Coin

I’ve been forgetting to breathe.

 As you might imagine, or maybe have experienced, this can lead to major problems. The solution seems simple, just start breathing again, and that is completely true. I notice, I take a deep breath or three, clear up, and then go back to what I was doing, and that would be fine if what I was doing wasn’t not breathing.

 Chasing symptoms like this will wear you out, and fast. I’m worn out right now, but I view it as a good thing. I view it as a good thing because being worn out, irritable, and overwhelmed are states of mind that I have had enough time away from to not be the norm. Malaise is not my daily driver anymore, but I do, on occasion, take it for a spin, and I always find myself wondering, “How the fuck did I drive this jalopy for so long?”

 The answer is drugs.

There are a couple of ways, I guess, to take this statement, but that’s one of the things about answers, if they’re any good, they’ll keep you asking questions.

Like a toddler, my favourite question is “Why?” Why will get you the best answers. Why will get you the most answers, the most complex answers, the most leading answers. For example, here are some of the answers you get when you ask not why.

When did this happen?

About 3 pm last Thursday.

Oh, ok.

Or

Who did this?

*Points* He did.

Right. I thought so.

Or

What is that?

It’s a rock that doesn’t really look like a rock.

I like that. Its cool.

 One of the biggest industries on the planet, besides killing everybody, is brutally overexposing you to whowhatwhenwhere to the degree that you don’t have time to find out why, or even ask. That’s the news; extra lean ground bullshit, even if it’s true. And don’t get me started on religion (it’s always too late when someone says that) which is the opposite of the news, in a way, Religion just feeds you answers, always the same answers, that you are blocked from questioning by people who’s life’s work it is to discourage and prevent you from asking why. Or they’ll kill you. They’ll kill you with the promise of eternal hell, in this life AND the next.

Why? What did I do to deserve any of that? I just want to find out why I hurt so bad. What do I do now?

 The answer is drugs.

The answer is no more questions as to why, just whowhatwhenwheredrugs until you run out of drugs. When that happens you will start asking why, “why am i alive?”, and that is a very tough question to answer when you’re out of drugs. When you’re out of drugs and you ask yourself why you’re alive, the coin is in the air, and it’s heads, you suffer. Tails, you die.

 It’s not about manning up when you see the result of the toss and it says you die, it’s about accepting the reality that there were never two options, and as awesome and metal as that statement is, Heads, you suffer. Tails, you die., there’s no coin in the air, spinning hypnotically, flip, flip, flipping, 1973 centennial quarter, grooved edges, the one with the mountie on tails, flashing in the light of a candle, the only light, as I sat alone, on my last night.....

 Nothing kept me alive. “In the beginning all was without form, and void, and Jonathan asked, ‘Why is it so fucking empty in here? And ow! Can we do something about this pain? Seriously, what the fuck? WHY the fuck anyways?’”

 I became curious, and that’s what my curiosity often sounds like, a mad hunger for answers.

There was a lot of swearing, but from that instant, I began living in defiance of entropy, not giving a shit that I will die. I’ll die, but not until I’m dead. I called a friend and started learning how to live.

 There’s still quite a bit of swearing, but I’ve managed to pick up some satisfactory answers since that coin toss. At 45 years old, and having once again nearly reached the end of my rope, I asked my doctor, “What the fuck is wrong with me?”, because my drunk ass sure couldn’t figure it out, and he (an older, curmudgeonly doctor, and I didn’t expect much when it came to caring for even dangerous mental health issues), after stepping out for a minute, came back with some literature and questionnaires about ADHD. It turns out he was a compassionate fellow, and he had a soft spot for me. I didn’t even have to read the literature. It was so obvious, and from that instant I have been able to better manage the trajectory of my life. I had an answer, and better yet, I had SO MANY good questions.

But recently, I’ve been forgetting to breathe, AND I’ve found myself in my old daily driver.

The answer is drugs.

It’s funny how old patterns sneak up on you while you’re busy with new things. I started taking medication for my mental health challenges shortly before I quit drinking, and I have done my best to maintain the lowest possible dose necessary to mitigate the less positive influences of my complicated mind on my simple life, but everything has changed, and dramatically, since I sobered up, and the demands on my mind have increased, scaling to the rewards I receive for it’s clarity, but I’m forgetting to breathe now, and I’m losing sleep, and my mood has been stumbling around, tripping on irritability. I’ve been pushing through my pain like it’s in my way rather than questioning why it has come back. So...

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Why are you here again, Pain?

You are forgetting yourself once more, my dear boy. You have been pushing through. You have been leaving important things behind as you pick up new important things, and as a result, you are not becoming more, you are just adding different flavours to the same old recipe. It’s not a bad dish, but it’s not what you need, and you said you were tired of eating it, so here I am again.

Fuck.

It’s ok. You didn’t fall of the wagon, you just fell asleep at the wheel and rode it off into the weeds again.

How did this happen?

You know how; the supply isn’t supporting the demand.

Why am I like this?

You didn’t get some of the things you needed as a child, maybe; sometimes that leaves one struggling to concentrate. No one gets everything they need. Your parents didn’t, you didn’t, your kids didn’t. You are all hurt, and you all require healing. That is all I know, but I am not an expert on these matters. I’m just here to remind you. You want to get out of these weeds?

I’m forgetting to breathe.

I’ll take that as a yes. It’s that way.

So, drugs are the answer?

Don’t say it like that. Circumstances out of your control have left you with a mind that struggles to control itself, and left to it’s own devices, spends all of it’s time doing just that instead of healing and thriving. You’re broken, a bit, and it’s causing too much feedback and static, enough that you can only hear yourself think enough to know that you want to hear more.

But I’m forgetting to breathe.

You’re not forgetting to breathe, that’s just a catchy turn of phrase, you’re just not breathing well because you’re actually thinking about breathing when it just happens automatically if you let it. You’re chasing symptoms; why are you doing that?

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I don’t actually have these conversations in my head, but that’s the thing about writing, and why I need to. It ENABLES my participation in my own thought process on a deep level; it slams shut 50 doors so that I can walk through one at a time, word by word, my mind slow and clear, and healing. Healing, because of the drugs that give me the ability to focus my intent, so, yes, drugs are the answer. It’s a catchy turn of phrase that tends to make people uncomfortable, so we call them medications because that mixes better with daily caffeine and judgement.

I don’t take caffeine anymore because I don’t like how it feels mixed with my Adderall, which I take because sometimes, I forget to breathe, and if I can’t breathe, I can’t figure out how.

To thrive.

 -

 For Patricia Mary Parlee, my Mother.

I told you I’d be alright, Mom, but I didn’t believe it.

I think that you did.

So Happy Birthday, Mom.

I miss you, I remember you, and I’m still fucking alive.

Pardon my language.

 -

 Jonathan Clifford Parlee

October 13, 2023