Rick Ramos vs. The Black Dog

a better understanding of the self

I’m not exactly sure what kind of a kid I was. I could lie and say that I was quiet and inquisitive child; filled with wonder and happiness, eager to realize the mysteries of life. That seems to be the type of poetic bullshit answer most people want to give when they hope to create a past in which they overcame shyness to evolve into a wordsmith, performer, or public figure. Much like a model or good-looking male actor claims they were a “late bloomer” and were constantly picked on because they were neither attractive nor inherently charming. Yeah, bullshit is never very far from your average asshole looking back on their life. To tell the truth, I simply don’t remember. Not that it matters. From what I remember I spent most of my time alone. After so many years, I understand that that was probably because of a personal need for isolation that made it easier to be alone than “suffering fools”. It’s a good enough explanation. It’s one that I will stick with. Mostly because it is the better part of my character, even now, nearing forty. I may not remember my childhood character very well, but I remember a teenager that was a bit more than an obnoxious, know-it-all shit, and later a drunken, angry, and unfocused college student without experience to back his anger. It got better, but before that I had to walk through the desert of misery wherein you believe that everything is (for lack of a better word) shit. Those were the good days. That strange decade between twenty-six and thirty-seven during which you realize that life is not the magical dream that you imagined it would be. A decade where you realize that your Old Man is an asshole for a reason and your mother is not the saint you imagined her to be, but rather a woman with limitations, while at the same time managing to be so much more. I don’t question like I once did. I don’t live in the narrow parameters of Black&White, but rather in the comfortable and embracing Gray of true understanding. As George Carlin once said, It’s all bullshit, and it’s bad for ya! There is a comfort in knowing that, and more importantly, accepting it. An understanding that everything you have been told has been – to some degree – a lie, and now (seeing it for what it is) you are free from having to pretend that the cocksuckers have your best interests at heart. Liberation from having to put on the stupid, fucking smile as the bastards position themselves behind you to do what they do best.

At this point you have to begin making choices. Do I continue along this path? Do I accept this level of misery and become the person that I have always felt sorry for? Do I continue to hope for the best and ride the optimism train to Happyville? (That is my feeble attempt to condescend to the typical moronic idea of a better world where things always work out. I really don’t get that shit!) Here’s where we separate the men from the boys, the pros from the amateurs, the wide-eyed from the blind, and whatever other cheap cliché they tell you to get you to follow the party line. Survival and Growth are based on how well you recognize what you are up against. It’s not about pessimism or the “dark” label that others may put on you. I don’t have any true answers, except to say that so much of what we do and who we are is formed from our ability to stare the bastards in their cold black eyes and decide that it is worth it to keep pushing forward; to keep getting up when it would be easier to just lay down. This is has been the one constant in my life; the one thing that has never let me down . . . the knowledge that no matter how bad it is it can always get better and it can always get (monumentally) worse. You see that’s the thing that they choose to hide from you. That’s the thing that they conveniently leave out of the equation. There is a possibility that it will get worse — much, much worse. You have to be ready for that. You have to know that life isn’t a Disney movie and the Good Guys don’t always win. It’s a hard truth, but life is nothing less than hard truth. I would rather be aware of this fact than to be surprised by my own simplistic idea of the fairy tale. You don’t have to be a miserable bastard, but you do have to realize that there are certain life truths that lead to misery. Your friends will disappoint you. Your family will embarrass you. You will find yourself with shit choices and no other options. Get used to it. Jump into Life’s River of Shit and start swimming. That’s how winners are made. The men and women who can take the most shit, recognize it for what it is, laugh, and realize that just over the hill there is a whole lot more shit waiting, those bastards are the ones who will somehow come out the other end and have the best stories to tell.

So what’s the point of all of this? To be honest I’m not entirely sure. Maybe the point is that you have to keep fighting. Maybe it’s realizing the truth of this world. At the very least it’s about recognizing the shit, but also realizing that there is a good as well. Let’s not lie to ourselves. It’s not all misery and pessimism. Depression can be a temporary thing. I know there are individuals who suffer with the Black Dog, but for the majority of us it is a passing state. When it happens – when I know that he has arrived – I dig in, take the punches, and remember that it will pass and I will have to start training for the next round.