everything except himself

Oh, it's the darndest thing
To see that thing take wing.
It trips and it falls
And it kind of crawls,
But, when it finally reaches the sky
And you catch the look in its eye,
You'd think it thought it were a king or something. 

It's something else, really.
You know, if it were me,
I'd stick to watching the ground from the sky,
Somewhere way up high,
Instead of treading on unknown territory
And proving that life and fate and gravity are all still dejectory to your planned trajectory.
If you can't believe that,
Just watch Earth's laws lay this dumb bird down flat.

You'd almost think he didn't know he was a bird,
The way he always acts so absurd.
You'd think he'd have learned to be graceful,
At least how to hide it, no matter how awful,
But, you know, he's awfully cheeful,
Dragging mouth after mouth and claw after claw full.
Never mind that he never makes it very far,
He's his own personal Caesar. 

Look, now he's trying to cross that river!
Well, he's floating or gliding, maybe either,
And probably drowning a bit.
And, you'll all qip,
"Really, in a river, he shouldn't have carried so much,"
But he's extinct now, anyhow.

So, you probably don’t know this about me, but I feel like talking about it. My family has had to deal with drugs for a long time. Growing up with my dad has irrefutably shaped me to be who I am today. He wasn’t doing drugs at the time I was born. He didn’t do them as I was growing up. He doesn’t do them now. However, this man, who’s now over the age of 50, has struggled with the effects that drugs have had on him ever since he quit so long ago. He quit cold-turkey, but the immediate effect of taking drugs is not the extent of the damage that drugs are capable of doing.

As a child, I grew up in a household of yelling. I’ve developed this habit, which I still have to this very day, of eating quickly. This was caused because of the fights that took place between my mom and my dad over the dinner table. If I ate quickly, I could run away from it. That never changed the fact that he was always angry, and he was angry about everything. I couldn’t understand his anger as a child.

One of the biggest things I never understood was that my dad didn’t care if my mom cried. It never seemed to bother him, and she’d sit alone at the dinner table crying well after the fight was over. It took someone else who had had drug problems to help me understand.

One day, I got to hear a speaker talk about his own drug addiction and the effects that it had on his life. It was shocking to hear this man’s story: it sounded exactly like how my dad used to act. The man recounted being angry all the time, not being about to make rational decisions, living day-to-day, and the list goes on. This man helped me understand my dad’s position. There was nothing my dad could do about fixing his life by himself: my dad couldn’t be happy. It moved me. This is the only speaker I have ever gone up to and thanked, personally, for telling his story. What surprised me more was how much he cared that my dad had been helped. This man certainly knew, having gone through it himself, how much a real problem drugs can be to someone’s life and the lives of everyone around them.

On top of that, one of my cousins was just recently taken to jail. He’s out now, but some weeks before going to jail, he contacted his mother (my aunt). She was in tears before us (we were visiting her on vacation there). She was trying to decide whether to let this whole thing play out, to let her son just live his life, or to intervene. She was trying to decide if my cousin was crying out for help, and she was in tears over it for a long time. This woman is not weak by any standard. She’s one of the strongest people I know, and, yet, here she was crying over my cousin. There were drugs involved. There had been drugs in the past. His father had been a dealer at one time. I was at a loss for words, when I should have encouraged her.

Long story short, we had dinner with him before our vacation was over. He went to jail after the court proceedings finished (there was property and other people involved). It meant a lot to me to see him clean up over that short time we were there. It had nothing to do with us; it was all his mother, and I guess that’s the way it ought to be: people that are close to drug users and care about the actual person need to step up and try to help, because that person may want and definitely needs help to face their life. The resilience of my aunt in dealing with her son, my cousin, really left an impression on me.

In my family’s case, it was my mother. She kept trying to get my dad to go see a doctor. She cared enough about him to ignore the hateful things he would say. He didn’t see that he had a problem. It was really his inability to admit that he had a problem which made me unable to understand him. As I came into being an adult, I began to understand, after seeing him able to be happy, that who he had been was not who he was as a person. Really, all the yelling and anger was how his mind had been affected by the drugs he had taken in the past, showing through in his conversation (for lack of a better word), in the way that he would get mad at the littlest things, and how he would not, under any circumstances, take responsibility for anything in his life. The impression that I got from him, before he got help, was that he had obligations, yes, but, beyond that, everything else wasn’t his fault. Thinking back to some of things he said, it was really quite ridiculous. However, there is a lot to say for seeing a person for who they truly are and not losing hope in them and continuing to support them to a point where they can deal with their issues. That was finally going to a doctor for my father, taking medicine until the problem was under control, which was that my father’s brain could not produce the chemicals needed to allow him to feel happy. He still gets angry, sometimes he yells, but that’s who he is as a person; he no longer goes off the deep end; he’s human, and drugs will take your humanity away from you, like it took my father’s. However, care is the greatest thing, I think, that you can give to someone who is affected by drugs. In both my father and my cousin’s case, that’s what ultimately brought them back to a point at which they could be happy as people.

