copy and paste it into the email.
Just now, I needed to go into the same section of my PDA that holds all my little notes and stuff, to look up something else. It was still on the same page with the Bill Hicks' quote. That page is titled "Philosophies."
I have a collection of notes on my Philosophies of Life that I've collected over the years, stored in my PDA - and I had completely forgotten about it!
And there it was, right in the middle of the list: The Tao of ManniMoonYin that had come to me so many years ago under such similar circumstances - the Tao that I had been led to from my bath.
How can it be?? It seems that I've forgotten my Tao:
"All things that are, are change."
("All things that are, are fire." The only constant is change. Nothing lasts forever. EVERYTHING is mutable.)
"You cannot be good. You cannot be bad. You can only be."
(You cannot be "good," and you cannot be "bad." These are entirely relative judgements - what is "good" for one will be "bad" for another, and vice versa. The only thing you can "be," is Michael.)
"Look on the bright side." "Make the most of it."
(This is the only life you get. There's nothing good nor bad but thinking makes it so - so find the good in *everything* - even your mother's suicide was a good thing when you figured out how to look at it right. Choose joy, and you will be joyous.)
"You are amazing. And so is everyone else."
(Glass houses; no one is fit to judge anyone else. Judgement only leads to division, separation, and loneliness. We are all One.)
...
That's 3 coincidences now today, all pointing to the same thing. And today is my 3rd day of this desperate searching.
Even if I'm just connecting the dots in the chaos to find the pattern I want to see, that pattern is obviously deeply meaningful to me in some way. My path clearly leads in that direction. And if I am to follow my instincts, then how can I ignore the pattern I see in the noise, like meaning in an inkblot?
It seems that I have found My Answer.
...
What am I doing?
What's wrong with me? Why am I so unhappy?
What do I want?
Do I love you, completely?
Do I love you, at all?
Or do I just need to feel loved by someone?
...
No. No, that's not the right question. I do love you. We've been through way too much together for way too long, have too much history, for me to not love you. There's a part of me that will always love you, in some way.
The question is, do I love you the way that I'm supposed to? Do I love you the way that a husband should love his wife? Or do I just love you as the one person I've been closer to in my life, and shared more of myself with, than any other?
And is there a difference?
Questions, questions, questions! Everywhere I look it's more fucking questions! WHERE ARE THE FUCKING ANSWERS?!!
...
I've moved out, temporarily. Checked myself into a hotel for the week.
Why? What do I hope to gain from that? Am I just trying to "shake things up" - just introduce a little anarchy into my life to see what happens? Am I just trying to force a random change? Or am I trying to step out of my life, to gain some perspective? Or am I just hiding? Just running away?
I don't know. I don't know if I ever knew.
I'm grasping at straws here. Suddenly, every single little thing is pregnant with meaning. Is this The Answer? Is this what I need? Will this make me better? Will this solve my problems?
How can I get better when I don't even know what's wrong? How can I find The Answer when I don't even know The Question??
Am I looking for fulfillment? Or do I just want a happy, satisfying marriage? Are they mutually exclusive? Or are they one and the same?
...
I keep coming back to this one thought. That I need to clean up my act. That everything will be better, and I will be happy and content, if I just give up the drink and all the rest, start working out and losing weight and eating right, start meditating again and studying the Tao, etc., etc.
But then I also can't shake the feeling that all of that is just a bunch of middle-aged, white, American, liberal, hipster bullshit.
But I'm following my gut, aren't I? That's what I'm doing right now. I'm following my gut instincts, blindly, in a desperate attempt to get away from wherever the fuck I am right now, to someplace, anyplace else.
And it's my gut that's telling me to follow that path. That salad yesterday (my first in I-can't-remember-when; it's been all pot pies and beer lately) was the best thing I've tasted in a long, long time. It's was, literally, unbelievably, shockingly delicious. And there was absolutely nothing special about it - just greens, some veggies, and oil & vinegar. I keep thinking about how wonderful it would be to just spend some time sitting still and being quiet. I keep dreaming of my gomden the way I've so often dreamed of the pipe. That stupid little weekly email quote from Pema Chodron felt like the Universe speaking directly to ME.
And it's my head that's telling me it's all a load of crap.
That means something.
Doesn't it?
