Looking back on my active days of alcoholism and addiction, the pure apathy is what scares me the most. The idea of ever going back to that place of self-destruction keeps me white knuckling it in the rooms when “just one beer” sounds good.
The pot farm was where my body learned to function on nothing but poison; toxic thoughts kept me from caring about others and toxins in my body kept me from caring about myself.
Drinking 7 days a week was what kept me going. When I’d wake up with a hangover threatening my sanity and my nose full of dry blow, the only panacea was more substance. Sometimes I’d start at 8am. Sometimes I’d wait til 12. There was never more than 2 days without getting drunk…. and I simply didn’t care.
Every once in a while I’d look in a mirror and see lines on my face that were way too defined for a 25 year old. I didn’t know at the time that my skin was drastically dehydrated from alcohol consumption.
During the months I had to wake up at 4am to pull tarps over light deps in the green house, it was often after going to bed at 2am. Generally I was still drunk or almost hung-over. It struck me as normal, and actually responsible, to do a couple lines beforehand to get the job done efficiently. I ran on apathy.
The other day I asked someone, “is it bad to eat 3 clementines in one day?” I had to pause and laugh at myself. After everything I’ve done to my body, vitamin C should be the least of my worries.