Civil war insanity
Interests and values,
Pissing on belief systems
And questions morality.
So is in my head
When I doubt sanity
And worship chaos.
Axl blares on,
Wondering what’s civil
About war anyway.
It’s a nasty business
In which no one truly wins.
With me, it’s a dispute in which
If there is a gain,
It’s only a temporary euphoria
Of the party that needs
Fairytales more than anything.
In the end all forces die
To black oblivion
That takes hours to dissipate
Before new life of suspicion
Mine used to be the state
Of body, spirit, and mind
Broken by my own
Of not belonging to,
Not wanting to a part of,
Desiring escape from,
And fearing responsibilities,
As well as obligations,
Constantly feeling like
As a square peg
Into a rounded hole
Of society’s norms
In a manner of what felt like
To die insane.
image was recompressed out of the visions copied from http://www.aircontrolindustries.com/global/wp-content/uploads/2014/01/dangers-of-compressed-air.png and http://pyebarker.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2014/07/compressed-air-storage.jpg. thanks.
You think that sun is shining and gives warmth
But not to you,
To someone else perhaps,
But you are always in the shade.
On a hot day it’s good,
But there are more of the colder days
And they last longer.
And the wind is always sharper
Just when you have to walk away
From a shelter you were forced to leave.
What you believed to be salvation
From pain and awkwardness
Became poison you can’t live without.
You heard of people who ended up that way
But you never believed it to be true
Or that it will ever, even in the wildest dreams
Of a madman living in the middle of nowhere,
Would happen to you.
And now witnessing it being real
You still deny it with ferocity of a man drowning at sea.
Only you are really drowning
And you’re not crying for help.
You are too scared to display
Your inability to control your life
You are too embarassed to show the rest of the world
That you can’t enjoy life to the fullest
Like they do, or pretend to do.
Strange colors shine on you at night
When your head screams for fresh air
And your guts are about to swear blood vengeance
For the harms you put them through
And yet still you look upon the wreckage
Of your life you never lived,
Just wallowed in grey existence,
Of never ending hopes
That come through aborted
When opportunities knock
And come away shattered,
Of poisoned hearts and
Rusty nails you continue to step on
And you grin to the sun that seems
To only want to burn you alive
And you give yourself another promise
You so hard want to keep
And forgetting to buckle up
You step out on the road
Into the icy wind that you believe
To be bringing change
To your life
That truly only exists in your drunken bouts.
Again came the day
When light was night
And trees were fog
And birds chirping
Was cars with no tires
Screeching against the concrete
At full speed
Down to heaven
In a rush you’d never see
But on December Black Fridays.
All was grey, like the sun had a hangover
And all I cared
Was nothing at all,
But sitting in a shower all day,
With hot water running down by back,
As I felt secure
In my inactivity
In the evening
I’d stumble out of the bathroom,
Like I was drunk and stoned and beaten,
All at the same time,
And stare at the window
At the grey world
And trees whose branches looked
Like fog that descended once
And never wanted to leave,
For in our world
No one cares to look
Or pay attention anyway.
Blind as just born puppies
We only go for what we want to have
Or what we were taught to do,
Not thinking about what others are doing,
Unless it benefits or harms us.
This day lasts for weeks,
Season of rains,
Never ending nights.
I don’t know my surroundings anymore.
I don’t know what is there to wish for,
To have this grey time end,
Or find something within me
To make my life worth something,
No matter what the world outside the window looks like.
I think I just answered my question,
But I am just so scared
To make the change.
the image was copied from
At some point
They thought they had it all together:
Ideals, dreams, promises, priorities,
All kinds of ideations felt right
After endless chaotic lifetimes.
Until a day came
When they wasn’t sure anymore
Who they were and what they wanted.
For years they refused to give up
The chip they wore on their shoulders,
For the war they fought
Seemed only relevant to them.
Each day felt like challenge,
Each move they watched for a landmine,
And if someone rushed past them,
They clenched their fists and ducked.
To them life felt like a battle won each evening.
Each night gave rest
And they counted their blessings.
Until the day came
And the nights became bright as mornings.
On the streets people passed them,
Chatting as if never
Feeling in danger,
As if peace never ceased
And sun always shined.
Now was the time
They started doubting memories
Of clashing swords over their heads,
Bullets singing death songs,
As they lay buried in the mud,
Watching the enemy crossing the fields.
Now their medals they assumed they’ve deserved
Are losing their shine.
Now the ribbons of what they knew
To symbolize triumph
Are ripped to shreds
In their worn doubting minds,
Waiting for someone to ring the bell,
Calling them to solve a conflict through fire,
Give meaning to their lives,
Spent in bad dreams,
Knowing no rest,
Daily experiencing fear,
In the back of the world daydreams,
In the assumed battlefields,
Shunned by the ones
Who’ve sworn to love them.
