I am 18.
I am enrolled in university in the Bachelor of Psychology (Honours) program.
I do have a job... as of last week.
I have two loving parents.
I have a wonderful girl-friend.
I have many caring friends.
I am bright/thin/attractive/full of potential.
I love who I am.
I am young enough to turn my life around.
but
I have been a heavy black out. f*uck up drinker/abuser of substances for the past three and a half years.
I come from a broken home.
I have a borderline personality.
I am an ex anoretic.
I am a cutter.
I have tried to kill myself twice.
I am being medicated and self-medicating.
I have a younger sister who's followed/following in my footsteps.
I hate who I am.
I don't know if I can stop.
So...
I think I may quit drinking for the week - give my body a detox and try to gather up the pieces of my shattered reputation.
Hmmm - what new hobby shall I take up to fill the void? .... Scrabble anyone! =)
What I want to know is how does one live a normal life - work a nine to five job - pay the bills - and face the monotony of each day without staring at the oven, pitifully, wishing it was gas and not electric? This is the challenge I now set for myself - go for a week without the exhilarating highs and devastating lows of the party lifestyle. Hmmm - perhaps I may exercise the odd brain cell, one that is currently dealing with abandonment issues. My partner once faced this same dilemma, but her new full time status as a manager of Dominos has softened and reduced the frequency of the blows she once dealt to herself...So, full time work - here I come... anyone hiring?
I can't sleep - tis 5 o' f*cking 3 am... I swallowed an evil sleeping pill the night before in an attempt to get my sleeping patterns back in order, yet found, that since I have no tolerance for sedatives/anti-psychotics, along with any other mood altering substances, that one run of the mill sedative can knock me out for 17 hours! At least I now know that if I ever slip into a drug induced psychosis it should be fairly easy for the men in white coats to sedate me back into reality. So, here I am, alert and thinking, again, at some ungodly hour. I pray for unconsciousness, for relief, for rest and f*cking restoration - to have my batteries recharged - to have the energy to face the day and its numerous demands. But, as always, I am doomed to remain a night owl. From year five till year ten I was a chronic insomniac - reading till three or four am then waking up at seven to face the numerous social circles which had to endure my seemingly unexplainable grumpiness. God - how I pity the poor f*ckers. So, what does this morning hold for me - will the sunrise be pleasant? Will the manager at the BP I am seeking employment at look kindly upon my worn, withered face with those adorable bags under the eyes, which some mistake for wisdom when they really represent waste.
Sleep, or attempting to fall asleep presents numerous problems: racing thoughts, strange pains and itches, doubts, excitement, anticipation, dread, rage, regret, sorrow, impatience, existential dilemmas, love, rumination, flash-backs - you name it - insomniacs feel it. This time spent alive is not so much consciousness or living - but floating through a ghost town - where the people who matter/mattered no longer exist. One drifts by, encased in the safety of isolation, whereby they can and or will say ridiculous melodramatic things to themselves or the virtual realm and is too tired to give a f*ck about the consequences of their ramblings.
So, I guess I am here, talking to myself and not to all of tomorrow's land loving, muesli eating, fully functioning daytime addicts, whose minds will let them rest. So what, there's nothing wrong with a bit of normality, or abnormality for that matter - I am beginning to find the mundane more and more intriguing - not the actual content but the internal spinning of the cogs which allow the great machine, driving those missing 'coping mechanisms,' to run each and every day. Why is rambling so goddamn f*cking enjoyable - my year 12 English teacher told me to never stop writing - he should have known that I didn't need the encouragement. I can't get enough of these thoughts out of my head and onto this f*cking grey/white screen (I think the battery's running low). Why are they still spinning and why isn't a typing speed of 75-80 words a minute not enough to spill my baked beans?
Well, well - if you're still reading I admire your commitment and determination...You're probably someone who enjoys the pointless insights I offer into my own lump of pink jelly or you're trying to suss this stranger out.
So, Hungry Jacks - lets change the subject - isn't it the best f&cking fast food outlet in the world - or if you're from the USA - Burger King. The ingredients are real - except for the chicken nuggets, I think, - and the creamy fat filled mayonnaise is simply to die for!
