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etherealsomething · 2 years ago

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3/8/23

The profundities of existence

God, how I hate the complexities of life. I hate how the value of modern human existence is reduced to the amount of work and productivity one can produce. I feel like my body is aching for the moment when I can speak out and bask in the beauty of the world, free of any capitalistic desires. I probably sound like some pretentious leftist liberal arts student right now. I could honestly care less about politics. As a trans woman, I probably should. But I struggle enough with remembering what clothes I have in my closet—working memory and ADHD or what chronically online people call ‘object permanence’–let alone what people are signing into law in Washington DC. But that's really not what I want to talk about right now…

I wish my body could just melt away. I feel so stressed all the time and I don't even know why. I carry an invisible weight on my shoulders. My neck strains and yearns for release. My back aches from lurching over a computer screen, flashing with the lights of pseudo-educational nothingness. My calves are sore at the end of every day from holding a tension I didn't even know existed.

Im constantly looking for a way out. A way to fall away into the void of relaxation.

I want to run away and fall into a field of pink and blue flowers. I want honeybees to brush my cheek as I lie there. Basking in it. Taking in the complete lack of stimulus.

Maybe that's what this is all about.

Forced overstimulation. The modern world–fucking society–is built upon this desire for stimulation in all forms. Everything is moving faster. Social media is full of horrific examples of this. Like explosive cows locked in a cattle car, the internet has become this effective mental sabotage of stimulation. Tik tok, youtube, instagram, snapchat, twitter. They're all littered with videos meant only to ensnare you, draw you in, and trap you with their pretty colors and empty promises of entertainment. And it ruined my brain. Fried it.

I like to say that the internet casts spells.

You open up an app like running your finger against an inscribed glyph and you bear witness to tongues spoken only in these electronic tomes. And they trap you. Influencers are witches. The internet is a coven.

God, I sound schizophrenic. C’est la vie.

I think I believe in a god. Call it the universe. Call it a higher power. I don't care. I like the term ‘God’. It feels good to give it a name. And ‘God’ has such power behind it. It's riddled with over two thousand years of history. People have died for ‘God’. People have devoted their life to ‘God’. I don't think that proves its existence but it sure as hell proves its power.

People seem to have an issue with this God. People seem to take issue when I say I believe in God. I think it’s because they think it's tied to the Judeo-Christian God; this “holy father” who created the universe and gave life to the first humans. To be fair, the God of the Old Testament is fucked up. That guy was crazy. Ruthless even. He sent fires and floods and angels that melted the minds of powerful men. He asked Abraham to sacrifice his son. He wanted to test his creation. Punish humanity for their power. But New Testament God is a little bit nicer. He got Mary pregnant (not necessarily very nice) with the messiah. Jesus was born to take the brunt of all of humanity's sins. He was sacrificed in place of all of mankind. So that was nice I guess. But I don't know how much I believe in this god. This antithetical, all-powerful being. I think my God is much smaller than that. It's more intertwined in existence. I see it in how snowflakes fall so peacefully. I see it in the roots of trees when they pop out of the ground. I see it in my friend’s smile. I see it in myself. I think my idea of god is more connected to the beautifully chaotic randomness of the universe. I believe in beauty. That is my god.

I've been wearing a rosary as of late. The last couple of months I think–since the start of this year at least (it’s the beginning of March as I write this). I think it's tied me more to this idea of divinity. It consumes me. I feel it in my heart. When I get anxious or when I don’t know what to do with my hands ill grab the crucifix hanging from my neck. I already stated that I don't really believe in the Judeo-Christian god but I find the imagery compelling. I see Jesus as this iconographic figure of divinity in humanity. Proof that my idea of God is part of every human being. Jesus acts almost as this symbol, not for the repentance of my sins, but for the little piece of divinity found in each and every one of us. The idea of the crucifix fascinates me. It draws me near. This idea that one's belief in divinity could lead to such torturous violence and that Christianity worships this sacrifice. I'm not saying I don't find his martyrdom honorable, I just think it’s a bizarre figure to make the poignant logo of your belief.

