Drugs
Drugs changed me, but they did not change my life. Tonight as I'm cleaning up my room a bit, I am reflecting on all the questions I've asked myself in the months since October. Drugs (well one drug) brought me to question not only my existence but the existence of everything, and the nature of everything, and humans. I have come up with no satisfactory conclusion. I do not believe that there is one. This seems perhaps like an elementary statement but to me it is profound. I have searched, I have thought, and I have worried incessantly, and have decided that there is no point to it. Not that I'm saying "Don't worry," because I am one of the biggest worrywarts I know, but I believe that train of thought is pointless, at least for me.
Originally my whole perspective was changed, my outlook on life, the universe, and everything. But now, almost eight months later, I look around myself and find that while I may feel different, things are still the same. I still live in the same apartment (although thankfully not for long), I still work at the same place, I have the same friends, the same hobbies. What have I done in the past eight months? I've spent too much money (as usual), made some friends and then become disconnected from them - sorry to all you internet folks, I truly care for you all but the computer is a vortex of depression (thanks for the phrase, Matt) that I'd rather avoid at this point. I've suffered from another moderately severe (is that an oxymoron) bout of depression and come out on the other side of it, at least for the most part. And this time, like all the other times, I believe that this time I'm rid of it for good. Because I'm making changes, right? Just like I did when I broke up with Jake, just like I did when I broke up with Kevin, just like I have so many other times. And nothing has helped, in the long run. Just the summer and the sun.
But I'm rambling again. I'm becoming truly self-sufficient and it terrifies me. Finally I have to actually worry about making the rent and the bills, and how much money to spend on CDs and eating out. I actually have to make a budget. Somehow even though I've been on my own since I was 18, I was living in some kind of dream world. Perhaps it was because I always looked for the cheapest places to live, convinced that I "couldn't afford" anything over $250 a month in rent. Perhaps because it didn't really hit me that $4000 is a LOT of debt for someone my age. I could buy my car again - almost TWICE - with that amount of money. Maybe it has to do with growing up. I'm now 22, and though I am theoretically in the prime of my life with many "good" years to come, my mortality has finally hit me. I'm not going to live forever in that blissful teenage world where I can go to my mom's for chicken soup every time I have a cold. Every year, I have one less year of time left. That sounds morbid, but it's also true. I'm finally starting to believe the "You won't live forever" and "Enjoy it while you can" and "Stop and smell the roses" that have been flung at me since forever. Oh sure, I knew it, but I didn't believe it. Just like so many other things that I have come to realize.
Time is a blur to me now. I don't remember what happened yesterday, or last week, or last month for that matter. There are only a few milestones I have to mark time by. Jacob leaving, my trip to Florida, which was important to me although now seems almost pointless. My car purchase, my mom's brain surgery. I don't even remember the date that I broke up with Jacob or Kevin, and that bothers me a great deal because those type of things used to be extremely important to me. I was looking at my check register the other day, and I saw, for instance, "5/12/03 Claddagh Dinner $46.66" and I think, oh yeah. But there are other things, comics and CDs and such that I don't remember what they were exactly. Perhaps it's foolish to hope to remember those "trivial" things, but it saddens me because it reminds me of how much I don't remember. My life is passing me by and all I can do is think about the day-to-day things: getting up, going to work, coming home and making dinner, that type of stuff. If I try to think past next month I get scared out of my wits. I don't know when I began to worry all the time, or be so scared of everything. That's not me, or at least not the me I used to be.
This is turned into a melancholy post indeed, but it's not what I intended, or how I feel necessarily. I was thinking about one or two specific things and then it all came out in a big tumble.
Anyway I need to get back to cleaning.
Originally my whole perspective was changed, my outlook on life, the universe, and everything. But now, almost eight months later, I look around myself and find that while I may feel different, things are still the same. I still live in the same apartment (although thankfully not for long), I still work at the same place, I have the same friends, the same hobbies. What have I done in the past eight months? I've spent too much money (as usual), made some friends and then become disconnected from them - sorry to all you internet folks, I truly care for you all but the computer is a vortex of depression (thanks for the phrase, Matt) that I'd rather avoid at this point. I've suffered from another moderately severe (is that an oxymoron) bout of depression and come out on the other side of it, at least for the most part. And this time, like all the other times, I believe that this time I'm rid of it for good. Because I'm making changes, right? Just like I did when I broke up with Jake, just like I did when I broke up with Kevin, just like I have so many other times. And nothing has helped, in the long run. Just the summer and the sun.
But I'm rambling again. I'm becoming truly self-sufficient and it terrifies me. Finally I have to actually worry about making the rent and the bills, and how much money to spend on CDs and eating out. I actually have to make a budget. Somehow even though I've been on my own since I was 18, I was living in some kind of dream world. Perhaps it was because I always looked for the cheapest places to live, convinced that I "couldn't afford" anything over $250 a month in rent. Perhaps because it didn't really hit me that $4000 is a LOT of debt for someone my age. I could buy my car again - almost TWICE - with that amount of money. Maybe it has to do with growing up. I'm now 22, and though I am theoretically in the prime of my life with many "good" years to come, my mortality has finally hit me. I'm not going to live forever in that blissful teenage world where I can go to my mom's for chicken soup every time I have a cold. Every year, I have one less year of time left. That sounds morbid, but it's also true. I'm finally starting to believe the "You won't live forever" and "Enjoy it while you can" and "Stop and smell the roses" that have been flung at me since forever. Oh sure, I knew it, but I didn't believe it. Just like so many other things that I have come to realize.
Time is a blur to me now. I don't remember what happened yesterday, or last week, or last month for that matter. There are only a few milestones I have to mark time by. Jacob leaving, my trip to Florida, which was important to me although now seems almost pointless. My car purchase, my mom's brain surgery. I don't even remember the date that I broke up with Jacob or Kevin, and that bothers me a great deal because those type of things used to be extremely important to me. I was looking at my check register the other day, and I saw, for instance, "5/12/03 Claddagh Dinner $46.66" and I think, oh yeah. But there are other things, comics and CDs and such that I don't remember what they were exactly. Perhaps it's foolish to hope to remember those "trivial" things, but it saddens me because it reminds me of how much I don't remember. My life is passing me by and all I can do is think about the day-to-day things: getting up, going to work, coming home and making dinner, that type of stuff. If I try to think past next month I get scared out of my wits. I don't know when I began to worry all the time, or be so scared of everything. That's not me, or at least not the me I used to be.
This is turned into a melancholy post indeed, but it's not what I intended, or how I feel necessarily. I was thinking about one or two specific things and then it all came out in a big tumble.
Anyway I need to get back to cleaning.