[image was copied from ‘ere. thanks.]
Modern society deals with so much information every day. We don’t even have time to process it, and it keeps falling onto our lap. But at least we can use the information we want. We have that opportunity to find out how to deal with this and how to treat that, finding answers literally in seconds. New generation has no idea of how not to have that opportunity, but decades back there were crowds of intelligent people all over the world that made this world as we know it get to this point eventually. But the spread of knowledge, oh how slow it was. And with slow spreading knowledge, ignorance would be massive too, wouldn’t it? And the funny thing is that while then the knowledge would spread rather slowly, ignorance would spread much faster. And all kind of nasty things would come along with it.
Most of my Russian family members drink socially. Some didn’t and they are not with us anymore. Some of them could live longer.
At any rate, although we had some people in my family that abused alcohol, my family never talked about the dangers of drinking. They’d tell me that I obviously had too much alcohol to function properly (which was true), or they’d remark post-factum that my Granddad keeps pouring me more at the birthday dinner (true again). But it was never an object of a longer conversation. Until it started getting worse and I was clearly losing control.
My other Granddad died because of alcoholism more than from the older age complications. He stopped drinking eventually, but the damage done to his liver thanks to drinking excessively for decades killed him three years after stopping. My family was obviously upset, but they wouldn’t talk about what happened. There were no conversations of how we could have prevented that. I was never talked to about how not to drink. I was only reminded that I could end up like the Granddad.
I don’t want to go into details of why my family knew no better. I’ll just say they didn’t know and not many knew. That way I will not get into blaming mode. Rather, I’ll say there is often no knowledge of addiction and treatment among people who lived with and around addiction for a long time. And unfortunately when there is no knowledge, there are blooming rumors and mythology. Which leads to stigma. And that one doesn’t die easy.
I grew up loving drinking for the effects it gave me. I never thought I’d give it up for anything. Ten years or so of devoted drinking led me to the point I was to end up in deep trouble.
I also grew up hiding drinking. I knew picking up a drink on regular basis wasn’t welcomed around my parents unless we had a family reunion (but my parents would occasionally treat themselves to a beer or a brandy.)
When I shifting toward sobriety, yet still not one hundred percent ready to make the complete change, people around me who never knew of recovery asked “We talked about it, didn’t we? Why can’t you just stop?” When I did quit and joined AA, some people would say “Well, you can still drink from time to time, right?” It appears we Russians haven’t discovered AA until early 90s, but our alcoholics didn’t start rolling into this self help recovery program fast enough. Still there are not that many AA groups back home unless you look at really large cities.
Alcoholics are the people suffering immensely, but we are either made fun of, or accepted too eagerly with a weak smile. Everybody expresses that they seem to know how a drunk feels, but not everybody understands that a drunk drinks very differently from many others. We the drunks are picked on our behavior, because we are not the only ones who really has no idea what’s going on with the chemistry of the drug hitting the mind of an addict. We don’t know and we suffer internally and socially. They don’t know and they suffer socially, but again, they don’t know how we feel and how we see the world around us.
Stigma comes from lack of knowledge. I cannot say with certainty that I wouldn’t drink or would stop drinking early if I knew in my late teens what I know now about alcoholism. I would however feel different about depression, isolation, suicide, and denial if I knew earlier. And I probably would treat other people differently.
[the picture was copied from ‘ere. thanks.]
I will always be that asshole
That never tells you
Things you want to hear,
Because the things you want to hear
Are an illusion.
You can continue calling me names,
You can threaten to fight me
Or to have me fired
From the job that I keep
To have you sheltered, and fed, and cared for,
But I know that you do that out of fear.
Being afraid is what humans dealt with
Since the beginning of time,
Keeping fire alive to ward off wild beasts.
There is nothing wrong with being fearful,
But this time your fear
Keeps you away from living,
So you’re merely existing,
Taking short rapid breaths.
The more you run away from reality
The less are the chances
You will ever take in enough air
To feel that life
Is not just a day-to-day terror cell
Where you are both prisoner and guard.
But alone you hardly ever
Will know this or care to listen
So you will forever crawl toward the dish
That feeds you with illusion
That you are the master of your fate,
Until your body and mind die
From your drugging your fear
In the name of what you call life.
I will always be that asshole
Who doesn’t tell you the things
That you want to hear
Because I was in that cell,
Eating fear and believing
The illusion I never wanted to die.
It drove me close to ripping myself apart.
I will have none of that anymore.
All I’m trying to do
Is to show you how
Not give into the lie, into fear.
All you do is push reality away
Because making the first step toward healing
Looks like the most difficult thing in the world.
You’re not alone in thinking that way
I’ve “been there and done that.”
Cliché, yes, just as “it works if you work it.”