I've lived my adult life with a mean, passive aggressive control streak. It's held me back from truly living. Not fun. I'm the designated driver in almost all occasions. I've been in bands where I owned a great deal of the equipment and even gave a '61 Jazzmaster away mostly because this person saved my sanity and this was how I showed gratitude, but there was a shred of "this guys guitar sucks, sounds like ass and I want to hear this sound instead."
There are solutions to this problem and I'm living them. I can say that I've come a long, long way and my life is reaching a place of bliss. I've never been happier actually. No, I'm not problem free but I can deal with this awesome life one little hour at a time.
But what is the root of all of this behavior? I've been thinking about it. It goes back so far.
My parents had a friend named Charlie. He was a chain smoker. My brother and I were ardently anti cigarette. We used to draw teeny skulls and crossbones on each of his Camels and sometimes we would take his pack of cigarettes and put them behind his car so he would roll over them as be backed out. We thought it was hilarious and he knew the truth. This stuff was killing him and our child actions were out of love for him. Charlie was the coolest cat on earth. Drove and MG Midget, wore leather, had a great handlebar moustache and his wife was the most beautiful of our parents friends.
Charlie passed just a few years ago. Lung Cancer.
At the time when he was in our lives I knew the word addiction, I could see it kinda meant not being able to stop a self destructive behavior, but I had no idea why it happened. That part only experience can tell. Oh, we all cope. Charlie was coping, but an 8 year old doesn't really know what that means. At least when I was 8 I didn't understand, I just knew I loved this man and I wanted him to stop smoking.
I knew about drinking and drugs and knew there was this thing called alcoholics and there were these drug addicts. We went to Mexico city in 1977 and my mother pointed out a heroin addict. It was like 90 degrees and here was this poor fellow with a sweater on, Mexican so his skin was supposed to be brown but he was 10 shades paler than my dad and he was shivering. Looked like a ghost. I vowed to never go near the stuff. But he wasn't a friend. He was just a dude with one foot in the grave and another on a banana peel. I felt no attachment though I do think I felt empathy.
But the first time I ever really felt addiction wasn't drugs or alcohol. It was something more powerful to a child. It was television.
See, I grew up in a rather "anti" television household. So much that when my best friends mother threw her family TV in the garbage cause her kids were arguing over Charlies Angels or Welcome Back Kotter, I silently rejoiced. I knew it was causing harm. It was like my little victory! Jef's Temperance Movement smashing the idiot box. I felt the same satisfaction when cable hit and all of my friends became addicts and some lunatic drove over the cable boxes one early Sunday morning wiping the whole damned thing out for several days. Sweet victory! Carrie Nation back from the grave to smash HBO yo!
But that wasn't it either.
In 1980 my mom, grandma, brother and I took a trip to Disneyworld in Florida with some cousins. My brother and I had to share a room with a cousin. He had these really difficult to be around quirks like chewing an entire pack of Bubble Yum for several days, storing the gum at mealtimes behind his ear and at night on the nightstand. He was overweight and could not stop watching the television. He and I were both about 12 years old and one he didn't want to leave the hotel to check out Disneyworld so he could watch the Jerry Lewis Telethon for the full 24 hours. The TV was on constantly. My brother and I could not take it any longer. So we hid the TV guide.
I've never seen such a scene before. Tears, shakes, tearing the hotel room apart looking for this stupid magazine. It was frightening. We eventually capitulated "finding" it behind the bed so we could ease the meltdown. The poor kid was out of his mind. I've seen and experienced withdrawal. This was no different.
At the time I didn't have the insight to understand what he was going through. So I made fun of him behind his back so I could discharge all that fear and discomfort. As an adult, it was heartbreaking. Here was a kid being raised by a single mother. His father had his mind taken away by our lovely US Army by secretly dosing him in Project MK Ultra (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Project_MKUltra) and my cousin had so much pain to deal with on his own. The television eased that pain. Drugs are self medication right?
So the root of that mean passive aggressive streak? Really, it's out of love. I couldn't stand seeing someone in pain and I couldn't stand seeing someone harm themselves. It's taken me years to understand I have no power over anyone Else's choice or compulsive behavior. And that streak is the anger part of grief perhaps. It's natural to get angry, I just got tired of showing that anger and not having it change a damned thing, so I learned to stuff it away.
