HTDY p. 2: Misery’s Love/Hate Relationship with Company

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.

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How to Destroy Yourself Part 1

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.

The Quintessential Downward Spiral and the Crushing Grip it Commands

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.

Posting Beats

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.

Abomination

Disappear

Not a Joke Anymore

Optimizing my Freedom

So as many addicts do, I have been fighting sobriety tooth and nail at great length much to everyone’s bewilderment. I know there are like a billion articles on the benefits of sobriety, and they serve a purpose for those who wish live that type of normal lifestyle. By any logical sentiment, I cannot argue against living a clean, psychoactive substance-free lifestyle. That is the natural way to travel this journey- which is inherently difficult without adding layers of complexity that most reasonable people deem unnecessary. Many even assign the notion of immorality to the use of mind altering substances. Honestly, I can’t fault those who think that way because for years in the US we’ve been propagandized to adhere to that line of thinking. Also, I’d be lying if I said there weren’t a host of addicts out there who wouldn’t hesitate to step on your well-being to get their next fix. I would argue that there are just as many addicts that respect others and maintain a code of morality such that they don’t try to make their addiction anyone else’s problem. Conversely, I think it’s safe to say that there is a proportionally similar size of the population who do not use any substances, who would just as soon disregard others’ rights to benefit themselves. I have witnessed such actions time and time again throughout my career supporting that case by observing ass-kissers and pyschopaths excel in the workplace at the expense of others. That’s people doing what they do, unfortunately; often we don’t need any outside motivation other than those incentives which manifest naturally to inflict damage on one another.

My purpose here isn’t to justify the use of drugs, but to explain one facet of the addict’s rationale. What am I, some sort of an expert? You might say that, rabbit, you might.

First of all, I just don’t like being told what to do. Have I sacrificed nearly all of my financial success to live by that principle? Yes… but what is money anyways? A carrot that is dangled before us in portion-controlled doses, ultimately used by those in power to manipulate us peons into building their legacy while we act as an expendable resource? I am a pretty accommodating dude, willing to help my fellow man (and even woman) to a reasonable extent within my capabilities; but when other humans are deliberately trying to manipulate my values, or believe they “own” me because of some wack precedent established with no input nor agreement from me, that’s where I start to fall out of line. Maybe some person or group of people a thousand miles away from me think I shouldn’t be allowed to poison myself in a very specific way- yet allow other arguably worse and more socially problematic methods to plague society- but I never agreed to those ludicrous conditions. I think it unjust that one would charge other humans with enforcing their beliefs and declare that they have imaginary powers over those who disagree with their will. What makes those powers “official”? Can I form a gang and start making declarations of law pertaining to personal life decisions of all the people living within the abstract borders of a geographical area? Does anyone else understand how absolutely fucking asinine that sounds!?

Yes, I know that’s an over-simplification of the issue, but at its core, that is the heart of the issue, and why I oppose the precedent that’s been status quo for too long. One person can’t make a change when the argument is for getting high; but when the argument is to quit wasting our nation’s pooled taxes on imprisoning a large portion of the population who made a choice not in adherence with “officially prescribed” bullshit guidelines- then that argument starts to make sense.

Then again I could just be some asshole trying to justify his own use.

Another Day… No Dollar Though

That’s right, another day of existence is added to the growing collection of days which will be forgotten and meaningless. I have nearly lost my “Mojo”, or if it isn’t gone already, it’s on life support in the ICU, being cared for by Dr. Kevorkian. I’m having a hard time seeing the glass as being half full lately, because I’m seriously struggling with doing anything more than existing. I have been on/off with maintaining sobriety- which considering my circumstances, is pretty fucking commendable, I’d say. To elaborate, my significant other has kinda picked up one of my nasty habits, and fucking took off with it on her own, at a speed that has more or less surpassed my usage. So there’s one thing that I can etch into my legacy’s stone tablet of significant life accomplishments: pusher of addictive and dangerous substances, and sharer of misery. My point is that it’s damn near impossible to quit anything addictive, if the person you’re living with has the same habit. So I suppose it’s the circle of life, or poetic justice, or fucking whatever that I would afflict that curse on a loved one, only to have it come back and gingerly goose me while I’m trying to get my ish together! If I had a nickel for every time karma shot me with its painfully righteous darts, I’d still only have about a half dozen nickels. Yeah, I’m not a bad guy who goes around screwing people over, but when I fuck somebody without the lube, it will most assuredly come back later to fuck me unmercifully, harder, and with even less lube.

All metaphorical sex acts aside, I am fighting with the vigor comparable to Ben Stein’s voice to get my life back on track. Sure there isn’t much enthusiasm there, but I am droning through at a flat, continuous pace, slowly and painfully making it through the day and looking back to say “at least I didn’t off myself”. For some that may not seem worth writing in a blog that few will even read, but these days I try to celebrate even the most pitiful of deeds (or ‘non-deeds’ as it were), because what else do I really have?

I would like to believe that my worst years are behind me- but honestly I would probably being doing myself a disservice, as they could be much worse. I’m kind of hoping to at least keep this streak sub-mediocrity, anti-accomplishment behavior going just a bit longer. As long as nobody expects anything of me, I will not disappoint!

No More!

Let’s be honest, nobody reads this shit. If this blog was worth reading, I would be making more than 3 cents a month in ad “revenue”. So that means I need to go back to the drawing board. Looking back on these blog posts, I get it. I mean if I can barely stomach my own wallowing in despair, I shouldn’t expect anyone else to be on the brink of climax while perusing through this heap of hedge clippings.

It’s time to finally give this site a purpose, and it’s amazing that it only took me 3 days of being mostly sober to fucking get the nerve up to kick this site in the balls and make it something worth seeing. That’s right, the logic there is that in order for something to be “worth seeing” as I put it, it must first be kicked in the genitals. Now I’m illusrating the absurdity of my own logic. I’m gonna stop this here, before I get stuck in a contradicting logic loop, but just know that this site is going to get a renovation soon!

I’ll archive these posts and maybe keep em around, if they are of any possible benefit to someone. I’m hitting the reset button on this one.