Finding My Euphoria – Defining the Bricks

I have heard from every kid or streetwise punk who swears “don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.”
Everyone says the same thing.
Don’t worry.
I know what I’m doing.

I said the same thing.
I swore this many times.
Don’t worry.
I know what I’m doing.

For the record, everyone says, “That won’t happen to me.”
Or people say, “I would never let myself get like that.”
Sure, you won’t.
I said the same thing.
And guess what, I got like that.
In more ways than one.

I swore that I would never let myself get that bad. I swore that I would never get so bad that I would lose myself or wake up in the worst of places. I never assumed that I would be that way, dangling after a long, strange nod, which I admit is hypnotic and trance-like.
I admit to the drug and to the feeling, or to me, I admit to how this felt; as if to be off somewhere, out of the atmosphere, gone but still around. I admit to the high or the weightless and soft appeal of being lofted into the space of something disconnected or free.
I admit to the draw of the momentary rapture. I admit to the hypnotic feel, as if nothing would touch me or, to me, I was in my own cocoon, warm and comfortable, and out of reach.

Nothing hurts. Nothing feels bad. Nothing weighs you down nor perplexes or worries you.
I admit that the inside does not match the outside.
No, I was lofty to say the least.
My outward appearance was not the same.
The eyelids hang low, like shades drawn down to a slim crack at the bottom of the window, only to reveal a slight whiteness of my eyes, or to share an otherwise lifeless approach, as if to be in a self-induced coma, highlighted by infected angels who fall downwards, as in upside down and backwards, and me?
I was elsewhere and with the physical appearance of an endangered zombie, swirling through the drain of an infinite dope nod.
The outside does not look nice or appealing. No, the body hangs like tired flag that’s been beaten after a lost war and hovers below half-mast.
Take this. This was my body.

No one thinks this will be them. No one believes that they’re going to be out there on the dangle. And no one believes that it could be them, caught in some theft, stealing, robbing, or pulling whatever trick they can just to keep their hustle alive.
Ah, the so-called junkie.
The typical dope fiend.
I have been told that the only difference between a junkie and a thief is they’ll both steal your wallet, but a junkie will help you look for it, so they can swipe it again, when they need to.
Or wait, let’s not stigmatize anyone specifically.
Let’s not forget this comes in all forms and all kinds of people.
Let’s not forget that this is not limited to the opiate flooded markets, which come when people find themselves in pain, or when the pain pills lose their justice.
Let’s not forget the average or everyday person, straitlaced and proper, and the average everyday kid who slipped into a depression and the drug was dangled as a remedy, to which, obviously—the trick worked and presto, the habit was formed.
The version can be anyone or anywhere.
Trust me. I have seen this to be true and as for the “NMK” people who say, “Not My Kid,” because “my” kid would never do that or as for the “NIMBY” folks, who swear, “Not In My Backyard,” I have news for them all – this can happen to your kid or in your backyard, or to your neighbor or to someone else in your family.

But sure.
Everyone says the same thing.
That’ll never happen to me.

I swore the same thing. Then again, I swore about a lot of things. I swore that I would never do anything hard or deadly.
I was open to the ideas of daring the edge.
I was open to the rebellious ideas and open to ways to change my mindset, or to be free, or to be clear—I was open to the high and the wild sights or the visions that came with beautiful stories.
I was untouchable this way.
No one could hurt me.
And I liked that.
I liked feeling protected.

Hell, there were times when I was on different chemicals and I couldn’t even hurt me.
In fact, I recited this to a social studies teacher while bleeding from both arms with cuts and scratches.
I explained a few things about myself to a teacher who handled this like a champ.
There were other challenges going on at the time. And yes, I was bleeding. And yes, I was under the influence of drugs.
However, I was angry and afraid of a bully who was picking on me.
So rather than fall and be weak or be a victim, I chose to change the outcomes and to reverse the polarity with the intention of creating severe and life-ending harm to my young nemesis and adversary.  
I was going to kill him.

I never thought that this would be me.
But it was.

I have learned that the mind and the body can only take so much.
I could only take so much stress or pain before both the mind and the body gave way.
I was tired of being afraid. I was tired of being picked on.
I was angry that I was always the mark or the target and more, I was hateful and outraged that I was always the small one or the weak one.
But I wasn’t weak on that day.
No.
I was bleeding and numb to pain and through angry teeth, grinding down in the rage of hateful desperation and defiance; I was ready and at that moment, had there been no one between the bully and myself; I would have opened his throat with my knife, hidden in the inside pocket of my denim jacket.
I had enough.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
And I blew.

