Dangit, Relapse

There's a few things I've done or been a part of in life that I really could have lived just fine without experiencing. One of those things I mentioned a bit ago, in the post Where I've Been. I speak of alcoholism or, in broader terms, addiction. I myself am not an addict.

My biggest vice was cigar smoking, which I kicked days before the neck cutting got under way, because it'll supposedly make my healing chances increase. So no problem, I stopped buying cigars. Kind of solved that problem, for the most part. And I've always been that way, really. I realize now, I'm lucky: I don't have an "addictive" personality.

For instance, I once bet my dad, upon turning 21, I wouldn't drink again -- for no good reason either, we had just been trash talking to each other in a casino, and that prompted the whole thing. And for the next four years or so, I didn't touch a drop of alcohol -- I told him I wouldn't, and I didn't. I just decided not to imbibe, it really didn't change anything for me. (And I was still more fun than you.) When my mom asked me to take a shot with her on her something-th birthday down in Tijuana, I said "why not" and went with it -- that ended the "bet." Even then, I didn't become a big drinker thereafter or anything.

So you can perhaps see how little I have cared about alcohol or drugs in general. Which really set up the divine irony that played fun-times with my Fate as an apparent consequence: I met someone once who unbeknownst to me was an alcoholic. How could I have not known?, you might ask. Well, that's easy: how could I? I didn't live with this person, didn't see her every moment of the day, wasn't privy to her innermost thoughts -- no, not at that point. And having never known someone with a true addiction, I was unaware of what signs to even look for.

I learned of her disease a couple months after we moved in together. The first "relapse" was a big one, a bad one, because she had spent the first couple months really trying not to drink to hide it from me. I had no idea, so she was pretty successful up to a point. Then it all came together for me. And here's the kicker: instead of running as far as I could, as fast I could, I thought I could make a difference. She had a disease, and I know how that goes (read Why I Am So Colorful) -- so I thought to stand by her, help her fight her disease, like I'd want someone standing next to me for mine. And hell, hers could be controlled. (Or so I thought.)

It worked for a while. But then it stopped working. That sort of speaks for itself, and I'd say adequately sums up how I ended up reacting -- when she stopped trying, I stopped being there. That sort of thing brings its own "issues" and considerations with it and isn't the point today. Moving on.

While I didn't want to know this aspect of life, the depths of human depravity and addiction or obsession, I ended up living with it for a time. It was something I wasn't prepared for and, in hindsight, because of who I am and how I am, not something I could have ever been prepared for. I witnessed things I really wish I didn't -- I saw the ugly, horribly obscene side of human nature. That sort of thing kind of plays havoc with your mind a bit. And that's really what I wanted to put out here, for people to understand.

Those of us who are lucky as hell not to have this addictive side, this obsessive craving for a substance (or a thing) that overrides logic and can take over someone's body -- seizures, cravings, DTs aren't myths or something in the mind, as is commonly projected by those of us who don't "get it" -- we can maintain a distant ignorance of the topic. And then there's those of us who have experienced it too closely, in whatever form...and it never really goes away. Whether it is alcoholism, or clinical narcissism, or narcotics abuse, or what have you: addiction is destructive. "Escaping" from it, for those indirectly involved, is certainly the best way to cope, but the ugliness in humanity, once revealed, can never be ignored or forgotten entirely.

We deal the best we can. For families and friends of alcoholics, there's groups like Al-Anon. It wasn't for me -- I'm not good at being a professional victim -- but I can see it being necessary for, say, children of alcoholics, or the parents of alcoholics. For other folks there's therapy. And for others still, there are even more, different ways to go about  dealing with it. But these types of groups exist precisely because it is impossible to ignore or forget. And that's normal. The passage of time helps take away the intensity, but the memories of the terrible things seen never fades entirely -- you just have to be smart, you have to want to learn from it the same way you learn from your own mistakes.

I want to encourage anyone who has lived with something like this to seek out positive ways to heal. Go to a group, or see a therapist, or whatever you need -- life is way too short to waste holding on to the negative, the painful.

And hell, if you have some kind of addiction and are reading this, please for the love of God get some professional help. Nobody around you, unless they share your disease, will understand it properly -- don't take it out on them. There are professionals for this, most of whom are recovered addicts anyway! I've lived in a situation in which an addict held my life hostage for attention, for support, for help -- in short, for stability. I was afraid to go for a good while there because I was made to fear her reactions. The bottom line was: I wasn't professional help, I couldn't affect the change I wished I could. And you know what happened? Read my post from August 13th.

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I don't want to end this post with that kind of negativity or whatever. So instead, I want to leave you with a song. A little back-story: my cousin and I have an ongoing debate as to which band features Joe Strummer's best music. He votes for the Clash, one of my top five bands, and I side with the Mescaleros. Both of us, however, are highly critical of Joe Strummer cover songs, because let's face it...they were done right the first time.

But this one was less a cover and more a tribute, so to speak. Performed live on a radio program, the Loved Ones just kind of throw this one out and rock to it. And it's one of my favorite Joe Strummer songs thanks, in large part, to my best friend and brother (known here as P) putting it on a compilation for me years ago. It's the emotional attachments we form...

Without further ado: