I am very depressed about all the drugs I did in my youth.
I suppose I was looking for an answer to questions of morality and philosophy, trying to become a better person, a better artist, in my way. I wonder where I would be now without those learned mushroom experiences that marked my youth in lust. I want to be as clean as possible now, quitting smoking first, then cutting down on sugar and coffee. I want to be pure.
My innocence was lost long ago, cut down like the affairs of a strange ape in a room, strangling himself against ego and lost attempts at being a gifted man. I hurt people, and I had to leave. I was influenced to be a bad person when I was young, and I need to move forward like a leader. I need to be a better person then I was being, sitting around a coffee shop like limp-dick scum, hurting myself with liquor and drugs, trying to rock and roll. Who did I think I was? That is not how to make music anymore.
I’m sure I got lucky on several occasions. I’m sure I died and was reborn in fits of manic dread. I sure enjoyed myself while I was adventuring, and hopefully I moved a mountain at some point. I look back at my youth and wonder what I have accomplished. Did anything I wrote do something good, or are they just inane ramblings sitting alone in cyberspace waiting for a robot to come along and post a reply? This manic idea that I am doing something great, that comes from the drugs. It must, it hasn’t been the same since I quit partying.
I love not partying, but there are few people to play music with. People are too loud and weird for me as a sober person, so I enjoy staying in on a Friday night and watching the television. It has been idle and marked with my awkward silence and “distance” from my girlfriend, as I have been smoking too much pot. I tell you this now, because only my mother reads my blog. I must confess, I am smoking pot to quit smoking tobacco, and it is working rather well, except for the haze of sweet smoke around my rental apartment. This is making me paranoid. I don’t want to get kicked out. I suppose I could really try to make a difference tomorrow. I could try to put down smoking in general. This is hopeful, but a lofty task in the light of my addiction. It is also a step I am forced to take.
I want to be sober. I want to be one of the good people who were never turned on to anything even like drinking, but I know I am who I am, subjected to eternities of habit. I must move forward and be a sober person from this life on. I cannot drink, because almost every time I drank I found myself next to the toilet wishing I hadn’t drank. I have that in my cell memory. I have that in my eternal memory. That is part of who I am. I just needed to clarity to try to change. I guess that is why God is tearing me apart like this.
I must quit smoking, as well. I am down to two a day. All I want to do is find a new way to try and kill myself, but I am so afraid of the idea of that thought that I pray to stay alive and see more with my friends and family. I suppose that is why I want to quit smoking, because it is the first time since I first thought about it that I was attached to this body. This sobriety is the first time in a long time that I have wanted to keep ahold of this life. That seems so shallow now, but it is actually quite sad. I had no idea what I was missing.
The trouble is the great fear that it produces.
I was running from my troubles, trying to create a delusional world.
I hated every moment of it, except the sober manias.