The
world today is toxic, and we’re losing our planet and ourselves to it. We bathe
ourselves in chemicals, drink them, eat them, breathe them in and out, use them
to power our cities, and clean our houses. We use them to color our hair or our
skin or the walls of buildings stuffed full of chemicals. We use chemicals to
make us attractive. We use chemicals until we get sick, then we use chemicals
to make us better again. We pump ourselves full of chemicals, almost as fast as
we’re pumping them into the earth. We inject them into the earth, pour them by
the tons into oceans and rivers, and coat the skies with them.
It
makes me sick.
I
refuse to do drugs not because I think it is immoral or because my parents told
me not to. I refuse to do drugs not because of middle school assemblies,
because of any religious establishment, or even because they are against the
law. I refuse to do drugs because I am fucking sick of chemicals.
Humans
are, in spite of our protest, not divine beings—whatever that is supposed to
mean. We are not only subject to the laws of physics, biology, and nature; we
are manifestations of them. Any notion that any component of our existence
might transcend these laws is mistaken.
Ironically,
it seems that our true nature of being is best summarized by a passage from the
book of Genesis, in which God tells man, “You are dust.” Most likely, the
writer of Genesis intended for these words to focus on the mortality of the
human race and its vulnerability in comparison to its Creator. However, they
seem very appropriate when attempting to clarify the perishability and true
nature of mankind. We are star dust.
Our
lives are possible because of chemical reactions. Our flesh, insides, and brain
matter are composed of molecules, which are composed of atoms, which are
composed of even smaller units of matter we are hardly even beginning to
comprehend. Hormones are responsible for our emotions. Our thoughts are
electrochemical signals. Our personalities, appearance, and entire beings can
be traced back to genetic coding and its interaction with the environment.
For
quite a while, the inescapable scientific truth of our existence has clashed
horribly with our preconceived notions about ourselves and the Universe. Put
simply, the concern here is the conflict between religion and science, but in
reality this is just the outcome of a fundamental issue that encompasses everything
man has come to understand about his own consciousness, existence, and purpose
in the world.
What
is a soul, if DNA is responsible for one’s personality traits, behavior, and character?
Perhaps it can be argued that the idea of a soul is indeed compatible with
science and nature—that just because a person’s soul is composed of nucleotides
and enzymes doesn’t mean it’s not a soul. I mean, what else would a soul be
composed of? Divine particles? Those are particles, nonetheless.
Yet
at the same time, where does a person’s soul go when they suffer a severe brain
injury and can no longer talk or form coherent thoughts? When their minds have
been so wrecked by misery or hatred or whatever-have-you that they are only
shells of their old selves? People claim we can chip away and away at person as
much as we like yet their soul will remain unscathed inside them. But if we
really just keep chipping and chipping away, what could be left? What would
distinguish one soul from another? Could our souls really be independent of our
bodies? Of our brains?
Where
am I going with this? Isn’t this supposed to be an essay about drugs? Yeah, I
guess it is. I suppose I better get to the point soon.
What
with all of man’s scientific ventures and discoveries in the past several
centuries, perhaps the most disturbing question which has arisen in light of
these discoveries concerns the identity of an individual. As I mentioned
before, where does the concept of the soul fit into science? And if the soul is
only a fallacy, what defines the self?
I
guess the only remaining answer is genes. The environment. Memories. The mind.
The body. But even those can be altered.
As
I said before, we are alive because of chemical reactions. We are strange
displays put on by the interaction of molecules and various reactive elements.
One’s identity and being seems so volatile, and the definition of oneself is so
very ambiguous and subject to change. How can we live with this? How can we
continue to address ourselves as “I” and “me,” if we don’t even know who we
are?
I
don’t know. I don’t know if I’ll ever find out. But in the meantime, I do not
plan to taunt my body with stimulants and narcotics. I have no desire to plague
myself and my body with even more chemicals than I already do, to afflict
myself with further confusion about my own self. About who I am.
Furthermore,
I don’t want my happiness to depend on my stash of weed, or nightly acid trips.
I don’t want to wreck my body, already so frustratingly, terrifyingly fragile, with
toxins and all of those countless chemicals. I don’t want to spend the rest of
my short life in despair anticipating the next opportunity to inject myself
with supposed magic potions which will bring me happiness, or fun, or remedy
for pain, or whatever you want to call it. I don’t want to make myself numb.
At
the end of the day, when it comes to drugs, I have this to say:
Hallucinogens
are a poor replacement for dreams.
Junk
and cocaine are artificial and meaningless when you compare them with emotions
that don’t come through a needle.
Ecstasy
doesn’t count as ecstasy when it comes from a pill bottle.
I’d
rather not love someone on the condition that I have heroin in my bloodstream.
I
don’t want my happiness to be drug-induced.
I
want it to be real. Whatever real is, I would choose real happiness any day. I
don’t want to live my live blissfully addicted to substances, and then suddenly
in despair when I run out. I don’t want to live my life in a narcotic dream and
then be trapped forever when I realize that dreams don’t last forever. I want
to me, whoever “me” is, and not attribute the essence of my identity to the
ground-up powder of some strange plant or leaf.
And
if I can’t be happy, I would rather have real sadness than a drugged happiness.
I
am a living, breathing unit of nature. I have no intentions to further upset the
earth and myself by using drugs. And most of all, I’m so goddamn sick of
chemicals. So goddamn sick.
And
don’t get me fucking started on cigarettes.
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