Hopes and Burdens

I've been listening to some old mix tapes I made when I was in high school. They take me back to a different time in my life. A time when I was so sure of myself. I had a good group of friends nearby, a girlfriend, the soccer team. I was a leader in Boy Scouts, and a writer and editor for the school newspaper. But my nostalgia is tempered by the fact that I was also depressed and full of angst and anger toward what seemed to be an unjust society.

Since then I've had much happen that I would have never dreamed of. I moved out to California. I was diagnosed with Crohn's disease. Had a few different girlfriends. Lived in Tijuana, Mexico for six months. Moved back to San Diego near the beach, made new friends and learned to surf. Eventually I had a psychotic episode, was diagnosed with schizophrenia, and ended up back in New Hampshire, living at home again. Life has come full circle, yet I am a much different person than I was back in high school.

There is little that I regret, yet much that I may never accomplish. I always assumed that I would have a successful career, buy a house, get married, and have two or three children. Over the past year I have come to terms with the fact that all this may not be in the cards for me. It no longer frustrates or angers me. Que sera, sera.

I do still have some hopes and dreams though. I still want to get married someday; I feel having a partner to share life's ups and downs with would eventually be important to me. Right now, however, I feel it is enough to sort out my own life, without dealing with someone else's psyche.

Also, I think that some sort of gratifying work would be good for me in the long term. Work seems to give people a sense of purpose and satisfaction.

But I am no longer jealous of my friends that have career track jobs with stock options and a 401K. That is great for them, but may never materialize for me. It is my own life, and I need to set my own goals and try not to compare myself to others.

We all have our own burdens to carry. And I must do the best I can with what I have been given.

Pangs from an Old Addiction

I went downtown today, to go to a smoke shop to buy incense and rolling tobacco.

As I entered the smoke shop I walked past hookahs, Buddha heads and psychedelic images on the walls. I surveyed the merchandise placed underneath glass counters: bongs, knives, pipes, and flasks. Welcome to New Hampshire's counterculture.

I felt little pangs of desire as I visually examined the multicolored, glass-blown pipes. It's been almost one year and eight months since I last smoked marijuana, yet there is still a part of me that wishes I could buy a glass piece, take it home and sit back and smoke a little nug of weed. I'll just do it on occasion, I tell myself, but the plea is short lived. I know myself better than that. I wasn't a casual smoker, and I doubt I ever could be. When I smoked, I smoked up all the time. Before work, after work, before dinner, after dinner, before hanging out with friends, while hanging out with friends, before bed... all the time.

That's how it was, and then I stopped, cold turkey. I have not smoked marijuana since the day I was admitted to the mental hospital in San Diego. From the hospital I came back east with my mother, leaving my California life behind me.

Had I stayed in Cali, it would have been incredibly hard to quit; it was part of my routine and my social life. Back home in New England, I was divorced from all the elements that would have drawn me back to the drug. Sure I craved it and longed for it... and I still have moments of nostalgia for my favorite herb... but I know keeping clean is the best decision: research has shown that those who have schizophrenia and smoke marijuana are more prone to relapses. I don't want to put my mental health in jeopardy.

My thoughts were wisped away with a pleasant, "What can I help you with?" I looked up, and saw a young, attractive woman with plenty of piercings peering back at me from behind the register. "I'll take these," I said, placing three small boxes of Nag Champa incense on the counter, "And I need some rolling tobacco."

I left the store satisfied with my purchase: sweet scented sticks and my second favorite plant to roll up and smoke. Sure, someday I'll need to quit that as well, but for now I'm just happy to be sober.