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…
Nothing more gratifying than spending an inordinant amount of time and effort on a project that will ultimately crumble through no one else’s fault but your own. It … And by it, I mean everything, is so much easier when there is a scapegoat within earshot. Pointing your finger at someone unsuspecting is all the more satisfying. I challenge you to do it, if you haven’t already. I’m willing to bet you’ve already tasted that bitter, low-hanging fruit, yeah? What am I even talking about? If I heard myself talking like that, I think I would feel obligated to beat the shit out of myself.
I fuckin fell off the horse. Or did I get back on the horse? Or is it a wagon? Do those terms only apply to AA? Is my ignorance showing?
I haven’t really even started treatment yet, so I guess none of that shit applies to my situation quite yet. Maybe if I publicly admit to my incompetence as a normal human being, I can shame myself into sobriety. That’s a legitimate method to living a normal, healthy lifestyle, right? I mean, it seems to be working out pretty well for Scientology- and we all know how prestigious and credible their dogma is. If some 19 year old kid can show me the path to enlightenment by having me put my hands on his magical thetan detector, and he throws in a convincing sales pitch to buy L. Ron Hub’s impressive library of choose your own adventure books; well I’d be a fool not to fork over all my earnings! That’s like one step from being a Jedi! Paying taxes? That’s for mere mortals. If you ask me, I think the word “cult” is thrown out there with a little too much prejudice. I think of them as a club that is perpetually engaged in a LARP session that never ends, but without any of the magic, or medieval weapons, or smiling… and you aren’t allowed to quit. Ever. If you break character there will be some helpful rehabilitation sessions to assist with maintaining the proper thetan levels. All hail Zenu.
Yeah so I guess my counter resets to zero now. FML.
Jesus Christ, what a mess.
I’m on day four (?) of sobriety, and I forgot how miserable this is. Yeah, there are things that can distract me for a few minutes- sex, TV, video games, food; but it passes so quickly. Then I’m left with myself again. It is so much easier to get that needle in my vein and just push that magical substance up my brain and experience happiness in the blink of an eye. It’s so much easier than working for it. Judge me if you want, but if you’ve had a taste of it, then you know what I’m talking about. I think that I’m just like anyone else, I just want to be happy. Getting high makes me happy. The hardest part about sobriety is I will never forget what that feels like. I can never “untaste” that feeling. As long as I’m alive, it’s always going to be screaming at me, trying to pull me back towards it’s grip. I would do anything just to feel it one more time, but I can’t. The state says I can’t, my wife says I can’t, my family says I can’t, and without words, or even any willful sentiment, my daughter says I can’t. That’s the hardest one. I have let my daughter down for so long because I’ve been so selfish. I’ve been slowly committing suicide (so I’ve been told) with these needles, and putting myself closer to the grave just so I can experience happiness forbidden by logic. It doesn’t make sense to any rational person- why the fuck would you shove a disgusting needle in your arm? Are you trying to kill yourself? Don’t you want to live to see tomorrow?
Nobody understands unless you’ve done it, so if nothing else, just know that ignorance is bliss. I guess you could take that several different ways in this context. This is so hard, but I’m doing it for my daughter. My life has all but fallen apart, so I guess it’s time to stop fucking around and fix this mess I’ve created.
I know all 2 of my followers have been just dying to know what’s been going down in my neck of the woods. Truthfully, things haven’t been going all that great for me. I can hear the world’s tiniest violin, stringing out the most woeful of tunes, amongst an ocean of woeful tunes in this shitstorm of hellfire we call life. Life is one big shit sandwich, and each one of us has to take a bite.
I had a recent encounter with those boys in blue who do nothing but act on the public’s behalf, protecting and serving society, putting the state’s interest humbly above their own. Now if I am breaking the law, that would mean I’m acting against the State’s interest in keeping an orderly and safe society, and I should be willing to pay the price for whatever misgiving I have inflicted against the public. Here’s what I don’t fucking get- what about victimless crimes? I say victimless, because I’m not even willing to call myself a victim in this case. That’s right, straight up victimLESS, motherfuckers, nobody here is being wronged or shortchanged. But because that would leave not nearly enough people incarcerated in our prison system, the state gets to decide whether you are a victim against your own actions. Is that justice? I’m sorry, I can’t hear you over all that money being dumped into this section of the economy.
Let’s be honest, that’s all it is is a rather large chunk of our economy which has been taken to a new extreme by a machine fueled and kept well-lubricated with money. That’s messed up in itself, but what I find insulting is how it is being masqueraded around as “justice”. Justice has become a little warped over the years, hasn’t it? It seems to benefit those who profit off the system, at the expense of society as a whole. If our system is a detriment to the public, while benefiting a select few, well then that’s not really justice is it?
I would love to get all kinds of specific with this one, but it’s not in my best interests to do so at this time. Maybe when this all blows over.