On Waking Up (or not) to Facts and Fictions

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber

I will be 76 later this year and was very saddened, only recently, to hear that the grandson of an old school friend had died of a drugs overdose; he was just 23 years-old and had been an addict since his mid-teens. His younger brother had also experimented with drugs, but not to the same extent and a period in rehab saved him from becoming permanently addicted; he even went on to achieve a university degree, and is now happily settled with his partner and a job he loves. 

I guess wanting to be free of any addiction is not enough, it has to be fuelled by a sense of purpose. 

Years ago, I asked a former drug addict what, for him, had been the attraction of drugs. I expected him to say for the thrill of it. Instead, he answered with one word, “Escapism.” I understood the principle only too well, having been an avid reader of fiction since early childhood by way of escaping from certain realities with which, for the life of me, I couldn’t get to grips, including aspects of myself that I didn’t have the experience to understand and made me feel uncomfortable; during my formative years, these included an undiagnosed hearing loss and untreated speech defect. Later, I would have to deal with being gay, a fact from which family and society attitudes in those days compelled me to run away for nearly twenty years. 

A brief stay in Australia in the late 1960’s was a form of escapism. I felt guilty and cowardly until I met an old aboriginal man with whom I shared confidences I had bottled up for years. “There is no shame in running away,” he told me, “Sometimes we need to run away to find out just what it is we’re running away from. Only then can we decide to tackle it head-on or keep running. Waste of a life, running away. It can only ever end in tears... or worse, much worse...” he added thoughtfully. 

Indeed, it can, and I owe that man my life because I was offered drugs only a few days later, by which time I was able to refuse, having made up my mind to clear up the mess I’d made of my life so far, and stop running. A week earlier, I may well have been desperate enough to choose one of the worst forms of escapism, not uncommon among those of us made to feel but ‘losers’ by such circumstances as likely as not to see us fail to rise above its growing pains. 

ON WAKING UP (OR NOT) TO FACTS AND FICTIONS 

Bright and sunny my days
in the park where once I loved to play
among peers of yesteryear,
relieved just to put any worries on hold,
leave reality behind awhile,
relaxed and happy in the company
of friends, left to explore
brave new worlds of such inspired imagination
as lent us a temporary freedom 

Dark clouds threatening rain
would send us running hell for leather
to find any shelter on hand,
still concerned with keeping reality at bay
a growing anxiety taking hold
of a mind-body-spirit, too easily tempted
by mixed growing pains
to explore the potential of other makeshift worlds
by way of latch-key passwords 

The passage of time grown dark
and scary, the only sure relief on hand
at the prick of a needle,
lending me all the thrills of such yesteryears
as would have had me access
a kinder world than ill-met by sunny days
offering a temporary freedom
from stormy weather, mind-body-spirit left to fight
that incorrigible demon, hindsight 

Alone in the park where once I so loved playing,
just another druggie, no happy ending 

Copyright R. N. Taber 2021

The Line Manager

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/R._N._Taber

I never expected growing old(er)t to be easy, but events conspired to make it even worse, although I (usually) manage to keep looking on the bright side of life and get the better of my demons; among the latter, I count prostate cancer and arthritis. As well as certain prescription drugs, I have discovered several herbal remedies that also help a lot, but always ask my GP or cancer consultant before trying any. Whether or not they really help or it is a case of mind over matter...well, who cares if they help improve quality of life??

An old acquaintance commented only recently on how well I looked; this was after my getting precious little sleep and subsequently feeling awful, but it was nice to hear, not least because he had avoided asking me how I am, and saved me having to either lie or bore the pants off him. No one loves a whinger. Confiding with close friends and family is different; you can share a laugh at the same time. An acquaintance is a different beast altogether; for a start, they can rarely tell when you’re joking or being seriously funny in the true spirit of wry, bottom line humour.

Illness can make a person very moody, and I am no exception. On a bad day, I seek out the company of an old and close friend who will waste no time putting me down for being a miserable old git, to which I will eventually come up with a lively denial which might even pass for humorous riposte, and … Hey presto, mood is on the mend already! Oh, how I miss that as COVID-19 continues to make itself felt around the world and social interaction remains strictly limited.

No excuses, though, as there is always the telephone and other devices we can turn to for for much the same result. Not the same, I know, but any positive communication with others is better than none, and we all need to stay positive during these difficult times.

Now and then, people ask how I’m coping with the prostate cancer. Hormone therapy and a positive attitude, I invariably reply with wry grin. Oh, but doesn’t the hormone therapy make you pee a lot, and keep you up half the night? True, I agree, but I can live with that so long as I can go back to sleep quickly. Oh, but doesn’t the pain of your arthritis keep you awake? Yes, I have to agree, but much less so since I discovered when to take  the right dose of painkillers at the right time, along with an antidepressant capsule, I add, with a cheeky wink,  which goes a long way towards keeping me sane, especially at the moment when I seem to be losing a steady stream of what marbles I can still count in my 75th year....

Unable to lament the state of my mind-body-spirit to the extent they had hoped, and wallow in their own sympathy, people will usually  either change the subject (thank goodness!) or move on with a weak smile that speaks volumes … 😉

“There comes a time when one must take a position that is neither safe, nor politic, nor popular, but he must take it because conscience tells him it is right.” - ― Martin Luther King Jr., A Testament of Hope: The Essential Writings and Speeches

This poem is (yes, another) kenning.

THE LINE MANAGER 

Ignore me, and you will feel regret,

abuse me, and you’ll discover vengeance

is mine (and that’s no idle threat);

treat me well and discover a friend indeed

when mind-body-spirit in pieces,

even a native optimism fast losing heart,

positive thinking in free fall,

and the will to live, but for family and friends

inspiring life forces

I come in all shapes and forms,

demand you consider certain options well,

and never hold back in asking

for help in identifying whatever life forces

need nurturing before feeding

on ego and alter ego until precious little left

for human nature to regenerate,

although never too late to bring self-preservation

into play, and win the day

Such are the ways of human nature

that what helps the goose may kill the gander

despite over-the-fence advice;

knowledge is wisdom, so seek it out, tackle

that hardest of all learning curves,

be sure to bring mind-body-spirit to heel, 
fewer distractions from purpose;

rise above all that’s dragging you down, not least

by addressing me by name

Call me Instinct, line manager for all life’s crises;
together, we may yet get the better of its nemeses

 Copyright R. N. Taber 2020