For anyone who’s been sitting on the edge of his or her seat with anticipation, eagerly awaiting my next blog post, I would foremost like to extend my deepest apologies for keeping you waiting. Secondly-let’s be honest here-you don’t exist, so POOF, vamoose, son of a bitch!
I think the only person who actually knows me, already knows the struggles I’ve had. No, I’m not talking about Jesus. This affords me the privilege of being honest with myself and you folks reading this. Since we’re talking honesty here, I’ll be direct–I managed to get off the needle, but I have slipped up a time or two without using the needle. They say relapse is a part of recovery, right? Although is is not a necessary part of recovery, it is an option. I don’t recommend it, my fellow addicts in recovery, for obvious reasons. Any addict always has another relapse in him or her, but not always another recovery. For a lot of you, that is about as cliche as it gets, but who knows? Maybe I just turned someone around with that sentence.
I’ve been told that it is a smart move to embarrass your sin before it embarrasses you–so that’s what I’m going for here. By publically tattling upon myself, I can help get this here monkey off my back and share it with ya’ll. I’m ready, people, I am so ready to be done with this ever-present demon that I allowed into my life, and tell him to hit the fucking road, Jack! But I’ll be damned if he doesn’t keep finding increasingly clever ways to try and sneak back into my life-straight up Hannibal Lecteresque type methods! But I have an Ally with me now, friends. I have a Friend that has been dealing with these kinds of assholes for millennia.
Don’t worry, I’m not gonna get all preachy, because for me and others like me, that’s not what it’s about. I simply like to provide some insight on my current condition because I hope others find Him on their own path. I can’t sit here and say you gotta do this, or He wants you to do that, because the truth of the matter is, everyone is given the free will to find it on their own. I dare anyone to defy that statement, because is a undeniable fact. Shit, actually, I heard an argument somewhere from a great intellect that free will is an illusion, and as I recall, the way it was explained sort of made sense. Either I am too stupid to wrap my head around that concept, or I just refuse to accept it because I KNOW I have the will to choose because I did! I was about as devout an atheist as there ever was. But guess what? I fucking chose to believe! Some really smart guy is gonna say ‘well there were situational forces which were outside the realm of your control which compelled you to believe in a Higher Power, therefore you didn’t really choose to believe and free will doesn’t exist.’
To that person I say you’re an asshole, because I chose that choice. Just like the rest of you can. I’m not completely sure if this post came out coherently, because I’ve been typing it on my phone, and my thumbs have had about all they can take for the time being. I’m gonna wrap up with this question: Are you choosing what you want in life, or are you letting it be chosen for you? Please comment your thoughts, I’d love to hear them, thank you!
I thought I’d take a minute to check in on my utter failure, trash heap of a blog, to once again throw my thoughts into the void, where they can be kept safe from an eternal death. Oh no, I’d much rather prefer they be kept here in limbo, preserved perfectly for no one to see. I’m not even sure what the URL for this site is anymore since my business plan subscription expired, and the likelihood of me coming up with the money to purchase my old domain is somewhere between my ass and the municipal sewers. Let’s be honest though, that domain name sucked balls anyways. So we won’t mention it ever again, but for the time being keep the name Breakaway to serve as a gut wrenching reminder of yet another failed endeavor. Go me!
In other news, it turns out that my military service allows me to enjoy other benefits aside from deeply troubling mental scars, an inability to emotionally connect with other people, and a free meal at Chili’s once a year- I get to use the VA’s ER whenever the need shall arise; and in my case the need has definitely arose. For quite some time now, I have used every excuse in the book- and some new ones- to justify my addiction. In my core, as lifeless as it is, I can no longer lie to myself. As it turns out, I can’t enjoy any kind of success in the conventional way- stable finances, healthy and long lasting friendship, being a good example and source of wisdom/guidance for my daughter, keeping a regularly scheduled bowel movement*- while I’m living this exhausting and treacherous lifestyle, more attractive and suitable for scoundrels than the typical family man. If you take one thing away from this mass of grammatically mistaken words, please know that there is no judgement here. If anything, I am jealous of those who can comfortably shed their material possessions to enjoy a sense of contentment many will go entire lifetimes without knowing. It is a grueling lifestyle, to be sure, but not without some rewards.
