Perspective, Propensities and Prozac

I was thinking about perspective a few minutes ago. Perpsective (cognitive perspective) is a really unique idea in a sense. One event can be viewed by twenty people and when left to self-explanations there will be twenty different perspectives. No one truly sees the world or its events in the exact same way of another. We have to take in account our own beliefs, bias, values, etc. when objectively looking at how we process the information we take in daily. Sometimes feelings are so strong that we cannot help but to reach our own explosive conclusions (and at times rightfully so). I myself have some very skewed perceptions/perspectives on things in life; I will never see the police as a public servant, I will never understand religion, I will never understand the world through the eyes of more 'priviledged' people, I will never understand racism, and I will never stop critically analyzing everything I see in life. That being said I realize that these are my standpoint perspectives that I have created out of lessons learned in my own lifetime. This is not to say that they are intrinsically correct; they are just some of the lenses I view the world through. I have recently begun to understand the importance of realizing that I am wearing these lenses when comparing my epistemological view with others. The importance of conflict does not have to equate two stoic ultimatums battling for victory, in fact I think conflict is better served as an instigator to 'getting real' with the oppositional parties...haha but this only works if both parties are interested in resolution.

Now that my own idea of perspective has now been explained I want to share with you one of my darkest moments in my life so as to bring clarity to some of my perspectives on things that are truly important in my life...

A while back one of my friends was creating an art project and emailed me asking to describe to her my most painful memory. After forgetting to do so she sent me another email (which I received when in a rather foul drunken stupor)  and I decided to see how she could make this an interesting art project. I mentioned propensities in the title of this blog, and I define propensity as being "a natural tendency or inclination" and though the sociologist in me would vehemently disagree with this idea of creation of self, I do believe that some of us carry genetic predispositions or propensities towards certain types of actions or thought processes. Alcoholism, mental 'disorders,' etc. are all included in my previous statement and I know I have some in my life. This leads me to Jeff...

I have one sister, my two parents, and Jeff in my life (for blood relatives that don't live in japan). I have a long lost uncle Joe (who took a bagful of 'ludes' and failed at checking out only to later disappear from the family) whom contacted me on myspace after 12 years of silence, couldn't be less interested. Now Uncle Jeff...Jeff was the uncle every kid wanted (especially one with no other relatives outside of the nuclear family). Jeff would let me watch all those cool rated R movies that came out (my parent's would let me watch one hour of PBS a day so this was pretty freakin rad to me at the time), Jeff would give me illegal fireworks, Jeff would blast megadeth records while rocketing down the freeway, Jeff would regale me with stories of his sunset strip adolescence by telling me stories of partying in houses with dave mustaine or random other metal dudes...you get the picture.

I remember wanting to be my uncle jeff for a lot of my childhood. At one point I literally thought that maybe my uncle had an affair with my mother (how else could I account for my love of all the same deviant behaviors when my own father listened to fleetwood mac and preached about having good work ethics and the importance of algebra?) I remember the nostalgic smell of marlboro reds and bongwater when I would give him hugs on holiday get togethers. He loved fishing and really passed that on to me, sometimes the two of us would just take off in his truck and fish while he would regale me with concerts he'd been to and chainsmoke cigs. I remember thinking that someday I wanted to be just like him...

As the years progressed I became aware of problems with my uncle; he would not show up when he said he would, he would hide in his house and ignore the door, he would screen phone calls, and he started disappearing from my life. I remembering being really confused and personally hurt, especially as my father and I's relationship started to deteriorate through my adolescent deviance years. I couldn't understand what was going on...and then I started experimenting with drugs. Suddenly, a big piece of my uncle's mystery fell together for me. I liked to hide out too when I was high, I didn't like answering phones when I was high, and I certainly didn't want to hangout with kids when in that state. For the second time in my life my uncle and I now had another thing to bond over.

I'm not comfortable getting uber candid on the what's and when's of this time period but suffice it to say that I ended up moving in with my uncle and aunt for a while and it was a lot of 'fun.' He had suffered a life-long addiction to certain 'elements' of the sunset strip lifestyle, so when he informed that he would start drinking more to quit the other I actually supported him. As much as I tend to go out and drink I never drink at home because I have now learned that alcoholism is the most terrifying disease in the human experience. The man that was a second father to me slowly deteriorated before my very eyes, I really don't want to give exact examples but I will say that some of the most horrifically terrifying experiences of my life occured during this time period.

I will never forget this night for the rest of my life...I was playing bass for my local college jazz band. We were finishing up some Ellington tune or other when two police officers walked into the elks lodge. I remember turning to Andian and joking that they had finally come for me. I stopped smiling when the officers asked to speak with me. I was frozen in place when they said that there had been an 'accident' with my uncle. The rest was a blur, I am told that I dropped my bass on the floor and drove 50 miles an hour through town to the hospital. I remember running into the ER, brushing past my parents, only to see my uncle being wheeled into surgery. We made eye contact right before his flailing body slid around the corner, my eyes shifted slightly from his weak gaze to the 50 cent sized hole in his left cranium. I will never forget literally looking into the brain of my beloved uncle. I can't really talk about what happened next but I returned to the house that night to do some 'cleaning.' Try as I might, I will never forget the feeling of moving grey matter and pieces of skull to get into his 'secret' table drawer. I will never forget the acrid smell of gun powder and the irony scent of blood. I am only describing this so vividly because I can see it in my minds eye almost daily and I want to make clear certain ramifications that occur alongside certain life choices.

