martedì 13 dicembre 2011

The Man who Gifted Me A Monkey

I've been handling this weird flu for a couple of days, and two things happened: my body weakened, much more than usual and as a consequence, my mind went into a dark place. I dont get sick that often, recently. I used to be sick all the time, back in the days of being a rockstar, when my clothes were cool and a few, and looking good came with a price. I got a lot of flus, colds, migraines, back then. A lot of weird illxs that knocked me out and were cured with strong, stomach meltin medicines that were supposed to help me recover quickly enough to get out the night after. That had a reason. But i'll explain in a bit.

So, now i dont get sick often, i usually ride my health like its a thunder, i try to fill my body with uppers and vitamins, trying to keep my body and mind in a permanent state of wake and full energy. I need and want to be performing all the time at max, cause if i slow down, bad things happen.

So, since the flu slowed things down, my brain remembered.

During my iullness my family visited me. Mostly because they needed advice and company. My father is becoming increasingly senile. And yet he did something that struck a chord and reminded me in some sort of flashback why i took a few of the darker roads i took.

While i was trying to explain how being sick made me anxious, he told me "well get a couple of xanax". He insisted. Forcefully.

I remember myself being young and him giving me a handful of sleep aid drops. He hid them in juice or tea and just gave them to me. I fell asleep, i calmed down but i alspo developed a sort of early addiction when i wasnt even twelve. My mother questioned him on that and his answer was "so he would calm down and be quiet".

Its how his head was built too. I got used to sleeping pills, the strong type, earlier than anyone i know. When, later, i found myself dealing with that monkey, after i really made it my own, dropping increasing doses in attempts to shut my brain down forever, people accused me of being a weak junkie. And they were right. But they didnt get, and for fuck's sake, i am NOT justifying myself, how i was talked into that since when i was a kid.

Taking meds was like taking candy for him. Any slight issue was met with ton of pills. That then i kept taking on my own, unable to quit. Some are still there.

If a kid was swoned into drinking, or smoking by a parent, everyone would act differently if he grew up to be an addict. But with meds, ist different. I taker my own responsiblity and fault. Its on me. But i do know that my mind was shapen that way by him. I don t complain about it.

When i started therapy, and the antidepressants i started taking were slowly erasing my mind and my personality, i recall him commenting "Well, you quit complaining, so its a good thing"

Pharmacists, for years, stared at me as the son of Giorgio Costanzo, the pill popper. I inherited his reputation as an addict by default. His prescriptions done by tricking doctor into giving him what wpould normally fit three people.

I dont blame anyone but me. But i got that burden from him and its still there. It wont go away. Ever.

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