Do we remember these times?

22:58 Idea from: http://www.futureme.org/ Do we remember these times? Dear FutureMe, Today is arguably amongst one of the worst days of your life, coming at the end of one of the worst years of your life so far. This morning, you sat at the casino, high on meth and gambled away over $1000. Most of that came from previous winnings, but the original funding of it; it came from money you refinanced your house to obtain. You were meant to use that money to pay back loans to people who lent to you earlier this year to help you cover the legal and forensic medical costs of being arrested for the first time in your life on federal drug charges. This happened ten months ago now, it was the most traumatic day of your entire life so far, and you eventually faced charges you felt were overly harsh given the minor circumstances of the offending. You bore that anger and resentment for the system out for six months whilst on bail (staying sober and going to counselling), and then, two months after your conviction, you finally got some street contacts and have since gone on to literally take your life to the very precipice of irreversible catastrophic ruin. You have since paid off debt you incurred to associates, but the rest of the money you borrowed was meant to go on your credit cards. Instead you've used it to fund a two-month regime of hedonistic self-destruction that even right now - still high - you can hardly believe you've undertaken. You've puffed and gambled away probably close to $15,000. Why? You're angry I suppose... hurting, stressed, depressed, lonely and dealing with a life that stopped making sense a long time ago. Except now you think you have a point to prove... something about not letting anyone tell you how to live your life, and you seem quite prepared to destroy it in making that point. Also, while you never underestimated how addictive meth would be, you didn't quite comprehend how functional it was compared to other drugs you've used in the past, and how as a result of that, the use of it has crept over into your weekday life. After you left the casino at 7.30am, you went home, crashed for an hour, showered and turned up to work. You've been doing this a lot lately after weekends; at least you've been turning up on time since you received your first formal written disciplinary warning from an employer last month. The first given to you in over ten years of professional work. This afternoon, you received an awkward and troubling series of emails from a family associate. The guts of it being this snippet: "I remember when the day [your aunty] came back from your dad's funeral, she told me that she wanted to tell you and [your sister] all about your parents. She thinks that you guys are old enough to know what had happened in the past. I think it is hard for your big uncle to say no. But it certainly upset your big aunty. " (In relation to mum staying with dad's oldest brother and his wife for a few weeks) Also this afternoon, you heard from your team leader that he's been ordered to pick someone from the team to let go. You know you're safe for now, but you're supposed to be working on your resume instead of writing this. This just feels more important right now. After work, you passed out for two hours and then called your sister. You explained the emails to her and that in short, we have to find somewhere else for mum to stay when she comes down on Christmas Day three weeks from now because some of dad's side of the family hold some sort of grudge against her. The pettiness and bitterness of this dispute upset your sister as much as it's been upsetting you. After you finished talking with her, you cried. During this period of your life, crying isn't entirely unfamiliar to you, but even by your standards this was a pretty exhaustive session. Firstly, since going on anti-depressants in June, you haven't been able to experience your "real" emotions as sharply. Also, your recent use of meth has dulled your emotionality even more. This was the first real cry you've had in probably close to half a year, and possibly the output of a month's worth of unused emotions in less than an hour, so it was fairly intense. The reason you got so upset this time, besides from having had such a shit day and barely having slept in twenty-four hours, is because you can't believe your in-laws, on dad's side of the family, could be so thoughtless towards mum. Dad's most important wish was that your sister and you take care of mum, all he cared about in the end was that she be not have to work again and her simple needs be taken care of. That his own family can't see that is really heartless. You were also upset because dad's in-laws don't seem to understand the situation this is putting you in, the additional stress of finding somewhere for mum to stay in three weeks. They might not have had a chance to say goodbye, but that wasn't mum's fault, it was his choice, and also that you - his own son - never got that chance either. Or at least you did, but you didn't realise it was your last chance. Not a day has passed in the two years since that you haven't felt the weight of that missed opportunity, to tell your father in your own words that you really did love him and did so despite the often huge distances between the two of you since your mid-teens. Or that you had forgiven him for the night he lost it at mum when you were sixteen, a night that ended up in an intervention order and your first court appearance as a translator and support for mum. This line of thinking then led on to how pretty much all of your problems if not having been caused, had at least had been contributed to, by all the things you haven't done in your life... and also to more crying. The words unspoken, the feelings unexpressed and the actions not taken. Whether out of timidity, fear or laziness, your lack of adventure in areas of life not related to obtaining short-term pleasures of some sort, has ultimately resulted in the life that you now have, the use of the word "life" in this context being something of a misnomer. Hiding from your friends and even your sister because you don't want them to see how heavy your drug use has been recently is not "living". A state of perpetual fear of being exposed by your friends or employer, using xanax and modafinil to cover your tracks, is a lie. It's also unsustainable, unenjoyable and insanely destructive to mind, body and spirit. I'm fairly sure you will put down the pipe though, and soon, because it's getting very tiring. This was meant to be your next recreational drug, not the road to habitual daily use and addiction. That you can stop now is one chance I doubt you'll pass up the opportunity to take. Whether you'll head down this, or a similar road again in the future is another question. The answer to which should be easy to discern if you're honest with yourself about your relationship with stimulants, and whether you should have one at all while your life remains in such a bad place. If you're reading this email, it'll mean you're forty, because I'm planning to set it to send in ten years. At this current point in your life, you don't actually see beyond the next ten minutes, let alone the next day (this is why you've been late for so many things recently). That you can actually sit here and write to yourself in ten years time is more an act of fantasy, yet another escapist indulgence, but since it exercises your creativity, as I said before, it seems justified. If you really are reading this at forty, well