To begin with, I’d like to sincerely thank our Comrade Soldier, Brother Jason, for sharing his story about overcoming addiction. Given that I could barely quit cigarettes, and still drink coffee, I’m always a bit awestruck at hearing such powerful testimony.  Shades of Nietzsche’s superman peek through such tales.

I should also preface this by admitting that I don’t expect this article to get many hits. Some of you will probably feel offended. That’s fine.

One of the things addictions seem to do is to hollow out the addict’s psychic personality. The constructed subject, in itself, is transformed (often in a very short time) into a machine which has as its goal the procurement of the substance (or behavior) which is the focus of the addiction. All the other aspects of the subject — the things that once made him “him” — are more-or-less blunted to serve the fix, or transformed into means to this end.

Johnny Rotten eulogized his friend, British musician Sid Vicious, in the media. Sid died of a heroin overdose, a day after murdering his Jewish-American girlfriend in New York City. Johnny described Sid’s decline into murder and suicide as a complete transformation: “Once you start on that heroin trail… it’s gone… you just disappear.” (The Unseen Sid Vicious)

What is most interesting is that the same phenomenon seems to happen to many PUA types.

The first clue that this process is at work is an immediate willingness to destroy once close, meaningful social relationships. This is not the same process that single dudes complain about when a brother gets wed. We all know the story about the pal who gets married, and suddenly disappears from view. That’s not what’s happening here. In the first place, the newly married brother has a legitimate commitment to a wife, and is probably working on starting a family. PUA types have no such reasonable conflicts. The women they bang don’t generally want any commitment to a man. They just want to fuck. Fucking such women doesn’t entail long hours at work to save for junior’s private school tuition. Moreover, the meaningful social relationships that such men enjoyed prior to adopting the PUA lifestyle are often destroyed overtly, by antisocial and outrageous behavior. PUA types self-induce a psychic erasure, replacing their authentic personality with a bizarre collection of tics, sexual fetishes, and irregular grooming and dressing habits.

The second clue directly follows from the first. What psychic contents are left are entirely self-centered. PUA types seem to define themselves, far too often, by being as annoying an asshole as possible, despite the fact that this is contextually unnecessary. Before finding books by Tucker Max and Cernovich, many of my pals (and it was not just internet acquaintances – I had meatspace friends who went this route) were on their way to moderately successful careers and had already begun establishing stable lives. After adopting their PUA personae, they generally lost interest in doing interesting stuff, and preferred to slack off, making “being a PUA” their one obvious goal in life. They still made enough money to buy fuzzy hats and get manicured fingernails, but all their higher aspirations seemed to go down the toilet.

In an essay, Jack Donovan defines the “metrosexual” PUA as “a “mirror man” whose highest narcissistic concerns are pleasure-seeking and being regarded as “desirable.” He may be in love with himself, but that, too, is a shallow kind of love. He cares more about how he looks and how well he fucks than what he has achieved or how well he is respected.” (Everyone A Harlot)

Now, the PUA will rebut these observations by claiming that their lifestyle has “liberated” the men who embrace it to build an authentic identity. The opposite is actually true. An authentic personality is socially constructed, and is based upon meaningful interpersonal relationships and ties to community. The PUA lifestyle does not allow for an authentic personality. It obliterates it.

It’s funny because it’s true.

I’ve seen my own clients, many of whom are very decent people, demolished by an anti-male court system…

[Editor: This is the last part in a series of articles on overcoming escapism by Brother Jason, a soldier in the Salvation Army. Jason doesn’t have a blog, but you should show him some love here in this shithole. If you’re joining late, you’ll want to read Part 1 here, Part 2 here, and Part 3 here.]

Obviously……I didn’t jump, fall or drop off the Golden Gate…but even today, every January in California since then……..it’s always to this day been an uneasy month to realize how close I was. On the 10th anniversary of that fateful day…..I did actually weep a bit at home. Life went on.

What kept me from plunging to my death? A vision. Really. A vision. As I stood, barely balancing on the rail on the rail ready to go to my death…….I saw a man. He had sandals on. Was dressed in a tunic, a robe of sorts with a belt. He had long hair, a beard…….and the most serene dark eyes I had ever seen. He was standing about ten feet away from me. His eyes had such deep pity for me. Real pity. As if he could feel everything I had been through for my whole adult life. All he did was beckon me to come to him. He didn’t speak. He didn’t slip me the answer. He didn’t tell me “I had so much to live for” and he didn’t make any defensive moves to save me from falling.

He beckoned again. I jumped off the rail back on to the walkway and smacked down hard on to the pavement. I looked up and he was was gone. I suddenly felt very sick again……..I started puking again. I passed out.