Now you’re probably thinking Oh, you mean to tell me you can’t be a junkie and Dad of year simultaneously?! Get the mayor on the phone, he must be informed of this at once! I don’t care if he is signing a bill which will end poverty, crime, and disease forever, this guy’s got a hot tip with Nobel prize written all over it- but we need to act fast before this information falls into the wrong hands! God help us if our enemies crack this code before we inform the proper channels. But as unnecessarily long as that last deviation from the current topic was, it still served to illustrate an important point: I am an idiot, and everything I say should be taken with a grain of salt.
What I’m actually getting at here is that I am going to the ER at the VA to start a medically assisted detox that has been long, long…. long overdue. My veins are trashed, my appearance would allow me to be a serious contender for Faces of Meth, my credibility jumped screaming out the window like it was on a burning bus, and my overall motivation to do things in general is shoddy at best. I’m struggling to find the will to even finish this blog post. I’m curious if it will even be seen by another human being.
At any rate I just wanted to publicly dismiss this wretched cretin I’ve become hopefully forever. This fiend has held me in its clutches long enough, so it’s time to break free- or breakaway as it were, ha ha- and get my fucking life back. I miss being genuinely happy, I miss my diligent work ethic, I miss having money and material possessions, I miss being reliable, I miss making a promise and being able to keep it, I miss hanging out with normal people, and most of all I miss my wife and daughter. Yes, I currently still see them every day, but I’m either too busy hustling or being in a stupor to actually enjoy the subtle nuances which comprise our unique relationship.
So aside from the looming threat of imprisonment, I now have also stated my intent to achieve and maintain sobriety in front of … well, I don’t really know if one person will read this, or a few dozen, but let’s just say for the sake of my well being that I’m announcing this “publicly”. I couldn’t help but chuckle as I wrote that. So that’s that, folks, I’m hoping my next post will be written as the real me, stone-cold sober, personal flaws and all. As numerous as my personality defects are as the sober me, they pale in comparison to this asshole I’ve become.
*If you didn’t know already, H and opioids in general can cause excruciating constipation. Knowing is half the battle, kids.
Whether you purposely sought out subject material of this nature- I’m terribly sad for you if that’s the case- or you just happened to be browsing through WordPress and decided to take a gamble by clicking the link that brought you here, I would like to say welcome, and a happy new year to you. Now that we’ve got that obligatory statement out of the way, let’s be real for a moment and come to the terms of reality about the new year. New Year’s day is perhaps one of the most arbitrary of holidays; I mean what are we even celebrating? The human race survived another orbital rotation around the sun without erasing its own existence via nuclear weapons? Well shit, maybe that is a cause for celebration. Aren’t we due for another mass extinction within the next millennia or two? I like turtles.
Without providing a logical or even slightly meaningful segway into the topic I’ve decided to ramble about publically- much like the mentally disturbed vagrant I’m surely destined to become- I’ll just jump right in! Please take heed of these idiotic thoughts, as you could find yourself in my position someday. Sure, there could be worse outcomes in life; but when I contrast this version of me with the motivated, intelligent, hopeful, and financially independent version I was not too long ago, it’s enough to make me want to take a very long nap on the railroad tracks.
