When you start to teach your parents

By the time you reached teenage puberty, you started to realize you were changing as a person. In your early teens, you realized that you were attracted to certain types of people. By your mid-teens, you were learning about two options: college or career. Oh, by the way, you were in love, remember? You didn't know anything about "love" but you knew that THAT boy/girl was extremely fucking amazing and you wanted them to want you. So, by your late teens you were trying to to secure a life-long relationship. During that time you worked harder than you ever have in your life, both physically and emotionally. You were trying to pursue an education, a career, a life-long relationship, and a religion/philosophy.

When you got to your early 20s, you started to realize that you were stuck with a choice you didn't know you already made. You chose a path that wouldn't work for you in the long run and you began to dramatically change your personality as your idealism fit. You stuck with your responsibilities and obligations as best you could, but nothing could prepare you for how insane life became during your mid-20s. You waffled between sheer joy, depression, pain, fun, fear, adventure, safety, moving in with your parents, loving all you could, boundaries in all you couldn't, and finally settling in where you were. It took many years. You think this matters. You think this is somehow important to your life experience, as if that was a part of your self-esteem. You might even put it on your resume. By your late 20s, you think your life is nothing more than the culmination of your experience. It's been a dramatic experience. It's been a harsh experience. It's been a joyful and saddening experience. It's an experiential experience. It's your life.

In your early 30s, you realize how selfishly fucking retarded you were in your "youth", as if "youth" was somehow a disjointed part of your distant past and not you. You begin to realize how human everyone is, like you. It's almost as if everyone on the planet was somehow related to you. Somehow everyone has faults. Everyone has a sense of humor. Everyone has a reason for doubt and reason for lying. Everyone has a reason for faith and a reason for honesty. In your early 30s, you realized that your mom and dad were not just people with faults and virtues, but they were actually the only two people who would ever want you until the day they died.

Your mom and dad gave birth to you when they were in their late teens/early 20s. Your dad started working quite a bit before then (early/mid teens). They raised you with the expectations of their youth, passed down from their parents. They know absolutely nothing about touchscreen cellphones, hybrid car engines, or HD television UNLESS you (or someone younger than you) teaches them. They don't know that baby diapers are flushable, cars are a bad investment, and toilets don't flush with 2 gallons of water. They didn't grow up with any of this. You're going to start teaching them about the world around them. Teach them about your responsibilities, about your life, about your difficulties and joys and excitements and relationships and everything. Your parents become your children.

By your 30s, you'll realize that your parents will never change. Not ever, until the day they die. Your great-grandparents (if you're lucky) will just now die, your grandparents will start to die, and your parents will become extremely old. You know what's coming. You'll start to become desperate and glean from them every possible piece of advice and hope and wisdom. In that time, you'll teach them more about you than they've ever known, even though they've wiped your self-shitting ass and allowed you to vomit on their shoulder. You will tell them about all. You will ask about all. You will confess. You will comfort. You will try all. You will risk everything. You will want nothing more than for your parents to be happy.

You will teach your parents more in those last years than they ever knew, and not just because their world has drastically changed. You'll tell them everything you've learned, everything you know, everything they mean to you, even if they don't listen. You'll make their life as easy as possible, as happy as possible, as beloved as possible.

You will become your parents' teacher, caretaker, and parent.

Pros and Cons of talking about addiction

Con:
If I admitted or talked about my addictions, then...

• Everyone would assume I am "an addict" without question or doubt, including all conclusions and consequences thereof.
• Everyone would assume I am incapable of intelligent thought outside of my addiction.
• Everyone would assume I am incapable of good behavior outside of my addiction.
• Everyone would assume any intelligent thoughts or good behaviors were a rare exception to my life, outside of my addiction.
• Everyone would assume my life should revolve around treating my addiction.
• Everyone would assume that my admission of addiction means I am asking for their help/advice/sympathy/empathy.
• Everyone would assume that I am depressed and/or failing at my life because I am an addict.
• If I told a doctor that I'm an addict, then I would be immediately committed to a psych ward or treatment facility.
• If I told a doctor that I'm an addict, then all of my current medications/treatment would cease.
• If I told a doctor that I'm an addict, then they wouldn't look into anything else in my life besides addiction.
• If I told a doctor that I'm an addict, then they would be primary concerned with protecting their malpractice lawsuit ass when prescribing medication/treatment.
• If I told a doctor that I'm an addict, I would get their boss's bureaucratic "recommended" treatment rather than actual help.
• If I told my friends or family that I'm an addict, they wouldn't know what to say or do.
• If I told my friends or family that I'm an addict, they would recommend that I go to a doctor for treatment.

Pro:
If I hid or denied my addictions, then...

• Everyone would assume I am not "an addict" without question or doubt, including all conclusions and consequences thereof.
• Everyone would assume I am capable of intelligent thought.
• Everyone would assume I am capable of good behavior.
• Everyone would assume my intelligent thoughts and good behavior were normal.
• Everyone would assume my life revolves around me.
• Everyone would assume I'm fine without their help, and in fact, they could come to me for help.
• Everyone would assume I'm happy and successful.
• If I didn't tell doctors, then I could continue living in my own house, with my own food, be able to travel, and sleep until noon.
• If I didn't tell doctors, then I could renew medications and avoid "talk therapy" advice without any trouble.
• If I didn't tell doctors, then I wouldn't have to deal with red tape, paperwork, forms, "approving authority" stamps, signatures, and other masturbations of public employees.
• If I didn't tell friends and family, then they wouldn't find themselves too ignorant to help "an addict."
• If I didn't tell friends and family, then we could all communicate and relate as people.

....hmmmm... yeah, fuck everything about "admitting I'm an addict". Addicts are lepers. I'm not a leper.