I awoke in a bedroom. I immediately knew it was a hospital or sorts. A nurse smiled at me and said gently “hey…..you’re awake. you took quite a spill…a passing car saw you passed out on the Golden Gate Bridge. They called the police. They found a dogtag on you, around your neck; assumed you were a veteran and brought you here….you’re at the veterans hospital here in San Francisco. You’re safe now.” (the dogtag was my grandfathers from WW II) “Mr. Jones???” She said cautioiusly….I just shook my head and said “that was my grandfather….”

“You’ve been out cold for almost 48 hours……you detoxed bad, you’re still detoxing we have you on sedatives…….” I then noticed the restraints on my arms and legs.

Once the formalities were cleared up, of who I was………I was introduced to a man from Narcotics Anonymous. It was then I decided that life may not be worth living, but I was going to finish it up the proper way. I also promised “god” that I would never drink and drug again. It would ber a few more years before I became a practicing Christian.

I stayed sober and clean for the fact that I almost tasted death. My life did not suddenly become “easy” after getting sober……in fact for a few years…..it got worsre. All the nonsense I had let go over the years came back. All at once. ALso confessing to my parents that their “bright and promising son” had in fact been using drugs since 1989. The people I hurt, stole from, let down, lied to over the past decade with a clear mind suddenly washed over me hard. I also lost my mother to undected cancer a few years after getting cleaned up. She was only 62. A woman who never smoked, drank and was not by any measure a typical “wimmen” you see clogging the streets, church and Internet today.

I stayed sober and clean for the fact that I had made a “promise” to the “big guy upstairs” and I figured for once I was going to keep a promise…….had not kept one to anybody for a very long time. It wasn’t easy, but it gets easier now…..I do owe a debt of gratitude to Narcotics Anonymous. It really helped me at first…especially in the first year. Jokes about “AA” programs and people aside; all this support group does is to help people who don’t want to use anymore to be encouraged, listened to, understood. I’ve been involved in very heated meetings, cried a lot, argued and laughed too. I am grateful. I am also grateful for the people I saw when I first came. All colors. All walks of life. Old and young. Rich and poor. Clean for 24 hours, clean for 25 years. Drug addiction is an ironic equalizer in our culture.

No, I never relapsed but have been temped more than a few times.

Yes, I did eventually become a Christian…and the man I saw that night on the Golden Gate Bridge???? I am convinced it was indeed the Savior of us all. Jesus Christ.

Here is a video of Fiona Apple, she looked like this when I partied with her. Her song “first taste” probably from 1999 or thereabouts

[Editor: This is the third part in a series of articles on overcoming escapism by Brother Jason, a soldier in the Salvation Army. Jason doesn’t have a blog, but you should show him some love here in this shithole. If you’re joining late, you’ll want to start at Part 1 here. You can also go back to Part 2 here.]

I was now “sneaking” drinks at the nightclub to steady my hand and to stop the “shakes” that were almost uncontrollable when a level of alcohol was not kept up in my body.

The club owner, Harry Denton an “old SF queen” (or “hag” depending on his mood) warned me right before Christmas, “babes, you gotta get it together, I don’t know what’s wrong, but figure it out…you’re on thin ice here.”

I started to pawn off anything, and everything that was of value that I had in storage. When I wasn’t partying, or working…….I was at my roach infested room just crying……..bawling is probably the better term. I remember waking up New Years Day 2005 on the floor in pile of my my own puke in some house waaaaayyyyyyy out in the Richmond neighborhood; I awoke, looked around and saw two “hot girls” giving me looks of hate of “GET OUT NOW”

I came to work on January 5th, 2005. Before my shift started, I was stocking the bar…….and I ducked below, grabbed three shots of Jim Beam…….to steady my hands, they would not stop shaking! I stood up and………there was my boss. The club owner, Harry Denton. “What’s up babes?” He asked, he was smiling, and I figured….okay, turn on the charm. Be cool. He won’t know or he’ll just give me a warning (again).
He jokes with me a bit and then says, I gotta talk to you real quick in the office before you start……..

We get to his swank, and gaudy looking office. He is telling me about work, how he started out as a waiter in San Francisco in 1966; while printing up paperwork…….small talk. No anger, or attitude with me. I’m thinking to myself “dodged it, he’s just making sure I am sober for work, testing me. coolness!” He then, hands me the paperwork he printed up.

He says “Babes. I am really sorry. I have to let you go. You have been sneaking drinks here, which is theft, and it’s a policy when you were hired that there is absolutely NO drinking on the job.” He then tells me to read the document and sign it. He opens a business “checkbook” and then says, “since I am terminating you, on the day of your shift…..I have to pay you for the shift…….and I actually like you. A lot. I am going to pay you for a full forty hour week, and I am doing this as a favor because I do like you.”