Now, back to something of substance - besides those that I force into my under-sized frame...actually, why does one consume illicit substances to begin with? Why are some people driven by some unknown force to experiment and to alter their state of being? Why do we crave escapism as if it was oxygen? Apparently, children of broken homes are ten times more likely to experiment with, use, and become addicted to drugs...apparently, adolescents whose sexual orientation does not meet the required standards are also far more likely to abuse their substances and six times more likely to attempt suicide. Apparently, individuals who do not come from a religious background - without that artificial structure of support - are also more likely to turn to a toxic shoulder to lean on. AND apparently, people from Western cultures, which are far more 'ego' based, as opposed to community based' are much more likely to over-indulge. I'm not making excuses here, I am merely pointing out the patterns - as if there are patterns then there must be causes - or correlations behind or between certain factors.
Well, my use of substances is not 'overly extreme' by any standard yet it is less than satisfactory according to my standards. I would just like to know why an evening at home in front of the mind numbing box does not seem appealing. After all, millions do it on a daily basis - some are content watching nineteen hours of television a day - nineteen! What, that leaves you five hours for sleep, doesn't it? T.V is, in itself, another form of escapism, pure and simple. While taking in those bright amusing photons your mind actually switches into a state similar to one that you would have whilst in a coma. So - here, with my insomnia - writing away instead of drifting off to the amusing antics of the Family Guy - I might just be exercising those precious neurons that make up who I am.
And, when I am drinking, dropping, smoking and dancing - certain neural pathways, which would otherwise remain unused and pretty much redundant - are also being activated.
And the cost, you ask, the price of all this indulgent behaviour...it is, funnily enough, brain damage. Years of ecstasy abuse will result in less and smaller serotonin receptor sites - thereby impairing basic cognition, memory, planning and whatever other activity you require to function on a daily basis. Alcoholism will result in much of the same - but throw in a few liver, kidney and bowel problems on the side and you have the complete dish. Marijuana is not even a drug topic I will dare to delve into to - tis a NOTHING drug, plain and simple - and I call it a NOTHING drug as it destroys one's MOTIVATION; one's urge to get up and go; one's urge to live.
So, where am I now, what am I going to do and how can I protect those precious few brain cells, holding hands and hiding in my hypothalamus? Let's see - I could just STOP abusing my body and thereby lose several social connections which I consider significant for some reason or I could choose moderation, which hasn't been working too well for me or I could just STOP.
But, stopping is by far the most selfish option: one I have previously looked into and grown to hate. So, does anyone have some suggestions? I may as well ask now before I lose the ability to write these overly long pieces of self-searching. Shall I try riding the wagon - I hear it's a bumpy road...Well, perhaps I should try repression, reaction formation, projection or denial - those psychological self defence mechanisms which should improve the general state of my mental health? But, I hear that they are only short-term solutions to an otherwise deeper problem.
Anyone who uses anything on a regular basis, be it food, alcohol or meth - is trying to escape from something...so, now the issue is self-discovery and an exploration of one's innermost thoughts and feelings - the dark matter of their psyche. But, if one, after years of such pointless and ineffective bellows of yearning from the soul still cannot discover the root of all their problems then what is one to do? Perhaps we users and abusers were born at birth with a short-circuited section of the brain - perhaps a few of the genes responsible for general happiness and common sense decided to skip reincarnation and left us to suffer and repeat the same mistakes that our family members or ancestors have been making for thousands of years. God, even the Romans enjoyed a good f*cking piss-up and the native Indians loved nothing more than to consume some mescaline and having a fucking wicked trip - 'yeah - lets get high, man!' No, back then such substances were usually reserved for special or sacred situations or before one went into battle - 'Well, if we're going to get disembowelled tomorrow we may as well get f*cked today.' That was their version of living life to the full when they were well aware that they could be long gone by supper the next evening. So, if during the holidays, and during the school year... I choose to live my life to the full, say, three, four or five nights a week and slowly erode my vital organs - so be it. I will be none the wiser at the end of it and have no precious memories of those joyous moments I shared with others who also face the same affliction. I don't particularly care what my fellow partygoers do as long as they don't drag anyone else down with them. But, now I feel it is time for me to cutback and smell the roses - appreciate the simple things in life before I become blinded by the extremes to the point that the real heavenly things in life no longer register in my mind.
