Writing this post makes me feel like I have accomplished at least something today, however small and both brave and a little pointless it may seem. I am always so critical of anything I write, scrutinising each sentence as if it were evidence of my worth. I’m obviously not a trained writer — I’m a high school dropout who rarely paid attention in English class — and my whole school experience felt like an exercise in indoctrination that didn’t help me at all. If I had my time again there are certainly some classes in which I would have liked to learn the bare fundamentals. Back then I was an undiagnosed youngster with ADD, too busy chasing girls, experimenting with drugs and alcohol, listening to music, and doing all the other things most teenagers do. Over time I have taught myself how to write, which still feels odd to admit on a blog where words matter, but I’m aware of my shortcomings and believe I know the basics well enough to get my story and message across. I’m multitalented in other ways too — I can read books!
I had a wise man—who may or may not have been a family member—who used to divide people into two broad categories: those who are content, trudging through their days stressed but steady, living a blunt, day‑to‑day existence; and those who need some relief from life by seeking altered states of consciousness through the use of an intoxicant. That observation has always stuck with me. He called the first group the freaks. The phrase came back to me last night. I have been sober from alcohol for six months as of next week, so drinking was never an option. I have developed an almost visceral hatred for booze. I haven’t smoked pot for as long as I can remember (weed tends to dismantle parts of your memory), and I now only take medications that are prescribed. As usual, I was all out of benzodiazepines and was left with caffeine, which only made me more irritable and hungry for something else, which did nothing to improve my state. I just needed something. It turned out I remembered I had a stash of certain “safe” pills tucked away for a crisis that I’d long forgotten about. I would call my state of mind yesterday a mild crisis, so I indulged.
The point of this blog isn’t to boast about how quickly I improved or to make the experience itself the focus; rather, it made clear to me that we all need breaks from this chaotic existence, and there are many ways to take them. Some of those ways are positive and restorative, and some are plainly detrimental. This leads into the age-old debate about which drugs are harmful and which can be beneficial. We have been misled for decades — particularly since the Reagan administration — into believing that some substances are categorically good and others categorically bad. After half a century under these draconian laws, it’s long past time for a careful, honest reassessment. The slogan “Just Say No” no longer holds up, if it ever did. We could dive down this rabbit hole for hours, weighing history, science and policy. My central point is simple: who has the right to dictate what we do with our own consciousness? So long as we are not harming others, what does it matter? Alcohol, after all, is a poison that kills more people than all other drugs combined, yet it is legal and socially promoted. If alcohol were introduced today, it would likely be scheduled as a class one substance and banned — but instead it’s normalized despite the societal harm it causes. Prescription painkillers are another stark example: a single script from a doctor can supply some of the most addictive drugs ever manufactured. People struggling with substance dependence need medical care and compassionate support, not fines and criminal prosecution.
This blog was never intended to be a post about drugs and alcohol, and I don’t want readers to assume I partake in drug use. The whole thing, however, feels upside down and in need of a thorough overhaul. My poorly crafted writing requires a serious overhaul! It frequently wanders off on distracting tangents. I seldom begin a new blog with a clear plan; instead I latch onto an idea as I go and before long I’m off in another direction.