I am reading the document, tears welling up in my eyes. So this is the end. Statements from co-workers stating on dates when they saw me “sneaking” a drink. I tried to plead with him, promise him that it would not happen again. The usual last straws of a drunk and druggie. Lies. Promises that I would not keep.

Harry took off his glasses, leaned on his desk, gently smiled and said “I know now that you lost a decent career at IBM probably due to this same issue I am firing you for now. Look, you’re young…..you are slumming it here at place like this, look…you do good work, and you have potentials….but this is MY business. MY career. MY passion that I built from nothing when I arrived in San Francisco almost 40 years ago. If I let this slide, then I will lose control of this whole place. It is a priveldge to work at this club and for ME. I need people here who are on board 100% with MY vision here in this City. Look, get some help. It’s not too late for you. You have your tip-book / log? Let me see it.” I handed him my tip-book.

Harry carefully looked at my tip log, got out a calculator and got an average of the tips I made during a work week. He then opened his wallet and pulled out 950.00 cash and said “Here, I don’t have to do this either babes, but I like you…I am going to ‘tip’ you out for the work week as well.” He then gave me the check for a weeks worth of work.
He again asked me to sign the document…….more firmly now. I picked up the Cross pen, and signed it.

He then stood up, and asked me for my nametag. I gave it to him.. He shook my hand and again said with sadness, disgust, and a tad of betrayal by me…..”Get some help.” He then motioned for me to leave, I did. He walked behind me. There were no other goodbyes or talk. Outside his office, he locked the door and he got on his cellphone and said “Katie, yeah…call in in Jared immediately to work. I just fired Jason…..well, he had plenty of chances……” and he walked away, didn’t even look back at me. I stood there for a minute or two and left the hotel…………

DId I learn???? Hell no!!! I took that money and went on my final bender. Was out all night, well into the next morning! Blew it all on drink and cocaine. Partied for two days straight. Everything was okay for the next two days! I didn’t need that job……..I would find another one. I would get “serious” and “knuckle down” for a bit…………but really, deep down……I knew it was the end. Even if I got another job, I had zero savings to hold me until money started coming in again like the last time back in 2003. I could liquidate my 401K, but that would take a few weeks to get the check. Rent due, and how would I maintain without the cocaine? The drink? For that matter all the other bills I had been putting off. Laundry? Haircut? What was I going to eat? Yes. The end was here. I had that bender, and I decided it was time to kill myself. Off the Golden Gate Bridge. I would go quickly, only one in a hundread survive that drop…and haven”t I been wanting death for a few years now anyway???? I would destroy my ID, make sure it would be a mystery to what happened to me. I would leave no note. Nobody cared anyway…….I destroyed my ID, bank cards, social security card. I would hock my class ring from graduate school (a gift from my parents back in 1994). I would pay the rent with it……..thus not causing suspicion that I was missing,

Four days after I was fired, I was standing on the rail of the Golden Gate Bridge, mid-span at 3am……………I was gonna just lose my balance and just fall down, down, down……WAY down to the cold murky swirling waters below. Should be easy, the shakes were back. I was siging a Beatles song loudly as I recall (Let It Be)…..the fog was heavy………….the fog horn was beckoning me….daring me to do it…..I was starting to detox bad. Delusional visions………..the shakes….I dry heaved a few times while walking out to the Golden Gate and while on the bridge……….never was good enough……no one to call. It would be weeks until perhaps connections were made that I was gone and the body retrieved from the bay was me…..more than likely my landord at that scuzzy place I was living……the prick! Next month would come, and his insipid puss would come knocking for the rent, he would check the room and it would not have been lived in for almost a month (I left the room spotless, clothing folded, everything in its place)……Police would be called….a small but ineffective investigation would happen……some connection to an unknown body found in the bay, the landlord comes to check it on bequest of the fine folks at the SFPD….he would say “yup that’s him, that’s the drunk a-hole who rented from me” and that would be that. He had my first and last name only….it would be perhaps a few more weeks before any family would find out…..the churning waters far below…..”just let it be, let it bee, yeah!!!!” The random car passing honking its horn. Another car passes, and womans’ voice from car yells “do it!!!! Jump!!!!” I feel sick…….dizzy……..I think I can feel myself about to fall….no, no not yet…..the sound of blood thumping in my ears blots out any other and every sound….pins and needles prickling sensation on my lips, my body is preparing for it. In a few seconds……a minute…..whatever…it’s now all over. World 1. Jason 0.

Read Part 4!