I took some barbiturates last nite, which is a bad idea if you know the story. I was once very fond of these blue bastards. I say fond instead of addicted because, to me, addicted is a rather strong word for weakness.
But, as you know, it's generally those who say they aren't that usually are. Likewise, those who say they are usually aren't. It's my understanding that admitting to having a problem is both an acceptance of sickness and the first step to curing it. It's also my understanding that once you begin a cure, you are no longer, technically, sick. You still have the disease, but owning to it gives you power over it.
My logic is flawed, but fuckit.
Anyway, at the apex of myerfondness, I was downing 9 pills a nite. And sometimes drinking whilst doing so.
As i understand basic psychology, a self destructive act such as that is an indication that i am running away from some bigger trauma. So, being as i was going thru my most existential phase at the time of my fondness, that could have been a number of things. Being an empathetic existentialist is a job in and of itselfbelieving that, not only, the weight of the world was on my shoulders, but also feelingactually feelingevery tragedy and injustice i knew i could change was tiresome at best.
I was a sensitive lad.
And i wont factor in idealism.
And lowercase is are not indicative of anything, i'm just too lazy to hit Shift in the middle of a sentence. Seems a bit cold and pointless, doesnt it? Well, that's indicative of something, i'm sure.
Anyway, this was during my college days, as well, so there's relationship shit you could factor in, being my relationships were less than fulfilling. Or so i thought at the time. But these details are saved for a different post at a different time (wait'll i tell ya bout the marriage in the woods! That's a doozy!)
But it's amazing the things your mind glides over in the height of narcotic bliss. The thing people don't get is it feels good. We wouldn't do it if it didn't. Or whatever Rents said. I cant quite remember off hand.
I can remember, however, the feeling of my muscles slipping across my bones; stretching and snapping into place. Oh, man, i miss the yawns. Yawns for days, i'm tellin ya! My lungs filling with air and the thought, knowing that i wasnt in control of every thought and action i was thinking and making. I remember my unconscious popping up and having these insane thoughts. Every sleeping thought seen clearly and written down in my pre-enlightened drunkenness. I remember the connectivity to music, the feeling of your heart conforming to the beats of the music. The rhythmic buzz thru your toes.
But i forgot to breathe and i forgot to swallow. Waking up gagging and gaspingwhat a beautiful sight.
And startling the person sleeping next to you before going into an innate ramble about spiders on the ceiling, it doesnt get much better, does it?
I would sleep with a dictionary just to know what i was thinking.
If that isnt beauty, i dunno what it...
I remember how fast time passed, hours for minutes and the like. But i forgot to sleep. I forgot to sleep on sleeping pills. Or sleep well, really, waking up after a two hour nap, feeling brilliant.
And that feeling only lasts about four hours. Then it's sleepy time again. But this time for massive amounts at a time. 12- 16 hour chunks missing out of a day, and so on. What's not to love?
From my parents past, it could be argued that this is a rare event, that i have an addictive personality. That is to say, i am predisposed to addiction, not that people are drawn to me and cant get enough of my wit. Though, when high enough...
Because of my predisposition, i've been weary of what i put into my body and the frequency in which i do so. And let it be said, those who are addicted, are addicted not only to the chemical release/narcotic input, but to the feeling which they receive upon acceptance of the drug into their system. That is to say, there is an emotional bond to the substance.
But i say that as if you didnt already know.
And you probably already know that all good things should be taken with infrequency to allow your body to recover from the last dosage, the last payload. To retain a tolerance, to retain a quality. And a quality high is better than a frequent high any day.
I mean, just because you're not a virgin, doesn't mean you need to be a slut, right?
And cotton mouth. How could i forget cotton mouth? Blek.
And the emptiness you feel cannot be filled.
Please don't misread me when i say, The emptiness you feel cannot be filled, because what i'm saying is, the emptiness you feel cannot be filled in such simple ways. Not to be irritatingly nihilistic, but it's pointless to fill your emptiness with anything concrete when it's such an abstract void. It's abstract, ergo, it cannot be filled. Just because we have a fondness to assign our most base, abstract notions a concrete counterpart doesn't mean is can be filled as such.