I don’t know what the hell got into me yesterday. I mean, yeah, some stuff happened and all, but I feel frustrated with myself for the way I acted because, damn it, it’s just easier to face rejection by not facing it at all. Who I was yesterday was pretty damn weak, though, and I don’t like it. I feel like, whatever good there was, I went and dashed it all on the rocks yesterday in one great hour-long throw. I feel about 3 feet high right now.

Honestly, it’s tough for me — rejection. I had thought I was doing the right thing, and then the whole thing crashed in on itself. Acts that seem noble are just cop-outs in disguise, I guess. I’ve learned my lesson, even for as confused as I still am. What really fucking disappoints me about myself is that I already know what I’m supposed to do in a situation like this and that’s the only thing I didn’t do. I’m such a relationship fuck-up. It’s not even funny…

So, what the hell was I supposed to do, you’re wondering? I was supposed to be there for this person, because, now, damn it, her life’s that much more complicated dealing with me when it doesn’t need to be. I’m not supposed to be another item on the list of the things to cry over — I’m supposed to be fuckin’ support, and I fucked that up royally yesterday. Today, tomorrow, whenever can be different, but yesterday will stain my mind as well as any stain your clothes could get from coffee. I should have fucking realized it. I had all day to think about it, and I fucking ignored her.

So, slugger, what’s your ingenious plan for fixing this mess? I’ve come up with 3 general things (let me know if you have suggestions). One, quit being a self-centered bastard. Two, show her that I fucking care, as opposed to acting retarded like yesterday. Three, fucking listen when she’s talking; I mean it’s pretty damn tough to hear anything when all you’re thinking about is yourself. I think that covers everything, though. I already apologized, but I doubt she understood why then. I’m pretty sure this will clear it up. Now, I’ve just gotta quit acting like a fucking kid and fix the problems I’ve made where there shouldn’t have been any. 19 fucking years old and I’m still a kid inside. I need to take the GTFU-101 class, majoring in “Grow the Fuck Up.” Damn.

In the game of Chess, your most potent weapon is being able to know — well, perhaps “predict” is a better word for some cases — how your opponent will move. It is not so simple as to say where he’ll move next. As you think upward into the moves, each prototypical move begins its own set of lines, all colored by that common ancestor, so that you think ahead going upward and outward.

In life, I try to think in people, outward and downward. There are people I write off — to make them happy usually entails making everyone else miserable. I’ve gotten good at understanding people this way, but it’s arguably harder than Chess. In Chess, you have only one piece to move at a time — that much is the same — but you are able to take many actions in lieu of a response. For that matter, the one thing I think Chess lacks is the ability to do nothing for a round. Silence and immobility are both powerful tools, and ignorance is greater than both of those.

Ignorance, that was my mistake; I forgot another party involved: Withdraw; Give up the fronts you’ve won; Regroup; Pick different fronts to take, ones that don’t border that other party’s claims; Prevent intrusion — stifle revenge; March and maintain; Maintain and march; Above all, leave.

It’s killing me inside. I don’t wanna be here even now. Somethin’ isn’t right. I… I want to do things right, but they just kind of come out wrong. I’m sure the only person I hurt is myself. The thing is, though, that I feel helpless to change, I guess. I’m at a school I don’t like, a job I hate, and a time schedule that keeps me constantly dazed from lack of sleep. I guess it’s just time to make up my mind. This life is driving me insane right now.

“Well, what would you do if you did have time?” That’s not exactly what I mean. What I need is something like a restructuring. I take pride in two things: 1, being able to make people happy and, 2, making or doing things well, like drawing or music. I really have time for neither one of those things, and none of those needs are fulfilled in anything I do right now, not really. This isn’t one of those silently suffer things; I’m not so weak as to not take what’s been handed to me into my own hands. I just need to use it better, so I feel good about all of it.

In other news, I got sick over New Year’s. I didn’t feel bad at all until the Friday before, so I guess someone I was hanging out with was sick, too. Lame. Off to class now…

Woke up this morning thinking of someone I hadn’t expected I’d find myself thinking about. Feelings just kind of hit me sometimes. I guess, in absence, I realized that I missed talking to her. Though there’s really no point in telling her how I feel now. It would be the equivalent of saying, “I’m confused.” Let’s face it: who wants to hear that? But such feelings dull the edge of whatever keeps you back about a person. That’s really very undeniable. For whatever reason, I feel this way.

There’s no way you’d understand. If it were dancing, it’s the point where you crash into the floor. As you drag yourself off it, it’s the time when you wonder, “Could I keep going?” Though your body’s yelling, “No!” you’ve got this sick rush that says, “More!” Body pressed up against a wall to hold yourself up, you go on thinking of everything that happened. It’s all a messy haze of speed and ecstasy, but it won’t leave you alone. You re-live it for a split-second’s eternity. You finally make it to the door, and then the cold air hits you. Your mind freezes, seeing everything but taking nothing in. Somehow, you’re crashing into your bed: “More…”

Heh, someone reminded me today that I’m alone. It usually doesn’t get to me, because I’m pretty self-contained. “You are too awesome to blow off.” I know it was meant to be encouraging, but it kind of hurt. Like, I don’t even know why. I guess it was just who it was coming from. I mean, I guess I’ve come to dislike statements like that altogether. “You’re a great…” Bite me! Say what you really wanna say. Feh, whatever.

