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The podcast host discusses his struggle with addiction and the challenges of creating content about it. He reflects on his childhood experiences, family support, trauma, and how substances became a coping mechanism. Despite having opportunities, he chose a destructive path. He acknowledges his reasons for turning to addiction but doesn't excuse his behavior. Trauma affects people differently, and he recognizes his privilege compared to others. He highlights the importance of addressing underlying issues rather than denying them, as emphasized by a satirical sponsor message promoting denial as a coping strategy. This podcast is not in any way intended to be an alternative to medical advice, therapy, or program sponsorship. I have no money. Don't sue me. The hardest part so far for me about trying to create content about addiction is not knowing where to start or what to talk about next or what order to talk about stuff in. Addiction is so complicated, and my life got so terrible, that I get lost in rabbit holes trying to retrace my step back to the last time I used. And it hasn't been that long. So when I start thinking about the past 30 years, the waters get really murky, and every topic could be a series of its own. So how do I approach that? What do I approach first? Where do I start? I'm trying to reintegrate into society, so I've decided to conform to the norms like all of these squares out there, and I'm going to start at the beginning. This time around, I am going to talk about those pesky, elusive moments in life that happen to a person and have them burning their lips, burning up their livers, and burning bridges. Welcome back to the Live Listen People Symposium. My name is Jason. Today's topic from the syllabus is the reasons. Wow, that's a massive topic. A very important one, but massive, and in many ways subjective. First, there's environment where you grew up, the people you surrounded yourself with, all those delightful childhood experiences that shape your worldview. It's no secret that my family were amazing and are amazing, and if they played any role, it's that I didn't fall over the edge into the moral-less, violent abyss because of them. It's their support, along with the support of many, many others that have led to me still being here. It's also no secret that I was hurt by someone when I was a child, which had numerous effects on me, trust issues, abandonment issues, confusion, fear, anger, and when I was nine, I ended up in the hospital with a messed up kidney and had feverish hallucinations where biplanes dropped cream pies on my arm. Golfers played through my room into the toilet, which was the hole. The bunnies on my curtains morphed into smoking teenagers who were hanging around after a lover boy concert. These are the kinds of strange experiences that I'd pay $20 to experience just a few years later, but at the time, it probably scared a lot of people. I ended up in a cancer ward in a children's hospital for a few weeks. The bed on the right of me was a revolving door of future amputees. The bed on the left was a four-year-old boy who had leukemia who only made sound if the Muppets were on TV or if he was screaming in terror because he had to do his chemo treatment. A five-year-old girl with big brown eyes, long lashes, and long brown wriggles and a beating tube in her stomach would come into my room every day and speak to me in gibberish for hours. She would move her tongue as fast as she could and oscillate between Alvin the Chipmunk yodels and Minnie Mouse giggles. She was cute and terrifying. By the time I got out of the hospital, I, instead of realizing how lucky I was to not have cancer, and this is a recurring theme in my life, instead of having the perception of, I guess, glass half full, just seeing my life as being pretty amazing, I would see the dark side of it. So I just thought, you know, if I can die like these kids, if I can die any time, I have to live and I have to do it now. Unfortunately, I thought that adult joy was sex, booze, and drugs. So sex is something I just assumed everyone was doing to each other. Alcohol was everywhere at my parents' parties, on TV, in the teenage coming of age movies that were big at the time, Fast Times, Risky Business, Porky's, Revenge of the Nerds. They all held mirrors up to immature, fairly pubescent misogyny that shaped my beliefs. And I'm from a small town. A town so small we didn't even have the world's largest something, the world's largest fruit or root vegetable. I'd have been killed to have a statue of a giant bumbleberry pleading for travelers to stop here. But all we had was hockey and boredom and a double-barreled Purple Mike and three-for-five dollar joints at the pool hall. At least that's all I was interested in. It obviously had more than that. The brain's reward system, which is supposed to kick in when we do something pleasurable like eat a donut or hit the gym, can easily be hijacked by substances, especially if it's in your family. Forty to sixty percent is genetics, so they say. And there are a lot of alcoholics falling out of my family tree. And I was well aware of it. My parents warned me about it. They were both very careful about it because of their rum-soaked heritages. But they were both in the medical field, and they understood what that means. I was an angst-ridden, testosterone-driven, self-esteem-lacking boy, and I had no understanding of what it meant to crave. I just wanted to feel something different than what I was feeling. I was full of fear and confusion and self-loathing, and