But not all is lost, and I can still turn this course of action in the direction of success! At least that’s what I told myself at the beginning of 2018. What makes 2019 different? nobody but myself is asking, and the answer is absolutely nothing. If anything, the odds are stacked against me even more. But this positive delusion I indulge in from time to time has kept me going, and is going to give me the strength to grab 2019 by the neck with the tenacity of an applehead chihuahua and hopefully only repeat the same mistakes like once or possibly twice at the most. But ladies and gentlemen, I digress…
Aside from the many things that addiction has stolen from me, Lady H has been kind enough to supply me with a plethora- yes I said fucking plethora– of shifty, villainous characters with questionable morals I am unwillingly pushed to cohort with. I’m talking straight chaotic evil type sociopaths who will smile and look you in the eye just long enough to distract you from the knife that they have skillfully shoved in your back. Most of them are afflicted with the same curse I allowed into my life, and there’s some who were born to capitalize off the demanding nature of this addiction. I have met some assholes who I believe downright relish in the despair and misery of others- and what better place to find an outlet for feeding off the pain (and bank account) of your fellow man or woman than in the presence an addict searching for his or her fix? Now I’m not saying all dealers are like that, some are simply trying to put bread on the table or feed their own addiction; but at a certain point every drug dealer has to come to grips with the painfully obvious destruction being caused by the wares they peddle and either turn a blind eye to it or embrace the sadistic nature of the game they are a part of. Let’s be honest and recognize how comparatively tame this level of malevolence is at this level of the supply chain to those who provide these substances and the people they work for. Can you imagine beheading being a very real possibility for the cause of your death? For some of those further down the line, that is a way of life.
All that murderous mischief is miles away from my daily routine, but addiction has swayed me to associate with people who would step on your face to get their next fix. Dealing with people of this nature can be thoroughly exhausting. I constanty need to be aware of how others can exploit even the slightest weakness on my part. For one to take up that kind of lifestyle, one must be emotionally damaged to start with, and therefore have many such weaknesses to exploit.
When I was in recovery, I learned a common behavior among addicts is isolation. That kind of makes sense since the destructive pattern of binge using/drinking addicts engage in isn’t typically seen as socially acceptable. So who else is left to interact with but those of a like mind, who share similar emotional injuries without a contructive means to repair them? Indeed their coping mechanisms only further distort reality until “normal” is so fucked up that any sane person has abandoned all hope of swaying the addict back into the realm of normal normal, instead leaving them in the turbulent waters of fucked up normal. There comes a point when the sane person must save themselves from drowning alongside their once esteemed friend. This scenario is common enough that almost every seasoned addict will tell you the same story- the details differ, but all the variables are there. So who does that leave? A bunch of fucked up people doing fucked up shit, in a fucked up world, that’s who.
It just dawned on me that my current WordPress plan is about to expire. That does not really mean so much as a puff of rat flatulence to the world at large, but for me I think it means my already dwindling audience will dwindle even further. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe I will no longer be able to receive donations either whilst using the free version of WordPress. Again, this doesn’t really amount to a fraction of an atom’s quiver on the webz’s Richter scale, but it will give me even less of an incentive to spew my garbled thought processes unto this “blog” for your amusement. Not that I’ve really received a single donation anyways during the past year, but then again I can’t complain, given the irrelevant content I’ve provided the WordPress community. What I’m getting at here folks, is that Breakaway’s days are numbered. So unless any one of the half a dozen or so kind souls that read this can find it in his or her (or they, is that PC?) heart to dig deep into those pockets and help out one of society’s downtrodden, then I’ll most likely jump this flaming pile of excrement and leave it for the vultures. That doesn’t mean I’ve given up yet, though! I would like to part with some words of wisdom- well maybe not wisdom so much as common sense.