Today? I know I have a choice. I know I don't have and control over anyone else and that is a huge relief. We all have our paths. It's a choice to put one foot in front of the other and it's a choice to stumble around in circles too. I've never been at peace more than today. And for that I am grateful.
Peace out, JB
There are solutions to this problem and I'm living them. I can say that I've come a long, long way and my life is reaching a place of bliss. I've never been happier actually. No, I'm not problem free but I can deal with this awesome life one little hour at a time.
But what is the root of all of this behavior? I've been thinking about it. It goes back so far.
My parents had a friend named Charlie. He was a chain smoker. My brother and I were ardently anti cigarette. We used to draw teeny skulls and crossbones on each of his Camels and sometimes we would take his pack of cigarettes and put them behind his car so he would roll over them as be backed out. We thought it was hilarious and he knew the truth. This stuff was killing him and our child actions were out of love for him. Charlie was the coolest cat on earth. Drove and MG Midget, wore leather, had a great handlebar moustache and his wife was the most beautiful of our parents friends.
Charlie passed just a few years ago. Lung Cancer.
At the time when he was in our lives I knew the word addiction, I could see it kinda meant not being able to stop a self destructive behavior, but I had no idea why it happened. That part only experience can tell. Oh, we all cope. Charlie was coping, but an 8 year old doesn't really know what that means. At least when I was 8 I didn't understand, I just knew I loved this man and I wanted him to stop smoking.
I knew about drinking and drugs and knew there was this thing called alcoholics and there were these drug addicts. We went to Mexico city in 1977 and my mother pointed out a heroin addict. It was like 90 degrees and here was this poor fellow with a sweater on, Mexican so his skin was supposed to be brown but he was 10 shades paler than my dad and he was shivering. Looked like a ghost. I vowed to never go near the stuff. But he wasn't a friend. He was just a dude with one foot in the grave and another on a banana peel. I felt no attachment though I do think I felt empathy.
But the first time I ever really felt addiction wasn't drugs or alcohol. It was something more powerful to a child. It was television.
See, I grew up in a rather "anti" television household. So much that when my best friends mother threw her family TV in the garbage cause her kids were arguing over Charlies Angels or Welcome Back Kotter, I silently rejoiced. I knew it was causing harm. It was like my little victory! Jef's Temperance Movement smashing the idiot box. I felt the same satisfaction when cable hit and all of my friends became addicts and some lunatic drove over the cable boxes one early Sunday morning wiping the whole damned thing out for several days. Sweet victory! Carrie Nation back from the grave to smash HBO yo!
But that wasn't it either.
In 1980 my mom, grandma, brother and I took a trip to Disneyworld in Florida with some cousins. My brother and I had to share a room with a cousin. He had these really difficult to be around quirks like chewing an entire pack of Bubble Yum for several days, storing the gum at mealtimes behind his ear and at night on the nightstand. He was overweight and could not stop watching the television. He and I were both about 12 years old and one he didn't want to leave the hotel to check out Disneyworld so he could watch the Jerry Lewis Telethon for the full 24 hours. The TV was on constantly. My brother and I could not take it any longer. So we hid the TV guide.
I've never seen such a scene before. Tears, shakes, tearing the hotel room apart looking for this stupid magazine. It was frightening. We eventually capitulated "finding" it behind the bed so we could ease the meltdown. The poor kid was out of his mind. I've seen and experienced withdrawal. This was no different.
At the time I didn't have the insight to understand what he was going through. So I made fun of him behind his back so I could discharge all that fear and discomfort. As an adult, it was heartbreaking. Here was a kid being raised by a single mother. His father had his mind taken away by our lovely US Army by secretly dosing him in Project MK Ultra (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Project_MKUltra) and my cousin had so much pain to deal with on his own. The television eased that pain. Drugs are self medication right?
So the root of that mean passive aggressive streak? Really, it's out of love. I couldn't stand seeing someone in pain and I couldn't stand seeing someone harm themselves. It's taken me years to understand I have no power over anyone Else's choice or compulsive behavior. And that streak is the anger part of grief perhaps. It's natural to get angry, I just got tired of showing that anger and not having it change a damned thing, so I learned to stuff it away.
Today? I know I have a choice. I know I don't have and control over anyone else and that is a huge relief. We all have our paths. It's a choice to put one foot in front of the other and it's a choice to stumble around in circles too. I've never been at peace more than today. And for that I am grateful.
Peace out, JB
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