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A List of Things to Be Afraid of

By Punkerslut

My psychiatrist always told me that mania is a mental illness.
In my humble opinion, after the many years I’ve spent on this
shithole of a planet, anyone who still experiences bouts of
sanity after seeing the shit that goes on around them suffers
from mental illness. I’ve pushed myself through so much shit
that there’s just got to be some damage to those delicate think
organs. All too often, there would be secret murmurs from a deep
conscience, “just hold through this… one day, things will be
better…” We’re all insane; it’s all really just a matter of
the degree.

Item #1. Never forget… the misery you’ve had to pull through,
like wadding through some shit swamp.

So, I’ve started a list. A list of things to remember. Because,
as hope springs eternal, my little mental notes will one day
fade out; that will just be my brain making room for alcoholism
and disrespectful habits towards my best friends. One day, I’ll
be satisfied. There will be good friends all around, a good
career doing whatever (I ‘unno… I’m thinking mechanic or some
such), and plenty of good times to be had. And, in that future,
that dream I stumble on when I cruise these sidewalks, I imagine
there will be plenty of things I forget. Among those, there is
this: the shitty misery I’ve been through. I’m sure that the
working class proletariat don’t need to be told what my life has
consisted of. Nine to five jobs, those lovely few months of
unemployment when it seems that nobody will hire you,
approximately five hundred “just one more time” heroin uses, a
note or two about love delivered via bar napkin… Poetic, sure,
but misery is poetic. One day, I just want to be 100% sedate.

Item #2. Never forget… when you’re in love, you can’t trust
yourself.

This is a valuable lesson. And, lessons as they are, this one
ought to be valued. Sure, people will tell you, “Yeah, she
fucked you over, but at least you learned from it.” But then
again, few people only learn their lesson when the broken end of
a vodka bottle rips through their face. Wait, I think it was a
gin bottle… Yeah, it had to be. That was her flavor. We were
sitting on the couch, drinking, television, insert typical
setting component. My memory of the incident isn’t too great. I
mostly remember the police officer asking me, “Can you see me?
How many fingers am I holding up?” For some reason, my mind felt
like it had calculated the situation with complete efficiency,
and that the reply I was giving fit like a puzzle piece. “Don’t
worry! I’ll show you how to tape the super bowl… That VCR was
never really good. We were planning on getting it replaced
anyway…” The officer asked me the question one more time, then
called for an ambulence. The last thing I remember, she was
being dragged away in handcuffs, fighting and screaming. I
caught something like, “Fuck you! I never fucking loved you!
This was all your fault!” After that, it’s all blank. When I got
back out of the hospital and came to collect my things (heh),
the neighbor told me: “Yeah, you sort of laid down after she was
dragged away… You kept saying, ‘oh god, oh god,’ and stuff
like that. Oh, yeah, and you started crying and were like, ‘I
just need to lay down, please…’ Man, you must’ve been wasted.”
Oh, that reminds me…

Item #3. Never forget… to get a copy of that police report.

I’m always curious what the real deal was with that. Who the
fuck knows… Maybe there’s a small piece of wisdom I left
behind. Something cliche like, “At 4:30 A.M., the victim kept
repeating the phrase ‘you have to remember… you can do
anything you want to.’” Once I get the police report (I really
can’t afford $10 a page right now), I’m sure that I’ll be
wealthy and with friends, and that little bit of wisdom is going
to go a long way. I mean, shit, it might be something that’s not
so cliche. It might be something practical. I could really go
for a, “Hey, you should really check out this jazz album the
cops recommended,” or something like, “Vodka and beer don’t mix
well.” I’m pretty sure I won’t get something like, “When you’re
in love, you can’t trust yourself.” That is going to be etched
in to my brain for quite a few years. Yeah, that’s not long
enough; hence, this list. Besides, fuck that neighbor. I bet I
held up a little better than he describes.

Item #4. Never forget… you cannot outdrink any of the gang
members from Hell’s Angels.

This, I would like to think, was actually one of the highlights
of my life. I mean, how many people get to talk about the time
they actually got beat down by a motorcycle gang? And not just
any motorcycle gang. The Hell’s Angels. It started with a bar, a
motorcycle gang (Hell’s Angels, yes yes), and five gallons of
cheap vodka. It seemed that I became drunk, beligerent, etc.,
one of them insulted me, and I just swung. Like my past
experiences with violence, either there was so much alcohol and
drugs or the violence was so excessive, that most of the
memories of the incident are blurred. Fortunately, I am told, I
didn’t get killed, which was a real risk, I guess. But, fuck
that. Any time you can’t — oh, wait, this should be the next
item…

Item #5. Never forget… any time you’re afraid of doing
something, just because you might die afterwards, is a time that
you officially have labelled yourself as a pussy. Go get drunk
and think about the decision you’ve made.

Actually, fuck that. I don’t need a reminder for that. Maybe I
need a reminder on like, getting regular therapy to treat that
ideal. But, a reminder for that? Fuck it. Scratch that fucker
off…

Item #5. Never forget… anytime you’re afraid of doing
something, just because you might die afterwards, is a time that
you officially have labelled yourself as a pussy. Go get drunk
and think about the decision you’ve made. (I suck. I can’t
believe I wrote this… sub-item #5: get therapy, heh.)

Item #5. Never forget… always make time to get wasted with
your friends.

