I get old. I get ugly. I get weak. I'm not sure that "my best days are ahead of me." It doesn't seem that way. I'm tired. I'm lonely. I'm bored. All states of mind that I have chosen to put myself into...each one of them easily remedied, and yet...
17 years of smoking pot, not caring about what it was doing to me, emotionally, physically, maybe even spiritually. I will give it credit for opening my eyes to new ways of perceiving my inner world. But the other stuff? I'm only just now realizing the extent of the damage.
For instance...music is my first love. No one who knows me can think of me without also thinking of music. It has always been a huge part of who I am and my personality is informed by it. And yet, now I have to ask myself what it is I like about whatever it is I'm listening to. I have to mentally search out ways to enjoy it...and I know that sounds odd. The point is that I am afraid I'm losing my ability to appreciate it.
And the reason for this, I believe, has everything to do with my consumption of marijuana during the last one-third of my life.
When I first started getting high I only did it because of the way it seemed to make music sound so much "better". I now realize that it didn't make it sound "better", only "different", and I was ready for that. From the time I began smoking until now I've always kept "listening to music" on the list of things I will do EVERY TIME I get stoned. Unfortunately, in this quest for "new sonic experiences" I found myself not wanting to hear the same album twice. I didn't feel like I needed to. But the fact is, in the real world a piece of music demands repeated listenings before a full appreciation of it is possible. I've always known this. But I ignored it, because I wasn't really looking to "appreciate" the songs/albums...I only wanted to "experience" them. Nothing wrong with that, I suppose. But it's not the way a true music lover should approach it.
Now that I'm not putting myself in that state-of-mind I find that I've lost my ability to hear music as I, deep down inside of me, know it should be heard. And I'm trying to get that back, but it's hard because I fear the damage is done and irrevocable. I pray not, because it is like air to me.
And what has this to do with getting old and ugly and yadda yadda yadda? Probably nothing. It just seemed like the thing to write about...sort of an example of how everything is changing, and how I'm not convinced that the changes are for the better.
You know what's really fucked up about it? I'm only 47 years old. That's not exactly ancient, is it? Why do I feel so wore out? I won't blame THAT on the pot. I believe it's the mental toil that comes from having bipolar disorder. Only lately have I come to truly realize what it has done and is doing to me. It frightens me to think that it will get worse before it gets better, but that's what I was told when I was first diagnosed with it. I can see why that would be, now. I recognize how it can take it's toll. It's not scary. It's frustrating. It's tiring. Up and down and up and down then up and down and up and down and you can NEVER get comfortable with it. Just think...how would you like to get excited about something and know, in the back of your mind, that you won't care about it the next day? Knowing also that you'll get excited about something else a few days later, but then, again, you instinctively know that it won't last long, either. So eventually you come to the point where you think, "Why bother?" Maybe I'm not explaining it well. It's just so frustrating to really fall in love with something knowing that you can't hold on to it, not even because you DON'T want to hang on, but because you've got this mental illness that's going to steal it away from you...or, better, it's going to take it away from you then MAYBE give it back at a later date. You can't even be grateful that you've got it back, because you know it's only gonna steal it again.
Alright...I've got nothing more to say about it. I don't want to think about it. When I was in school I was taught that escapism was a bad thing. Which is true, in a way. You can't exactly have a successful pragmatic society if everyone is walking around with their heads in the clouds. But escapism is all I can hope for. It's a necessity for me. You've probably heard it said that one of the symptoms of depression is that the victim finds it difficult to enjoy the things he normally does? That is TRUE. And it's one of my issues. How can I find escape when I don't even like to do the things that have always brought it to me?
God damn, it's frustrating.
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