In addiction I could drive for days. The vehicle was my station, my point of power. Above and beyond the drugs I had consumed when and wherever, the vehicle provided some higher sense of purpose and distinction within the world. Not simply the vehicle itself, however, but driving the vehicle. Being a passenger had quite the opposite effect. I trained and honed my driving skills to perfection, memorizing little known laws and regulations, and practicing rarely used techniques and strategies on the road. I think, now, that it was a sense of control, and that being able to wield the vehicle effectively was a way of taking back some ownership of my wildly lost and out of control lifestyle at that time.
I lost my license very near the end of my addiction. It was a crushing defeat, absolutely. It was as though they looked at me, saw I was a piece of shit dope fiend with only a single strand of true humanity left in me, and then they grabbed that single strand and tore it free from my flesh. At that moment I felt that I was purely shameful and worthless.
I always loved driving. No sooner did I have my license than The Driver became my identity. I abused the privilege for many years, always drinking, and drunk, and driving to kill. But after a dozen non-conviction DWI escapes, and a near-fatality escape to boot, I straightened my shit out and began to respect the responsibility, never again combining alcohol with The Wheel; and it continued this way for many years. But many years later, in an attempt to escape the trappings of methamphetamine, I would drink and drive once more, and it would be this 'one-off' occurrence that tore the last shred of my humanity from me.
Back then I figured it was my point of disconnection: disconnecting from all the chaos of the world for as long as I could remain jacked in; and such a belief manifested addictive behaviors of a unique nature. I would borrow a vehicle to ''go to the store'' and would return it days later, only after I had secured another whip to crack, also on false assumptions and for days longer than expected.
This sense of disconnection felt key, because driving gave me an excuse to focus on something other than the people around me. I did not like the people around me because they all wanted to take my things from me.. my drugs.. my money.. my charm.. my literacy.. or maybe they just wanted to fuck me.. But they all wanted something, depending on what I had at any given moment. I needed those vehicles to focus my mind away from all the emotional abuse. When I was in a house, surrounded by it all, it made me shaky, and uncomfortable, and hurt, and ashamed, and nervous.. But behind the wheel all these things were taken away. My mind became refocused to this grand, overarching purpose: responsibility for the lives which had been placed in my hands.
Why hang out with such people? one may ask. The answer is difficult to accurately convey. I chose my friends very carefully, they were each someone absolutely wonderful, deep, deep down inside, under all the twists and kinks of personality from the drug abuse. I could see these wonderful things in people and I would dedicate my entire life to them, as some sort of fucky way of showing them that they were grand enough to deserve such subservience, somewhere deep, deep down there. I sought to serve something greater than myself, and in my quest for such a thing I found not things but persons. I sought to serve these persons, who I believed to be greater than myself, and to marshal my skill-set in obedience to some grand, fucky purpose of their design. And if these magnificent beings happened to make me feel like shit in the process, then that was okay! Because it was not about me. I just did what I could to mitigate the trauma, that I may continue to serve faithfully.
When my license was taken I lost that ability to mitigate the impending insanity, inevitably due from my years of abuséd servitude. They took the only thing that had the capability of quietening the voices, they took one of the main points of value for which many of my jaded masters kept me around, they took the only thing that made me a single iota more than a slave to the demons; the only thing I truly loved, and which made living worthwhile.
Four years of grueling sobriety later and I had re-acquiesced that thing which I valued so.. I regained it with such an expectation as that my passion and desire to be such a one would continue to propel me forward. But that was not the case. I no longer find any passion at all in this sweet, sweet love of mine. Not only does it bore me, but in fact I am disgusted by it now. Why is this?
Perhaps it is my needs which has evolved, and not my passion which has devolved. Perhaps it is the case that that which I once found there, in fact I find now here? Where? Elsewhere. Perhaps now the grand overarching meta-purpose is not to be found in a vehicle, or even in the responsibility of lives within my hands. Perhaps I have found that which is greater in leadership, rather than servitude. Perhaps I have found that which is greater in myself, rather than others. Perhaps I have found that which is greater in life, rather than death.
Now, in retrospect I can see that it was not about disconnecting from the chaos at all, but rather it was the only place I could connect to something greater than the chaos, the chaos of which I was so eternally frightened and exhausted. For me, back then, it was the vehicle which served as a mechanical pseudo-God in my life. For the vehicle is literally and objectively greater than oneself, we push and pull buttons from the heart of a machine which races, and rages, and twists all about in response to our touch. But now, in my recovery, I have found a better version of God to burden with my pain. I have found a God which is within me, and yet one which I keep without. The mechanical pseudo-God had not the power to truly alleviate my suffering, only to serve as intermittent reprieve from the pain. My new God has a power so much greater, and can both and at once, reprieve and alleviate. For in this life, it is only by believing in that which is greater than ourselves that we may be restored to sanity and provided a life in which we may take back the power over our addictions.