I feel the need to explain my relationship with god to its fullest extent. My beliefs. My doctrine.

I believe in God. A god of beauty. A god of humanity. An energy so powerful that it penetrates everything. God is the detail you find when you look at something–anything. Not just see it but look at it. God is the emotion you feel deep in your stomach whenever you bear witness to something beautiful. I think this God rules everything, embuing it with divinity. It's what makes life worthwhile: searching for the divine. It's there, I promise you. And once you look for it, you'll start to feel it. This godly energy, the holy being that embodies the world around you. The beauty of it all must be purposeful and that’s why I think God exists. The universe needs this ‘higher power’ to imbue itself into the fibers of existence.

This idea of God comes out in everything I do. A divine purpose that makes my life meaningful. This god has given me the ability to see the beauty of the world, to make beautiful things, and to bask in it all. When I sit and read my tarot cards I feel its power, not in the divination of the cards or in the magic of it, but in the very act of doing anything. Because what is divinity if not the power to experience existence? I charge my crystals at night because it's a beautiful thing to do. I sage my room because it gives it a beautiful scent. I walk in the rain because it’s a beautiful experience. I bask in academia and study because that knowledge is beautiful. Everything I do is an act of god. Because it’s beautiful.

#manuscript #writing #my writing #female writers #diary #god #goddess #divinity #spirituality #love #beauty

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viralhottopics · 8 years ago

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When Heroin Almost Took My Life, My Phone Saved It

At the end, there were only two things I cared about: the bag of heroin on my glass-topped coffee table, and the cell phone next to it. They were my two life lines. After a decade of abusing opiates, I couldnt stop using heroin. I was psychologically, physically, and emotionally dependent on it. My phone, too, was an absolute necessity. It linked me to my network which Id started building since I worked in the White House as a young, ambitious staffer. On the last day of my drug use, I stared down at the table. To my left, the baggie. To my right, the phone.

At the time, I had no idea that one of those two things would save me from the other. Now, my phone and, more specifically, its social media capabilities are an intrinsic part of my new life in recovery. Its been more than two years since I got the call on my cell, telling me there was a bed available at a public detox. I took that call, and the chance to get sober. While I was in rehab, I communicated with my family and friends. I started connecting with other people in recovery online, through Facebook and Twitter. Through social media and articles I read, I learned that addiction is a chronic brain illness. Online, people were speaking up about their experience, breaking the silence of addiction. Id found my tribe and it fit in my back pocket, or right in the palm of my hand.

Being placed on waiting lists, knowing that my window of willingness to keep fighting for help was waning by the hour, were some of the most terrifying moments in my entire life.

My phone is how I found out my friends were dying of the health problem that I had. Early in my recovery, I lost four people who were very close to me, all within 3 months. One, Nick, was an aspiring actor. He was found in his room and had died hours earlier from a fatal overdose. Another friend, Greg, died just a few short weeks after. I will never forget getting those messages, or how I realized, days later, that my friends were only four out of hundreds of people who die every day from addiction-related issues. It seemed that, everywhere I turned, someone had lost a son, a daughter, a friend, or a mother or father. Addiction, I realized, was lethal. And staying silent was our death sentence.

Ryan and Greg in April 2015. Greg died a few months after this picture was taken.

Sitting on my bed in the Pasadena sober living home where Id finally landed, I looked down at the phone in my hand. Statistics swirled in my head. Addiction affects 1 in 3 people in the United States. Only 10% of people with addiction actually got treatment for their disease. The wait time for access to public facilities typically exceeds 30 days. I myself had frantically called multiple treatment centers, only to be told that beds werent available, and likely wouldnt be for multiple weeks. Being placed on waiting lists, knowing that my window of willingness to keep fighting for help was waning by the hour, were some of the most terrifying moments in my entire life. I knew that untreated addiction was lethal. And yet, 23 million people in the United States live in long-term recovery. People made it but how to make that attainable for more people?

