Despite being nearly twenty years old and living in London as a student, I have never taken drugs. Even as a youngster, struggling to adapt to an ever-changing world in the Essex badlands my mind never clouded, my hands never begged, and my heart never longed for anything stronger than a full fat coca-cola and a chupa chup.
This can be determined because of a number of factors. One of those is fear, fear at changing myself to fit the needs of others, fear at becoming addicted, fear of perhaps enjoying the sensations and thus obliterating my entire outlook on life. For if I was wrong about drugs, what other things am I also wrong about? Do rolled up charity shop jeans and boat shoes really make a man stand out positively? Are the Geldof family incredible? Do I really know?
There are also the horror stories. I’m not a tabloid frenzied maniac, but as a comedian who I can’t remember once said, you never really hear of positive drug stories do you? Boring Bill Hicks diatribes aside, I’ve never known anybody to turn into an amazing person after they have started dabbling in a bit of crack, or how enlightened everyone became when they started dabbing MDMA into frenzied lips.
The arguments again are obvious and often stupid. “It’s MY life”. “You don’t know how to have FUN!”. Yeah, obviously which is why I’m up bright and breezy on a blissful Saturday morning while you’re all nursing severe headaches, shitting purple silhouettes and bemoaning the fact that you can’t remember anything that happened last night. If you think you got spiked, you probably didn’t – you’re just a bit of an attention seeker who can’t handle what you take.
Despite this, I’m not anti drugs in the slightest. Sure, smoke a bit of weed to relax, do whatever you do with speed to get you through that super tough maths exam, but that’s where I draw the line really. Does taking a little white pill really make a night that much better? If you need to do anything to get through something, isn’t it time to reconsider your life? Why take pills to make shit, thumping dance music tolerable when you could go somewhere that means you can have fun naturally, not binge drink sambuca and pretend you’re sexy.
It’s just depressing isn’t it? Life is a struggle yeah, and we should all do things we enjoy, but I would genuinely love to understand what it is about drugs that are so amazing. Some people would reply along the lines of “how can you slag something off without trying it?” For the same reasons that I haven’t raped anyone, or moonwalked in Basra, because they’re complete bullshit, immoral and wrong.
Getting stuff shoved in your face when not in a sexual situation is always problematic. Whether it is religious zealots, charity workers, or people you know who endlessly boast of how much they drink, how much coke they took, and how many people they got off with. Yeah, part of me is jealous, but the other half of me realises what utter dicks these people are, and how uncool it all is. Wasting the peak years of my life doing the macarana in a chain nightclub in residential hell doesn’t really appeal to me, and I sincerely doubt it does to many people deep down.
It’s tough to have these feelings though, when so many people who share them are actual knobs though. Obviously I’m talking about those nutters who claim to be straight edge. Nothing quite like setting yourself apart by aligning yourself and labelling yourself is there? I’d LOVE to be buzzing off my tits to Basshunter to save myself from the boring drone of a prick who hasn’t had a cider for a week so they reckon it makes them Henry Rollins. They should try depriving themself of air instead of booze.
So really, I hate everyone. Yet also, I love everyone. It’s the eternal contradiction, do I follow my head which tells me that drugs are unnatural, or my glowing heart which wants me to follow the crowd and shoot up? I’ve gotten to this age without even taking a paracetamol, so fuck knows how a belly full of amphetamines or gums full of white powder would make me feel.
Ultimately, what can you do? Let people be themselves I suppose, but it just gets me down. I shouldn’t hate the player, I should hate the game apparently. Maybe I should just hate myself for not getting it. Or not be a cunt.