The Third Day of a Seven-Day Binge

I used to binge drink every day. I’d give myself a day to recover if I overdid it, but as soon as the alcohol left my body I was dumping more back into it. I never let anyone know. Well, that’s not true. I let people know I was drunk because I get chatty (and sometimes mouthy) when I drink. I know some worried, others I kept in the dark such as family. Others seemed to encourage my drinking because let’s face it — some of us really are more fun when we’re drunk. I’m not really fun when I’m stoned, and I’m not aiming to be.

When I’m stoned I’m aiming to be calm and relax. I don’t care to socialize with others when I’m stoned. When I’m drinking it means that I’m required to talk to other people and that just can’t happen unless I imbibe. The fun nights were the nights when I was drinking, popping narcotics, and smoking weed at the same time. I’d do this on webcam with friends from a now-defunct blogging site. We had the best ideas then, but we’d forget those ideas the next day because we were bombed out of our minds the night before.

I can’t say I’ve given up drinking because I don’t know what tomorrow holds. I may very well go to the liquor store and get a bottle of my old friend Jim Beam. I may decide to have a sit down with Jack Daniels since he and I haven’t shot the shit in some time. I’m medicated now so I shouldn’t feel the need to self-medicate, should I? I’m just not wanting to feel anything right now. Memories got brought up earlier and I don’t know how others handle those. I try to get them out of my head in any way that I can.

I guess I can ask my psychiatrist when I see her. I see her in a couple of weeks. I just want memories and certain thoughts to go away. I’ve been doing so well, too. It’s just par for the course, I suppose. You see something that reminds you of something or someone and all those bitter emotions come back. You become distraught all over again. What others see as no big deal I take to heart and over-analyze and interpret every way to Sunday. What could I have done differently? Why didn’t what I do work out? I think I do the right thing and strive to do the right thing, but sometimes the right thing just kicks you in the dick. What do you do when that happens?

It’s also a bitch when you’re left with no answers. You know those scenes you see in the movies where the person is seen standing there alone while the train or car or the other person leaves them stranded and alone? I think that’s the best image I can come up with for what’s going on with me right now. It’s not a specific person or thing. Everything feels like it’s slipping. I’ve also become more and more afraid of things the more I think about them. Why am I rambling? Who gives a shit?

Disgustipated

What disgusts me most about humanity is how we misuse our intelligence. The scientist, mathematician, philosopher, artist, and author are all too often financially subordinate to the businessman or executive. Yet the former come as close to meaning as can be found in our sorry existence, while the latter are nothing more than parasites of society.

This financial subordinacy drives many away from careers through which they could develop and pursue their passions, and toward those where their work only benefits others. Their reward? A few imaginary units that have value by decree. If beauty is truth, and truth beauty, our web of lies and ugly lives make perfect sense together.

In our great idiocy, we perpetuate tribalism through our obtuse and otiose political systems. How are we so blind as not to see that no politician genuinely believes anything? That the beliefs that outrage us the most are carefully constructed to keep us in the game?

Where is the quest for meaning? When did we stop asking “why?”

Childfree by Choice Setbacks: Anti-Natalism Chronicles X

Like almost everything in life, there’s a plus and negative side. I do not regret my choice to get a vasectomy. I do not have any regrets about the decision I’ve made to not bring another human into this world of hate, bigotry, poverty, and suffering. It’s not so much of a regret as it is a heartbreak that a relationship I put my heart and soul into had to end because of my beliefs — not just a relationship, but a seven-year friendship. I don’t know where she is or what she’s doing, but I hope she’s happier now.

I wasn’t in the best place back then, which may have led to what ended us. I can’t be sure because I chose to severe ties with her sometime in January after we last spoke. It was for my own well-being. I was hurt, but I wanted her to carry on, which I’m sure she has. At the same time, I don’t think it’s fair how it ended, either.

She and I had been friends and flirted for seven years before deciding we should be serious and maybe see where a relationship would take us. She had mentioned wanting children and would bring up the subject every so often, but I’m nine years older than she is so my mind has always been made up, she had changed hers at some point. She spent time with a friend’s children and found them to be obnoxious and told me, “I think I’ve decided I don’t want children.” I thought that was great news. It was one less thing to worry about, and maybe this relationship could continue.

