Simplicity anonymity and release

Its been forever since the last time I’ve actually written down anything about myself or the way I feel about my life. For a while when I was younger it seemed so easy to do, scribbling about the average “issues” of adolescent life, confiding my secrets and daily life in a marble compisition notebook. As I became older, those same issues began to seemed trivial in comparison to real world problems. My life began to feel pointless and putting my worst moments, my most intimate thoughts down on dead trees to have as a personal momento seemed pathetic. 

It became easier to just keep all of it to myself. Rather than dealing with problems and thoughts screaming in my head and finding a good way to express them, I would soothe them with whatever made me feel capable of walking outside in the morning or numbed my senses enough to simply go through the motions.

There came a point where i realized that I had spent over a decade of my life along with over 70k under the influence.  It gave me a certain sense of self loathing and i’d be lying if I said that the thought transformed my life, that I went sober, found religion and became one of those success success stories. Instead I hated myself more and upped my doseage of self medicating.

Its been a few months since being that down.  Its not to say I don’t still do something almost daily, but at least I feel like I don’t threaten my own mortality as much and there are places I’ve been and things I’ve done that I don’t and won’t mess with again. 

Its not like I had a bad childhood, my parents are great people. Despite a multitude of fights and never truly seeming to understand one another, they’ve always wanted me to live a decent life that doesn’t make them cringe and worry at night  My only hopes in that regard is that one day if I have kids that ill be as good to them as my folks were to me, and ill give them a grandchild before they die.  

They didn’t have a guide book not how to raise my sister and I. They both had rough childhoods and came to America as teenage immigrants. Even so, they did the best they could with the cards they were dealt. My mom got here GED at night while I was in elementary school. Afterwards she went to college in the evenings and finished a masters degree, while my dad worked 12+ hrs daily from home to take care of us while supporting her endeavors.

They both made sure that we never went hungry (though being a picky eater wouldn’t be tolerated).  It wasn’t 5 star restaurant cuisine but mom can make a savory miracle happen with $5 and a few random coupons at the grocery store. They also tried their best to instill their unwavering sense of morality in my sister and I.  Ill say my sister for the most part took it all in. I’m still a work in progress.  

It wasn’t like I was a “problem child.” I played sports, got good grades, was in a lot of school clubs, and got along fine with most people. It wasn’t till I turned 17 that life got wild for a variety of reasons. Partially for the growing pains of a son wanting to be treated as a man, and a father not willing to consider the thoughts and beliefs of a boy 30 years younger than him as valid. The other was me starting to become an alcoholic.

Somehow despite much cussing, fighting, and screaming on both our parts, I survived the summer after high school long enough to see my first semester at college. I got a scholarship to a university 2 hours away and was elated to get hell out of there. Even so it ultimately became a new sort of hell.  All my friends were back home and I didn’t really feel like I fit in anywhere.  The friends I did make were just as wayward as me.  By the end of my second and last semester there I had experimented with a lot bad habits, my roommate lost his life to a dumb stunt with his frat brothers and a close friend I made there commotter suicide. Eventually I got kicked out for the following semester after getting caught doing drugs multiple times on campus.  

Even so I no longer cared. I never wanted to go back there ever again.  Everything about life hurt, and I didn’t really have anyone I wanted to talk it out with. Sure I had friends and I made more when I got back, but everyone has thoughts and memories that they don’t want to discuss with friends and family. I felt like was in one of those big tires rolling down a hill , expecting to crash hard at the end of the slope. I mostly rode it out in silence for a good while, with the occasional emotional outburst or fit of rage.

I did not feel well more often than not. A few times I tried to level with my folks but they didn’t want to believe I was really in that much mental anguish “Boy you don’t have kids or a real job, you don’t have a problem. You just need to behave yourself.”  Something about the way my dad viewed it as a phase or discipline problem made me feel dumb for being the way I was. The suggestion of a therapist was met with skepticism, confusion, and a look of disgust. Like the look you get when you unexpectedly walk into somebody’s fresh fart and the putridness straight violates your nostrils and makes you gag.  I resented him for many years for making me feel that way.

It wasn’t until 4 totaled cars, a handful of arrests, almost dying a few times and regularly finding me passed out in the drive way with the car still running that they actually acted more concerned than angry. 

They got me to see a doctor once but by that time I was consumed by my vices.  I didn’t give a fuck about anything. My guiding statement was that I could only die once. I’d made it that far without one and whatever feeling I wanted could be found in a bag. Its was delusional to think so, but I wasn’t about to let a therapist tell me I can’t buy chemical emotions and go to rehab. Life still felt too crazy to go sober

It wasn’t until recently that began feeling decent about things and not feeling the need to be straight obliterated. It came from reading, talking to similar people who are just as dysfunctional as myself, and simplifying a lot of my life. Not focusing on any one issue for long and remembering the temperance of life situations. No one thing can physically stay the exact same forever. To live our every day life to the fullest we too have adapt and change as we see fit.

Its the reason I chose to make a profile.  I’m doing fine now but what about when life seems rough again for some shitty reason.  If I’ve made it almost 3 decades, I should probably try to see more and do myself a favor and take care of what decent mind and body I got left. Its easy to be emotionally courageous and open with someone when you know you’ll never see them again or you can be anonymous. Maybe it’ll become a regular thing though. Getting some of it out this way leaves me with a slight sense of calm.

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