“The seizures have stopped.” “Thank god.” “She’s not out of the woods yet. Her heart is fatigued and we’ll need to run more tests to determine the extent of the brain damage. A lot of that will only become clear over time. She has a long road ahead of her. Her blood results came in while you were gone.” “She told me what she took, before her heart stopped.” “She’s lucky to be alive. When she’s fully conscious and capable, the police will want to speak with her. If they haven’t already, they’ll need to speak with you too.”
Dance harder. Dance faster. Numb the pain. Be more interesting. Seek revelations. Go on a spiritual journey. Feel good. Cope with mental health. Have fun. Trip out. I’m a fucking superhero!
Saying no to drugs isn’t good enough anymore. It’s not realistic with the cornucopia of chemicals available. Not everyone wants to say no. You don’t have to say no.
In the past, I’ve been ostracized for my thoughts – labelled a critical judge. I’ve ended friendships because I can’t be the saviour; because I can’t sit idly by and watch someone throw their life away. I’ve had hate mail and been threatened. I’ve been told I don’t know how to party – how to have fun. Well ya know what? Fuck that. I say these things because I care. Deeply. I say these things because I know better.
I partied my way through the aughts*. Sure, I’ve got some fun and crazy stories that would make the likes of Hunter S. Thompson blush. You know what else I’ve got? Holes in my brain, friends dead from overdoses (friends who said they knew what they were doing), friends dead from addictions (friends who said they could handle it), ended friendships because of addictions (because they couldn’t handle it and I couldn’t save them) and a raging passion for people to smarten the fuck up (because I’m tired of losing friends).
For fuck sakes, know your damn source. I can’t stop you from taking illicit chemicals. I have no power or control over that. What I can ask is that you know what you’re buying, know what it’s cut with and know how much to take. Do you really need to chase the high all weekend? Yeah, I’m sure you’re super smart. You’re a super hero, right? You just party on weekends and have done that for so many years now, that you’re a pro. Well, even pros can have their heart stop beating. Are you smart enough to start your own heart when it stops?
Hell, maybe it’s just brain death. That’s okay, right? There are machines that’ll keep you breathing and your body warm so your family can come, hold your hand, and weep. That’s okay, because you knew what you were doing, right?
“I just party on weekends…Thursday’s practically the weekend…Ugh, it’s Monday and I’m still fucked up from Thursday…God, I feel like shit.”
Smarten up.
[*Aughts: A decade such as that from 1900 to 1909 A.D., or 2000 to 2009, whose digit in the tens place is zero.]
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