It is no secret that I have a somewhat addiction-prone personality. My lust and passion for life sometimes manifests in addictive behavior. In reality, it could be said I'm addicted to a lot of things. I can't stop playing house music nor can I stop taking pictures. Not being creative in some why is physically painful if I can't engage. Of course, I've learned how not to overspend and I've mostly learned how to budget my time so it doesn't interfere with other things. It is nice that I have a supportive person in my life that contributes a great deal to my creative energy and doesn't discourage me from spending a lot of time on it. The addiction to the creative force doesn't hurt anyone, especially myself. There are plenty of things that I've engaged in, however, that have the power to destroy me.
When I was younger, I had a problem with alcohol. It really boiled down to easy access. It was legal, I could get it for mostly cheap or free and it did manage to shut the darkness inside my head up, albeit temporarily. I don't like the after effects of alcohol and never have. However, the drive for silence usually outweighed any thought of discomfort later. Eventually, I found cannabis and realized it treats me much better. Honestly, I'm addicted to that too but it isn't nearly as detrimental to my physical and mental health. What really started to kill me faster rather than slower was energy drinks. DJing at bars was always a trigger point for me because alcohol was right there. Bars also sell Red Bull, which was a perfect alternative. Of course, over the years my consumption spiraled out of control It became a part of my functional existence. It became part of my identity.
A couple of weeks ago, I had one of the most panic inducing nightmares I have ever experienced. My nightmares have always been somewhat graphic and panic-inducing but this one took it to a whole new level. I was broadcasting. For some reason I had a gun. It was silver, a 9 mm. Why my brain decided to add such excruciating detail, I don't know. The song (THE song) came on. I remember laughing as I put the gun in my mouth. As the final bars of the song played, I pulled the trigger. Suddenly, I am in my bed with the lingering taste of gun metal and blood in my mouth.
Upon reflection, dreams like this usually crop up when I am over-consuming energy drinks. Caffeine isn't really the issue. I can drink loads of coffee and not have this problem. The chemical soup, however, seems to have a profound effect on my subconscious. I've quit the damn things multiple times and have relapsed, often worse than before I quit. This time, I am determined to stick with it, not only for my physical well-being but also because even though it helps me in the waking world, it does nothing but bad things for me when I am asleep. I can't help but feel that one day, I would bridge the gap between my nightmares and reality. I don't want to put people through that. I know that many people would be profoundly negatively affected by something that tragic. Having to bury me, having to figure out all of my final affairs (the scope of which is mind boggling and if I can't figure out what that would look like, I can't imagine how tough it would be for those close to me), having to explain to my child why their parent committed suicide, the sheer amount of fallout from killing myself basically in public, the list of ramifications and consequences goes far beyond myself. This is something that I must consciously and subconsciously remember.
In this moment, it feels like I am going to fail but at the same time I feel a strength and resolve that I haven't felt before. Maybe I'm turning a corner. I feel like I am making far more progress on the mental end of things than I ever had. It helps that I have help. I have to keep telling myself all the therapy I went through over the past few years actually has done something, even though sometimes I feel like I wasted everyone's time. That's the depression talking, though. I worked on the things I needed to work on and progressed in my own way. I don't exactly feel like doping myself up on legal medications for as long as I did was really helpful but I do acknowledge that being in a walking coma for a year kind of pushed a reset button. I also acknowledge the trauma of existing this way for so long. Further, I know deep in my soul that I have to work through this, just as I have to work through all of the trauma in the past. It is a lot to unpack but if I don't, I'll carry it to the point where I can't stop myself from ending my own life.
There's a lesson in all this. Maybe it is just the journey that matters.
