I find myself dividing my past in chodhood, teenage years, black hole and adulthood. I am missing a whole set of emotions. I can only look back. And I do not feel anything for my drug years. I can't really rermember any emotion. I can really start to understand what I did to myself. I did walk in a different dimension, a fake world of self told lies and deceit. For years I told myself that I was not worth the trouble. For years I really believed to be an insesible monster, my hearth hard as a stone, incapable and unwilling to love and feel without getting hurt or without giving out pain. All my relationships had failed and as a result I was a failure. The responsability of having feelings had almost destroyed me, so intense and confused I was.
It is true, first of all mother, brother and friends. A whole set of people that were tightly connected with family and later drugs. I was not able to understand my feelings, the confusion in my head. The responsability I felt for mother survival and welfare, the emotional and practical demands of a deeply depressed woman, combined with the loneliness, the inability to talk with friends and my despair. All in a circle, coming out of the house in search of a lighter enviroment to relieve my mind, friends with whom I could not relate, working to pay the bills, back home to a faked normality and not understood feelings.
Drugs were just the perfect thing to not think about anything. This trips we all took together, everyone running from his own demons, or drinking to oblivion for no reason at all. The lies we told each other, to justify ourselves, already hiding behind some kind of macho facade, strong guys can do drugs for no reason. What a bullshit. Everyone of us had issues, parents, school, jobs and life, any excuse just to get out of our minds. The more problems, the more heavy the use. Until one day I find myself with a needle in my arm. The biggest trip of all. Complete leave of the senses. I got really scared when I came back from that trip. I was the worst of them all. I had no safety net and I was in free fall. It was scary, as I did not care. I knew somehow what would happen. I knew I was going to lose what was left of my life. I knew and I did it anyway. I had no balls to step back and see. I had no reason to. Mother was all I had and I was bad for her.
I now realise my drug use was a way out, in a way a survival route. I did try to kill myself. Tablets. I ended up in hospital for three days. When I came out of there I took off in search of a job, the more distant from her the better. My body already craving the heroin, my mind weak, with no emotional support, I came to the UK in a bid to destroy myself, out of the way, willing and ready to go back only in a coffin.
All of my feelings for for family and friends were mangled with guilt, fear and my own pity. I was not able to clear and divide the various emotions, unable to understand the gloom of it all. Coming to England I lost the will to be resposible for my thoughts and feelings. I stopped caring for anyone as I did not care for myself. Downhill with my arse on the ground on a bumpy ride.
I did not feel. I manage to achieve my goal for a painless life.
I am ashamed. I am not sorrow, I will not apologise for any of it. I felt how I felt and acted as I acted. that is why I am now. A friend told me that I am finally living my life as I really want. Caring, considerate and happy. I agree. I am learning to understand my mind and its needs. I feel certainly not confused.
I know what I want, I know what I like and I know how to go about it. I have matured in an adult man. I am proud I changed my life but I can't stop wondering if I paid a very hefty price for my present being.
I guess that if I did not have to deal with mother depression, my drug use would not have been an addiction and my sexuality could have been lived in a different way.
Life is a bitch. Now I know. I can deal with it.
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