hello I guess. You lucky fucking cunt. I know for a certainty that you will be a generally happy person, with a great life. You will retain most of the qualities that make me a wonderful, warm and popular person but be in possession of some kind of magical device or mastered a form of sorcery that allows you to keep all the voices in my head managed and under control. In essence, you will be a version of me that possesses something resembling balance; a quality that I have never quite grasped in the practical arena. I make this assumption following some fairly obvious logic. You are stir-shit-fucking-crazy, currently manifested through your lifestyle, this condition is almost certainly terminal within ten years. Therefore in ten years time, if you're alive to receive and read this email, you will have control over your drug use, you may even have other interests and pursuits in your leisure time (though you'll probably always be this sarcastic). You will have quit, or at least severely moderated, your cigarette smoking. Or you'll be smoking those wanky electronic ones that don't transfer the toxicity of a small coal station into your lungs with each puff. I know you'll have these two things under control if you're reading this in ten years because of that little thing about our heart that we haven't mentioned to anyone yet. That thing y'know, that we secretly worry about in the middle of the night, which we see no point in talking to a doctor about. It's not any real "thing" in a sense... well that's what it is, more of a sense... and an occasional chest pain. A realistic expectation of what the combination of over ten years of recreational drug use, in particular the use of mephedrone, meth and often heavy cigarette smoking is doing to the organ responsible for keeping you alive. Add to that a diet that has often been high in saturated fats and sugars, a lack of exercise and high to extreme levels of stress over extended periods of time and the picture starts to look pretty clear. I'm not sure whether you'll have a partner, or even children, but of course I hope you're not alone. At least I'm fairly sure you won't be over the entire ten years between now and then because of the role that relationships and love have played in your life. Acting as a distraction from the normal business of killing yourself merrily, when you're partnered, you have tended in the past to feel an inexplicable yet obvious obligation to take better care of yourself, if for no other reason than out of the simple courtesy of not wanting to hurt someone that the person you love would miss having around. While I know it's not healthy to think of self-preservation in such terms, we also both know that we couldn't eat the brains of enough psychiatrists in ten years to fix your self-esteem issues. It's much quicker to find a woman (I expect you'll still like those, contrary to the popular opinion of the day) who is deluded enough to see your enormous personal flaws not as drawbacks but as evidence of "character". This is also why you tend to make people fall in love with you before you reveal the true extent of your mental defects to them, while some may consider this unfair, it is not technically immoral either. If there were things that I actually hope you have done (unless buried) in the next ten years, they would be as follows. 1. Fallen in love; carelessly, hopelessly and often. While it's uncommon for me to really make a connection with someone, I'm experienced enough to know when I do meet someone who I can be with. I hope we do so more often, whether we're successful in these endeavours or not, the fact that we actually can will hopefully mean that we're still able to trust deeply. 2. Laughed often. Even if this ship I've put us on continues to sink faster than a Nicholas Cage movie at the box office (remember him?). I hope you'll have laughed often. Whether at yourself, at others or even with others (if they look like they can hurt you), enjoy the ride. You've had enough sorrow in the last few years to last a few lifetimes, no matter how bad it gets, find the funny side to it, it's all fucking fucked up shit anyway. 3. Found other ways to deal with unpleasant feelings, moods and anxiety besides drugs. I'm not sure they currently exist, but medical science is always progressing and we can only hope... or perhaps, just maybe, you have a choice that you can exercise in such matters. It's getting late and we're probably just talking crazy now. Finally, there's two people in your life right now who have made a huge difference this year. The first is your team lead at work, L. He's been one of the kindest, sincere and most genuine men you've met in your life thus far. It's only in the last few years that we've found ourselves making more male friends, probably something to do with maturity and all. L wrote one of the references you took to court in August, he stood by you a few weeks ago when the directors were ready to fire your ass and his support has not only made a difference in your personal life, but in your career (should it progress, since I know it's all in the balance right now). If you ever do become a team lead or work in management yourself, how L has treated you this year and the trust he showed in you is what will have given you the confidence in yourself to make it. That you disliked him so much after the first few weeks should be a lesson on how you shouldn't be so quick to give in to your first impressions about someone. I really hope the two of you are still in touch, though I'm sure you'll still be friends. The second person, all I have to say is her name starts with Y and she lives in another city. Ring bells? In a month you'll be spending some time with her to see The National (ps. I hope you still listen to new music!). No matter what ends up happening between the two of you, if anything, remember how you feel about her now and how she has made you feel about yourself recently. In case you've forgotten, let me spell it out; YOU HAVE IT BAD FOR HER. Initially you didn't want to, because she was popular and the sort of girl who lots of guys fall for. I really hope you get over that type of thinking. Who you like is who you like, and she likes you too, I don't believe that right now because I'm all messed up, but maybe you'll be the version of me that can see it and not question it. Don't forget her and her friendship this year. You should contact both these people, if your brain isn't decomposing six feet under. This period of your life, if you really are reading this one day, is something that you will take at least ten years to get your head around properly... really. At least ten, and you will never fully grasp it, why we turned out the way we did, what impact did this or that have, what if this or that had been different. I can only hope that our journey through all the nine levels of hell is worth something you know? That you really do exist, or will, and this will have all been worth something, all this fucking pain and hurt, all the weeks into months of sadness and unyielding despair and those nights... that became mornings that we thought we were watching the sun rise for the last time. Don't pretend you don't remember those moments we thought the only way out was to pop a hundred panadeine and carve up our veins in the bath, phone smashed, front door locked. Don't ever forget it. Let it humble you. I hope you take all that fucking regret and use it to make yourself a life actually worth living again. Gotta stop, crying again. You. December 2 2010