At least this is how I feel for now...come Wednesday night - the night of the free male strip show at the Ed, I will be itching to go out, to flee from the boredom, from the constancy and from myself. And then, I will talk myself into having another beer - as I do love a good beer, I really do - and then I will experience bliss, nay, merely contentment - as for me to sit back and simply feel comfortable living my life, these thoughts - the one's you're reading now - need to be pushed to the back of my mind - where they can sit and enjoy the relief - their sweet relief from over use.
I'm sure that the neural pathways responsible for this miserable self-pitying garbage could do wish a rest. How about I give the pleasure centres of my brain a go and let them run wild? I don't particularly care anymore - as to my fate - as to the fate of others - what's one life? - Less than a grain of sand - What's one lifetime? - A momentary fucking blip. Sure, every individual has the power to change the world - but this world, I feel, is like one of those flexible rulers which bends right back to it's original, straight, predictable shape. One can measure their life's worth by what they leave behind - but the point is - you leave behind nothing. History is repetitive, it cycles, it flips and it even makes channel Ten's old Simpson's re-runs seem more original.
However, instead of realising the futility of existence and throwing the wet soggy towel you own in, why not do the best that you can anyway, as there is no point in adding to the misery. My post may add to another's misery but at least the venting feels good - right here - right f*cking now - I am content. I am content with my discontentment.
Oh God, the birds have just started their mourning song...It's still dark but I am about to face another day and I have not had a break in-between. Tis ok, the state is impermanent - meet me tomorrow and I might be singing the song of bliss - the song of love - the song of the feeling of belonging to something greater - the uniting force of humanity. Thank god for impermanence, note that I refuse to use the capital 'g'. What is worthy or respect? It's certainly not the imaginary/negligent omnipotent/obnoxious being in the sky - all one can worship is happiness and those things, those blessed impermanent 'objects' which induce it; friends, love, fine food, laughter, cats (lol)...?substances? and innocence.
I cannot stand the fact that already, at the ripe young age of eighteen, I have become jaded and the possibilities that the world has to offer me; the oyster I have sitting in my palm, no longer excites me. This corruption of my 'soul' - as that's the only apt word I can find to describe it, has occurred with experience. In this world true innocence and true beauty belong to the young - to the untarnished - the unmarred creatures who delight in the wonders of the 'new'. Thank you William Blake. Now I find that Dickinson and Plath are my most beloved companions in such times of 'life-loathing'.
"For each ecstatic instant
we must, in anguish, pay
in keen and quivering ratio
To the ecstasy'
'Wild nights, wild nights, I remember thee'
-Not exact quotations, but they shall do for now.
I remember feeling the warmth of the sand encasing my body whilst buried up to my neck in sand. I can recall the joy I felt when I cast my first line. I can remember the pride I felt when I scored my first goal in in-line hockey. I can also remember going out and purchasing expensive in-line skates and fishing gear when I received my scholarship money - and I KNOW how they sit, covered in a fine film of dust, brand new and unused in my room at home.
If this is what other's refer to as 'growing up' I want no part of it.
So, yes... substances. 'To be or not to be...that is the question.' Whether or not to continue experiencing these enhanced sensory perceptions is and always has been a question lurking at the center of my heart, or eating away at my gut. I've enjoyed years (from the beginning of year ten onwards) of the marvellous/devastating highs and lows of life with little, if any, permanent physical or psychological damage - that is noticeable anyway. I've only lost respect. After dropping acid half of the way through year twelve and drinking 3/4 nights a week, and then surfacing at the end of the entire saga with a T.E.R. of 98.55 I can only wonder...and wonder.
P.S - It's now 6:47 am and I'm still coming off an AWFUL sleeping tablet and I've been speed-writing the whole time (stream of consciousness style)- so, if you notice any ridiculous spelling errors - ignore them...
