Who Am I?

Let me show you. As best I can in this format.

I am a biological person. I am alive.

This is a picture of me. In my natural habitat.

I tried to pick a decent one, of course.

This is one picture of me in what I consider to be a flattering angle. There are many other pictures I passed on that were also me at less than flattering angles.

Here's one.

This is me when I was 12. I thought bleaching my hair was super cool back then. I no longer have the same opinion, but there it is.

I feel deeply, I think deeply, I create daily and feel compelled to bring beauty, compassion, love, and truth into this world.

I take things too seriously, and things most people take seriously I almost contemptuously dismiss — almost contemptuously.

I am a person who will become obsessed with a topic, hobby, or domain and go hard. Like, I am intense about the right topic.

When I was younger, I collected Pokémon cards, learned all their names (still remember the first few hundred to this day), organized them meticulously, always ready to engage with trading and rarity and value.

At one point it became pharmaceuticals and mind-altering drugs. I experimented with whatever came my way.

I could never think of a reason not to try a drug.

The only memory I have of turning down a substance was refusing a bump of ketamine at a party in college because my girlfriend at the time gave me that look.

The "don't you dare you asshole" look. If she'd stepped away I would have done it, but she didn't let me out of her sight. And I still remember it. Because I wanted to do it and turned it down and an addicted brain fixates on what it is missing or has missed, never on what it has. Those loops still run every now and then, just without the same force they once did, they don’t control me.

Me and ketamine had a run-in about eight years later, I had to close the loop.

Even when I wasn’t under the influence or seeking a substance, I researched every compound I could, professional research papers to Reddit posts to the vaults of Erowid. I wanted to know what this brain of mine could do with the right pick or key.

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At this point in time, I am in recovery from substance abuse and alcoholism, nearly a decade sober. It took from an acute episode of pancreatitis at 19 until 25 to get my current sobriety date. I was mostly sober during that time but would relapse after time sober, 3 months, 6 months, 9 months, finally after 2 years and 3 months. I wasn't sure if I was ever going to escape or if I was going to make it past 25.

I've been creative as long as I can remember.

Drawing all the time. My Mom has pages filled with little drawings of bugs I did when I was two.

I did well academically and had the privilege of going to a private, all-boys Jesuit high school a few blocks from the capital.

I was athletic, became a year-round competitive swimmer in incredible physical shape.

I created a portfolio and got accepted into Rochester Institute of Technology as an Illustration major.

I didn't graduate.

Home over winter break sophomore year, I got an acute episode of pancreatitis from drinking.

Imagine that. I didn't even know what a pancreas was or that I had one. It hurt like hell.

They doped me up with Dilaudid for five days straight. I couldn't eat anything. I was in pain AND I could request a new injection every two hours. 2mg IV. I was in an opiate-induced delirium complete with wildly vivid dreams? Hallucinations? Hard to know, let’s just say it allowed me to understand Lewis Carroll in a way I never thought I could.

And yeah, it was that good because I still remember these details almost 16 years later. I still remember the taste of the drug in — yes in, not on — my tongue. It was like a sterile metallic, slightly salty and cooling sensation and then — WHAM. Bliss. Orgasm-level bliss. Like I stopped breathing and felt like crying it was so damn good.

I digress.

It scared me enough when the doctor told me if I drank again I would get pancreatitis again and could die, or worse. Yes, "or worse." What the fuck did that mean?

I had no idea how much of a problem I had until then. When I stopped drinking I became depressed, severely. I tried to find replacement substances. Lots of amphetamines, marijuana all the time, I even tried kratom, a potent natural opiate from Thailand. Nothing worked. I failed out of college by my junior year.

My obsession shifted to psychology, altered mind states, the study of psychedelics, and eventually, deeply symbolic analysis of consciousness. I made some crazy awesome art during this time. Some pieces took months and were created in multiple locations — rehab, halfway houses, homeless shelters. I moved so often due to relapsing and instability that I started using Prismacolor markers because they were easy to travel with and didn't require a lot of space.

Here’s one of the pieces I created during that time:

‘The Spark’ prismacolor on Bristol vellum paper by Anthony Ness

At 25, two years sober, on an intense transformational retreat, I wrote out my vision: an artist's sanctuary, a gallery space designed to awaken people through color and light and texture, a place for people to rediscover their souls.

My life did not follow that plan.

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Writing became how I processed what my body couldn't hold. I don't read poetry, never really have. I listened to rap music, and that gave me a beat and rhythm I carried into my head and onto the page. I've self-published two poetry compilations. Recently I’ve been writing lyrics and using AI to produce the tracks which has provided a unique experience of being able to hear myself as not myself. This bypasses my normal ego defense/ self censorship mechanisms and has been quite therapeutic.

I became a parent at 28. Unplanned. Unexpected.

My life changed in ways I'd never even considered. And I'd considered a lot of things.

Every drug experience, even the most extreme ego death and mystical experience under an extremely high dose of psilocybin mushrooms, deep meditative peace from committed daily practice for a year, vast knowledge of recovery, support networks, sponsorship, spiritual principles, professional experiences — none of this could compare to the sheer overwhelm, weight, and absolute infiltration of becoming a parent.

I never viewed parenting lightly. I knew it required serious work and willingness to surrender and serve. I also knew how sensitive my nervous system was and how I could barely tolerate seeing people daily, let alone a screaming infant all the time.

I wasn't sure I was going to make it through.

Just like that, the vision for my life was irrelevant. I got a better job, literally doubling my salary in a year. I did everything I could to prepare for the role.

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I love my daughter. I don't even have words for how much I love her. I didn't ever want to feel this strongly toward anyone in my life because it's terrifying to care that much and actually be the one responsible for providing that care.

My second child was also unexpected. I love my son with the same depth as my daughter.

Honestly, it's brutal.

Me and their mother separated. We have split custody. When they go I feel an indescribable blend of relief and grief, guilt and gentleness, longing and wanting to run away forever. Take that how you will.

Being a parent, working full time, earning additional side income and still falling short of child support and basic expenses is devastating. Trying to maintain any sense of self and sanity under these conditions is physically destroying me.

I knew the game was rigged.

I did not know the game was rigged in such a way that pointing it out makes you the problem. I did not know that the game is self defeating and self destructive by design. I did not know just how disconnected and invisible we could become to each other.

And I know it does not have to be this way.

That's why I write. That's why I'm here.

So who am I? Fuck around and find out. 🔥