Insomniactive Productions, 1630 Cullom Street #2, Birmingham, AL, 35205
This story starts about 26 years ago (give or take a few months), either in Nashville, Tennessee, or in Dothan, Alabama, depending on which way your memory works. And if you want to boil it all down, then none of that really matters - just that it started, and a long time ago, at that. The middle of the story is pretty dull, at that - if it weren't for the ending, I wouldn't even bring it up. Some of you have already read part of the story, over the last few years; some of you might have even lived it. But now it's over, so move on and pick up a new book. Don't bother waiting for the movie, because there won't be one (I told you - boring tale).
As of two weeks ago, I have quit buying comics. It was nearly three decades in the making, but the newsprint monkey is off my back. No more spending upwards of thirty to fifty dollars a week on new books (you just thought my cigarette habit was expensive). No more playing in Wednesday afternoon rush hour traffic just to get to the store before a book might sell out. No more stores overrun with Pokemon toys and Magic cards, or trying to find space in our tiny apartment for yet another box of comics, or waking the wife and cats with the sound of Scotch tape late at night.
I don't want to make it sound like I've risen above comics. I haven't; I still see the validity of comics as an art form, and I still enjoy the hell out of a good super-hero story. For those who have problems with that, I direct you toward my extended middle finger. Comic books aren't just for kids, and I haven't outgrown them. I have, however, hit a financial wall, and I decided that that was one of the expendable hobbies draining my wallet each week. Beyond the fact that I buy a lot of titles each month (partly for review, partly for enjoyment), there's the fact that books have steadily increased in price from $.25 when I was a kid to anywhere from $2.50 to $7.95 apiece. It's just short of ludicrous.
The thing that upset me, though, was how much it upset me. I'm still not entirely past it yet; some of these characters I've been reading about for a quarter of a century. It's hard not to stop when I drive past a Books-A-Million or the local comic shop. I can tell myself I'll just browse, or maybe just buy one book - maybe two - and that's it. Just for nostalgia. I can do that, right? Pick one up again and just walk away, never looking back? Maybe I can just read comics socially?
Geez, I sound like a junkie…
There are so many substances that I have to imagine in some ways are more dangerous than heroin. Not necessarily to health; I can't imagine anyone wasting away because they can't put down the comic books (in fact, most of the people that I know that read comics are quite safe from the possibility of wasting away). Perhaps "insidious" is better than "dangerous." I know many more people that are addicted to behaviors and actions and people - and many don't even recognize that these behaviors are present. Heroin's hard to find, potentially expensive, and has a huge social stigma attached - something it doesn't share with risky hobbies or people. Well, except for the expensive part. And hard to find…
I've known many people over the years who were addicted to drugs of one form or another - from nicotine and caffeine to alcohol to crack, cocaine, and pain killers. It's tragic to watch people lose their life to things like that; even if they don't die, they never come back the same. Relationships are ruined, financial situations hit rock bottom and sometime lower, and personalities are forever changed (usually not for the better).
As hard as that can be to witness, watching other addictions can be just as bad, if not worse in some ways. Co-dependents are a great example - and so as not to get caught in the trap of lumping people into an overused category, I'll get a little more specific. Perhaps you've known people who were trapped in absolutely miserable relationships and refused to leave because they were afraid there was no one better out there. Maybe you've known the woman who puts up with abusive boyfriends because hitting and emotional abuse are signs of love. These people are addicted, too - to the people that they are with, or to romantic ideals. They may not suffer from physical withdrawals if those people are taken away, but the emotional impact can be just as crippling to an addict (I've only been that bad off once, myself, but I'll vouch for the pain).
The difference between these people and junkies or alcoholics is that the junkie is willing to deal with the inevitable withdrawal pain to experience the high, while the co-dependant is willing to weather the constant pain in hopes that things will get better one day. From a skewed perspective, you have to envy the junkie the fact that, at the very least, he knows the rush is coming, and for a little while, he feels good.
What about someone like Bill Clinton, married but seemingly incapable of fidelity even at the risk of not only personal cost but a national divide? Could it not be said that he's addicted to the rush of attention, the ego-stroke of a new attraction? There are the gamblers, hooked on the feeling of winning, or perhaps that moment of adrenaline just before the dealer flips over his cards to reveal the fate of the gambler's wallet. The media and pop-psychologists will even suggest that pornography and the Internet can have the same control over people's lives.
And in the end, that's what it all seems to boil down to: control. It's not an issue of what my friends and I like to refer to as existential freedom - "Be free to do whatever you wish, but be willing to pay the consequence" - but a lack of that freedom. Addiction comes when it seems there is no choice anymore. It's one thing to know that getting drunk one night might give you a mother of a hangover the next day; its another to require an early morning shot of Jack (or three, or a pint) to be able to function. When you lose control over your actions, from physical or emotional necessity or dependence, you're dealing with addiction, and while emotional dependence may not be as recognizable as physical jonesing, it's just as important to recognize that you may, in fact, have a problem.
On the bright side, the lack of physical dependency is a blessing. Gamblers don't risk their health directly; nor do unfaithful husbands (as long as you Wrap That Rascal!) or Internet jockeys or compulsive shoppers. There's no real risk of death or even collapsed veins - unless you happen to run into Glenn Close or Tony Kneecaps in your adventures in life. It also means that you can quit a little easier. It just takes being willing to make sacrifices and exhibiting self-control: no going into the porno shops or Red-Light distracts, avoiding the casinos and dog tracks, breaking up with the cheating girlfriend or the wife-beating husband and moving on with your life. Well, not entirely true - it also takes recognition of the fact that, while you won't die in your sleep from too much of a good thing, and your liver won't drop through your belly button at an inopportune moment, that you have a problem. The fact that you're not getting sick is really no good reason to waste months or years of your life being controlled by an outside influence (and one that isn't even potentially rewarding, at that).
Life's too short to spend a single minute miserable, if you still have a choice in the matter.
Man, that was heavy. Who's up for a drink?
There is no topic off-limits for Kenn McCracken, except Winona Ryder. Winona is sacred. Leave Winona out of it.