We all have something

I am an addict. I self-medicate my depression with drugs and alcohol because I am too cowardly to seek help. At least, that's what I think my parents would say. To be honest, I've always been fascinated with altering my own consciousness. My whole life I've had an issue with hydrostatic pressure, it's a common ailment involving low blood pressure that can cause you to black out after standing up rapidly after a period of inactivity. Since I was a kid I've found myself waking up on the floor after watching my whole world fade to static and then blackness, out before I even hit the ground. But you know what? Even before I knew what the problem was, it didn't really scare me. I was concerned, sure, even thought that maybe I had a brain tumor, or an aneurysm. But mostly it was just exciting. For those couple of seconds before unconsciousness my whole experience was shifted, filtered through a brain fighting off hypoxia. Now of course I know that that's incredibly dangerous, and that every time I woke up on the floor I was flirting with permanent brain damage, but as a kid I didn't know that. All I knew was that there was more to perception than what we experience on a day-to-day basis.

My first fling with psychonautics came about by accident, a product of my inferior physiology, but I think it was those experiences, coupled with an immense curiosity about my own mind and consciousness in general, that led me to my love affair with drugs. And it is a love affair. I have never felt more alive; more in touch with myself and the cogs ticking within my own psyche than when my mind is pouring through the sieve that is LSD. Cannabis taught me patience and tolerance and simple joy in the mundane. Cocaine and Vyvanse, Ritalin and MDMA brought me to the heights of manic passion and unshackled me from depressive introspection. Playing with the chemical stew that is my brain and my being has been the most rewarding journey I've ever undertaken.

That does not mean that I am not an addict. I've come to rely on the convenience of slipping into a altered state to escape the pressing realities of my life. I drink to steal a few hours away fro the weight of responsibilities that I never wanted. I dream of the days when I could trip and spend a day just spinning through the void, relentlessly deconstructing my own ego. I will never be able to pass a day without, at least momentarily, longing for the escape of chemical adulterants. With the right knowledge and hook-ups you can dose your brain into letting you be whoever you want to be. No more shyness or introversion, say good-bye to closed-mindedness and jaded condescension. With the right drugs, the doors of perception are flung wide open and the labyrinth of the mind is yours to shape and reshape at a whim. ...But only if you keep it up. The drugs have their demands, and what they want is your every moment. When you come to abhor sobriety and cling desperately to every altered moment in their chemical embrace, you will know addiction.

I have been privileged enough to have a support system sturdy enough to keep me off the streets; to keep me more or less focused and within the bounds of social expectation. I could very easily have ended up one of those lost souls dying in the gutters, wasting their last breath to cry out for one last filthy syringe, loaded with the cheapest, most adulterated smack, but I haven't. I have my vices, and I always will, but addiction isn't the inescapable black hole it's made out to be. You can be an addict and persevere. You can be depressed and soldier on. All it takes is something larger than yourself. Those poor bastards in AA call it God. Plenty of people find it in family, or in art. I'd like to think I had some noble ideal to live for; something that kept me from washing down a fistful of pills with a swig of Johnny Walker, but the truth is that my God, the alter of my self sacrifice is just a few good friends. I make peace with my demons on a daily basis in the hope that someday I will be worthy of their friendship, and that they may know the depths of my gratitude.

Questioning my junk

A friend of mine, who is a lesbian, once told me she could only have sex with a man  who would let her fuck him with a strap-on. I think that's fair. She see's penetrative sex as an inherently dominant act. you can't fuck a person in the way that men "fuck" a person without assuming a certain level of control. I agree with her, and feel that she's right to feel the way that she does. So why I am I jealous that it's another dude she isn't attracted to that she wants to fuck? I'm a straight male, as far as I know. but I fantasize about this specific friend pegging me. Maybe it's because she's hot, she has big tits, etc. but honestly, I wish that she had picked me as her straight choice. I don't think I'm gay. I used to think I was Bi because I was curious, but really the closest I get to homosexual attraction is wishing that my lesbian friend had chosen me to fuck in the ass. I still don't know what to think about that, or whether to tell her. Maybe it's just because I have issues with abandonment and the fact that another guy is her go-to makes me uncomfortable. Either way, I think I have to tell her. Not just for my own well-being, but because I feel weird keeping my attraction from her. She's seen my junk, and I've seen her in nipple tassels, but I don't think I've ever told her that I've been crushing on her for what? 6, 7 years now? Why can't everyone just be bi or pan-sexual? Why must everyone who turns me on turn out to be gay? Maybe she wasn't kidding, and she'd really be down to top me? I guess there's only one way to find out.

