I remember about 5 years ago I was sitting with a therapist some two weeks after I put my car through a telephone pole doing 140km/h. I was drunk at the time and trying to kill myself.
Obviously, things didn't go as planned. The only thing I got out of the deal was a painful memory and a shattered knee that still hurts when it rains. That, and the realization that I might be a bit too fucked up to continue on as normal.
After a miserable few weeks of recovery I decided that I probably needed to get some help. As I met with the assigned counselor though, I found myself wondering whether she could be the one to do it. She was fresh off her Master's Degree and her solution to what I knew to be unmanageable problems was deep meditative breathing.
I know how to fucking breathe.
But still we went through the motions. I told her about the story of my life while she tried to source the root of my issues. Was it my mother's death or or perhaps the teenage drug abuse. Maybe there was just something naturally wrong with me, I always was a bit of a fucked up kid: sad all the time, realized that nobody ever became who they were meant to be, believed in magic but thought society had destroyed it...that kind of fucked up.
I still for the most part believe those things but I suppose that's a side note in this story.
Anyways, the only reason I was there was because I didn't know how to quite handle the 'new life' I had been given. It was a miracle that I was able to walk away from that night, and since the gods decided to throw a wrench in my plans I figured I might best go back to the drawing board.
So I met with a counselor. She was pretty easy to talk to but I didn't really find her to be very deep or wise. Plus, she had the annoying tendency to focus in on my substance abuse... straight out of the textbook, that one.
I guess she wasn't the first person to challenge me on my drinking and drug use though - my parents, school counselors, and teachers had long been humming that tune. She was, however, the first one to help me understand it for what it is.
I remember her asking directly, "Why is it that you feel like you have to drink or use?"
To this, I responded, "Because I have to. Because life is shit and boring and I just want to enjoy this ride before my time is done." Apparently I didn't appreciate the irony that trying to end the ride early isn't exactly enjoying it, but I digress.
We talked about a lot. She asked me about future goals and dreams and what I wanted to get from this life. I told her that I grew up wanting to fix the bad things and make life better for everyone - very messianic, I know - but in lieu of this, I just wanted to enjoy this stupid life and I've always found that to be easier when you're not sober.
"Do you think that you might be self-medicating?"
Of course I'm self-medicating.
At this point though I emphasized that I didn't really want to talk about drugs or drinking anymore, I was just trying to sort the shit out that led up to the parking violation.
The counselor - I wish I could remember her name - told me that she figured I had depression or something along those lines. No shit, eh. She told me that she wanted to start me on a series of anti-depressants and wanted to get me in to see a psychiatrist/psychologist (I forget which one's which at the moment). I told her no thanks.
You see, at the time I didn't really believe depression as a medical condition was a thing. To be perfectly honest, I still don't know how I feel about it. I've always considered people to be unique things and I've always fully appreciated that everyone experiences the world different. So my thought was how could there be a overlying and underpinning condition that regulates how somebody feels, experiences, and knows the world? That's what makes them unique. I've seen and known some truly unbelievable and magic things that I wouldn't trade for the world even though I can never fully make somebody else understand. Would a doctor consider this to be just a part of the condition? No, I enjoy myself enough to not screw with what makes me me...I just had a moment of weakness.
She took this all in stride, but still continued to argue the case for the anti-depressants saying that it could help to balance things out. I told her no, I didn't want anything fucking with my head because I like the way I think about things and I like the way that I see the world. I can't gamble with something messing up my brain.
"What do you think alcohol does?" she said.
...fuck.
I mean, it's pretty fucking obvious now but at the time I still didn't really look at it that way. They were just fun-enhancers.
We got through about a half dozen sessions and I feel like I worked through some shit. I refused the pills but told her that I would slow down on the drinking and the drugs. I was scheduled in for one final session but I skipped out because I was too hungover and apparently couldn't care less. I never saw her again.
...
This is the first time I've reflected on those counseling sessions in some time. It's weird, it almost feels like it was in another lifetime ago being that the past 5 years have been filled with booze and drugs. I have no idea what ever happened to her or if it was hard for her to not know what ever happened to me. I guess I still kind of feel like a dick about that, but I take some solace in knowing that apparently it's a fairly common thing for therapists and I might have just been another patient to her.
Anways, fast-forward 5 years. I got a university degree (somehow on the honour roll), a criminal record, a lot of wild memories, a few people who hate me, some memories I'm ashamed of, and overall the crippling feeling that I'm nowhere close to accomplishing the dreams I used to have when I was a kid... the feeling that I haven't really done anything except piss away the day.
I started to realize that the reason that I felt this way is because it's true. I mean, I had some wild and reckless fun that I wouldn't replace with anything, but meaningless fun can't fill a hole that was created from having no desire, ambition, or satisfaction. It's only a distraction that takes your eye off the prize that is your life's ambition, and the 'fulfillment' you get is more like chasing a mirage as you get further and further lost.
I don't know how exactly I came to realize this or what's different now, but somehow I feel like I've guided myself back to the path that I should have been walking all along. I still don't take anti-depressants, but I am done with the demons that try to lead you astray. And somehow I know that in time their lure will become less and less appealing.
It's been a month now and it's been fucking hard. I went 5 days straight not being able to get out of bed and I've been experiencing some of the worst feelings I've had in a long, long time. Still though, I walked away from death once and I don't think you don't get a second chance at that, so it's about time I stay true to the course.
It's gonna be a journey and even though some parts will be hard, you just gonna take it one step at a time and try to enjoy the view along the way cause you never know where you might end up.
Maybe it'll be the place you were meant to go all along.
You don't walk away from death twice.