I am enrolled in university in the Bachelor of Psychology (Honours) program.
I do have a job... as of last week.
I have two loving parents.
I have a wonderful girl-friend.
I have many caring friends.
I am bright/thin/attractive/full of potential.
I love who I am.
I am young enough to turn my life around.
but
I have been a heavy black out. f*uck up drinker/abuser of substances for the past three and a half years.
I come from a broken home.
I have a borderline personality.
I am an ex anoretic.
I am a cutter.
I have tried to kill myself twice.
I am being medicated and self-medicating.
I have a younger sister who's followed/following in my footsteps.
I hate who I am.
I don't know if I can stop.
So...
I think I may quit drinking for the week - give my body a detox and try to gather up the pieces of my shattered reputation.
Hmmm - what new hobby shall I take up to fill the void? .... Scrabble anyone! =)
What I want to know is how does one live a normal life - work a nine to five job - pay the bills - and face the monotony of each day without staring at the oven, pitifully, wishing it was gas and not electric? This is the challenge I now set for myself - go for a week without the exhilarating highs and devastating lows of the party lifestyle. Hmmm - perhaps I may exercise the odd brain cell, one that is currently dealing with abandonment issues. My partner once faced this same dilemma, but her new full time status as a manager of Dominos has softened and reduced the frequency of the blows she once dealt to herself...So, full time work - here I come... anyone hiring?
I can't sleep - tis 5 o' f*cking 3 am... I swallowed an evil sleeping pill the night before in an attempt to get my sleeping patterns back in order, yet found, that since I have no tolerance for sedatives/anti-psychotics, along with any other mood altering substances, that one run of the mill sedative can knock me out for 17 hours! At least I now know that if I ever slip into a drug induced psychosis it should be fairly easy for the men in white coats to sedate me back into reality. So, here I am, alert and thinking, again, at some ungodly hour. I pray for unconsciousness, for relief, for rest and f*cking restoration - to have my batteries recharged - to have the energy to face the day and its numerous demands. But, as always, I am doomed to remain a night owl. From year five till year ten I was a chronic insomniac - reading till three or four am then waking up at seven to face the numerous social circles which had to endure my seemingly unexplainable grumpiness. God - how I pity the poor f*ckers. So, what does this morning hold for me - will the sunrise be pleasant? Will the manager at the BP I am seeking employment at look kindly upon my worn, withered face with those adorable bags under the eyes, which some mistake for wisdom when they really represent waste.
Sleep, or attempting to fall asleep presents numerous problems: racing thoughts, strange pains and itches, doubts, excitement, anticipation, dread, rage, regret, sorrow, impatience, existential dilemmas, love, rumination, flash-backs - you name it - insomniacs feel it. This time spent alive is not so much consciousness or living - but floating through a ghost town - where the people who matter/mattered no longer exist. One drifts by, encased in the safety of isolation, whereby they can and or will say ridiculous melodramatic things to themselves or the virtual realm and is too tired to give a f*ck about the consequences of their ramblings.
So, I guess I am here, talking to myself and not to all of tomorrow's land loving, muesli eating, fully functioning daytime addicts, whose minds will let them rest. So what, there's nothing wrong with a bit of normality, or abnormality for that matter - I am beginning to find the mundane more and more intriguing - not the actual content but the internal spinning of the cogs which allow the great machine, driving those missing 'coping mechanisms,' to run each and every day. Why is rambling so goddamn f*cking enjoyable - my year 12 English teacher told me to never stop writing - he should have known that I didn't need the encouragement. I can't get enough of these thoughts out of my head and onto this f*cking grey/white screen (I think the battery's running low). Why are they still spinning and why isn't a typing speed of 75-80 words a minute not enough to spill my baked beans?
Well, well - if you're still reading I admire your commitment and determination...You're probably someone who enjoys the pointless insights I offer into my own lump of pink jelly or you're trying to suss this stranger out.
So, Hungry Jacks - lets change the subject - isn't it the best f&cking fast food outlet in the world - or if you're from the USA - Burger King. The ingredients are real - except for the chicken nuggets, I think, - and the creamy fat filled mayonnaise is simply to die for!