I thought that everything was bullshit, and I thought everyone was full of shit and potentially dangerous. I didn't want to wait until retirement to enjoy my life. I wanted it now, because I wasn't sure that there was going to be a later. By 14, self-deletion was something I thought was a foregone conclusion. When I finally had had enough, that was something I had control over. Introducing substances to that already muddled and chaotic situation was just gas on the fire. I got that euphoric high, and suddenly the mundane aspects of life felt more unbearable. And I started to rely on that high to feel anything at all. Unfortunately, alcohol made me feel either horny or violently frustrated. Frustrated with a life that I just didn't understand. I didn't feel like I was a part of. It was difficult to understand. It's difficult to explain, sorry. I felt lost. Drugs either made me feel superhuman or hungry. So drugs won out eventually. Alcohol still ruined plenty of perfectly good times well into my 30s. It's a dark spiral. And before I knew it, substances had become the best friend I never wanted. The kind of friend that blackens your eye and brings the police home. My high school years were marred by thoughts of self-deletion. It was a foregone conclusion. Even then, I knew something was different about my thinking. I knew my sisters weren't waking up every day with their brains whispering, you're a failure. They didn't seem to have the same dysmorphia I had. I hated mirrors. I hated cameras. Now that I've been diagnosed with clinical depression and anxiety and ADHD and PTSD, and have had many typical suggestions about what makes me atypical, I can't help but think that there was something undiagnosed happening. I had such low self-esteem, I would bump into a chair and apologize to it. I carefully cultivated an image of being slightly rebellious, uninterested in anyone's opinion about what I was doing and being fine. And I was fine. Fucked up, insecure, neurotic, and emotional. I didn't lash out. I lashed inward. I felt isolated. The harder my family tried to include me, the harder I fought for exclusion. Schoolwork told me, work hard for 30 years, die with savings. Religion told me, obey a system controlled by men who can't control themselves. Society told me, play along or be punished. I told myself, don't worry. If it gets too bad, you can pull the plug whenever you want to. None of it made sense to me. And no one could have guessed what was going on in my head because I smiled. I cracked jokes. I showed up. And gradually, I laid down all of the things that I thought were childish, like sports, and music, and schoolwork, and ambition, and responsibility, and work ethic, and soap, lots of times. So those are the reasons I have for going down the road to debauchery. Merriam-Webster defines reason in four ways. A statement offered in explanation or justification. B, a rational ground or motive. C, the thing that makes some fact intelligible. And D, a sufficient ground or explanation or logical defense. These are all basically the same thing, okay? They are all of my excuses of why I need to dull the pain of my early existence. Those are my reasons. And that's fair enough. I have some decent reasons for being angry and afraid when I was young. But I'm not trying to paint myself as a victim who didn't have any other choice. I had every opportunity handed to me to be whatever I wanted, but I wanted none of it. My trauma wasn't nearly as bad as millions of people, or if not billions of people. And the majority of those people don't need drugs to cope. I knew a deviant. I had a childhood medical emergency that scared the shit out of me and made me question existence. You know, am I going to die? Does any of this matter? I don't live in the projects where in my own country I'm oppressed because of my color. My parents are still together after 59 years. Neither an addict and neither laid a hand on either my body or my mind. Trauma can be a capital T or little t to different people for a million different reasons with a million different factors. The slightest perceived slight can destroy a kid's self-esteem. And the worst imaginable abuse can make a person become a protector and break the cycle without ever taking a sip or owning a lighter. If you don't believe that, then you're already familiar with today's sponsor. Tired of pesky dreams getting in the way of your lifestyle? Then you need denial, the number one choice for people who'd rather die in a fire than deal with their problems. So pretend they're not real with Ego Brand Denial. Whether it's that creeping suspicion you might need help, or the crushing reality that your coping strategies are more self-destructive than quirky, denial is here to say, shh, let's not make this weird. With denial, you can gaslight your spouse. Holler off bottom a learning experience and keep digging. Blame everyone else for everything and competently assert that they are the ones overreacting. Whether it's addiction, generational trauma, climate collapse, or that little voice whispering, hey, maybe we should feel something. Just shut it down with denial, available wherever reality is too painful to process. Side effects may include substance abuse, strained relationships, self-sabotage, existential dread, catastrophic emotional collapse, and ruining the friendship you've ever had. Because accountability is unnecessary when you refuse to admit what you did. Even those well-adjusted, seemingly perfect people are potentially one bad day away from reaching for the next bottle that will take them out, or