A long time ago — a l-o-o-o-ng time ago — I liked this girl, right. One day she jokingly pointed to this little kid all dressed up in a suit and this miniature necktie and said, “Look! He dresses better than you.” I recently saw the following quote and it got me thinking about that time, especially in light of my need to purchase long-sleeved shirts, “At what time do men desire to dress up in front of women?” I guess it escapes me why anyone would care how I look in public. It’s not that I dress badly, really, in my opinion at least. I guess it was different back then, though. One of the girls I know actually said to me, “Scott, people don’t like you for your looks.” Burn, much? Anyhow, my point in saying all of this is that I’m no longer happy with the way I used to dress, for whatever reason. I think most of it stems from the fact that most of those things no longer fit anymore — well, arguably, they never fit to begin with… XL ftw (I’m an M) — and so I decided to buy clothes that did.

I went to the Kohl’s in Marietta to buy the stuff. As soon as I walked in, I just missed the eyes of a girl checking me out. How can you tell? I think most people are shy about that stuff, so they look away in a much more aggressive manner than one would look away from, say, a potato or other type of produce; it turns the whole upper torso away. Mind you, I don’t often check girls out because, to me, even though I find someone attractive, it doesn’t mean much to me unless I know the person. Besides, if you don’t watch yourself, you’ll turn into a creepy stalker who has a really skewed idea of what affection is and ends up in jail for intent to kidnap. That, or some spunky chick side-lines you with a Hello Kitty scooter. You better run fast, too, because she’ll probably proceed to beat you with it. Did I mention that stalking is creepy?

Back to my story. So, I go back and find the dress shirts. I picked out three: red, green, and yellow. I’m not usually a bright colors guy, but Fate dictates otherwise sometimes. You’ll probably see me on the news for my heinous crimes. To my chagrin, one of the shirts, though the measurement was right (32-33), was listed as XLARGE. Hmm, nope, not gonna work this time. This is probably why I shouldn’t shop alone, but, oh, well, what guy goes shopping with other people, right? I went back and found MEDIUM’s, though I had to sift through shirts, one that didn’t even bother with sizes except to be marked with an LT in place of the size. Uhm, “Largest Tonnage?” Yeah…

After getting home and picking out enough needles to comfortably pin a voodoo doll, I realize how weird this whole thing is for me. There was a time when I hated having to wear a button up shirt. At the time, I only tolerated them because, unlike a T-shirt, I could spike my hair then put a shirt on over it. Additionally, after Little Five-Points, I think I’ve found a home in vintage ties. I guess we all grow up eventually… Oh, wait, you think I’ll actually tuck those shirts in and wear nice pants and shoes? Try jeans and my worn-out Vans.

Sometimes my life really feels like I’m floating up and down on some kind of cosmic wave. The man at the temple we visited for my World Religion class said something like it: “If a wave happens, it moves the water, but the water doesn’t change. So, that is like our life; what we do moves things, but they don’t change.” Well, that’s paraphrased, but that’s the gist of it. His point was that we are the wave, and our lives are short like the duration of the wave, real because we could surf it, and gone because it disappears when it’s done. I don’t feel like that though. I think, on the other hand, that I must be riding someone else’s wave. At least, that’s what it seems like.

Personally, I tend to keep to myself. I don’t usually seek other people out for help, though — I admit — I would take it if it were there. I’m a reactionary person more than someone who acts. At any rate, I wound up talking with someone for a couple of hours today about some stuff, whereas I would usually be doing homework due later in the day. Either way is fine with me. Neither really takes precedence. I mean, my life entails something larger than simply devoting myself to school. At the same time, I can live my life with just myself as company. You may think that sounds boring, but, to me, having space and the ability to do as I wish with it is huge. It’s not a control issue, though. I just hate being trapped in something. Narrow beliefs, stereotypes, political correctness, addictions, etc, are all things that prevent me from experiencing what it is in this life that I want: good relationships with people.

It’s a firm belief of mine that no matter who you are as a person, you still matter; I’ll do practically anything for anyone if it’s asked of me and there is a real need. I’m not the type to get walked on, though. My point is that I want to live a life in which I make things better, and fixing myself is tantamount to that claim. You can’t do that if you’re passed out on the floor, or if you ignore the important things in your life for the lesser, meaningless things, right? Yeah, but, getting past all those things, I am free to go along the interesting path placed before me, the one I wasn’t expecting to walk down. Maybe I’m immature for thinking that way, but I don’t worry about tomorrow at all these days. It’s not because it’s not important, but I think it has more to do with the familiarity I have with this coasting along I’ve come to accept. It’s much more interesting to me to take life as it comes at me than to focus on those useless things that ultimately don’t matter.