#repairing the world
fun fact: any policy on drugs that isn’t harm reduction is going to cause addicts to suffer and die
fun fact: Drug addiction is a public health issue, and approaching it as if it were a law enforcement issue is prejudicial to addicts and will result in their suffering and death
if you just assume addiction is a method of self-medicating, you’ll pretty much never be wrong.
now, not everything people self-medicate for actually has a proper treatment. i’m pretty sure the reason my uncle made sure to be slightly drunk at all times ‘to round the sharp corners off of things’ was sensory processing disorder. i have that too, and i just kind of accept that i’m going to randomly get my brain sandpapered from time to time. there is no medication for that. all you can do is dull your senses. i’ve chosen not to, but i can’t blame him for his decisions. when a ringing phone feels like getting hit upside the head with a frying pan, liver damage sounds like a fair price to pay.
anyway, it seems really self-evident to me that people don’t enjoy living the life of an addict, they do it because the alternative looks worse. people don’t get addicted to substances just for funsies. they start making a habit of taking something because of insomnia, or grief, or headaches, or depression, or seething undirected rage and terror they can’t put a name to – something that they can’t ignore or shrug off. and for whatever reason – lack of access, lack of knowlege, lack of money, or it just plain doesn’t exist – they aren’t able to apply the Approved Correct Remedy. they use what they can get.
addicts aren’t some weird otherfolk who inexplicably just Do Drugs because they’re Bad. addicts are you with a problem you can’t solve.
these facts aren’t fun but they are pretty important
I love the attitude of ‘they’re a little confused but they got the spirit’ actually like someone trying to educate themselves or learn something and even though they’re wrong, they’re still trying and people supporting that effort
basically emotional manipulation and guilt tripping as social justice praxis is pointless and not sustainable imo. it doesn’t promote real growth or solidarity if the entire basis of your activism is stemming from guilt or fear
#like it just ends with kids reblogging things they dont really understand #and not daring to ask for further information references or even just it in easier to digest terms #so then you get loads of well intentioned and paranoid kids shouting at each other using buzzwords they dont really get #while abusive people can easily slip in and co-opt the system for their own ends #slams fist on table #transparency and forgiveness in sj circles#slams fists over and over
i’m especially upset by the pressure to reblog things immediately without fact-checking, expressing doubt is considered betrayal of the cause, so a lot of bad info gets boosted in a hurry
“I was nineteen or twenty. I was becoming aware that I might be gay. My parents were very religious, so they took me to ‘conversion-like’ stuff. It wasn’t full therapy, but I had to sit down with the pastor. And it left me convinced I was going to hell. It wasn’t until I left for college that I finally had the space to be myself. But since I was cut off from my parents, I needed a way to survive. So I applied for a job with the janitorial staff. The Head of Facilities was named George, and he was scary. He was the one who’d write you up for drinking alcohol. And he had this huge set of keys on his belt. So if you heard him coming, you ran the other way. He told me years later that when I asked for a job, he could tell I was going through something. So he gave me a chance. I followed him while he did his rounds. He showed me how to fix things around the dorm. And the whole time we’d talk. He was this conservative, blue-collar, white dude. But he saw me. We became so close that people teased me about our friendship. He’d ask about my day. He’d ask my opinions. He knew I was gay, but he didn’t care as long as I showed up on time. After work one day, when we were finished sweeping up, I sat down with George on a bench. I was feeling depressed, so I told him: ‘I’m done. I can’t do it anymore. I’m dropping out to join the Army.’ That’s when he told me: ‘You’ve got some college under your belt. You should go to West Point instead.’ I’d never even heard of West Point. I began to research the school, but everyone else discouraged me. My basketball coach laughed at me. It began to seem impossible, especially because I was doing it alone. But George encouraged me. ‘You have a real shot,’ he said. ‘Just apply.’ So I did. And I was accepted. I went on to get an MBA from Wharton and now I’m working in finance. But George has fallen on tough times. The college closed down, so his job disappeared. And he recently lost his son. I know he’s in a lot of pain. He’s like a father to me. He calls me all the time. We say ‘I love you.’ So I need him in my life. I just want him to know that I see him. And that he matters. And he did a whole lot more than fix things. He fixed people.”
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