I stand in my night pyjamas on the balcony of my house. A day of november . Earbuds should be blasting talk radio or music in my head but fir a second , i turn them off.
Tha air is cold, makes my fingers and toes tingle. I should go back to the tepid, cuddling safety of the room. Buit Not now.
Light up a cigarettte, vicious remain fo a past of toxines injected and expelled from my body. I might even looked grotesque to anyone who passes in front of my building. Pitch Black, cold, only cars drive by with that sound you just hear in late november. That icy wet rumble of the cars. Prrojecting themselves rapidly towards their destination, to meet routine, stress or maybe temporary joy.
And me, slightly chubby and a bit balding, with a severly overgorwn beard, looking at the horizon, the cigarttes diying off between my fingers.
I have been in that exact place beforer, i have stood like a sentinel, drugged out of my mind or drunk, or filled with sleeping pills, anything that would gave me a buzz powerful enough toi calm my anxiety down and fix my holes temporarily.
I stood there for years. At hours much more later than this. Sometimes even seeing the dawn rise with bleary eyes.
Always alone. I wasnt desperately alone, i caused my solitude as a precise choice. I wanted those moments of calm contemplation, of freedom of addiction, where i just waited the alcohol to lower and the nausea and vomit to float away from my body. Those were dark times.
Or i just listened toi epic or sad music, grasping those moments with that incombent fear of death looming over my shoulders. And it manifested as soime sort of vertigo, more close to an attraction for the void than anything elose. Will i fall from the balcony or just throw myself down. Not cause i desired death, but just to see if could do it or stop myself from doing it. An action in a life of passiveness.
But i always poickjed the slowe coward death to the actual suicidal one. I was gonna die one day at a time not in one theatrical act that was supposed to make no one cry.
And my brain filled with thoughts, each one darker than the one it followed. and my heart beating steadily with a sense of weight and pressure, and words that were connected together with web of toxines exhaled at times with the smoke of entire packs of cancer sticks.
But now something has changed.
I am smiling. I stood there, being myself, and yet my mind made me smile with what all my memories are made of: her voice, her face, her scent,m her warmth.
Somethign sweet, clever and funny that she said, that gave me the energy ti goi through days of empotuibness, aching back and scary insecurity. A person that gives meaning to me, cause she loves me and is always there anmd at the same time makes me more motivated than i ever was at anything towards the simple act of living with a smile of my face and the fierce feeeling of tenderness in my heart.
She makes me smile. And i love her. We are one. And i love her.
Its all in one smile and the memories it brings and those meoiries are woirth half a lifetime of trouble and pain.
And worth the eternity.
sabato 3 novembre 2012
I dont get through a full days, in these late times of misconception and trouble where i dont encounter at least a very opinionate being that thinks they got their mind right on the subject of addiction and drugs.
I know one fact and of that i am pretty safe: addiction are a high number and all of them are a sign of a weak mind and soul. And i am not saying this from a moral high pedestal. I am an addict, i wwill always be. I have no sympathy for my oewn condition. I despise it, but its almost impossible to live through life without an addiction or some sort of hole that you make less gaping with the help of a crutch.
And if you ever have met one of those individuals with an attitude that words like "i have no addictions, i am high on life", they usually are the oens that cause others to be addicts. People so self absorbed in their being maLignant soul tumors ., who thrive on sucking the life out of others with such millimetric precision , that their complete extermination would probablòy be ana amzing solution to a lot of problems regarding abuse.
Besides that though, let's not fool ourselves.
You migth enjoy the type of alcohol you drink and moistly take momentary pleasure out of it and be somehow in control of what it does to you. You are still a person that somehow needs booze. There are exceptiuons, sure. There's people who really do it for enjoyment. But they have had at least one moment wwhere the intoxication was the key, and life got so completely uneventful and suffocating , the people surrounding them, the ones they used to love, got so barely tolerable , that they needed "somethign to take the edge off"
And that is where the real core of substance addiction and the hook is. You do not get born an alcoholic, or an addict. Ecven the harshest cases always had a reason.
My mother is a raging alcoholic, now turned into a prescription med abuser. She used to be sober. She tried to clean up, also recently. But with the push of an enabling person that is also her main reason for a need for peace and self destruction at the same time , she slowly made her mind and her body into a dysfucntional puddle that needs anything to not completely fall together and at the same time is consciously marching against self destruction.
And without getting so personal and up and close. Think about it. Theres people everywhere who consciously ruin their body, gradually mutilate themselves, make their lives extra difficult, for the side effects of their own "safe haven". Wahtever that is.
Mine is sleeping pills, most of the time. I got my liver, stomach and brain messed up with, first to obtain sleep, then just to have the incredibly short moment of quiet that they gave me. And when that became shiorter and shorter, i increased the dosage. And now im too weak to try and kick and face the withdrawal.
Pot smoikers, you dont get off that easy. I know how your culture has spread like plague on society with your delusional thoughts on how pot is a completely harmless ., almsot religous, magic herb that allows you to live better and would turn the world into a paradise if everyone used it. It is a lie.
You used to be a functional person at some point, then you discovered that excisting and having a normal brain causaes anxiety and you went on that route, cause with ti you found a whole army of enablers who cuddled you into thinking that it was a solution and not a problem. A culture, a family and a philospophy , not just another momentary fix. The system made people think pot is wrong, so they lie when they say that potsmokers end up being demotivated sacks of nothign that have no drive towards anything or liveliness. And all of thsoe were lies.
And if you use medicines, and they fixed you at some point but you kept using them cause they made you feel good or sleep better or anything: you're a drug addict too. Do not use your illness as an excuse. You are exactly the same as the disheveled guy who shoots heroin on tyhe streest. Only difference is that his fix is illegal and yours is state endorsed.
Cigarettes? We all know about them. But at least smokers arent delusional about being self destructive.
My point is this: hacve an addiction, whichever it is. Everyobdy has one. But do not lie about it. Do not say yours is more acceptable. Do not think it makes you special. Or that you have a condition that grants you to be above other addicts. We all have it and we all will fail. Period-.