I think I’m on day 2 or 3 of sobriety this go around. It’s so hard, I need to be locked away from everyone. I’m already getting texts from the wrong people. Maybe announcing the number of sober days might help… Maybe not… I need help.
At one point I decided that it would be in my best interests to have my freedom restricted, so I am not tempted by the evils constantly lurking the shadows of this Valley. This puts me in somewhat of a pickle for a few reasons. First of all, few things are so quick to throw me into a rage as being told I can or can’t do something that I am legally within my rights to do. It is like being grounded as an adult. That shit was irritating when I was a kid, but now that I’ve paid taxes, been married, had a child of my own, been deployed to a combat zone two times, witnessed things that no one should ever have to see, done things that will leave mental scars I’m unsure will ever completely heal, then yeah I would say a little bit of resentment is creeping through my soul so deeply that I can taste the anger on the back of my tongue like fuckin hot, bitter, battery acid. Rage would be a bit of an understatement in this scenario- let’s just say it upsets me to the point of me needing to walk away before I do or say something I’ll regret.
Nevertheless, I did invite this kind of restriction upon myself- sort of. I thought it would be nice to take a little break from everything and everyone so that I could take another shot at this whole sobriety thing which has become somewhat of a distant memory which haunts me from time to time in a way that I can only describe as terrifying. The symbiot that has sunk its roots deep into my being has become as natural as breathing, but is frowned upon by all my loved ones unfortunately. Society itself has even put a metaphorical pistol up to my temple, telling me I need to let this thing go, and let it go now, or there are going to be some very unpleasant consequences. Consequences which ironically enough, are often worse than those which would come about as a result of my addiction. You see how that works? Our society has deemed something unacceptable, so it devises a punishment which all but labels you a pariah and sweeps you into the gutter.
The war on drugs, right? Sure, but who uses the drugs? They aren’t really using themselves, so shouldn’t it really be called the ‘War on people who use drugs’. That’s right, if you are affiliated with or use drugs not approved by pharmaceutical companies, you are an enemy of the state and will be treated as a war criminal.
Kinda sucks that a country would declare war on its own people like that. What a great place to live.
It’s simply wonderful to bear witness to the marvelous feats which humanity is capable of and bask in the glory of others’ good will, yet be all but completely impervious to their inspirational qualities. I don’t even remember what it’s like to be inspired without resorting to artificial means. I used to believe the hype- TV, movies, music, and more recently, social media platforms. Instagram is like the big dog amongst big dogs for pseudo-inspirational fluff. Fluff is all it is though- it looks amazing on the surface, but once you look past the perpetually smiling, youthful, beauty that is perhaps just a little too perfect, you’ll find the strings of corporate entities with an endless thirst for capital, ratings, votes, or points in some system which has no real meaning beyond abstract ideas for the Toms, Dicks, and Harrys of the world.
I realize I’m laying it on a little thick here, people, but that’s only because one day, in the unlikely event that I knuckle up, dig deep, and cast aside the demons that have infected my mind, I can look back on these words and partake in the merriest of chuckles. For a sadist will reflect on his own afflictions with a comfort not found anywhere else, since only he truly knows the depths of his own misfortune and misery. When that day comes, I will join the millions of drones, drudging through a life fueled by apathy and distractions that slowly but surely consume life- one day at a time, and relentlessly.
Either that, or more likely these entries will gather metaphorical dust and serve as the tragically accurate memoirs of a self-loathing moron, too lazy to be inspired enough to take back control of his life. Tomorrow is a different day, right? …right!? Because, ya know, all these days are exactly the same now- no miraculous break throughs visible on the horizon, or even conceivable at this juncture. I don’t see myself passing “GO”, nor collecting $200. I will do what I can to keep from catching fire, but I have come to terms with the notion that I will most likely drown in the process.
I can say now that I have been the best man for two weddings so far during my 36 years of existence in this mass of flesh, blood, and inexplicable chemical reactions which some colloquially refer to as life. I will share my most recent experience I endured to help anyone else who finds himself thrown into this situation unwillingly. Yes, this may only be beneficial to those who dread the thought of going before a hundred or two drunken, yet acutely judgemental pairs of eyes, each attached to mouths that can emit laughter, or remain painfully silent, which in turn determine whether your toast speech is quick and painless, or dilated into what seems like an eternity.
Although I wouldn’t say either of my best man speeches were a resounding success, the latest one I did for my brother seemed to go better. I’m unsure if this was due to experience or simply because it was more heart felt than my first one. The first time I did it, I was more or less ordered by a commissioned officer while I was enlisted in the Army the night before, so I wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about the task. I wasn’t really enthusiastic about it this time either, but it was for my brother, and I have a terrifying phobia of letting my family members down. He has been there for me when I needed him, and not once judged me for any one of my numerous shortcomings.
So if you’ve been given the task of being the best man, I can only really advise about giving the speech, as I have managed to shirk the other duties in both instances, being the typical bag of slime that I am. I tend to be very critical of myself, so I don’t really see it, but I’ve been told I’m a decent writer. I wrote my speech out the day of the wedding, which is something I would most definitely advise against doing. I think it would be a good idea to get a second set of eyes on your speech so that they can catch any absurdity before it irreversibly passes out through your lips and into the ears of your audience, never to be unheard again. That’s right, you can’t put a cork in it after it’s already out, so at least limit any damage to a close ally, who will be blunt enough to tell you “Hey, maybe this wouldn’t be the best time to admit your life long lust for the bride you’ve barely kept under control all these years.” Not a bad idea to get someone you trust to point out any idiotic notions before you drunkenly blurt them out to all your family and friends. That brings up another point- unless you are a hardcore alcoholic, don’t get sloppy drunk. I did both my speeches under the influence of a small does of opioids, but that was only to avoid getting sick from the crushing weight of my addiction. On the other hand, I didn’t shoot enough shit in me to kill an elephant and start slurring my words like a buffoon, nodding off in between sentences. For most of you, the same applies for alcohol. A drink or two will help you relax, but if you start slamming shots, you’re only going to embarrass yourself. The odds are not in your favor, so don’t chance it by getting wasted.
So I’ve been sitting on this incomplete draft for a couple days now, and I’m just going to say to hell with it and post. Not my best, but you know what they say…