So, in honor of finding a new direction and a new, more wholesome future, I've decided to do three things a week to get me to...well, being whole and well. It's been a long time since I've been in that state of being- I'm just hoping I'll know what it is when I get there.
Starting tomorrow my three things:
1. Drink 20 ounces of water a day- no exceptions.
2. Read the Majors book and return it by Friday.
3. Do 1 thing a day I like.
The first thing is going to be continuous and is related to my physical health. The second thing pertains to my future. The third is about my errant mental health. The only thing that will change in this list is the goal toward the future. That will change week to week- but the rest will remain. I may add, but never take away. And I'm going to start small...maybe I'll stay there, maybe I'll move on to doing something bigger. Who knows.
I can't say that I understand why the past events of my life ever happened. I will probably never get it, and endlessly asking why and punishing myself has to stop. It is clear that I am not clear at all. I dreamed of the things I thought sounded glamourous, of what I should do- and that was wrong. I should've all along been dreaming of what was right for me. That is why everything has fallen through- everything I ever wanted became a total disaster and led me directly to this point, at which it is my turn to say "okay, I get that...now, what?" and proceed the way I am. It's been so hard...and sometimes I look at what is, knowing that it is out of my hands, and it hurts. But it is something that must be accepted.
When I was 17, I left Michigan for six months and came to North Alabama to care for my grandmother. To me, this was the apex of the Promise Land. My childhood best friends lived there, my family was there, everything good I could remember had happened there. What I remembered was no longer the reality of the situation. I found my nephews lost, my brothers concentrated elsewhere, my granny supporting all of them. In fact, while my mother and I were there, all of us- mother, grandmother, brothers, me, and their children- lived in a tiny two bedroom house that was smaller than most apartments I've been in. My friends had changed. Once brilliant, energetic. and lighter than air they were now being sucked into the vortex of drugs and impending doom that they've been running away from ever since. My best friend was the worst to watch this happen to.
He was beautiful in everyway. He was beautiful to look at, beautiful soul, beautiful laugh, beautiful talent, beautiful brilliant mind. The cage created by the stifling "Christianity" of North Alabama was suffocating him. I believe at first he was self-medicating, and then he just became addicted. I knew then, at the beginning of his long road downhill, that he couldn't be saved from himself, and indeed, it would be up to him to drag himself out of the abyss he was entering. I'd had addict friends before- I knew this was the way. But, I couldn't help but try anyway. I begged him- we'd run West, get married, have a great life camping and finding odd jobs all over America. One day, we'd have enough money to go to college, and we'd be the spitting image of le vie boheme. It would be beautiful, I said. He turned me down, said he had other things to do. And I knew he was right. That was not our way- I would be taking one road and he another, as that was what must happen or he'd drag me down with him. I packed and left for Michigan the next day. We didn't speak again for five years.
I'll tell the rest later. It's a hell of a story. But, I wonder why it is that I could've been wise then and somehow end up being so stupid later. I guess it doesn't matter- I'm fixing it now. And being an addict to self-destruction through action/inaction is just as bad as shooting jet fuel into your veins. My best friend and I....we did the same thing. His track marks are on his arms, and mine are on my soul.