does this count as therapy? does this count as anything?

Monday, February 21, 2011

30 Day Challenge, cont.

Day 3: Your Views On Drugs and Alcohol
Yes, yes. Once again, it's been awhile. I will do a "what I'm doing" post in a few. I have some rad pics to post and such, just be patient with me. Be patient with me for the both of us, because sometimes I get so frustrated with myself I want to flick myself in the nose.


My view on drugs and alcohol are this:

Some people are wired to be able to indulge in whatever and not have any spillover effects where the rest of their lives go off track.

Some people aren't.

If you can truly get high, get drunk, be wasted and not hurt anyone including yourself, then fuck yes. Go for it. I know it's an awesome feeling. For awhile.

I may have met... 3 people like that.

I am not one of the "lucky" few that can partake and not feel like an absolute asshole the next two days to three weeks. Things affect me. Drugs and alcohol affect me deeply. They even affect how OTHER things affect me.

So I don't do them. Anymore. But please believe, there was a day that I was right there, looking in the mirror, making the decision to abandon my goal to be my best self and get wasted.

I am dyslexic from Xstacy.
I still have a pull in my gut and my mouth waters whenever I think about how it feels to smoke crystal meth.
I involuntarily chew my bottom lip when I remember my acid trips that involved animal crackers and punching someone in the crotch and almost getting the shit kicked out of me.
I can get so drunk that I lose the ability to focus on the face in front of me, and instead stare to the right of whoever I am speaking to like their head has found prime real estate not at the end of their neck, but balancing on their shoulder.

When I was 20 I tried crack and came perilously close to making the active decision to give everything else up in my life to be able to continue on that path. After 1 time. Once. I actually looked at the crack pipe in my hand, with the brass brillo pad spilling out the top with the melted crack still smoking, the numbness that is so beautiful it making me forget to speak spreading from my lips to the rest of my face in a wave that was the most gentle tsumani ever concepted, and thought, "Yeah. I can totally do this. And just... this. Absolutely."
I was in the bathroom of a retired prostitute named Kitten, sitting on the edge of her bathtub, marveling at the baby pink and mint green color scheme war that was taking place on the walls and floor. I was with a boyfriend of mine who was a total pile. As was I, actually, at the time.

Lucky for me, that shit only lasts about 5 minutes. I mean, I totally did it again. But another five minutes later, there was such a letdown. With the words "retired prostitute" echoing in my head, I decided to leave, and walked out the front door.

It's one of my favorite decisions I have ever made. It's right up there with moving to New York and repairing my friendship with Whitney.

If you are not like me, I envy you. But only a little. Because I am totally awesome.

Also of note is the way I feel about how illegal substances are procured, the shit that goes into them, and the people that are hurt along the way of obtaining certain drugs. Now I'm obviously not talking about home-grown pot, which my only beef there is the lack of motivation for anything but eating, drinking, and smoking more pot it can gift to people. I mean the stuff that is shipped here from other countries, the people, primarily young girls who are used as mules, the people who are corrupted and bought along the way. Those things I am not okay with, but realize the eventuality of. It makes me sad.

Take care,