There’s certain characteristics that some people have that make me want to puke. Hypocritically, the ones I hate the most, the ones I have almost no patience or tolerance for are almost always some of my biggest defects.
I spent so many years of my life blaming others for my discomfort. Blaming others for my circumstances. When I was young I suppose that was mildly justified but as I got older it should’ve went away. It got worse though. It got unbearable. You did something I didn’t like and I hated you for it. I became troubled by your actions. Or, perhaps more accurate, I became troubled by my perception of what happened or my reaction to what you did or didn’t do.
I’m in a jail cell at 16 years old with a possession and paraphernalia charge. I was crossing the bay bridge and my girlfriend and I were smoking herb. We probably had much more in our blood stream than that, but I can’t recall anything other than the herb. We had no papers, no bowl, nothing except the mountain dew cans we were drinking. So I told her I would fashion a pipe out of that but she insisted on doing it because I was driving. I tried to explain that I was a damn professional at this type of thing but I folded and let her.
She fucked up the first attempt and put the can in between the 2 front seats. I told her to crush the can but she didn’t listen. She made another one and we got high. A mile or so after the bay bridge we got yanked by a police and ended up getting jammed up. The reason they searched the car was because they saw that fucking can I told her to crush.
Long story short, I think my dad may have had to come pick us up and her parents as well since we were minors.
I think about how young I was and how angry I was. How troubled I was. How lost I was. It’s pretty crazy that I took a turn down the wrong road at such a young age. I got high for the first time in 7th grade for christ’s sake.
The last couple of days I was fortunate enough to have my ex step son over. I love that kid so much. He’s halfway done with high school already. My oldest son is the same age I was when I first got high. And I see myself in both of them.
My son constantly blames me or anyone else within finger pointing range for his problems. I sometimes have no patience for it. I hate that about myself but it’s true. I can still do that myself. I also hate that.
My problems are my problems. My past is my past… of my making. Same with my future. But are my kids’ futures (until they reach a certain age) also of my making? Somedays I hope so and sometimes I pray that that isn’t the case.