I love pot, there I said it. Lately, however, I've been anxious so I stopped smoking as much because that's just a whole mess if I combine the two. This last year was a difficult journey, one of the hardest in my overall easygoing life. The loss of a few friends, and the continuing decline of my parent's health in particular had me asking lots of questions and creating lots of concerns revolving around my own mortality and the direction in which I'm going.
Well, one night I felt like smoking a J. Wasn't too bad of a day, so I said to hell with it why not. Big mistake. I started freaking the fuck out. I laid in bed, and stared at the ceiling, wading through my overactive imagination. Given how hard the last year was, I had succumbed to a nasty depression that lasted about six months. In those months, I never got a hair cut, hardly bathed, rarely ate or if I did gorged myself. I lived off of soda, pot and cigarettes. It was not a good time to say the least. I felt bad, my weight increased, and I stopped doing anything for myself. Granted, this depression helped me in some regards as my only escape was through writing The First Gambit. But still... it would have been better had it not happened at all, if you ask me. Although I did learn some from it.
Anyway, back to laying in my bed staring at my ceiling. I began to see flashes of myself, how I would look if I continued being in such a state and it had me as a wreck. I could see the images, clear as day, of myself laying in my bathroom, dying from something - not sure what but it didn't matter - in my mid thirties. I was a disgusting mess.
Then given the recent year, I began imagining if my friends were depressed in such a way, and how things would go for them. I involuntarily pictured a few of my friends taking their own lives. It was awful, I wanted to vomit. I got upset, sat up and stopped letting the thoughts take control of me. I said out loud: "Stop it!"
The images stopped, of course, now that my mind wasn't wandering. After that strange tangent I went on, I had to reconcile with myself. The thoughts I'd just had were unforgivable and I had to make them stop.
My imagination, still running rampant pictured me talking to a younger version of myself. That younger version who had been running my life the last two years, while me, the responsible adult me, was being utterly neglected and disposed of.
It was a long talk, about life, about my goals and my accomplishments, about taking care of myself. The younger me, who I believe was in control of my mind and body for the last six plus months, was upset. He doesn't like being told what to do, but the older me, the adult in the situation knew how to calm him. After going back in forth for what felt like an hour, although was really most likely twenty or so minutes, we came to a conclusion.
The older me, William, he had to take over the business aspect of my life. My work, my cleaning, my shopping, all my errands, even my dog, bathing, cooking. William has to be in charge of those things, but above all else... William is in charge of taking care of Will.
Will on the other hand, he is now in charge of my fun, my creativity, my gaming, relaxing, writing, playing with the dog, dating, sex, partying. That is all him because William doesn't give a shit about those things.
This conversation with myself has shaped this new year, it has given me something to grasp on to in order to approach the daunting task that is keeping your head up in a world where terrible shit is prone to happening. Will is a creative, a smart individual whose been hurt in the past and doesn't know how to cope well. William is a proud man, one who embodies my masculinity and carries my pride.
For the longest time I lived as William, that was what It Could Be Worse was about, a time in my life where I was all William and longing to be Will. Well, after that time, I went too far in the other direction. I was all Will and no iam.
Now all in all, we live harmoniously until I'm sure the next spell of depression comes rearing its ugly head. I think, and pray, that the two together will be able to fight the depression much more effectively. We'll see, maybe it will, and maybe it was just me being a little too stoned for my own damn good.
-Pullin
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