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I have a drug problem. But first, let me tell you that I like to make lists. In fact, one of the reasons I love Julie My Love so much is that, like me, she likes to make lists, and so she likes to help me make lists. Just the other day, she helped me make a list of projects I was working on.
- The Anthony Project
- yorkrules.com 3.0: the next redesign
- My line of handcrafted Lousy T-shirts
Speaking of lists of things pertaining to me that begin with P, just yesterday she presented to me, unsolicited, another list of items impacting my life: Passion, Prozac, and Pot.
Yes, I have a drug problem. Or perhaps it’s a drugs problem. Let’s start on that list where I’ll someday end up: at the bottom.
Pot. I didn’t drink alcohol until I was twenty-one, even though I am the successor to a long and proud line of Funston alcoholics. The first time I smoked pot, at twenty-three, I got a mouthful of the Sweet Sweet when I put the one-hitter in my mouth backwards (if you don’t know what a one-hitter is, then you know you don’t smoke pot.) But ever since I moved in with three pothead roommates, about five years ago, Panama Red’s been in my life.
Depression’s also been in my life, and for a lot longer than the pot. Like the alcoholism, it’s a family thing. You should’ve seen my sister before she got treatment; she was fucking nuts. It’s ironic that our first meaningful and heartfelt conversation in many years (perhaps since the death of our father, fourteen years previous,) was just recently, when I asked what antidepressants she recommended.
That conversation led me to the second on our list of P’s: Prozac, which (my faithful readers will recall) I’ve been popping for several months. The verdict? It’s not a cure, but it definitely takes the edge off. I have as much of a sense of humour about my depression as I can (dark as it may be,) but I’ll tell you this: there are some pretty negative places a person’s mind can wander unsupervised. Now that I’m on the pill – not to sound too much like a pharmaceutical ad, but – my life’s brighter (Although when I get stoned now, I often plummet to new depths of blackness – again, ironic.)
So why continue to get stoned, when it comes at such a Faustian price? Because it complements the third P: Passion. For me, that comes through as creativity. Whether in front of the computer screen or out in the world with my camera, doing what I’m passionate about is the most incredible high (I haven’t yet tried heroin.) And when I’m not being creative, the withdrawal pains can be withering.
So Julie My Love pretty much nailed it when she labeled my drugs problem: Passion, Prozac, and Pot. But then, is it a problem? It’s certainly not something I want to be rid of. There’s no reason to quit the Prozac, I’d be hard-pressed to let go of the Pot, and I’ll never give up on my Passion (until I start heroin.)
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