The First Step is the Most Difficult Step

If I told you every reason why you should be performing push-ups instead of reading this, would you start doing push-ups right now?
If I took the time to explain how drinking any caffeinated beverage will cause you to die before your parents/children/husband/wife/dog/cat, would you stop drinking caffeine forever?
If a doctor told you that driving in a car would cause your heart to fail, would you stop immediately?
If a dentist told you that only a $15,000 toothbrush would prevent your teeth from falling out, would you buy it and brush daily?
If a psychiatrist said you need to take 4 medications 3x per day to prevent yourself from killing everyone you love, would you take them as instructed?
If I reasonably explained in every way possible that the only thing you can do to go to heaven is stick out your tongue right now, would you do it?
Would you take the first step?
Would you refuse what I explained you need?
Would you require what I explained you don't?
Would you question what I already answered?
Would you doubt what you've already experienced through others?
Doubt their experience? Doubt your thoughts? Doubt your perception?
Because it tells you to do something. Fucking it.
To take the first step. To do push-ups, right now. To brush your teeth, now. To stop drinking "unhealthy" things, forever. To go to heaven, eventually. To not doubt, not explain, not question. Just it. The immediate and eternal reason for the first step. It.

(I hate everything I just wrote, that whole train of thought. It's fucking disgusting. This truly is my online journal.)

Back Alley Musings - St Helen

Two weeks ago an elderly woman asked me for a cigarette. She was hunched-over, frowningly out of air, and clearly struggling for the courage to place the request. Perhaps I was too intimidating while smoking on my backyard porch, perching in reflective fascination with "color" and "thought", but she asked me anyway and I gave her a smoke. We talked then, quite briefly as one should allow, about names, places, things, weather observations, and general awkward stupidity of herp derp narf crap. Her name was Helen and she had just moved into a garage-studio apartment in my San Diego alley from Pittsburgh.
Tonight she asked me for another cigarette, but the conversation lasted four hours. I can honestly say I have never met a more fascinating, compassionate, experienced, happy, or wise person in my entire life. I mean no disrespect towards anyone, not even my parents, but fuckall if a conversation with Helen didn't make me appreciate being a person smaller than the stars during daylight.

So... Helen: At the age of 18, Helen left home to join a convent and became a nun. She was celibate, single, and devoted to Catholicism for the next 15 years. At the age of 33, she left the convent and enrolled in graduate courses. She earned her Bachelors, Masters, and Ph.D in Religious Studies by her 37th birthday (that's 4 years later, folks). After she completed her doctorate, she served under a Catholic bishop ("who was constantly drunk at mass and horny for boys") to further her experience. At 40 she wrote a letter to the Vatican requesting a dismissal from her vows. After a lengthy appeal process, she finally received a "retirement" of her vows. For the next 32 years, Helen was a professor and chair of Religious Studies at USD (University of San Diego), a private prestigious university that costs well over $30,000 in tuition per year to attend. Two years ago, Helen sold her two houses and moved into my alley, at the ripe retirement age of 74. So, to recap, Helen asked me for a second cigarette tonight and we talked.

After 30 minutes of venting my overly-personal current list of depressionist reflection of the usual life of me, I, thinking, we, self, stress, blah blah bullshit of crap if in an else otherwise while negotiable what the fuck are you reading? Helen didn't even blink. Ever realize that you've just over-exposed yourself to someone? That things, the conversation you've just been monologuing, have gone way too far beyond personal? I interrupted myself and asked Helen to tell me her story. The next three hours could be summed up as follows:

Me: "But Helen, were you happy?"
Helen: "Ohh.. YES!!! Absolutely."

You've lived for 74 years, never married, no kids, never had sex, but you're okay with that?
I'm thrilled, never been better.
But when you left the convent, you must've had some life-changing rebellion of faith/identity?
Yeah, that's why I went to school.
Do you still believe in God?
Yes, absolutely.
Why?
Because everyone either needs or wants a reason to exist.
Why didn't you ever get married?
I didn't find the right person.
Are you SURE that you've been happy?
Yes, Ben, I'm sure.

...I could fill in the details, but there's really no point unless I publish a book of the conversation. The bottom line is... you should start smoking so awesome old people will ask you for cigarettes, or something. Helen was convinced that I was lying when I told her what I've done since I was 18. Education, Africa, church intern, Asia, military, teacher... she really thought I was a liar. I'm proud of the doubt I created in an ex-nun.

Meh, I'll probably forget this entire conversation soon, like tomorrow or the day after.

Whatever random that look this like those in who what where?

I hate the past because of the harbors it holds. I think alcoholics are fucked defined, treatment is their cage and faith is their crime. I think drug addicts are free, treatment is their shame and doctors are their dealers. I think medical professionals determine the fucked from the free, but never tell a soul about their power. I think people generally obey those they believe are superior to themselves.

I think fat people need to move, not move as in "exercise", but move as in "relocate to another society." Any tribe in the Brazil rainforests will do, as will nearly any African subculture. Most of the billions of people in the world believe that fat is healthy. Muscle-toned people don't get chased by lions or sharks because even dumbfucktarded animals know those people have an incurable disease. You don't know this, because you are still listening to those who live with electric dishwashers, HEPA filters, and memberships to places called "gyms" with lifty things that are heavy.

I think everyone is quite normal. But anyone who thinks everyone should be equal is insane. The only way everyone can be equal is if all of us get completely fucked up by taking EQUAL amounts of shrooms, meth, alcohol, and heroin while we dance to the same historically classical music. If we're all fucked up, then no one has any reason to complain about anything. Not doctors. Not lawyers. Not religious moralists. Not siblings. Not graders, teachers, or any other authority. In fact, we might all have a lot of fun. Anyone who wouldn't have fun in that situation is, in my opinion, severe insane.