I was recently delivered some rather sobering news. I’m still putting on the public display of “oh, I wonder what caused this?” In reality I have a pretty good idea what caused it and it made me think of all those warnings they gave to us as kids.
You know “don’t do LSD or you’ll think you can fly and jump off a bridge”, or “you can die from a single use of cocaine”. All those “drugs kill” warnings that we’d all heard so much of back in the day of Nancy Reagan.
The problem was that we didn’t see anyone dying so we knew they were lying. Just that same weak-ass scare tactic reminiscent of Reefer Madness. Well, I guess I knew drugs could kill, but that was heroin that created those pale bodies I was ushered out of the house by on multiple occasions, but we all knew that crap was pure poison. Poison that took my mother several years ago after being and addict since her teens.
But as far as the other stuff, we’d used it all and laughed off those warnings. All those years and all those adventures and only lost one friend, but who the hell takes several doses of acid and sleeps with a shotgun in their sleeping bad after doing weird ass wicca rituals?
Now what they should have told us was the following: “Someday you’ll make it past all this shit. Yeah, you’ll still be scarred from your shitty excuse of a childhood, but you’ll rise above. You’ll find love and someone you want to grow up with, raise some kids you are proud of, and then have grand-kids. Then when you look forward to watching your grandchildren growing up you’re going to get knocked on your ass out of the blue. You won’t be drinking, smoking, or doing anything wrong; you’ll just have your wife rush you to the hospital with this terrified look on her face like she’s watching her life ripped from her chest right in front of you. Then you’ll lay there a couple days in a haze wondering what the hell has happened and various medical folks will blow smoke up your ass and not give you a straight answer. Then after a few days of thinking things might be back to normal you’re going to have to go to a small room with a doctor you’re pretty sure is a little light in the loafers with his smug little assistant that you deduce is his gay lover and really in charge of the relationship. Then that doctor (who is several years your junior) is going to give you some news that is going to change your life (or at least what’s left of it.) Then you will regret all of this and wish it never happened.”
Now if someone had lad that shit on me in a moment of sobriety, I’d have double-thought that “all you could snort” straight off the brick coke buffet the Mexicans treated me to for being their street level front for coke heads and junkies (a position I inherited when I came home one day and found a note from my mom saying “you’re 18 now, sell what is left in the house, the family has had to leave town”).
But then again, a paid motel room, all the coke you and that piece of ass joined to you at the crotch could snort… yeah, I still wouldn’t have believed them and my dumb ass still would have chose the coke.