But what if all of that only feels right because it's my safety net; because it's safe and familiar because that's what I do when I get lost in these existential crises? ("Existential Crisis" - jesus, talk about a first-world fucking problem. How spoiled of a brat do I have to be to even be taking any of this seriously? But, what, am I supposed to pretend I have the experience of a migrant worker in Guatemala or some shit?? I DON'T. I can only be who I am. And I am a white, middle-aged American liberal, who is fortunate enough to have the luxury of being able to engage in this kind of introspective panic.)
But what if that's what I do when I get in these situations because that's what I'm supposed to do in these situations because that is The Answer to these problems?!
Ugh, this is making me dizzy.
...
And way, way back in the deep down of me, I feel this fear. This fear that I'm going to die here. That I'm never going to get out of this maze of questions alive. That any reprieve is only temporary, and that I will always end up right back here.
That they're going to find me, cold and still on a hotel bed, the same way they found my mother.
I'm scared of the way that feels like Destiny.
...
And She says, "I'm sure it hurts! I can't imagine caring so much about so many things. It must be exhausting! Maybe you should get back into the Tao so you can let things go and ease your pain..."
And I can't help but laugh! She has no idea I've been thinking that, or writing this here, at the exact same time. Out of the mouths of babes...
Is it another sign? Or am I just connecting dots to find the pattern in the chaos that I want to see?
...
Is all of this just because I don't like myself? Is that why I feel compelled to do all of those self-improvements? Because I feel like I would like myself better?
...
When I'm drifting like this, grasping at straws, lost and desperate in this vague and undefined way, I find that I start to obsess about strange things. A lot of the time it starts as ordinary, banal escapism. But sometimes it leads me to the Way Out. The most famous example of this in my life so far, was reading Wild Cards in the bath way back when. In about the strangest way possible, it was those baths that led me directly to my first direct experience of the Tao. Changed my life forever.
Right now, it's The Moth.
I can't stop listening to it. Every story just makes me feel, so much, and so powerfully. And so I guess there must be something about that feel-ing that I need right now, just like I needed to disappear into the warm water back then. I would assume then, that also like the baths, I probably will only be able to explain this obsession in hindsight.
Follow Your Instincts.
It's the only thing I feel like I can do right now. When all else fails (and, let's be honest, all else really has failed here), then Follow Your Instincts.
It's the only thing I feel like I know, for certain.
...
Yesterday, the quote on Zen Pencils reminded me of Bill Hicks' "It's just a ride..." quote. I got a strong urge to submit that quote to the author/webmaster. In doing that, I had to find it in my PDA so I could copy and paste it into the email.
Just now, I needed to go into the same section of my PDA that holds all my little notes and stuff, to look up something else. It was still on the same page with the Bill Hicks' quote. That page is titled "Philosophies."
I have a collection of notes on my Philosophies of Life that I've collected over the years, stored in my PDA - and I had completely forgotten about it!
And there it was, right in the middle of the list: The Tao of ManniMoonYin that had come to me so many years ago under such similar circumstances - the Tao that I had been led to from my bath.
How can it be?? It seems that I've forgotten my Tao:
"All things that are, are change."
("All things that are, are fire." The only constant is change. Nothing lasts forever. EVERYTHING is mutable.)
"You cannot be good. You cannot be bad. You can only be."
(You cannot be "good," and you cannot be "bad." These are entirely relative judgements - what is "good" for one will be "bad" for another, and vice versa. The only thing you can "be," is Michael.)
"Look on the bright side." "Make the most of it."
(This is the only life you get. There's nothing good nor bad but thinking makes it so - so find the good in *everything* - even your mother's suicide was a good thing when you figured out how to look at it right. Choose joy, and you will be joyous.)
"You are amazing. And so is everyone else."
(Glass houses; no one is fit to judge anyone else. Judgement only leads to division, separation, and loneliness. We are all One.)
...
That's 3 coincidences now today, all pointing to the same thing. And today is my 3rd day of this desperate searching.
Even if I'm just connecting the dots in the chaos to find the pattern I want to see, that pattern is obviously deeply meaningful to me in some way. My path clearly leads in that direction. And if I am to follow my instincts, then how can I ignore the pattern I see in the noise, like meaning in an inkblot?
It seems that I have found My Answer.
...
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