I have to admit, the world I am in confuses the hell out of me.
And being sincere – I feel like I am being punished.
All throughout my life I have made choices. Some great choices, and some choices that definitely leave a lot to be desired. Being being sincere, I know in my heart of hearts that I did the best I could given what I was presented with.
But what increasingly doesn’t make sense is.
Why are people who don’t fit in to society punished?
I grew up watching these people on the tv screen and movies – believing that the lifestyles they’d lived was real.
I believed John Travolta had a plane he himself flew.
I believed Bill Gates was the world’s wealthiest man and liked helping people.
I believed people won the lottery and not all of them turned to drugs or alcohol.
I believed in it all.
So I worked hard.
I obtained two degrees, and believed that with more education, I too could have a leadership role and with that better pay and a more rewarding life.
I worked out hard. Because I believed that if I worked out I sculpt my body into a work of art, something that not only was I proud of, but others might be a bit envious of.
And I worked my butt off – working 60+ hours a week for decades believing that I too could have that lifestyle if I only worked hard enough.
And as that belief faltered.
I needed to find a way to sustain the positive attitude.
To maintain momentum with my belief.
And having not liked past decisions I had made with my second wife – Lisa – and her friends – I made a decision to experiment with cocaine.
I wasn’t interested in working less.
I wasn’t interested in working out less.
I was just interested in enjoying my life more, and as I watched my friends pair off – realizing that wasn’t the lifestyle for me and I had something else in my cards – this seemed like a viable path for experimenting with trying to answer the question “Just where is my life going”
Oh don’t tell me you haven’t thought it before.
The open question that transcends why am I here and what’s it all for.
Being a quant – I had been realizing that I was getting a decreasing return on my productivity. Like the movie Office Space, the more I worked, the less I actually made, as was the diminished quality of my life. The harder I worked out, the more my weight gain or loss didn’t seem to align with what I was doing in the gym and with my diet.
None of it. Not one iota. was making sense.
Logically. Rationally. According to society’s rules. Harder work should have resulted in better pay. Eating less and working out more and not drinking or doing drugs should have resulted in the 6 pack abs I had dreamed of.
But none of it was happening like it was supposed to.
I’d reached a point psychologically and physically where I had no other options other than to experiment.
You see. I HAD to understand what was going on with me.
With my body.
With my mind.
Or else. The alternative picture being painted was dire.
This isn’t a manifesto justifying addiction.
It’s an open question.
Why do you charge homeless people $5 a night to stay in a homeless shelter?
Logically. Rationally. If you wanted the homeless people off the street. Wouldn’t you provide shelters for free?
You treat your animals better than your fellow humans and put them up for free.
I am unwilling to stay in a shelter I can’t afford because of the drugs and alcohol I witnessed there. But that’s just me.
But society. Here’s another open question for you.
You claim that homelessness is as a result of drugs and alcohol.
Yes. I have been substance free for 4 years now. And while I might agree that drugs and alcohol led me here.
I. And most homeless people. Can’t afford drugs and alcohol.
In any case.
Four years ago. I saw things that led me for the first time in my life to believe God exists.
In that same moment. It also let me know undeniably that the multiverse was real. That fiction and fact often gyrate and have for a very long time. And that this society.
This wonderful, beautiful world.
Continues to punish and oppress me.
All I am saying is it’s not fair.
I deserve more.
Too all my former friends.
Please quit punishing me for who I once was.
It’s Christmas time.
A time for forgiveness.
I’m begging you.
YOU are the reason I’m still homeless. Not me.
I’ve made my choice.
I’m done with working and am learning to become like Q. I’m not asking for your acceptance of that and who I am. And while I respect you and the lifestyle choices you’re making, I understand you may not respect mine.
Which is fine.
Please forgive me for being different than you.
Please quit punishing me for that.