just bc thereâs reasons for drug addiction doesnât mean youâre not a dick (note to self)
Drugs are by far the most boring cure there is to the human affliction. But hey, they still feel like a cure. Itâs comparable to that big screen film guy that sells out and maybe thereâs this sluggish hollowness to it but it sure does have one of those shiny, pretty veneers.
Addiction - in and of itself is not a fatal character flaw. It is an illness; both psychological and physical. The fact, however; that drug addicts in particular are hooked on intoxicating and mind altering substances is another thing to consider. While it is an active choice to take these things, some of things one will do while under their grasp doesnât feel like a choice at all. But trust me, it is.
I lied repeatedly, stole, and hurt people to no end when using every day. I was sick - but I let myself be sick. I made no move to change it, hell, most of the time I was too thick to even realise the implications of what I was doing or the fact that I needed to change. I dealt out hollow promises of stopping and quitting, when really I had no plan to.
The moment where it hit me came a couple of months ago, when I was sitting in this tired, little room with tired young people and tired group facilitators. I expected a day like every other there, to hear some trite bullshit paired with unsubstantiated statistical claims about mental health and addiction.
Instead I was met with a puzzle.
âHere is a list of values,â They said, âTick whatâs important to you.â
And so I did it.
I ticked honesty, loyalty, camaraderie, the pursuit of knowledge - the pursuit of adventure, trust etc. etc.
Then they spoke again afterwards and said,
âRead them carefully, think about them. Have you been living a life that is at all in line with what you yourself have said matters to you? Because If you havenât, or you arenât - youâre never gonna be happy,â
I was miserable, honestly. And I knew Iâd be using every day and that seemed plausible reason to be unhappy, but even when I got clean, I wasnât.
People told me I wasnât terrible or that I wasnât damned because I hadnât strangled puppies or stepped on newborn children, and, boy if that wasnât a low standard for morality I donât know what is.
There was no resolve where I should have found resolve because I did not fix the problem at play. The problem that existed inside of me.
I lacked authenticity and integrity. I was not a person of my word. I was the opposite. I did not seek or value knowledge because I was insipid with mind-numbing substances. I did not seek adventure because I did not expect that or care if tomorrow was a day I would get.
I can not make up for this now and my only resolve is to from this point on live a life I can be proud of. One that aligns with what I believe is important.
The other thing they said to us was this,
âIf you arenât living in line with your values, then what is it that you are so afraid of that you would allow yourself to live without integrity to the things you deem most important,âÂ
Brave New World has taught me that humanâs are willing to sacrifice the very fabric of themselves and their individuality in order to keep what they are afraid of at bay.
And so I thought about it. I thought about being a kid. I thought about that newly returned feeling in the pit of my stomach since I had been detoxed.
What I realised was this: I was just always so afraid beforehand. It wasnât even like being anxious, it was this physical dread and fear in the pit of my stomach that would just grow and grow and grow and I always felt so full up of it. And It wasnât even because bad things have happened, because, well thatâs fucking life - bad things do happen. I just remember being real small and always thinking my mother was going to die or that someone was going to hurt me - and I was just so consumed by it. To the point of this weird, narcissistic selfishness. And this was before anything bad had ever happened to substantiate the way I felt. And then bad things did start happening, things did start going wrong and it was just like - well, proof. It was the validation which my logical self required to embrace the fear.
Most of me fucking hates myself for everything Iâve done.
I hate that Iâve made my mother cry. The last time I was hospitalised and I first saw her she looked at me and she just... she looked.. broken.
But part of me forgives myself now that Iâm off the shit because I remember what I used to feel like. The Fear has come back. It sits beside me when I write, it twists my guts when I try and sleep, It holds my tongue when I speak. The only reprieve I have from the Fear is when it transforms into a sharp, devilish tongue with wrathful, vengeful anger.
Benzos and opiates, they made the Fear go away. I was never foolish enough to think they had fixed it, but for a year or so the Fear was at bay. It was replaced by a negligible indifference, hollow eyes and slurred speech.
I will never choose hollowness over the Fear again, because the Fear is a palpable and altruistic enemy. A battle worthy of winning. Â
But for the first time in my life I had felt safe. In my body, in my bones, in my mind, in my fucking soul if  I have one.
There is no one amongst us who wouldnât clamber on to that relief, obsessive and deranged - clinging to it. Chasing it down. Doing anything to hold onto it. And I am not a lesser human for it.
For those who I have wronged, I am truly sorry. I will always be sorry. I will always be willing to help any of you out - because hey, my existence is pretty much one big âI owe you one,âÂ
I mean that not as a cynic but as someone who feels blessed by their lot in life.
I have a lot to make up for, but Iâm not going fucking anywhere and now I have the gift of a lifetime to do it.
izzy806
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