Now, back to something of substance - besides those that I force into my under-sized frame...actually, why does one consume illicit substances to begin with? Why are some people driven by some unknown force to experiment and to alter their state of being? Why do we crave escapism as if it was oxygen? Apparently, children of broken homes are ten times more likely to experiment with, use, and become addicted to drugs...apparently, adolescents whose sexual orientation does not meet the required standards are also far more likely to abuse their substances and six times more likely to attempt suicide. Apparently, individuals who do not come from a religious background - without that artificial structure of support - are also more likely to turn to a toxic shoulder to lean on. AND apparently, people from Western cultures, which are far more 'ego' based, as opposed to community based' are much more likely to over-indulge. I'm not making excuses here, I am merely pointing out the patterns - as if there are patterns then there must be causes - or correlations behind or between certain factors.
Well, my use of substances is not 'overly extreme' by any standard yet it is less than satisfactory according to my standards. I would just like to know why an evening at home in front of the mind numbing box does not seem appealing. After all, millions do it on a daily basis - some are content watching nineteen hours of television a day - nineteen! What, that leaves you five hours for sleep, doesn't it? T.V is, in itself, another form of escapism, pure and simple. While taking in those bright amusing photons your mind actually switches into a state similar to one that you would have whilst in a coma. So - here, with my insomnia - writing away instead of drifting off to the amusing antics of the Family Guy - I might just be exercising those precious neurons that make up who I am.
And, when I am drinking, dropping, smoking and dancing - certain neural pathways, which would otherwise remain unused and pretty much redundant - are also being activated.
And the cost, you ask, the price of all this indulgent behaviour...it is, funnily enough, brain damage. Years of ecstasy abuse will result in less and smaller serotonin receptor sites - thereby impairing basic cognition, memory, planning and whatever other activity you require to function on a daily basis. Alcoholism will result in much of the same - but throw in a few liver, kidney and bowel problems on the side and you have the complete dish. Marijuana is not even a drug topic I will dare to delve into to - tis a NOTHING drug, plain and simple - and I call it a NOTHING drug as it destroys one's MOTIVATION; one's urge to get up and go; one's urge to live.
So, where am I now, what am I going to do and how can I protect those precious few brain cells, holding hands and hiding in my hypothalamus? Let's see - I could just STOP abusing my body and thereby lose several social connections which I consider significant for some reason or I could choose moderation, which hasn't been working too well for me or I could just STOP.
But, stopping is by far the most selfish option: one I have previously looked into and grown to hate. So, does anyone have some suggestions? I may as well ask now before I lose the ability to write these overly long pieces of self-searching. Shall I try riding the wagon - I hear it's a bumpy road...Well, perhaps I should try repression, reaction formation, projection or denial - those psychological self defence mechanisms which should improve the general state of my mental health? But, I hear that they are only short-term solutions to an otherwise deeper problem.
Anyone who uses anything on a regular basis, be it food, alcohol or meth - is trying to escape from something...so, now the issue is self-discovery and an exploration of one's innermost thoughts and feelings - the dark matter of their psyche. But, if one, after years of such pointless and ineffective bellows of yearning from the soul still cannot discover the root of all their problems then what is one to do? Perhaps we users and abusers were born at birth with a short-circuited section of the brain - perhaps a few of the genes responsible for general happiness and common sense decided to skip reincarnation and left us to suffer and repeat the same mistakes that our family members or ancestors have been making for thousands of years. God, even the Romans enjoyed a good f*cking piss-up and the native Indians loved nothing more than to consume some mescaline and having a fucking wicked trip - 'yeah - lets get high, man!' No, back then such substances were usually reserved for special or sacred situations or before one went into battle - 'Well, if we're going to get disembowelled tomorrow we may as well get f*cked today.' That was their version of living life to the full when they were well aware that they could be long gone by supper the next evening. So, if during the holidays, and during the school year... I choose to live my life to the full, say, three, four or five nights a week and slowly erode my vital organs - so be it. I will be none the wiser at the end of it and have no precious memories of those joyous moments I shared with others who also face the same affliction. I don't particularly care what my fellow partygoers do as long as they don't drag anyone else down with them. But, now I feel it is time for me to cutback and smell the roses - appreciate the simple things in life before I become blinded by the extremes to the point that the real heavenly things in life no longer register in my mind.