Just a little self-evaluation

I'm going to fail my Biology class. I've  made A's and B's on every Lab and Test, and I'm still going to fail. I don't understand why school is the way it is. I'm sick of playing the game. I've lost everything I cared about and spent the last year just coasting instead of living my life, all because I'm too stupid to just play along. I'm tired of having my fate determined by people who don't know what they're doing and don't give a shit about me. I thought it was rough at [Large University] but where I'm at now is indistinguishable from high school. Maybe if I dropped out, found a better job, got out of this fucking house, maybe I could take control of my life back.

I've wasted years believing that I was a "school person"; that an education was what mattered most to me in life, and maybe that's true to an extent, but my priorities have undergone some pretty major changes these past two years. I just want to get out. I look back at my life and it's just been one long holding pattern since childhood, just waiting until it was my turn to take the reigns and decide where I wanted to go. I think somewhere along the line I developed some pretty skewed ideas about how life was supposed to work, and nobody ever disabused me of them. Not that it's anyone else' responsibility to teach me those things. That's one of the big ones; when you spend your whole life under the thumb of teachers and educators, you get the impression that if something is important, it'll be taught to you. Turns out, that's not the case. The more I think about it, the angrier at myself I get. For all my talk about hating the system and wanting to get out, I've spent my whole life placidly shuffling along, gobbling up whatever bullshit was fed to me and ignoring everything else. While everyone else figured out who they were and what they wanted to do, I was just waiting to be told, and once it got time for those things to mean something, I was left out in the cold.

So, I'm going to fail Biology, like I have failed at so many things before. I guess it's time to really take a look at what that means for me.

I'm Back.

I hope that by now nobody is listening, because what I do here from now on is for me. I came back because I think the tools of our past are the building blocks of our future. I spewed my uneducated, ignorant views here when I was a child, so it's only fitting that I vomit out my adult vitriol here as well. I have a lot to sort out, and the only way I now how to do that is to write it down. I wish that I had become a better writer between the time that I left and now, but I haven't, so whoever sees this will just have to bear with me. I am constantly inebriated (as if that were an excuse) and my writing will reflect that. It should also reflect the things that I've learned in the past few years. The hard lessons about adulthood that I have had to pick up on the fly. With any luck this record should serve as a reminder, in another few years, of what a jackass I was, and what an ignorant malcontent I continue to be. In conclusion, I have never had an original thought, and my greatest accomplishments amount to absolutely nothing. It's time to fix that. Let's get started, shall we.

What about violets?

I remember the dress you were wearing. I remember how incredible you looked. I remember pacing back and forth, waiting for you to arrive. I remember being jealous that I had to share you with the rest of the room. I remember the flowers. You told me your favorite flower and I brought them. I remember ignoring everyone around us, I had eyes only for you. I remember the way you laughed, and how when you spoke, everyone stopped to listen. I remember feeling so insignificant next to you. All I remember is you, I don't remember what I was wearing, what music was playing, who we were with, but I remember the shade of your lipstick. I remember the way you moved, how you danced and how you walked. I remember blushing when you caught me staring. I remember being close to you, and being driven away by a mass of bodies, all struggling to be near you. I remember how the whole room seemed to focus on wherever you were. Oddly enough, I remember death threats offered against you. I remember frantically searching for you, and how relieved I was to find you. I remember how in love with you I was, we all were. I remember wanting you to feel the same way, so much it made me want to cry and tear at my hair. And now, I remember these things and I realize that nothing has changed. I love you, more than I will ever be able to tell you, and I hope that someday you'll find somebody that you will always remember.

Please don't do that.

There is no worse feeling in the world than watching someone you love suffer and being entirely unable to help. I want to run, screaming, through traffic, light myself on fire, tear out all my hair, something, anything but none of that would be useful. I don't know what to do, I have to help, ignoring you isn't an option, but you won't tell me what's wrong. I don't know what else to do, I can only hope that you deem me fit to know what it is that's making you hurt. I want to take all of your worries and troubles, ball them up and take them with me to the grave.

Lux Aeterna my ass.

Being back in that place is just as uncomfortable and depressing as I'd imagined. Most of the people I respect have left and I'm left wading through the human muck that has swept in to take their place, it's depressing as hell really. It's a shame that this is the year I've finally decided to grow up, to take control of my life, this one isn't worth the effort. But I'll soldier on, me and the last remnants of my friends. It's amazing how few of them are left. I feel the need to huddle them closer, hold on to them so that thy can't slip away too. Anyway, on an entirely unrelated and slightly schizophrenic note, I'm joining a lo-fi fuzzrock band. Awesome.