Amazingly my uncle survived. He is not the same person and he never will be. He is more like a ghost or poorly sketched caricature of the man I grew up admiring. I am not trying to pass judgement on my uncle, I love him regardless of anything but it brings to mind propensity. If I were to forget my friends and family it is not far-stretched that I could have shared my uncle's fate or some variation of it. If I didn't have the love and compassion in my life shown daily by my friends and loved ones it is very likely I would revert to the levels of isolation and addiction that I once had. I used to want to be my uncle and now that I am older and wiser I realize that I really want to be like my father. I feel like there is this sinister dichotomy to my life; if I abandoned all my hopes and ideals I could easily become my uncle and if I could actually find it within myself to care or try at accomplishing goals I could someday be more life my father. It is a razor thin line I walk through my propensities. Sometimes I can catch myself and see the Jeff in me rising, and sometimes I alienate myself in social situations because I believe in the moralities my mother and father instilled in me. I have had to realize that I have some genetic dispositions and inbalances that I cannot handle at times and that has lead to the third P in this tale...Prozac

I have some friends on different anti-depressants and some are public about it and some are private. I am not the latter, I am on Prozac and will probably be on one form or another of anti-depressants for the rest of my life. I was diagnosed as being bi-polar by a doctor last about a year ago. Though she admitted I was not a classic case she really felt that this was the closest diagnosis of my ailments. She laughed when I did 90% of my own diagnosis during our initial meeting and she laughed harder when I threw some Freud quotes at her. I told her I didn't really feel bi-polar, I just felt constantly depressed. I said 'fuck the manic side, I am only worried about my depression' and must admit I didn't ascribe to her prognosis. It took my friend Nick to sell me on this bi-polar idea. He pointed out that shoveling handfuls of narcotics in my mouth and drinking 30 shots before going onstage might be an accurate depiction of manic episodes (feelings of glee, invulnerability, etc.) and I must admit that he really got me there. The months leading up to finally going to see my doctor were the darkest of my life and for a while I was really concerned that I might give in to my "jeff" side. All my 'real' friends would meet in secret and discuss what to do about my hermit lifestyle. I had literally withdrawn from the social world in which I used to live.

My doctor and I played the usual game of 'pin the pill on the donkey' and she knew that I could only afford pills offered on walmart's $10 plan so this limited our options. There was trial and error to say the least haha, I remember writing a will to give to Nick at one point when I was on a 'wrong' medication. We tried alot of things and none worked so eventually she wanted to send me to one of the mental hospitals (haha makes me sound crazy in a cool literal way instead of a whiny american narcissistic way). I told her I was really not worried about my 'manic' side and to give me one more anti-depressant to try... we went with prozac. The first 7 months on prozac were amazing for me. I have to say that last summer was the funnest summer I have had since I was 18. Everyone was so excited that I was back in the 'scene' taking shots and partying down. I was barely at home all summer...but then fall hit. My friend and roommate Nate was leaving for the girl he loved back on the east coast (they just got engaged too) and I had a lot of bad things happening. For some reason my magic medicine was no longer working. On top of that for the first time in 7 years my heart was trying to work again which lead me to confusion and fear. Add this to having a constant feeling of A.D.D. when trying to do semi-serious levels of schoolwork and you have a pretty good excuse to get off of your meds. I did stop taking them, and suddenly I was writing songs again, drawing sketches, and interested in dating.

But somehow this new liberartion was starting to turn on me. Ridiculous waves of melancholy would just randomly strike me (especially at work)...and if any of you don't understand my fiercely loyal love and dedication with my Macaroni Girls; it is because they have to deal with me at my absolute worst (at work) and they still love me unconditionally...I have no idea why they do, but I try to reciprocate and if you doubt me see what happens if you ever fuck with one of them. It is partly because of people like them that I have returned to my meds and am earnestly working on viewing my life in a more positive mannner. As a matter of fact, I am renewing my gym membership this week, starting a more regular eating schedule, taking a break from drinking (except on shows) and finally...going to quit smoking.

Allright I am really losing track of where I am going with this, it must be A.D.D. from returning to prozac this week. I think what I really wanted to say with all of this is- Don't lose perspective in your life. Sometimes we can get so caught up in what seems so important at the time that we lose sigh of the big picture. I have to realize that even though there are shitty consequences in having to fight my affliction for the rest of my life it doesn't mean that I have even the slightest of what my uncle went through. Nor does he really know how his actions affected myself and the rest of my family. I make concessions to propensities but at the end of the day my life is what I make of it. Because I may share certain affinities towards behaviors like my uncle that does not mean that our fates have to be similar.

 I got really distracted while writing this so I guess I just want to wrap up by stating that in the end it is a hard to view the world through another's proverbial eyes. This means that we should all consider the perspective from which they are viewing events. Let's not be so hasty to assume and isolate others until you have the whole story....or do...I really don't give a shit haha because this blog is ultimately for me and as you can see; I have problems of my own