At least this is how I feel for now...come Wednesday night - the night of the free male strip show at the Ed, I will be itching to go out, to flee from the boredom, from the constancy and from myself. And then, I will talk myself into having another beer - as I do love a good beer, I really do - and then I will experience bliss, nay, merely contentment - as for me to sit back and simply feel comfortable living my life, these thoughts - the one's you're reading now - need to be pushed to the back of my mind - where they can sit and enjoy the relief - their sweet relief from over use.
I'm sure that the neural pathways responsible for this miserable self-pitying garbage could do wish a rest. How about I give the pleasure centres of my brain a go and let them run wild? I don't particularly care anymore - as to my fate - as to the fate of others - what's one life? - Less than a grain of sand - What's one lifetime? - A momentary fucking blip. Sure, every individual has the power to change the world - but this world, I feel, is like one of those flexible rulers which bends right back to it's original, straight, predictable shape. One can measure their life's worth by what they leave behind - but the point is - you leave behind nothing. History is repetitive, it cycles, it flips and it even makes channel Ten's old Simpson's re-runs seem more original.
However, instead of realising the futility of existence and throwing the wet soggy towel you own in, why not do the best that you can anyway, as there is no point in adding to the misery. My post may add to another's misery but at least the venting feels good - right here - right f*cking now - I am content. I am content with my discontentment.
Oh God, the birds have just started their mourning song...It's still dark but I am about to face another day and I have not had a break in-between. Tis ok, the state is impermanent - meet me tomorrow and I might be singing the song of bliss - the song of love - the song of the feeling of belonging to something greater - the uniting force of humanity. Thank god for impermanence, note that I refuse to use the capital 'g'. What is worthy or respect? It's certainly not the imaginary/negligent omnipotent/obnoxious being in the sky - all one can worship is happiness and those things, those blessed impermanent 'objects' which induce it; friends, love, fine food, laughter, cats (lol)...?substances? and innocence.
I cannot stand the fact that already, at the ripe young age of eighteen, I have become jaded and the possibilities that the world has to offer me; the oyster I have sitting in my palm, no longer excites me. This corruption of my 'soul' - as that's the only apt word I can find to describe it, has occurred with experience. In this world true innocence and true beauty belong to the young - to the untarnished - the unmarred creatures who delight in the wonders of the 'new'. Thank you William Blake. Now I find that Dickinson and Plath are my most beloved companions in such times of 'life-loathing'.
"For each ecstatic instant
we must, in anguish, pay
in keen and quivering ratio
To the ecstasy'
'Wild nights, wild nights, I remember thee'
-Not exact quotations, but they shall do for now.
I remember feeling the warmth of the sand encasing my body whilst buried up to my neck in sand. I can recall the joy I felt when I cast my first line. I can remember the pride I felt when I scored my first goal in in-line hockey. I can also remember going out and purchasing expensive in-line skates and fishing gear when I received my scholarship money - and I KNOW how they sit, covered in a fine film of dust, brand new and unused in my room at home.
If this is what other's refer to as 'growing up' I want no part of it.
So, yes... substances. 'To be or not to be...that is the question.' Whether or not to continue experiencing these enhanced sensory perceptions is and always has been a question lurking at the center of my heart, or eating away at my gut. I've enjoyed years (from the beginning of year ten onwards) of the marvellous/devastating highs and lows of life with little, if any, permanent physical or psychological damage - that is noticeable anyway. I've only lost respect. After dropping acid half of the way through year twelve and drinking 3/4 nights a week, and then surfacing at the end of the entire saga with a T.E.R. of 98.55 I can only wonder...and wonder.
P.S - It's now 6:47 am and I'm still coming off an AWFUL sleeping tablet and I've been speed-writing the whole time (stream of consciousness style)- so, if you notice any ridiculous spelling errors - ignore them...
eace:
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