I am an addict. I’ve always have been, and I always will be. I’ve never been addiction free once in my life. It’s very simple, I find something, I like something, then, I abuse it until I reach a point of self destruction. It is what some would call a reoccurring theme or, a motif. It started out with sports and now unexpectedly, it’s writing. It’s like the theory of trial and error on large scale. All the pointless, useless, and flat out dumb addictions left me with nothing but lonely confusion. Nevertheless, I have no regrets.
Sports, Video Games, Sports, Drugs, Music, Writing. These were my addictions in chronological order. Most were beneficial, ONE was not. It only takes ONE to take everything you have and flush it down the toilet.
Drugs.Ugh, Every time I say that word it makes me sick to my stomach. It boggles my brain that I was careless enough to get involved with this unfortunate aspect of modern society. It doesn’t matter now but when I look back at all the friends that were replaced, the experiences I could of had, and the brain cells I’ve lost, I think. How the FUCK was I so stupid? How could I have come so close to flushing my life down the toilet? What the hell is wrong with me? I now know how easily my brain can be manipulated by happiness. Whether it’s artificial or not, I get hooked. It becomes my life. I can’t help it. It gradually gets worse until something better comes along or I’m at rock bottom. I’ve only reached rock bottom once and I can tell you right now. I WILL NEVER GO BACK.
The concept of “Addiction” is subjective. I personally believe it isn’t an addiction until your abuse affects other people in a negative way. Sports effected my parents in time occupying way. They would sometimes drive an hour there and back for a freaking baseball game. Video games would replace my real life friends for my gamer friends. Besides school and sports, I’m not sure I left my house in 6th grade. Music bugged the fuck out of my neighbors. I would blast my guitar amplifier to concert volumes and they would come over in the middle of the night in there robes and slippers demanding I “shut the fuck up and go to bed”. There was even a time when I was playing so loud that I didn’t hear the door bell ring. My neighbor barged in like a raging steer and cursed me out. My writing hasn’t affected anyone that I know of, so I guess its not an addiction.
All of those hobbies turned addictions seem petty and harmless because they are. Drugs on the other hand, had detrimental effects on everyone that I had consistent interaction with. Lets start with my family, there isn’t much to say except that I would steal money from them whenever the opportunity was given. This obviously created some tensions. Then with my friends, I became a arrogant ass clown that gave no shits about what anyone else had to say. I would constantly voice my ignorant opinions and tell my retarded, drug based stories. Those friends didn’t stick around for much longer. So there I was, a stupid, narcissistic, drug addicted, sophomore in high school. I had no friends ,and my family basically admitted defeat with there second child. With the help of the criminal justice system, my personality, and my newly found passion, I prevailed over drug addiction and gained back my family, but I still had no friends.
With drugs out of the picture, a new addiction was bound to come into the light and take over my world. The obvious guess was the guitar. Since I had nothing to do after school and no friends to meet up with on the weekends, my time was mostly spent practicing the guitar. The weird thing is my mind was so hooked on the guitar that I didn’t even care that I had no friends. After a few months of playing 5 hours a day, I was good enough to be considered a guitarist. Being self aware of my own talent gave me this great shock of temporary confidence. Enough confidence to go out and get new friends. Which I did, these friends constantly provided me with what I needed at the time, a night out of my fucking house. It made it better because these friends had similar interests with me. There was one BIG what if though, they were cold blooded stoners.(It didn’t take long for me to start using again but that’s a whole other story).
The point is my addictive personality knocked me the hell out and then revived me months later. The idea of using drugs again still hovers around my brain. It is sad, I know. I think I am psychologically hooked for the rest of my life. The only thing that stops me from driving to my dealers house is the duel for top addiction in my head right now. Music and Writing are going at each other like mad dogs. Every time drugs becomes a consideration, They bark and hound until it’s no longer a factor. However, drugs are like a little pest, you could scare it away, but it ALWAYS comes back.
Like Machiavelli said, “the end justifies the means”. My means might’ve been bad but in the end it doesn’t matter because the past is the past and the present is the present. There is no where to go but forward.