You will never really be complete, face it. It's not a completion thing it's a human thing. Humans are built that way. You need an emptiness, you need a void to give you balance, motivationa drive to achieve. A goal. An abstract to fill an abstract.
I mean, fulfillment and completion are concepts, nothing more. An idea. That's all. An abstract solution to a bigger concrete problem.
Sex, alcohol, drugs, religion, wealth, food, television, knowledgeall great void-fillers, but temporary at best.
All solutions to smaller problemsloneliness, fear, sadness, ignorance, weaknessall hiding a bigger problem.
Concrete solutions for abstract problemssolutions nonetheless, right?
I mean, self destruction is all the rage, innit?
But if you take the smaller problem and you understand where it stems from, you become aware of the bigger problem. The concrete problem becomes clear.
And now the bigger, concrete problem, can become the cure. If you idealize it, conceptualize it, make it abstract, you can fill the void!
To learn how to do this, buy my book, only three easy payments $39.95!
Seriously, though, all you need to do, is make the problem your goal. Or the solution to your problem, atleast. The motivation to solve this bigger problem makes you complete.
Motivation=Completion.
The void becomes the filler.
The fantasy, the desire for a cure IS the cure.
I could be wrong, you know. I dunno if i'm complete, and hell, completion maybe overrated. But the whole The Drive For Completion Completes You theory is a good start, right?
And as i stated earlier, once you're on the road to recovery, you're no longer sick.
Admitting you have a problem, negates the problem.
It's still in the AM, btw, still a lot of day left. Any new revelations/experiences will be posted later.
"I'm somebody now, Harry. Everybody likes me. Soon, millions of people will see me and they'll all like me. I'll tell them about you, and your father, how good he was to us. Remember? It's a reason to get up in the morning. It's a reason to lose weight, to fit in the red dress. It's a reason to smile. It makes tomorrow all right. What have I got Harry, hm? Why should I even make the bed, or wash the dishes? I do them, but why should I? I'm alone. Your father's gone, you're gone. I got no one to care for. What have I got, Harry? I'm lonely. I'm old. "
update...
I've become bored with my hair. It was bound to happen sometime. It's currently too long to hang comfortably in my face, too short to put inna loose pony-tail.
I cn part it on the side, down the middle, or put it in a tail. The way it is, down the middle, when i brush it behind my ears i either look like a penis or a midivil knight. Parted on either side and i look kinda like a poseurlike a copycat of those emo bands you see. In a tail i look like a pirate, the way my bangs hang down onto my face.
Unfortunately, what i'm really left with is the poseur route. Maybe i'm going thru a poseur phase, you never know.
I could always just shave it off, but as i said in an earlier post, i have a receding hairline (no bald spot...yet, thank god...) and i want to keep as much hair as i can as long as i can. I would like to shave it off, that's usually what i do when i get irritated with my hairjust off it. And that's my first inclination now, but i'm gonna stick it out. I want a loose pony-tail, damnit.
There was this kid in high school, we sat together in creative writing. Marty somethingorother. He was an emo kid before emo was emo. His hair was dirty-blonde and long, down to his back. The color was a bleach job. A bad bleach job, as seen in the green tint. And the conversations we had. He was brilliant. It was a kind of bitter brilliance you get when you waste away working at a book store, you know? And he had a nail thru the centre of his nose and he always wore this old tan colored sweater that hung auspiciously off his shoulder. He was one of the two coolest people i met in high school.
I think i should dye my hair red. A maroon colour, dark maroon. It'd be nice if the dark red mixed with the dark blue and made something similar to a dark magenta. At least in tint, i'd like it to stay black, if at all possible. Except for the roots, those can go red. A saturated colour, maybe lighter or something. Something to offset the darker bit of my hair. That would be badass. You know, to continue with the incongruity theme.
Oh, yeah. Day 13. i hit myself in the balls twice. Accidentally, of course. I'm not that hard up, you know. It happened both times whilst i was winding up a vacuum cord. Two different times.
And i'm so fucking tired right now. It's only six-thirty and i'm ready to crash. I'm gonna try to stay up till ten, maybe.