the next pill that will lead them down a road of addiction. Addiction doesn't only happen to those people. The reality is addiction does not discriminate. You can be a high-powered executive or a down-on-your-luck artist. You can be black. You can be white. You can be male, female, trans. It doesn't matter. If you're a human being, you can be addicted. And it's like that uninvited guest who overstays the welcome and eats all your snacks and watches you sleep. It can happen to anybody. And all of those reasons I gave are just life being life. Everybody has terrible things happen. And everybody, hopefully at some point, has something great happen to them, too. My terrible and my great might be different than yours. But life is a roller coaster. I've been to treatment a lot. I've heard it all and changed my beliefs many times. But now, with the clarity of a decent amount of sobriety behind me, I see that anybody searching for the reason that they got addicted is going to stay in it forever. Because you might as well be chasing a rainbow for a bowl of Lucky Charms. You're never going to find it because it does not exist. The harder I searched for reasons, the louder I made excuses, the deeper and darker life became. As I blamed ancient traumas for all of my problems, more and more fresh traumas piled up. And future excuses, right? This is a fact. You're an addict. Or you're an alcoholic. Whatever it is. You have a problem. And when you have a problem, it really doesn't matter what the cause is when your spouse is leaving or you're getting cuffed for a DUI or you're dead because you overdosed. If you want to keep using or drinking, just admit it. That's way more respectable than using past harm as a weapon. Say you don't care about the pain you're in and that you're causing or you just love being obliterated. God knows I did. I said as much. It was easier to keep doing what I was doing than to face the wreckage that I was leaving in my wake. And easier than facing all the people that I had hurt and to finally talk about all the things that I've mentioned. Shame kills people. People would rather die than feel ashamed or look in the mirror and feel shame. So substances are in many ways the easy way out. Recovery is hard. I get that. It's terrible that something bad happened to you if that's the case. And it's important to deal with it in a healthy way and with professional help. Of course it is. But there is no reason to be an addict. It's 100% a physiological problem with your brain. Maybe you started out to dull pain but you can't stop because your brain doesn't want you to. You're not defective. You aren't bad. Unless you are bad. Some people are bad. But you probably aren't bad. Stop getting hung up on the labels. Disease or not a disease. Who cares? You either want to be unhappy and high or you want to be unhappy and sober or you want to be happy and sober. All the rest is just you, as always, protecting your addiction with semantics. I don't like the word disease. I'm not contagious. I hear it in the steps all the time. God, gross. I haven't lost my sanity. I'm not crazy. But really, aren't you? Isn't it insane to want to stay enslaved to a potion that's killing every ounce of joy in your existence? Who cares about the words? If you don't like spirituality, just never think about where we've come from or where we're going. If there's nothing before and nothing after, it's up to us to create meaning in the one and only shot we have at life. Think about the odds of our existence and tell me you shouldn't be trying to make this place better. That's enough preaching. That felt bad. I never want to sound like I'm preaching or telling you what to think or what you need. I'm just a guy who's done a lot of drugs, made a lot of mistakes, and want to share them with you to hopefully light some bulbs and or ring some bells. It's totally up to you if you want to avoid the same pitfalls or recognize some of the things I'm talking about in yourself or your kids or whatever. I have no agenda other than waking people up to the unnecessary pain in and all around us so you can understand it better, get yourself unstuck, or find some empathy for those who can't. Communication, especially things that feel impossible to talk about, is arguably the best prevention for addiction. I even knew I could talk to my parents or my sisters and I still couldn't find the words. I found it impossible to do. I needed someone to pry it out of me gently, but I pushed back so hard that they stopped trying. It's hard. It's really, really hard, which is why we need to do this together. Strength in numbers. Take the village. Power to the people. Nobody is going to do it for us. Nobody can. But everybody has a reason to combat addiction, even if it's not affecting you directly. I'm not going to list all the social ills that is caused directly by addiction, but look around the next time you're downtown and imagine that that's your child. Read some stats. They're staggering. Or go to my website, www.latinusmcevil.com, and click hold fast and ask a question. Please feel free to drop an idea for an episode into the suggestion box on there, too. There's even a copy cup, but I'm much more interested in your feedback than your change. And please, if you like what I'm doing, please share it with people. Leave nice comments. Click like and subscribe on YouTube or mention me at a meeting or tag me on a building, however you communicate with people. It'd be cool if you mentioned this. See you next time. Transcribed by https://otter.ai
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