~CCH2017
I lost my license very near the end of my addiction. It was a crushing defeat, absolutely. It was as though they looked at me, saw I was a piece of shit dope fiend with only a single strand of true humanity left in me, and then they grabbed that single strand and tore it free from my flesh. At that moment I felt that I was purely shameful and worthless.
I always loved driving. No sooner did I have my license than The Driver became my identity. I abused the privilege for many years, always drinking, and drunk, and driving to kill. But after a dozen non-conviction DWI escapes, and a near-fatality escape to boot, I straightened my shit out and began to respect the responsibility, never again combining alcohol with The Wheel; and it continued this way for many years. But many years later, in an attempt to escape the trappings of methamphetamine, I would drink and drive once more, and it would be this 'one-off' occurrence that tore the last shred of my humanity from me.
Back then I figured it was my point of disconnection: disconnecting from all the chaos of the world for as long as I could remain jacked in; and such a belief manifested addictive behaviors of a unique nature. I would borrow a vehicle to ''go to the store'' and would return it days later, only after I had secured another whip to crack, also on false assumptions and for days longer than expected.
This sense of disconnection felt key, because driving gave me an excuse to focus on something other than the people around me. I did not like the people around me because they all wanted to take my things from me.. my drugs.. my money.. my charm.. my literacy.. or maybe they just wanted to fuck me.. But they all wanted something, depending on what I had at any given moment. I needed those vehicles to focus my mind away from all the emotional abuse. When I was in a house, surrounded by it all, it made me shaky, and uncomfortable, and hurt, and ashamed, and nervous.. But behind the wheel all these things were taken away. My mind became refocused to this grand, overarching purpose: responsibility for the lives which had been placed in my hands.
Why hang out with such people? one may ask. The answer is difficult to accurately convey. I chose my friends very carefully, they were each someone absolutely wonderful, deep, deep down inside, under all the twists and kinks of personality from the drug abuse. I could see these wonderful things in people and I would dedicate my entire life to them, as some sort of fucky way of showing them that they were grand enough to deserve such subservience, somewhere deep, deep down there. I sought to serve something greater than myself, and in my quest for such a thing I found not things but persons. I sought to serve these persons, who I believed to be greater than myself, and to marshal my skill-set in obedience to some grand, fucky purpose of their design. And if these magnificent beings happened to make me feel like shit in the process, then that was okay! Because it was not about me. I just did what I could to mitigate the trauma, that I may continue to serve faithfully.
When my license was taken I lost that ability to mitigate the impending insanity, inevitably due from my years of abuséd servitude. They took the only thing that had the capability of quietening the voices, they took one of the main points of value for which many of my jaded masters kept me around, they took the only thing that made me a single iota more than a slave to the demons; the only thing I truly loved, and which made living worthwhile.
Four years of grueling sobriety later and I had re-acquiesced that thing which I valued so.. I regained it with such an expectation as that my passion and desire to be such a one would continue to propel me forward. But that was not the case. I no longer find any passion at all in this sweet, sweet love of mine. Not only does it bore me, but in fact I am disgusted by it now. Why is this?
Perhaps it is my needs which has evolved, and not my passion which has devolved. Perhaps it is the case that that which I once found there, in fact I find now here? Where? Elsewhere. Perhaps now the grand overarching meta-purpose is not to be found in a vehicle, or even in the responsibility of lives within my hands. Perhaps I have found that which is greater in leadership, rather than servitude. Perhaps I have found that which is greater in myself, rather than others. Perhaps I have found that which is greater in life, rather than death.
Now, in retrospect I can see that it was not about disconnecting from the chaos at all, but rather it was the only place I could connect to something greater than the chaos, the chaos of which I was so eternally frightened and exhausted. For me, back then, it was the vehicle which served as a mechanical pseudo-God in my life. For the vehicle is literally and objectively greater than oneself, we push and pull buttons from the heart of a machine which races, and rages, and twists all about in response to our touch. But now, in my recovery, I have found a better version of God to burden with my pain. I have found a God which is within me, and yet one which I keep without. The mechanical pseudo-God had not the power to truly alleviate my suffering, only to serve as intermittent reprieve from the pain. My new God has a power so much greater, and can both and at once, reprieve and alleviate. For in this life, it is only by believing in that which is greater than ourselves that we may be restored to sanity and provided a life in which we may take back the power over our addictions.
~CCH2017