But, as you know, it's generally those who say they aren't that usually are. Likewise, those who say they are usually aren't. It's my understanding that admitting to having a problem is both an acceptance of sickness and the first step to curing it. It's also my understanding that once you begin a cure, you are no longer, technically, sick. You still have the disease, but owning to it gives you power over it.
My logic is flawed, but fuckit.
Anyway, at the apex of myerfondness, I was downing 9 pills a nite. And sometimes drinking whilst doing so.
As i understand basic psychology, a self destructive act such as that is an indication that i am running away from some bigger trauma. So, being as i was going thru my most existential phase at the time of my fondness, that could have been a number of things. Being an empathetic existentialist is a job in and of itselfbelieving that, not only, the weight of the world was on my shoulders, but also feelingactually feelingevery tragedy and injustice i knew i could change was tiresome at best.
I was a sensitive lad.
And i wont factor in idealism.
And lowercase is are not indicative of anything, i'm just too lazy to hit Shift in the middle of a sentence. Seems a bit cold and pointless, doesnt it? Well, that's indicative of something, i'm sure.
Anyway, this was during my college days, as well, so there's relationship shit you could factor in, being my relationships were less than fulfilling. Or so i thought at the time. But these details are saved for a different post at a different time (wait'll i tell ya bout the marriage in the woods! That's a doozy!)
But it's amazing the things your mind glides over in the height of narcotic bliss. The thing people don't get is it feels good. We wouldn't do it if it didn't. Or whatever Rents said. I cant quite remember off hand.
I can remember, however, the feeling of my muscles slipping across my bones; stretching and snapping into place. Oh, man, i miss the yawns. Yawns for days, i'm tellin ya! My lungs filling with air and the thought, knowing that i wasnt in control of every thought and action i was thinking and making. I remember my unconscious popping up and having these insane thoughts. Every sleeping thought seen clearly and written down in my pre-enlightened drunkenness. I remember the connectivity to music, the feeling of your heart conforming to the beats of the music. The rhythmic buzz thru your toes.
But i forgot to breathe and i forgot to swallow. Waking up gagging and gaspingwhat a beautiful sight.
And startling the person sleeping next to you before going into an innate ramble about spiders on the ceiling, it doesnt get much better, does it?
I would sleep with a dictionary just to know what i was thinking.
If that isnt beauty, i dunno what it...
I remember how fast time passed, hours for minutes and the like. But i forgot to sleep. I forgot to sleep on sleeping pills. Or sleep well, really, waking up after a two hour nap, feeling brilliant.
And that feeling only lasts about four hours. Then it's sleepy time again. But this time for massive amounts at a time. 12- 16 hour chunks missing out of a day, and so on. What's not to love?
From my parents past, it could be argued that this is a rare event, that i have an addictive personality. That is to say, i am predisposed to addiction, not that people are drawn to me and cant get enough of my wit. Though, when high enough...
Because of my predisposition, i've been weary of what i put into my body and the frequency in which i do so. And let it be said, those who are addicted, are addicted not only to the chemical release/narcotic input, but to the feeling which they receive upon acceptance of the drug into their system. That is to say, there is an emotional bond to the substance.
But i say that as if you didnt already know.
And you probably already know that all good things should be taken with infrequency to allow your body to recover from the last dosage, the last payload. To retain a tolerance, to retain a quality. And a quality high is better than a frequent high any day.
I mean, just because you're not a virgin, doesn't mean you need to be a slut, right?
And cotton mouth. How could i forget cotton mouth? Blek.
And the emptiness you feel cannot be filled.
Please don't misread me when i say, The emptiness you feel cannot be filled, because what i'm saying is, the emptiness you feel cannot be filled in such simple ways. Not to be irritatingly nihilistic, but it's pointless to fill your emptiness with anything concrete when it's such an abstract void. It's abstract, ergo, it cannot be filled. Just because we have a fondness to assign our most base, abstract notions a concrete counterpart doesn't mean is can be filled as such.
You will never really be complete, face it. It's not a completion thing it's a human thing. Humans are built that way. You need an emptiness, you need a void to give you balance, motivationa drive to achieve. A goal. An abstract to fill an abstract.
