The Pain Is a Better Drug JuNoWriMo Day Five

I was always trying to “feel good.” And I was always lonely.

For some reason, I had it in my head that, life didn’t have any right to ever make me “feel bad.” I was on a constant, never-ending, decades-long quest to just “feel good.”

I also had it in my head that I deserved friends. What I deserved was an ass-whippin’ Royale and those people I hung out with, they were not my friends. The few real friends I had ever encountered I ran off, in my stupidity and fear of standing up to my family, while very young.

It seemed drugs were the answer.

Yes, they made me feel good, alright. For a little while. Then, they would wear off and I needed more.

My tolerance improved and I found I needed even more of more and a little more, just to be safe.

In the pursuit of something to make me feel good, I made myself so miserable because of the people I had to associate with, in order to come up with my drugs.

And, seeing as how easily irritated I am by stupidity (either my own or someone else’s) it is surprising I did not end up in prison for murder.

Drugs make people stupid. Like my Dad always tried telling me: “There’s a reason they call it dope, dope.”

But, people (me included) think they have to “feel good” all the time, every day.

Life just doesn’t allow someone to live without some kind of pain or discomfort.

People (me included) always seem to want to connect with someone out there.

And the dope crowd is an easy club to join. Anybody is welcome. Those associations worth having are not only hard-won but they must also be nurtured and protected.

I had just gotten to a point where I had screwed up so much with so many people I wanted to love and my own head was messed up too that, I one day just chose to come to Lubbock, drug myself out and die in obscurity.

But the Gods had a different plan for me, apparently.

I ended up losing my vehicle, several irreplaceable things and my mind.

I found me a little spot where I could just rest and sleep under a bridge. The kind hearts of Lubbock made sure I didn’t starve and I am grateful because going to those soup kitchens and churches just meant having to be around the very people I was avoiding – the dopehead crowd.

Eventually, the Gods got their message through to me that I must endure the pain of changing because the pain of staying the same was just more than I can bear – and believe you me I can bear much.

Now, the workouts result in a stiffness and soreness I find pleasurable. Work gives me a fatigue I now enjoy. Being a good friend to the right people means doing right by them – occasionally losing something to them with no expectation of a return and being mean as hell to the wrong people if that’s what my new friends need.

If that means I lose sleep because someone needs me all night, so be it. If that means a fist-fight in a dark alley because I am needed, so be it. If it means I stay away from everyone I used to think cared about me and just live my life alone because I never needed social skills because I always had drugs, then so be it.

So  be it.

Because the pain of the struggle and living life sober – now that is a great drug.

I really hope this makes sense to someone looking for it.