On the evening of October 4, 2015, I opened my Facebook app. And there, in my hands, was the livestream video that changed my life forever: the UNITE to Face Addiction rally on the National Mall in Washington, D.C. It sounds like a small thing, but watching that concert, which was attended by tens of thousands of people in recovery and included performances by sober artists that I grew up listening to on the radio, changed my perception of what was possible. That was my community my people. And they were standing up for what they believed in. They werent hiding and they werent ashamed. That was the day that I stopped being a social media bystander and got involved. Id found my purpose and once again, it was right under my nose.

The day I realized what could be: October 4, 2015. UNITE to Face Addiction.

I had a mission: to lift-up voices of people in recovery, and share the vital stories of our community.

The idea that social media can create massive cultural change isnt a new one. Because social media allows people to communicate freely and share information, it enables the creation of like-minded groups. If these groups are big enough, or driven enough, they have the potential to positively influence and shape cultural progress. Recent examples of this include the Green Revolution in Iran, Arab Spring, the Occupy movement, and #BlackLivesMatter protests. And, of course, the new grassroots movement to end the stigma of addiction. Our community, once marginalized and shamed into silence, had found a way to make its voice heard and it was loud. Feeling inspired, I logged on to Facebook messenger and found Tom Coderre, a recovery advocacy change-maker and friend of Facing Addiction, the movement whose work I admired. He immediately put me in touch with co-foundersGreg Williamsand Jim Hood and I was on my way. I had no idea where I was going, or how I would get there, but I was going. I had a mission: to lift-up voices of people in recovery, and share the vital stories of our community.

Soon, I was on the road, heading to Philadelphia for the Democratic National Convention. Hey, Id done crazier things now, I was doing them in recovery, and for a good cause. We coined the project Addiction Across America and partnered with Facing Addiction. We were driving 3,000 miles east to speak at the convention and advocate for addiction solutions. It was a 30-day road trip through the heartland of America communities hit hardest by the addiction crisis. I had nothing but $20, my phone, and a $100 Google Stream notebook when I came up with the idea. But I also had a road map from the people whod taken this journey of advocacy before me, and the stories kept coming. I published some of these stories in a digital web series. That was the beginning of what is now called the Voices Project.

It was also the beginning of my recovery advocacy. After the convention, and the 2016 election, I realized the tremendous influence that social media could have on how people talked, thought, acted, and even voted. I saw a way for us to transform the recovery movement into a campaign one so big that it couldnt be ignored or silenced. So I started a Facebook page, then added Twitterand Instagram. Up front, I decided these accounts would never be about me. The point was always to raise up the voices of others. The pages began to grow. People from all over the world found me. 5,000 followers turned into 50,000. Now, that number is over 200,000 people, combined across all three platforms. But its never been about the numbers. Each one of those followers has a face, a heartbeat. They are real to me. Theyre people. Theyre a mom in Connecticut who lost her child; an incarcerated recovering heroin addict in Richmond whos a peer leader in his cell, helping others find recovery; a brave young man in Los Angeles who would come out as a person in recovery and tell his inspiring story for the first time.

Before the Voices Project, I never thought of myself as a storyteller. But I guess its who I am and today, Im okay with that. Im a storyteller with a purpose. I didnt set out to become an advocate. I had no idea that my recovery would take me in this direction, but like so many others across this country, once I became aware of this crisis, I couldnt ignore what I saw. The injustice, prejudice, and epidemic loss of life have me mad as hell. Every day, more lives are lost; another unfair, discriminatory policy is written. So much depends on telling our stories. I cant stop. I wont. And while I dont often know what to say, I do know what to do today.

And thats where you come in. The Voices Project proves that together we can help end the addiction crisis. We can do the work that we could never accomplish alone. Together, well end the silence and show this country that we are one of the largest constituencies ever to exist. We can inspire change, save lives, heal our communities, and build a digital movement like nobodys ever seen before. This is the #VoicesProject.

Our time is now. Lets go make some history.

Ryan Hampton is an outreach lead and recovery advocate at Facing Addiction, a leading nonprofit dedicated to ending the addiction crisis in the United States. Join the Voices Project.