I watched last night as Kingdom of Shadows aired nationwide on PBS stations. I said something at the end of the film I now regret. It was true and it was sincere at the time, but I see things differently today.
I see a sick man in that film. Tired. Weak. Hanging on to sobriety like it’s the last sacrament on earth. I see a man beat down by the laws of our society.
Life has kicked my ass since.
At one point I suffered what I thought was a heart attack and was hospitalized only to learn that nothing was wrong with my heart; I was stressed to the point of breaking and my body shut down.
I left that hospital, after two days without a single prescription or treatment. Later, a local doctor issued me a prescription for Zanex.
I don’t take that shit.
So it went into the cabinet. I’d had dizzy spells, warning signs, preceding the event for several weeks. The signs returned.
I tried half a low-dose Zanex. First and last time. It does not work for me. I don’t like the way it makes me feel.
Shortly after New Year’s Day, 2016, while everyone else was swearing off drugs and habits, I smoked a joint. 29 years without a drink or a puff.
Since, I have tried a sip of whiskey.
They work and that’s why people use them. Both present harmful side effects, especially in an industrial environment.
I also got off my ass and went back to working hard, physically.
I feel better.
It’s not drugs I hate, it’s the goddamned business.
I am sick of the way we as a society treat drug users.
I am sick of cops and judges and lawyers and probation officers and prisons. I am sick of slimy fucks preying on immigrants, addicts. I am sick of cartels.
I am sick of apathetic people that allow this evil to persist among us.
The war on drugs is a war on ourselves.