This is an important note. Any lengthy amount of time during
life that does not include getting off in some way or form will
first burn, tear, rip, and eventually destroy you. If at any
time, you think you’ve been sober for far too long, immediately
take a ride to the nearest liquor store and get some booze.
Friends are a plus in this situation. Even if you have to
fuckin’ mark it on your calendar, make sure you gets wasted with
your friends. Whether you do this with an orgasmic game of
scrabble, fuck parties, heroin, or plenty of alcohol is your
decision. I’ve done all as a means of associating with my
friends, and I have to tell you, scrabble fuckin’ sucks. It
really is good to spend time with people that you can associate
with. It’s absolutely necessary. It is in these moments of
profound intoxication, forgetfulness, and sheer bliss that you
get such beautiful exchanges as, “I’ll sell you my soul for a
shwill of that beer… and not the bottom part of the beer,
either…” to things as interesting as, “I really need to stop
killing people; this shit is really cutting in to my
schedule…” I’d make another item, not to forget your friends
and to always be there for them, but that’s a part of item #5.
Actually, to make sure I don’t forget…

Item #5. Sub-clause. Never forget… to be there for your
friends when they need you.

There have been some good friends, some bad friends, and not in
any way you might recognize. My best friend introduced me to
heroin, and that’s not why he’s my best friend. And, one of the
greatest friends I ever had (who I’d like to think was never my
friend), is now my worst enemy. It was because he sided with my
family members when they tried to have an intervention on my
drinking. I agreed to listen, so long as I could drink
Bacardi… and so long as someone else was paying for it. That
fucker. He was all like, “I don’t think that’s a good idea that
you drink at all.” It was his disagreement to Bacardi, his
opposition that gave my family more negotiating leverage. I
finally did make a deal for a six-pack of generic beer, in
exchange for listening time. But still, if I could have gotten a
bottle of Bacardi, that would have been the coolest intervention
of my life. And for that reason, Joe-Bob-Bill (whatever) is now
my worst enemy. This, devoted and trusting reader, brings me to
my next item.

Item #6. Never forget… to completely distrust your family.

There are a few sub-clauses, amendments, and “what if”
altercations that come along with this item, but I’m sure that
I’ll be able to fully recall them all if I ever need this list
of things to remember for advice. I don’t really know what the
situation is, you know, different cultures all around the globe
with different values and different family relationships, and
the way people even in America have learned to evolve and change
things. I really do think that your family’s implied impressions
of you can truly take a very degenerating toll on your mind. For
so long, you’ve been at their mercy. Prejudices, bigotry,
hatreds, loves, inadequacies expressed through rage and
violence… All of this is passed to you, not just by genes (if
by genes at all), but by the way your family acted and behaved
when you were just a young tot. I’ve come to the very clear
conclusion that your family cannot be trusted. The natural,
mental process, the one that tells you to always respect and
honor your parents’ opinion, you have to interject that with,
“They’re lying to you.” It needs to become instinct. So, when
you get something like, “I think you have a drinking problem,”
your conscience needs to react: “They’re lying to you.” Then,
you can reply, “Drinking problem? I call this a drinking
solution. Ha! I made you look stupid.” This instinct needs to
act like a filter. So, you can hear a family member say, “Hey, I
think your girlfriend is violent and you should break up,” your
conscience goes off sending you a warning, and then your brain
processes: “Hhhmmmm, they could be right.” But, I’ve already got
crazy, psychotic girlfriends covered in item #2.

Item #7. Never forget… to not call your landlord a “cuntfuck”
unless you have a lease.

This item is rather self-explanatory.

Item #8. Never forget… to forget everything you learned in
school.

I’m sure that few people would disagree with me on this point.
Children are herded in to these enormous buildings. You can’t
piss without permission. You can’t walk without permission.
Those who are independent are punished. It’s not education. Real
education elevates your mind and creates independence for you.
When you can’t piss without an authoritative figure’s nod,
you’re nothing more than a fuckin’ slave. Forget everything
you’ve learned. Those stereotypes you picked up between smoking
weed in the bathroom and juggling numbers in class, that style
of living that has you cowering in fear… I could go on and on.
Facts are facts, and this will always ring true: if you can’t
forget what you learn from school, you’ll be cursed for life.
Everything from your career to your family and your
relationships. Fuck school. If you have any respect for it, then
stay the fuck away from me.

Item #9. Never forget… there’s always time to change.

I suppose that’s the ultimate point of this of this list. When
I look through these items, I remember every time I’ve made a
personal resolution, a commandment to myself. And, everytime I
think of those resolutions, I think about the moments I abandon
them. They seem like difficult moments. I hear echoes of family,
telling me, “That’s because you never finish anything you
start,” or maybe I’m looking at a police officer through the
bars of a holding cell, listening to the same old argument: “I
didn’t have to bring you in here, but I did.” For every promise
that I’ve made to myself and broken, I’ve made another promise.
I guess that’s why I’ve labelled this, “A List of Things to Be
Afraid of.” Right now, I think I’m going to go out to the bar
with my friends, see if I can outdrink anyone, and see if I can
fall in love with some stranger. If anyone ever finds this list,
I’ll make sure to tell them, “Don’t take that advice to heart,
kid… Living life like that just isn’t worth it.” To all the
mistakes I’ve made, I suppose the hardest thing I have to learn
is that I can always change.

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