Follow related website bookmark from Reddit:
Sex, Drugs and Rotting Souls... Or, how I crawled out of Mordor and Reddit saved my sanity.
Disclaimer: Please, skewer me... I deserve it. I have no intention of glorifying these events, though, without the presence of humor and sarcasm I would probably be institutionalized at this point. I also recommend reading this as an example of what not to do unless you have some sort of bomb strapped to your face and only minutes to live. And even then, don't do it, Keanu Reaves made a great informational video called Speed on how to act with respect for human life and dignity in general when in a stressful situation. But this isn't about Keanu Reaves, yet. **Backstory** Growing up in suburbia could be classified as cruel and unusual punishment. For my entire life there has been this split, one side created by administrators of elementary school who's souls have been painted on, shat on, slapped or just plain ignored by the wonderful creatures called children resulting in things like, "don't put your spaghetti on your bread or we will make you stare at a corner for hours..." (yea... true story) and the other side created by my parents who pretty much let me do what I wanted, didn't shelter me from ANYTHING. For the most part what I wanted was pretty simple. A few cool toys, playing outside, music, internet (lol). Then everything changed. I stopped being a kid, the world got a lot bigger and the things I wanted started being considered more and more taboo. I was always a loner, mostly because I was very self conscious. I very much wanted friends and, to this day, I still feel doubt that the people around me truly give a shit. Actually, I still have doubt that any of you exist at all but what can I do... I don't know why I can't just accept what I get but I always push and push for more. **COMMENCE CONFESSION** The first thing (of two) that I really need to get off my chest is the sex part. To make this short and bitter, my best friend's girlfriend left him for me for 2 years during which he became addicted to drugs. I finally broke it off with her after I couldn't stand the guilt and commenced doing my damnedest to make things right. At this point (5-6 years later) we are still in touch and hang out semi regularly due to him being busy. Needless to say my friend is as close to being a fucking saint that a human being can be for this and many other reasons. I, on the other hand, deserved to be drawn and quartered... which brings me to the second part. At first, drugs were something I never wanted to do. Then alcohol was fun and a (different) girl came into our circle of friends. She was the equivalent of a trojan horse. Beautiful, charismatic, open to anything, filled with the very fires of hell churned by demons wearing three piece suits made of live children. But fuck... she was gorgeous. And not to take any of the blame away from me (I regularly threw money around like candy) but, she was the boatman who was to take us all across the river styx and let me tell you... it costs a hell of a lot more than two measly coins and god help you, you're already lost, if you think putting them over your eyes is gonna help in any way... We ended up doing all the drugs most of you can name and some you've probably never heard of. We drove around when the sky was an Egyptian Pharaoh, when we didn't have the cognitive capacity to find our own feet let alone judge the distance from the car ahead, when nothing else mattered but exploring the depths of insanity and then clawing our way back out the cave to spread some semblance of knowledge we thought we had. We thought we'd figured it out... game over, fuck you life, I win. *queue creepy girl whisper from movie trailer* "We were wrong." And, I wouldn't find out just how wrong I was until the previously mentioned incident was long over. In fact, I think I might have just started REALLY getting somewhere at this very moment, which is the entire purpose of a confession, I suppose. I digress. Now that the drug culture, selfishness disguised as 'freedom', and one hell of a superiority complex was firmly implanted in my subconscious I was ready to fuck up nice and proper. Since I had way too big of an ego to actually end my own life, I used the only thing I knew would pretty much accomplish the same results without the whole dying part, and that part was just around the corner if I ever changed my mind. Hydrocodone, Oxycodone, Opium, Morphine, Heroin, Hydromorphone, Codeine cough syrup, Tramadol, Kratom, and straight ground up poppies brewed into tea so strong a normal person would be high for days or dead. These were my friends, along with a trusty roll of tin foil and then, inevitably, the *most* distinguished and voluptuous lady of all, the syringe. No more pesky emotions. No more annoying conscience. No more negativity whatsoever. God's gift to the travelers who choose the path of knowledge and realize, in the end, that no one's buying what they're selling. That was my reaction to my situation, people were cold hearted, porcelain dolls and their cracks were showing. We were just animals, guided by genitalia with the ability to problem-solve creatively in all of the most disgustingly satisfying ways... We always see ourselves in others, though. I knew it then but I feel it now. Big difference. It makes me laugh uncontrollably to think about the whole situation now. How absolutely ignorant of the fact I was that I was loading myself ever so slowly into a catapult aimed at a brick wall. At that point there wasn't much left to do but either keep loading it or brace for the shit storm that was about to follow. I am not a masochist, I did not do this because I thought I should suffer but, looking back, it sure makes a good case for Karma being real. Being on opiates is like being a Jedi Master. Total control of your thoughts and emotions... except for one of course. Quitting opiates is like trying to breath with a team of football players standing on your chest all the while shrieking about how stupid you are for doing XYZ and the rest of the alphabet for that matter. Emotions are a closed loop. Stop the flow and information is not deleted, it waits until it is useful again. Apart from physical withdrawals which consist of (for the curious) *deep breath* the feeling of my skin being on fire constantly, the inability to sleep, running up and down ten flights of stairs for hours and hours just to see if I could pass out from pure exhaustion (which I couldn't), a heart that beat so fast it could've filled a swimming pool in about a minute (and I would've had the surgical tube implanted too if it meant they'd have given me some morphine but sadly they only do that procedure for people who can comprehend the term 'consequences'. It's not good form to end a persons punishment prematurely). Apart from all that, the shear terror of actually feeling again was the worst part. And, the most important. I did not go to rehab. In fact, I went through the ordeal of withdrawals about five times... (probably because I was a fucking moron, I currently cannot think of another reason). And, I did all of this alone just because I love icing with my cake. I even added cherries in the form of cute little Suboxone tablets that come with the promise of a nice, sweet return to being human but only really serve to cuff your hands behind you while you stare down the same barrel as before but with the added bonus of extended suffering and the delusion that this time it'll be a cinch... Let it be known... the cake is not a lie, its just filled with holyfuckwhygodwhypleasemakeitstop flavored ice cream. So, now that you know about the two major fuck ups that, despite an otherwise pleasant and downright jovial life, seem to overshadow everything else: What have we learned? I am genuinely interested in what you all think the underlying theme here is. (See? I care about people... pff) But, in all seriousness, this sequence of events has been a profound ride for me and although I WOULD do it differently if I had the chance, I refuse to cultivate regret. **I doubt that any of the people involved will see this but I would like to sincerely apologize to all humans in general. Although I only really had a negative effect on a small number I feel as if I was a traitor.** I ceased to be human for a period of time and became the shapeless and pure form of self indulgence that I (and most of the people on this site) have come to realize is the root of a great deal of the problems we face on this planet. I'm not talking about drugs, this is simpler than that. We've made our lives so complicated that changing our current *natural* cocktail of chemicals surging through our bodies is being perceived as necessary. **I don't think complication is a good thing, I think it has caused empathy to become an act.** Knowing something and living it are totally different and many people don?t actually live what they preach. Should we try for everything or focus on one thing with all our effort? What is the perfect human? If we can't define that we can't move towards it. We can't define it because we've made the world too complicated. We have not changed intellectually as an organism. Yes, life is beautiful but is it really what people want: intense satisfaction at the cost of intense suffering? What if one horrible experience purposefully inflicted on each and every person was enough to allow for a utopia. Mathematically, it would be more humane since most people go through huge proportions of their lives in negativity. What a vicious circle... more