When you’re growing up and most of your (and your cousins’) birthday parties are keggers because it’s nice out and the adults want to party… and it was a common occurrence to wake up on the weekend to have one or more people you may or may not know passed out in the living room… and you have to clear space on the kitchen table to eat breakfast without knocking over any cans, bottles, or ashtrays.
And then you’re older and find out about the other drugs that were being abused by various adults. And eventually siblings and cousins. And you think “man I’m glad I’m not like that.”
And then you’re yet older, at the end of your rope, learning to recognize your own mental illnesses, and seeing those indicators in others.
And then you’re even older and those adults start dying in their 50s and 60s, and some of the other adults are finally being self-reflective and open about what they were dealing with internally and it’s like a game of bingo and your card keeps “winning.”
I went back to my mother
I said I’m crazy ma, help me
She said, I know how it feels son
Cause it runs in the family
- The Who, The Real Me
And then you realize that the years the drugs and alcohol took off of their lives still applies to you, just in the form of chronic stress, anxiety, and depression. And, somehow, you feel some relief. You understand why they turned to substances. And so you sit through the funerals, listen to people say “it was too soon,” and say your goodbyes, knowing it won’t be long until next time. You know that one day it will be your turn. But in the meantime, there’s a hamster wheel that needs to spin because line go up. This is life. This is death. This is existence.
“We didn’t use to have mental issues back then. We had a lot of people drinking themselves to death and stuff but I fail to see any relation here.”
-Will Wood, Marsha, thankk you for the dialectics, but I need you to leave
When you’re growing up and most of your (and your cousins’) birthday parties are keggers because it’s nice out and the adults want to party… and it was a common occurrence to wake up on the weekend to have one or more people you may or may not know passed out in the living room… and you have to clear space on the kitchen table to eat breakfast without knocking over any cans, bottles, or ashtrays.
And then you’re older and find out about the other drugs that were being abused by various adults. And eventually siblings and cousins. And you think “man I’m glad I’m not like that.”
And then you’re yet older, at the end of your rope, learning to recognize your own mental illnesses, and seeing those indicators in others.
And then you’re even older and those adults start dying in their 50s and 60s, and some of the other adults are finally being self-reflective and open about what they were dealing with internally and it’s like a game of bingo and your card keeps “winning.”
- The Who, The Real Me
And then you realize that the years the drugs and alcohol took off of their lives still applies to you, just in the form of chronic stress, anxiety, and depression. And, somehow, you feel some relief. You understand why they turned to substances. And so you sit through the funerals, listen to people say “it was too soon,” and say your goodbyes, knowing it won’t be long until next time. You know that one day it will be your turn. But in the meantime, there’s a hamster wheel that needs to spin because line go up. This is life. This is death. This is existence.
Tick tock.