Maybe I was blinded by my own seeming happiness. Maybe it was my own mental illness that was festering just below the surface, expecting her to end things at any moment because why would someone like her want to be with someone like me in the first place? We come from two different upbringings. I grew up poor. She grew up privileged. Her father was a judge and I’ve had a couple of run-ins with the law before (nothing major, one of those arrests isn’t even on my record.) A friend of mine said she felt that my ex was too worried about what her dad thought, and that was going to hinder our relationship going forward.

What hindered it was probably a combination of things, but the reason she gave was when we were alone together and she began to cry, informing me “I think I want to have a baby one day.” I didn’t dare tell her that I had already had my vasectomy done and there was no going back. I wasn’t going to reverse it; not for her, not for anyone. Now it was a case of “Where do we go from here?” There was only one thing to do: break up.

I suppose I was fine with the break-up initially. She was toying with the idea of wanting a child or a couple of children. I refused to bring any children into this world; not with her, not with anyone. “I think maybe we should take a break,” is what she said to me. I’m not stupid. I have read enough books and seen enough movies and television shows to know that “take a break” is a nice way of telling someone, “I don’t want to see you anymore.”

I think I was more upset that I wasn’t upset. More than that, I think I was upset that she knew how I felt concerning children and yet she decided to go along with our relationship anyway and I don’t know why. Was she just waiting for another guy to come along to give her what she wanted? I suppose I’ll never know because like I said, I made the best decision for myself (and possibly the best decision for her), and I cut her out of my life. No more emails, no more phone calls, no more seeing her, no more wishing her a happy birthday or merry Christmas. I was done and so was she.

I still think about her, but haven’t written anything about her except for right now. I suppose this is my way of saying goodbye. Anti-natalism is a philosophy that can sometimes cost you your relationship, but I’m not going to sacrifice what I believe in order to remain in a relationship when the two of us have two very different views as far as bringing another life into this fucked up world.

Fighting the Inevitable: Anti-Natalism Chronicles IX

I don’t know why we do it. Death is inevitable. As soon as you’re born, the clock starts ticking. As soon as life is brought into this world it’s only a matter of time before that life ceases to exist. It could be several years down the road or it could be mere seconds after that life is born. Why subject others to such a fate?

The whole abortion debate is ridiculous to me. For people who claim it’s murder, I say that giving birth is murder. At some point we’re going to get killed by someone else’s hand, by nature, or simply by being too fucking old and our own body is going to shut down and kill us anyway. So to put it simply: a birth in itself is going to lead to a murder — murder by life.

Abortion is no more a crime than going through with a pregnancy. Giving birth is forcing something on someone against that someone’s will. I use the term “someone” loosely because I do not believe a fetus is a human being. If you don’t have a birth certificate then you’re not a human being as far as I’m concerned. That’s why we don’t give birth certificates to fetuses: they’re not born yet. They’re not human, no more than a single sperm is a human.

Giving a person life is cruel and inhumane, but we continue to subject others to it every single day. Women and men fight for the right of something that has no say in the matter. The fetus could very well be born with health defects that could take hours to name on this particular blog, but they think the humane thing to do is to bring it into the world with those defects and flip a coin and hope for the best. If you knew you were going to have a child who would be dead by the age of six months, would you avoid giving birth to it from the start? What about the child not living to see its third birthday? Its fourth? Its fifth? Abortion and those who believe in it are not cruel. It’s those who insist on giving birth and raising a sick child, raising a child in a sick world, those are the people who are cruel; those are the people who are murderers.

Be a better person. Make a better decision for the life you plan to have one day and change your mind. If you really want a child. I mean if you absolutely, 100% want a child to love and care for then go through the proper channels and adopt one. There are 443,000 children in the foster care system in the United States alone. Let’s work on finding them families and homes before we consider bringing more children into this world that never asked to be brought into it.