Mr. Mackey was onto something with his simplistic outlook on psychoactive substances; drugs, as it turns out are in fact bad, mmkay? Paradoxically, drugs are the most wonderful experience allowed by the limits of human pleasure. But that’s what makes them so bad- you get it!? What I’m saying is that this portal to Nirvana is so amazing that it comes at a price. Remember that anti-drug campaign in the late 80’s/early nineties with the frying pan? The sequel to the original “this is your brain on drugs” schtick was a bit more comprehensive, and we’ll say intense. Part two featured a girl with the same opening lines, but this time…. oh Nelly, does she rattle off some things and what happens to them on drugs. She enthusiastically starts smashing all manor of plates, dishes, and other things within her reach, and well… I can’t really do it justice, check it out, and take a stroll down memory lane- or take heed of this time capsule sent from an archaic age, when land lines ruled telecommunications, and people would speak to each other at the dinner table: https://youtu.be/dAHoxaphbEs
Delightfully well done, yes? However, this young lady’s performance was so completely over the top crazy, that it really distracts from the underlying message that government officials were futilely trying to pump into the skulls of our youth of America. That message is that drugs- and I like how she specifically names heroin in this one, I can’t think of a more suitable substance- really do take everything from you. Every one of those things she angrily screams to the audience will eventually be taken from you. Foremost, when you are on a good dose of H, your ability to do anything aside from nod off into a coma is severely handicapped. Have you ever had a conversation with someone on H? It’s about as gratifying as masterbating to a JCPenney’s full-page advertisement in the Sunday paper- frustrating to say the least. So yeah the whole brain-on-heroin-being-mush-frying-pan analogy rings completely true in my eyes, I’ve experienced it both first and second hand. Check.
What else does she list- money? If that shit grew on trees, and everyone could just walk around all fucked up on H and whatever else they so desired, well then none of this shit would be a problem now would it? But because life, and the universe in general operates on the principal of tradeoffs, making heroin is a somewhat complex process that not everyone can do and the people that can do it charge a handsome price for their service. Adding to the monetary value of this substance the extreme demand held by this product, and the fact that it is considered contraband by 99% of the world’s government entities- and you’ve got yourself a drug that is thankfully somewhat hard to come by for the average Joe or Jane. Can you imagine if that shit was like caffeine, and everybody and their mother was hooked on the horse…? Complete and utter pandemonium, I say.
I think during this striking young woman’s performance – admit it, her fervent passion for expressing her thoughts through violence with kitchen utensils was arousing on a level you’ve never considered until now- she blurts out friends and family or some shit. This is one of the more tragic prices paid to have heroin as a companion. Because of the previously mentioned debilitating financial situation many find themselves in because of this demon, relationships will assuredly be tested, strained, and eventually broken given enough time. There comes a point in every junkie’s existence that they will presented with that metaphorical fork in the road with a loved one on one side, and the big H, or whatever on the other. Unless the addict gets help, the demon will make the choice for the junkie, putting a gun to the addict’s temple, and saying, “You’re coming with me, buddy, I’m the only thing in your life that matters now!” Sad but true.
The last major conquest left before one’s addiction is the addict’s self-respect. Having already been beaten into submission financially and taking precedence above all other interpersonal relationships, there really is no other purpose to exist other than to act as a vessel for consuming the drug. When this milestone occurs, there is nothing that the addict would not do- no actions too shameful- to acquire the drug. You can kiss self respect goodbye when this happens.
Sure, I get to escape into a state of bliss when it suits me, but it has taken so much from me in exchange. To the outsider, it looks completely insane. Even as I write this, it’s painfully obvious how selfish and idiotic I’ve become. Hopefully someone in need finds these words and decides to take back his or her life.
Yes, that title was unnecessarily wordy and perhaps even- dare I say- pretentious. Here you are reading it, however, so maybe there’s something alluring about the word quintessential – a word I don’t think I’ve ever spoken aloud, even through the host of presentations given in a previous life which aimed to impress my audience, but often fell short of that mark. Maybe if I’d used words like quintessential more often during my visually pleasing, yet admittedly dry PowerPoint presentations, I would have progressed further in my career and not became the miserable “Smeagol-esque” creature whose words are temporarily occupying your attention.
That brings me to the topic I ponder for the evening; though, truthfully it’s been dragging me down more and more lately. The “downward spiral”- and I’m not referring to the NIN album which ironically catapulted Trent Reznor’s musical career to a whole new level of success. I’m talking about my own personal downward spiral, and how it is so very difficult to escape. It’s a phenomenon which is one of the cruelest tragedies fate has to offer. Painful as it is to experience, it can be equally as hurtful to sit by and watch helplessly as your loved one is caught in this vortex. Your words, the strongest of your efforts, your tears, and love which would otherwise move mountains is often not enough to save the ones unfortunate enough to be caught in the grip of this nightmare.
