Memento Mori – I
“Memento Mori – Memento Vivere”
As I type this I am lighting up on a bowl of “GMO Cookies.”
I like this powerful Indica just before I try to sleep. It is a fast-acting, hard-hitting, cannabis strain that actually gives me a chance at sleeping tonight. I look back on all the VA-issued sleeping medication of various kinds and over-the-counter sleep aids I have tried to use over the years and realize they did nothing but made me a zombie the next day. I was a lethargic neanderthal attempting my daily tasks using solely muscle memory. All conscious thought has been shut down and I have put myself on life support mode: only critical functions authorized any energy consumption. I slowly started to become unraveled. Then, I finally stopped being a pussy and worrying about the consequences of being caught with weed.
For most of my adult life, I have had careers that required piss/hair follicle drug testing for initial employment and, most always, included random drug testing after that. I had/have many certifications and security clearances that require my piss to be so clean that I just could not consume poppy seeds and other potential everyday things. My anger levels rose higher and higher; my outbursts became more and more aggressive.
I worked as a bouncer on the side, not really to make money. I just enjoyed laying my hands on people and roughing them up. I would lie to myself (and others) saying, “They deserved it for INSERT BULLSHIT REASON HERE.” I chalked up what I was doing to some kind of street righteousness. Exposing and “exiting” the riff-raff, teaching rich entitled kids how to act, and casting a circle of protection that made me feel good. Like my life had purpose again. I had self-actualization and a direction to point my fermenting anger— anger borne of the craziest mix of emotions I have ever felt: my years spent in the US Army, especially on deployment. If you get enough court dates, assault charges, and hospital bills though, eventually, you realize this is simply not a long-term solution. I will be broke: mind, body, soul, and bank.
The issue is that I did not realize how much getting into those bar fights was an outlet for pretty much every pent-up emotion I had. Once I removed myself from it, that hate just boiled over (and quickly, too). I was going nowhere fast, hopping from job to job, and just wondering why I sucked so hard. I put the word “alcoholic” to shame. It was not until my GERD fully developed that I actually gave a fuck to slow down my drinking. (You know, daily vomiting kinda got old.) But, I was still angry, still having outbursts, and I was starting to really terrify those around me. I could see it in their eyes.
Up to this point in my life, I had quite a lot of guilt on my shoulders. Guilt from this and that, as well as a failed suicide attempt in my past that still looms over me. I use the drink to shut up the mind. I didn’t want to deal with it. That was until, at a large party, I got black-out drunk and woke up in the hospital with a couple broken bones and a blank memory.
The injury, I firmly believe, saved my life and ultimately opened the door for me to see how much of an extreme help marijuana really is for guys specifically like me. I didn’t pursue the contractor job I was on anymore and decided to be a full-time civi. I’m smoking up every day I possibly can to keep the demons at bay, so they say.
I’ll tell you about the month I have had since writing this in the next entry. It’s a whole lot of bullshit involving the VA meds and their shitty fucking process for figuring out what meds to give a veteran.
NOTE: Due to my type of employment, I am unable to give my real name. This really pisses me off… but it is what it is. Drive on and live and all that… Anyways, if this turns into a “thing,” I look forward to using my real identity someday.