With All Due Respect

There was a point this week when my past indiscretions managed to surface in casual conversation. Now, I'm not talking about leaving the milk out on the counter the other day, or paying the power bill a week late - I'm talking about events several years removed from the present day. Though this particular conversation was not confrontational or condescending in any way, it did serve to stir up memories of past, less hospitable situations.

It's no secret that I've experienced a time in my life where I indulged in drugs. When such a topic arises unexpectedly, and especially if it's attached to judgments of character or empathy (re: I'm so sorry to hear that!), my initial reaction is one of, "Just who the fuck do you think you are?" It's instantaneous, lasting mere microseconds, before settling down to a more reconciliatory impression of, "I suppose you're curious to understand/gain insight into something which you don't understand."

There's this general misconception that who you are is explicitly decipherable from who you were, or even where you came from. It's an arcane logic which presupposes a small degree of change in the human condition. Your physical body, even your thoughts, experiences, sensory inputs, etc., are in a constant state of change, dissimilar from one moment to the next. With the progression of time and experience, memories are formed, forgotten, and irrevocably altered. What this quick foray into philosophical interpretation is supposed to be making clear is that you are not the same person you were last week, last year, and especially, not several years ago.

When confronted with probing and personal questions such as, "Why did you do *insert whatever*?" or "What were you thinking?" the truthful response is that you do not, in fact, know what was going through your mind at the time. The best you can hope for is a reverse-engineered explanation of your past behaviour, based on your present knowledge.

I can no longer conceive of an attitude or lifestyle, presently, where I desire or could possibly enjoy the use of cocaine, or methamphetamines, or any other manner of chemical concoctions. Three years ago, however, I'm quite aware that I immersed myself in such an environment. Why did I do such a thing? To a certain degree, I can suppose that I was in need of stimulation. Perhaps I was incapable of coping with the realities (both imagined or factual) of my social circumstances? Perhaps it was something different which often felt really good?

One of the most difficult aspects of describing past behaviour, especially when it carries negative or taboo social connotations/feelings, is that it becomes quite easy to fall into the trap of over-simplification. My drug use was a period neither as harmless or disastrous as one might like to imagine. The very reason it was so endurable, was that it was rather ordinary and devoid of those polar extremes. "Hey guys, let's pop a pill instead of buying beer at the bar." Not exactly a depraved situation which has the force to disjoin your comprehension of the sensible universe.

I carry no remorse for my past actions, and certainly no shame. I'm not a bad person for having gained those experiences, nor am I accepting of being congratulated for "persevering" through them. Please keep your socially fabricated judgments of the "right" and "wrong" ways to develop and grow, during your life, to yourself. We're not the same people we once were, and who we are is not the sum of our imperfect choices. If such an equation is integral to your core beliefs, I'm positive I've made more "wrong" choices than "right" and experienced far more "failures" than "victories."

With all due respect, I don't believe a single person can truthfully say otherwise of themselves.

Currently listening to: Matthew Good - Blue Skies Over Bad Lands