Now some of you may be thinking to yourselves Dude, do you think you could be any more overdramatic? Shit happens, bro! Activate your testicles, and drive on- emo was so 2000’s! To them I say, Dude, do you think you could be any more simplistically judgemental? Shit- as the bumper sticker has indeed plainly stated- clearly happens to all of us humans; but sometimes some particularly difficult shit hits us at a time when we are vulnerable, which leaves us exposed and prone to even more shit, which before you know it has snowballed into a pile of shit which has become hopelessly unmanageable! Now if you don’t find yourself aligned with the former reader’s line of thought, then I would imagine that even if you haven’t personally gone through a downward spiral yourself, you can identify with my words because you have been unfortunate enough to watch a friend or loved one struggle through such an ordeal. I think there is nothing so painful as being unable to steer the one you care so deeply for away from their demise, as they knowingly plummet to the bottom. Sadly, the only person who ultimately holds the reigns in that situation is… well, the person in the spiral!
Great so I’ve exposed a phenomenon which did not need exposing, since it’s some fucking unstoppable force or whatever. Perhaps…. but why does this happen though? I can only accurately speak for myself in this matter.
I will freely admit that I’m like hella chronically depressed. I have some theories on what the root cause of that depression is, but maybe I’ll explore that another time. For the time being, that is a factor which comprises my being- for
better or worse. That, in and of itself, may be the short and simplified reason as to why I’m caught in a spiral. My brain doesn’t currently produce the right combination of dopamine/serotonin or whatever to be resilient enough to bounce back from failures and adversity; as such, each setback in life prevents me from moving forward.
I wasn’t always like this though. So my own state of “not-giving-a-fuckness” was brought on by circumstantial factors. By the way, feel free to throw the term circumstantial factors out there in your day-to-day conversation just to see what kind of reaction you receive. It’s bound to raise an eyebrow or two during your routine dialog with peers and such.
*** Two days later… ***
So what was I rambling about? My downward spiral? Yeah, it simply represents a lack of resilience in one’s character. I believe I am being objective in saying that it is also a byproduct of low self esteem or confidence. There’s no one size fits all formula for this problem- at least Google hasn’t gone public with it yet- but generally it is those factors (depression, lack of resilience, low self-esteem) married with a series of unfortunate events which result in the person losing any and all hope in life. I used to care about my appearance, how much money I made, what kind of car I drove, you know, all that materialistic bullshit that is indoctrinated into American children’s lives from the moment they can be plopped in a stationary bouncer in front of a glowing screen, on through until they die of cardiovascular problems brought on by McDonalds and insurmountable credit card debt and student loans.
But hey, if anyone’s actually reading this, please share your thoughts! Have you been caught in this downward spiral phenomenon, but live to tell the tale? If so, how did you escape? Have you been unfortunate enough to see a loved one go through this ordeal? Please comment below, so your misery can be distributed amongst us.
So when the wonderful men and women in law enforcement systematically violated my constitutional rights by stealing my phone- which by the way, they didn’t even bother to justify to the tax-paying, 100% compliant, OIF/OEF war veteran they stole it from- it came to my attention that the hundreds of songs I had produced in Caustic would be gone forever if I were never able to retrieve my phone from these pig demons, who thrive on bullying the civilian population and climax at the thought of destroying lives under the thinly-veiled guise of “upholding the law”. It goes without saying that these brave heroes are exempt from those same laws, since men and women of this valorous character are held to a higher ethical standard which only their fellow officers can understand or judge….
I am getting off track here. I will be posting my music I’ve produced over the years here, with a short blurb attempting to explain where I was at, and what the fuck I was thinking, if anything, while I was composing these disasterpieces. I don’t think I generate a sliver of the web traffic needed for any of these songs to gain traction, and this is more of a means to archive these bad boys publicly. For better or worse, in the coming weeks my personal portfolio of electronically-produced songs will be shared. If you like them, let me know! If they are garbage- which assuredly, some of them are- spare my fragile ego and keep your fucking comments to yourself.