The Joys of Extinction

I’d always had a fascination with death ever since I was a kid. I remember reading a book titled The Children’s Book on Death and Dying. I can’t remember the name of the author. I can’t remember how many times I read the book, either. I remember checking it out of the library at school and reading it over and over again. Friends of mine would read it and I’d ask to read it again when they were done and I’d return it for them when it was due. The parts of the book involving losing a parent, a friend, a relative of some kind, those didn’t bother me. It was the chapter on losing a pet that always made the tears flow. I’d read that chapter if I felt I needed a good cry. I’d skip it if I was in school because I didn’t want to cry in front of my classmates and be seen as weak. No one wants others to think they’re weak. I felt I might die if that’d ever happen.

That book still sticks out in my mind every so often. I wonder if I should go back and read it now that I have experienced death. I’ve experienced the death of a grandfather from Alzheimer’s disease; I’ve experienced the death of an uncle due to pancreatic cancer; I’ve experienced the death of a classmate from colon cancer who was a mere two years older than I am. I’ve even experienced losing someone to gun violence. A clerk at a convenience store I’d made friends with because of my late night trips in there to buy smokes and beers when I was underage was gunned down over some lottery tickets and a few bucks. We weren’t close. We only spoke when I was talking to him while in the store, but that one in particular hit me pretty hard. I think it’s because of the number of times I was in that store at the same time the murder occurred. I could have been buying smokes, beer, any number of things when the boy who walked in decided to rob the place.

The manager heard the gunshots and shut the door to the office to get out of harm’s way. I can’t say that I blame him. I would have done the same thing if I was in his shoes. That would have left me and my friend both out in the open and I could have received the same fate he did. It didn’t take me long to return to the store, which was surprising. I don’t know why it didn’t bother me like it did some of the others who were frequent patrons of that gas station. I guess my morbid curiosity overshadowed my fear and paranoia. Although I’d lost a friend I still wondered what exactly happened that night. Where did my friend fall? What were his last words? What was going through his mind? These are the thoughts that run through my head when I think about death.

I think about what people would have wanted; how they would have wanted to have been remembered. I think about my grandfather’s funeral and how it was nothing like he spelled out in his last will and testament which I found after the fact. My mom and her sisters almost argued about everything concerning the funeral. My mom wanted to respect her father’s wishes. Her sisters seemed to want to make a show out of something that was supposed to be personal and meaningful to the family. My grandfather didn’t want flowers, but my aunts insisted on flowers. My grandfather wanted to be cremated, but my sisters insisted on a burial. I bring up my own funeral preparations so often because I don’t want that happening with me.

I don’t want to be buried. I want a cremation. I want some of my ashes to go into a vial for my friend Lauren to wear as she has requested. The rest of them can be scattered around the family property in Chattahoochee Hills. I don’t want a funeral. Funerals are too somber and crying is not very becoming of people. No, I don’t want a funeral. I want a wake. I want people to remember me for the weirdo that I was. Tell stories, exaggerate stories, embellish about me if you’d like. I just want you to have fun and remember me and think of me there having fun with you. I jokingly said that I want something on my urn. I know exactly what I want as well. It’s a Richard Pryor quote. People who know me might be surprised that I don’t want Bill Hicks, but I think for this occasion Richard Pryor would be funnier. “Waiting on 11:30” would be perfect. If you don’t know the reference then just try YouTube “Richard Pryor 11:30.” I’ll forever be waiting on 11:30 and that next party that’s about to go down. Remember me at every party you throw because I’ll be there to have some drinks with you, to smoke a bowl or a joint with you; to tell jokes, to rehash old stories over and over again and laugh like they all happened just yesterday.

I’ve thought about death a lot recently. I’m 32 and I’m not getting any younger. I’ve accomplished nothing it seems because I’ve always been too timid to try new things. I’m afraid I’ll fail. On the other hand however I want to be remembered somehow. I admire many people who have passed: Bill Hicks, George Carlin, Kirkegaard, Twain, many authors I’ve read and entertainers I’ve enjoyed whether it be music, movies, or television. They’re all going to be remembered and their legacies will live on forever. I want a legacy of my own, but how do I go about that? If someone has an answer then I’d like to hear it.

