Good G-d I need to live on my own! As much as I love my mother and how I never want to leave my temple of contemplation, I need to be on my own. While I was lying in bed today I started daydreaming about the future and how I can't really see any real glory in adulthood. Commercials are starting to provide unnecessary insight into that unappealing world. Do I really want to go work a mind-numbing or back-breaking job just so that I am able to stare at my very own empty fridge? I figured that the whole reward of working hard and paying that endless list of bills was that you had a place to hang out on friday night without suffering prejudice over your activities or choice of lifestyle. When I think about it that way, I start placing a typical teenage perspective on the entire situation. Where can we get drunk on Friday? I don't feel like standing in that park again.
But if this is my goal of living on my own and how I choose to reward myself for going to work every week and paying my bills, it seems like after 2 or 3 weeks, Friday night will snowball into all nighters playing drunken backgammon with a friend, then trickle into saturdays, leading into an inevitable weekend of complete disconnection with reality. Surely this will affect my ability to work during the week. I feel like the only way I could make it in the "real" world is if I give up all "fun" things. This could be a surefire solution except that I would probably go mad. It's only been a year since I left high school, and I'm already missing those self-discovery trips that I took walking around Toronto. The time I got lost in the Wynford area, resulted in me standing in the middle of intersections peering down streets for landmarks. If anyone had seen us, we probably would have been arrested. Every 2 days I'm told to start planning my future. Open this account, start doing this. Get in the habit of this.
5 years ago, I felt like I knew who I was. Then I started drinking, smoking and heavily using pot. Then I felt like I was awakening a new side of me. I started over-analyzing everything during routine (sometimes daily) "circles." I started noticing things about other people, and even myself. I started to take pride in certain aspects of my life that I had been embarrassed about before such as my constant need to hold open the door for the person behind me, and how I had great respect for the "classic gentleman" of early films. I knew that I wasn't "classy" but was proud of my aspirations. Booze and drugs got me in trouble with my mom, such as the time she showed up and I was drinking tequila from a bottle as I held up my puking friend. While it made a rift between us, it allowed me to open up a little with her and be a little more mature about my weekend activities. It was alright for me to get sloshed just so that I didn't ride my bike home and that I was home at a reasonable time. Naturally, using booze and pot heavily I began to abuse the guidelines and continued to let down my parents while my schoolwork become second fiddle to where I was getting fucked on friday. Grade 9 Math - 89%. Grade 10, 11 Math, 12 Calculus - 50%. Can you guess which year I started?
High school ended, during which I had a brief stint of dealing pot for about 1 week just to say that I was once a drug dealer (why, I dont know), and I proceeded to spiral. I finished my half semester in January, and my parents were gracious enough to believe me that I was going to take a few months off, then get a job before university. Thankfully I had my job at the curling club so that I had a paycheck to blow on booze and pot every 2 weeks. I saved nothing. (Sidenote: In my first year at the curling club, coincidentally the year I turned to the Dark Side, I made close to 3 grand. I had nothing at the end of the year, and I presume 50 to 70 percent of that was spent on booze, drugs and cab rides home.)
During my post high school vacation time, I no longer felt like I knew myself. The dark side that had been awakened had fully taken over. My musical taste had drastically changed from public school, my taste in movies, clothes, food and friends were all different. Being an old-fashioned type every person from Bessborough seems like a dear, close friend. Adam, Sean, yes even you Timo, seem like you molded the construct that was Stephen. Through high school the chum bunch, the babe buffet and the drama crowd all helped program me under the tutelage of my deconstructive confidante Shane. He and I bounced back and forth between groups throughout high school but by the end I felt like there was no place I could go without him. He penned it quite nicely a few months ago when I was described as " his brother who he couldn't get rid of even if he wanted to." Having a second mind just a phone call away, I began to shape my worldly perspectives that I had developed during those hazy friday nights.
The spring of 2004 came and my life reached a new plateau. I always vowed that no matter how much I drank or smoked, I was comfortable at my level of involvement and would never move ahead. That was until, like every other substance, I was suckered in by peer pressure at a party and decided to try shrooms. Naturally, I freaked out, tripping at images dancing at the brink of the screen, and rooms seeming to grow. I discovered that shrooms created an entire new perspective on the world, often creating mind-bending discussions. As soon as I drunkenly mistook a log for a corpse, I was hooked. The next shroom trip resulted in the infamous journey to Sunnybrook Field. Probably one of the greatest nights of my life that I would put into contention for my everlasting memory if I died. That field began the whole line of self-questioning, as well as helping me to appreciate my life and the world. I grew closer to my parents, to Bex, to my friends, but I still felt disconnected from myself. Months went by, I did in fact get that job (just barely), but I continued my "self-desctructive" pattern. I also discovered my love of driving during the summer (don't worry, no drugs or booze were involved), to which I coined my description of shrooms. "Letting go of the wheel." There's a whole hand movement and a facial expression that accompany it.
I kept destroying myself until my dad went into the hospital. From then on, nothing was the same. I was clean for a long time, not wanting to waste any time in case the impossible happened. I also felt robbed, not only in the obvious way but I also never got a chance to find out if my dad had ever lived like I was. Strange enough, I will always wonder if he ever smoked pot. After he passed away, I was frightened to do shrooms, and even get really high. I feared that I would get into some sort of train of thought that would end up with my crying or mentally instable. At that point I was still figuring out my relationship with death and whether my actions were being watched. Therefore, I didn't want to do anything to bring shame to my family now that a pair of eyes were following me. I started putting up walls between me and certain aspects of my life, which freaked my out even more thinking I would turn into another Bob Geldof. Eventually I did shrooms again, and went out drinking, resulting in many questions about the meaning of life. Still, I haven't returned to that life. I'm currently in university missing a phase of my life that I just came from and fearing a phase I'm moving into. My dad never made it to university and my mom dropped out halfway through (I believe). I made it a personal goal to complete university sort of "in honour" of my parents and how they brought me up. I figure now that they will now they did a good job, if I graduate from university and complete the entire stereotyped "happy" family. What happens after university? I'm not sure. Will I return to my ways? I'm currently having trouble staying on top of my work and being motivated to learn because I try to go to my classes, while also fitting in all my time at the curling club and trying to revisit "the glory days." I smoked pot for the first time in about a month and a half, a week ago. That seemed like an eternity for me. I was so rusty, I couldn't even tell 3 of my companions were on shrooms. I don't feel like I'm done with shrooms, and I feel like pot will always be a part of me. It depresses me to think that I'm dependant on a drug that has to alter my perception of reality, but it also comforts me.
(begin playing the intro to Rolling Stones "Gimme Shelter")
I don't know who I am yet, but at least I'm curious.
(Start mind-jamming music and watch Milkdrop on Winamp)
I'm just starting to read Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. I'm getting one of those weird "book was written for me" vibes. If any of that book, or this post sounds familiar to you, send me an email. Probably the only thing I enjoy more than messing my head up, is talking about how I messed my head up. If not then you can join the others who are staring at me with disgust. At least we've got something to talk about if you ever meet me.
P.S. My shroomed, Meaning of life conversation is currently on pause at either:
Childhood or Conciousness. Childhood was the epiphany, but seemed to depressing and suicidal so I decided to throw in conciousness for all you optimists.
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