At the same time, I knew this wasn’t me. I never wanted this to be me.
No, I wanted to be happy.
I wanted to get along. I assume that I wanted the same thing that everybody wants.
I wanted the experience. I wanted to be free to be myself.
I wanted a girlfriend.  
I wanted to be a couple and go steady with someone and leave our initials on a desk somewhere about how we are together and no one could tear us apart.

I wanted to go to a late-night move. I wanted to go to midnight madness with my girl and see The Rocky Horror Picture Show and then go to an all-night diner.
I wanted this to be me and, of course, I wanted this to be you (with me) and I would be fine to have it like this, or to have it as you and me against the world. Yes, I do believe that young love can form an impenetrable bond. And yes, I believe this bond can be so strong that it doesn’t matter what people do or say. The whole world could go to shit, and none of it would matter.
Not if you were with me.

I never really cared about being the guy who everyone wanted on their team, which is not to say that I didn’t want to be regarded like this, but no, I wanted to do things, like walk through the mall during Christmas time and see the world through the reflection of my girlfriend’s eyes.

Yes, I was that kid.
I was uncomfortable and awkward and beaten down and bullied. I was angry and yes, I was drained and even more, I was tired and willing to pull the plug.
Let it go.
Let it drain.
Let it all or go to shit.
Who cares?
I was that kid.

I do believe in the high of living as you are.
I believe in the rush and amazed freedom of knowing who you are to the point where you understand your truth so clearly that no one can say a mean-spirited thing and no one could bully or be hurtful to you. Above all, you have reached an awareness and a conscious level of understanding that proves “I know me!” and that’s all that matters.

See?
I never understood this about myself. I never saw the goodness in my own heart. I was blinded by my own hysterics and blurred by the inaccuracies of insecure thinking.

I was tired of pain or being weak.
I never thought this could be me, or that I could be someone who was capable of terrible acts, or that I would be so selfish and that thefts of any kind were simply part of the normal business day.
A butcher never feels bad for their slaughter and a fisherman never feels bad for their catch.
It’s just business.
I never thought I could be that cold.
But I was.
And at the same time – I really wasn’t.

Don’t worry.
I know what I’m doing.
I have said this before.
I have said this many times throughout my life.

And I might have known, on some occasions.
But in all honesty, I will never say this again.
This is not to say I never know what I’m doing. Sometimes, I have to wing it.
However, I can never promise that everything will always be alright.
I can’t say that I always know what to do or what will happen next.
I don’t want to live a lie or be that hateful again.

I can say that I am taking on a great change. I am clearing out my past and undressing myself, so-to-speak, in the sense that I am removing the mask and taking off the disguises.
I am working on getting back to who I’ve always wanted to be.
Of course, I understand that I cannot recreate certain things at 52 years of age.
I don’t think I will ever have the chance to walk you to class and carry your books for you.
But still, I can make a change and if allowed, I can offer myself to be the person who I have always wanted to be.

I don’t need to have the answers.
I don’t need quick fixes or temporary remedies.
I don’t need cheers from the crowd, and I don’t care about the toys or who has the most toys. I don’t care about the neighbors, and I don’t care about the opinions of anyone else.

We make wrong turns in life.
We make mistakes, which is okay.
But we need a way or a path.
I don’t want to follow the wrong blueprint, and I don’t want to follow the wrong plan to a find happiness that belongs to someone else.
I want to create my plan.
I want to be happy in my own right.
I want to earn this, build this, and make it mine.

And as for the quick fixes or the dishonesties, I remember running and hiding, and trying to get away from my guilt. I remember being afraid that justice would be on its way.
I knew that I was wrong, and in my moments of shame, I ran and hid and tried to save my ass while promising, “I swear, I’ll never do this again. Just get me out of this one.”

It is clear to me that the saying is true.
You can save your face,
or you can save your ass,
but you cannot save your face and your ass at the same time.
So, choose wisely.
I have no reason to fear the law, at least not anymore.
I don’t have to be afraid of bullies anymore.
I have no reason to worry about the drug induced binges or what comes with them.
At the same time, I have work to do.
I have to undress and take off the masks which I have used to hide behind.

This is the bravest thing I can be—me . . .
Understand?

So, here I am before you like a kid in your classroom or someone who has a locker down the hall.
I don’t want to be tough anymore.
I don’t want to be cool anymore.
I just want to be happy.
And maybe take you to dinner, or walk through the mall, hand in hand, and be the lucky one who gets to say, yeah . . .
You see her?
She is with me.

It’s time to break down the walls and to understand and define the bricks that built them.
It’s time . . .
because these walls have been up and kept me apart for way too long.