I mean, fulfillment and completion are concepts, nothing more. An idea. That's all. An abstract solution to a bigger concrete problem.
Sex, alcohol, drugs, religion, wealth, food, television, knowledgeall great void-fillers, but temporary at best.
All solutions to smaller problemsloneliness, fear, sadness, ignorance, weaknessall hiding a bigger problem.
Concrete solutions for abstract problemssolutions nonetheless, right?
I mean, self destruction is all the rage, innit?
But if you take the smaller problem and you understand where it stems from, you become aware of the bigger problem. The concrete problem becomes clear.
And now the bigger, concrete problem, can become the cure. If you idealize it, conceptualize it, make it abstract, you can fill the void!
To learn how to do this, buy my book, only three easy payments $39.95!
Seriously, though, all you need to do, is make the problem your goal. Or the solution to your problem, atleast. The motivation to solve this bigger problem makes you complete.
Motivation=Completion.
The void becomes the filler.
The fantasy, the desire for a cure IS the cure.
I could be wrong, you know. I dunno if i'm complete, and hell, completion maybe overrated. But the whole The Drive For Completion Completes You theory is a good start, right?
And as i stated earlier, once you're on the road to recovery, you're no longer sick.
Admitting you have a problem, negates the problem.
It's still in the AM, btw, still a lot of day left. Any new revelations/experiences will be posted later.
"I'm somebody now, Harry. Everybody likes me. Soon, millions of people will see me and they'll all like me. I'll tell them about you, and your father, how good he was to us. Remember? It's a reason to get up in the morning. It's a reason to lose weight, to fit in the red dress. It's a reason to smile. It makes tomorrow all right. What have I got Harry, hm? Why should I even make the bed, or wash the dishes? I do them, but why should I? I'm alone. Your father's gone, you're gone. I got no one to care for. What have I got, Harry? I'm lonely. I'm old. "
update...
I've become bored with my hair. It was bound to happen sometime. It's currently too long to hang comfortably in my face, too short to put inna loose pony-tail.
I cn part it on the side, down the middle, or put it in a tail. The way it is, down the middle, when i brush it behind my ears i either look like a penis or a midivil knight. Parted on either side and i look kinda like a poseurlike a copycat of those emo bands you see. In a tail i look like a pirate, the way my bangs hang down onto my face.
Unfortunately, what i'm really left with is the poseur route. Maybe i'm going thru a poseur phase, you never know.
I could always just shave it off, but as i said in an earlier post, i have a receding hairline (no bald spot...yet, thank god...) and i want to keep as much hair as i can as long as i can. I would like to shave it off, that's usually what i do when i get irritated with my hairjust off it. And that's my first inclination now, but i'm gonna stick it out. I want a loose pony-tail, damnit.
There was this kid in high school, we sat together in creative writing. Marty somethingorother. He was an emo kid before emo was emo. His hair was dirty-blonde and long, down to his back. The color was a bleach job. A bad bleach job, as seen in the green tint. And the conversations we had. He was brilliant. It was a kind of bitter brilliance you get when you waste away working at a book store, you know? And he had a nail thru the centre of his nose and he always wore this old tan colored sweater that hung auspiciously off his shoulder. He was one of the two coolest people i met in high school.
I think i should dye my hair red. A maroon colour, dark maroon. It'd be nice if the dark red mixed with the dark blue and made something similar to a dark magenta. At least in tint, i'd like it to stay black, if at all possible. Except for the roots, those can go red. A saturated colour, maybe lighter or something. Something to offset the darker bit of my hair. That would be badass. You know, to continue with the incongruity theme.
Oh, yeah. Day 13. i hit myself in the balls twice. Accidentally, of course. I'm not that hard up, you know. It happened both times whilst i was winding up a vacuum cord. Two different times.
And i'm so fucking tired right now. It's only six-thirty and i'm ready to crash. I'm gonna try to stay up till ten, maybe.
that takes me back, there used to be a guy believe it or not named bubba who sole the barbies. yes days upon days of fun.
i always wante dto go all tank girl on my hair, just get relly drunk and have a party with the clippers
----
if motivation=compleation, then theres no need to go through with the act that requires the motivation....?