I fear leaving my loved ones behind. My mom has had to deal with my dad’s suicide 15 years ago. Just two years ago she experienced another loss when her boyfriend of eight years passed due to health issues. I have physical and mental health issues that I’m sure are going to lead me to an early grave, which terrifies me when I think about one of the two causing me to leave my mom behind. I fear losing my mom, being lost in a world with the one constant in my life. My sister and I get along, but we’re not as close as I’d like to be. I don’t know if we ever will be. We’re two completely opposite people.

My friends are the other constants in my life. I’m talking about those I know online and off. They’ve been there for me through hardships and good times. The stories we could tell strangers who gave us the courtesy of listening. I think about missing out on more stories when I’m gone. As much as you matter to people, once you’re gone there’s a bit of mourning, but the world continues to turn. Everything is over for you, but they return to their daily lives and if you’re lucky they remember you and smile because at some point in time you gave them joy.

So when I heard the news of a rogue planet on a collision course with earth I breathed a sigh of relief. There was going to be no pain. Suffering was not going to exist. In a matter of days all life on earth is going to cease to exist. This isn’t a movie where we can send astronauts to space to try to drill a hole and plant a bomb deep within this planet. The planet itself is twice the size of Jupiter so there’s nothing to do but enjoy life while we have it. A little less than two days is what we have to say our goodbyes, try to get in touch with those we long lost touch with, and embrace the inevitable. I embraced it as soon as I heard the news. Goodbye, cruel world. I turned off my television, lied down in bed, lit a joint, and laughed. This is how the world ends. A world full of 7 billion people who thought they were invincible will be ash and space dust in a matter of hours.

It’s better if we all die simultaneously. There will be no heartbreak. No one is going to mourn the loss of a parent, a friend, a child. We can have ourselves a going away party. I plan for us to take whatever we have out of our cabinets and freezers and cook the biggest feast we’ve ever cooked. I plan for us to drink to our heart’s content and load up on drugs we never dreamed of trying before. This is the end for us and it’s well deserved. Strap in people. It may get a little rocky, but we’re going to be fine.

Don’t Write Me Off: Anti-Natalism Chronicles VIII

I know what people think when I tell them I’m an anti-natalist. “Anti what?” Yeah, I know. It’s a big word and you don’t read. I’m not talking about those people who are incapable of understanding words that have more than two syllables. I’m talking about people who know where I stand on childbirth, on propagating the human race, on shelling out another mouth to feed. “Oh, great. This is just what the internet needs: another pessimistic nihilist who hates everyone and everything.” A few years ago, you would have been correct.

Am I saying I’ve changed my ways and I embrace everyone? No. I still think people are scum, but I like to think of myself as more of a philanthropic misanthrope these days. The world is shitty enough as it is so I like doing little things here and there for other people while I wait for the world to burn. There’s no sense in being an asshole to others when there are plenty of assholes to go around already. I’ll lend a hand to someone who has fallen on hard times. I’ll chip in a $20 to a guy on the corner who may need to grab a bite to eat. Hell, I’ll chip in $20 for someone to buy a bottle of liquor and a pack of smokes if that’s what gets them through the day. Who am I to judge?

I am not some edgy teenage nihilist. I have thoroughly considered the options as far as reproducing goes. Getting my vasectomy was one of the best decisions I’ve ever made. Another child will not have to come into this world full of hate and suffering because I’ve chosen to nip that in the bud. No one ever suffered by not being born. It’s all of us that are already here that are suffering. You can go your entire life, enjoying every minute of it, but at some point you’re going to experience heartbreak. Someone or something is going to hurt you. Someone is going to leave you. You know that feeling. If you don’t then you will. Why would you want to put someone else through that?

There are people out there born with mental and physical defects that are hereditary. I am one of those people. I chose not to pass my shitty genes onto another person. Why do others insist on passing on their mental and physical disabilities to the next generation? Let’s end this here and now. Voluntarily remove your progeny from the face of the earth before it ever comes into existence. You’re only going to do it more harm than good by bringing it into this world. You’re going to do yourself more harm than good if you have to watch it suffer or worse. It’s no guarantee that your child is going to outlive you. You don’t want to go through that. Do you?