today i am highlighting one of my favorite blogs. methed up
well not best friend perhaps, but at least someone i have come to admire. strange title, i suppose. but not really if you are coming from my perspective. i get much of my inspiration from other blogs as i've come to realize many of us do. and i know that this site is part of my healing process. i have no doubt that sometimes i post nonsensical items, because i can't find my muse. but at times, i am able to wring out some honest truths and real feelings amidst all the chaos that goes on constantly in my head. and this is the universe's blessing in blogging for me.
in the beginning of this process of learning how to blog, there was a fellow who was going through a similar situation, albeit with less clean time and he contacted me by a comment on my first blogsite. i was so shocked that anybody would even consider reading, but he did. and he tugged at my heart. he wrote of his struggle, and of a relapse, of a journey to rehab, and of a heart-wrenching injection drama in a bus station and he instantly hooked me into caring about his journey.
he has gained a little more clean time now, and his entries are much less frenetic as they were a while back. less chaotic perhaps, but certainly no less engaging. i have become a huge fan, and interested in his welfare and his journey. i am posting his last entry and i encourage you to check out his blog. if there is someone who personifies a legitimate and poetic recovery process, it is chris m. he is a joy to read. and it is a miracle to witness (albeit by post) this coal transforming into a diamond.
Above all other art forms I love writing. I appreciate the power of words. I read slowly, not because I am a slow reader, but because I love the sound of words and the feel of them on my tongue. A delicious description or well crafted phrase engage me in a way that no other art can. I love writers that can break my heart and I love writers that can make me laugh out loud. My friend Tom told me recently of a book that actually made him scream out loud but that he was unable to put down. I’ve lived through enough horror to even want to know what that was about though I admit an admiration of a writer who can do that.
I have never thought of myself as a writer; only as a a reader. Being a writer, though, ranks among my top dream careers. I have read things I wrote in my twenties and not recognized them as my own, but paused, instead, to marvel at how good they were. Years of crystal meth abuse have dimmed my mind noticeably so, I’m afraid, my career as a writer is done before I started.
I take comfort in knowing there are others like me out there, writing anyway, in spite of the feeling that the years of dulling our minds might remove the glint of brilliance from our prose. One such (very attractive) man is MonkeysMoose, who writes:
No matter how good I thought I was at something as I started it (whatever it was), I soon allowed myself to believe that any final result of my effort would be greatly inferior to anyone else.
That was one thing that happened to my writing.
On the surface I knew I had talent.
But the years of damage caused by crystal meth usage made me start to think no one would feel the same way about my stories.
I also suspect that some of my best material may come from my years as an addict. If Augusten Burroughs can get Dry and whats-his-name can be shattered into a Million Fucking Pieces then why shouldn’t I be able to mine the caverns of my despair for gems?
Fear. I suppose it’s fear.
for a more indepth look at chris m's soul go to.....methed up
or see his other blog.....random journal
and then just for fun:
1 comment:
A Kylie fan. I didn't think Americans would know who she is.
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