Finding the Light Again

Life was different then, but I wouldn’t say I was happier. Nah, I wasn’t happier if you’re thinking happiness means I was smiling all the time, but things were better in general. You see, once I hit my teens my outlook changed. I could feel happy, sad, and any emotion in between but it just didn’t feel quite real enough. It’s like my feelings were “running through the motions,” as if I was just pretending to experience emotions rather than actually having them. You know what else? I just didn’t have much investment in the future. If I was happy, I still felt kind of empty because I just didn’t see that light at the end of the tunnel. Do you remember that light? I’m not talking about the light religious people talk about seeing after we die. I’m talking about the light that pulls you forward, the light that reminds you that the darkness won’t always last. I guess you’d call it hope. Anyway, as a child that light was always there. I saw Santa Clause in that light. I saw myself conquering the world in that light. That light kept me going, and I think it’s still there for some people, although I bet it doesn’t shine as strong as it did when they were little kids. For me, growing up meant learning to live in a really dark tunnel and the consequence was that I stopped knowing in which direction I was walking in, so I turned to drugs. The drugs brought back some of that light.

When I was sixteen I was pretty miserable. I just couldn’t get any sort of satisfaction out of school, sports, clubs, or anything. I guess I liked the idea of playing the guitar, but I even lost interest in that after a few months of trying to learn it. I started hanging out with the outcasts because they were the closest thing I could relate to. In truth, I didn’t feel I could relate to anyone, but I guess most people have that problem. Anyway, everyone seemed too invested in whatever social group they ended up identifying with, and that was just too committal for me. I sort of drifted around, relating with the guys over drugs and nothing else. The drugs were awesome, you know, because they were the first thing I was really passionate about.

I ended up doing a lot of drugs in those last two years of high school but it wasn’t a big deal or anything. I got by alright with the same kind of grades I got in my first two years, so my parents didn’t ask questions. I kept it up after high school too. I didn’t have the motivation to go to college so I got a part-time job and started selling weed. My parents didn’t kick me out of the house, so I wasn’t planning on leaving but things changed when my friend, Matt, asked me to move in with him for free on the agreement that I’d support his pot habit. I was getting the better deal, so I packed my bags and got out of my house pretty quick.

I snorted some meth for the first time when I was twenty-seven and man was it good. I had been avoiding it up until then because a lot of my friends were telling me it was the craziest drug and that it tore a person apart. I knew that was true because I had seen friends change when they starting using it. Right before I started my meth habit, I found out the girlfriend I was living with got pregnant, so I was considering getting my act together. I met her in the circle of friends I hung around and she was into the same stuff I was, but once she found out about the baby she changed. She just wasn’t the same, and she wanted me to change with her. I didn’t want to be a dad and I never liked kids, but I also didn’t want to be a deadbeat so I considered substituting my lifestyle for a new one. I was pretty unhappy about the change I was supposed to make, though. I liked drugs and didn’t care if they’d shorten my life or make people think of me as scum, so when I went out raving with the guys one of those nights, I was feeling kind of stressed and decided to give meth a try. It was supposed to be just for one night to ease some of the stress, but I ended up getting hooked.

Shortly after my first kid was born, my girlfriend found out about the meth. She didn’t know up until then. She found some of it in my pocket on laundry day. You know how women are. They snatch up anything they can find to wash without even asking if you’re planning to wear it later. I blamed her for it. I told her I was still working and supporting my family and it wasn’t her business to know what I was doing in my free time. She got pissed after that and threatened to kick me out of the house, but I walked out on my own figuring she could support herself and the baby just fine. I moved back in with Matt for a little while and started using all my money to support my habit. I don’t know why but she didn’t take me to court for child support. She moved back in with her mom and dad and relied on them to help out.

I’d like to quit now, you know. I got news that my ex overdosed a couple of weeks ago, and that the kid is left without any parents. I can’t legally take custody of him right now, because his grandparents would fight me over it, but I can give up my habit and maybe visit him from time to time. I want him to have at least one parent in his life, you know? I have friends that have quit, usually in jail, and some of them said they don’t feel happiness anymore. One guy told me his doctor said his brain would heal over time and that he’d be able to feel pleasure again, but he also learned that it could take a while for that to happen. He said he feels hopeless all the time now. I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle feeling like that again. I’m afraid I’ll quit the drug, but turn right back to it when the sadness won’t go away. I guess I have to quit, though. I’ll have to find a new light by focusing on preserving the light for my child so he doesn’t end up getting lost in the same dark tunnel I got lost in. I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t man up on this one. Then again, when you’re really high on meth you don’t give a crap about anyone’s forgiveness, not even your own.


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