October 21, 2009

Walking into my house at 8:30 PM, I am overcome with emotion. Seeing the chair where, just hours earlier, I was reborn as a human, rising from amidst the smoke and empty bags of fast-food, victorious.

Experiencing Psylocibin mushrooms is like taking your entire life and throwing it against a wall to see what sticks. Lost in a head trip, the idea of sobriety itself loses meaning. Dazed, confused and seeing crazy shapes, all reason is abandoned. You don't know what to do. Should I sit here? Should I move? Should I talk to someone? What should I say?

Your rationale becomes your only hope of escape from the trip. Think, you say to yourself, think before you do anything. Building your values and principles back up from nothing, the things that are really important in your life become apparent; the rest fades to black. You reassess everything.

"I exist," I whisper to myself, "I don't know much, but I know I exist." Feeling the "lub-dub" pulsations in your chest, feeling your lungs expand and contract, feeling alive. Indeed, I do exist.

At the end of the day, I feel much better. A sense of understanding and peacefulness washes over the living room. I will go to class today, because I want to be a doctor. Because I want to be a doctor, class has value. I want to be a doctor because one day I will die, and when that day comes, I want to feel like my life had some kind of impact. I want to know my existence wasn't just some fluke of nature, or some kind of divine, transcendental reality show to determine whether I go to heaven or hell. I don't know if there is a God or not, but I do know that I exist. That is enough for me.

Hi, Kids.

It's been a while. I've been off doing… Well, I've been doing a lot of nothing. Or possibly something, Moving across the country, and hiding in my home.  I kind of disappeared into the ether for a while. Then I visited some friends recently, and I had something of a breakthrough. I realized that I do have a handful of people in my life that I can call "friend."  I am still sad, and I am still lonely, but my batteries have a little bit of charge left in them.

I was so sure that I wouldn't go to this thing. I thought that I would stay home, or I thought that my dark entities would get the better of me. I was almost right. A week before I was certain that I would be there I was certain that I wouldn't be anywhere ever again. I was sitting alone, sober, in my dark room, and had written a ten page explanation sans apologies, with a gun in my lap.

I was dead sober, with a gun in my lap, then to my head, then in my mouth then in my hand, then to my head, then in my hand, then to my chin, then on my desk. I was tired. I was beaten down, and I was exhausted. I know that death is forever. I'm not nearly as daft as I sometimes let on. I know that my chosen solution is a permanent one. I also feel that my problem is a permanent one. I have not, for as far back as I can remember, felt truly happy. There may be fleeting glances at happiness but they were always obscured by something darker, more sinister. There has always been, and I suppose ever will be, a seething void inside of me. To that end I have created a mantra: "Some Day, Not Today."

I had many varied reasons why my life was to end on that day. The date itself was of little importance other than the fact that a woman that I had once loved was to marry a man whom I had once thought was my friend two days later. Maybe that was the straw that would have broken this camel's back; maybe it was the immense pressure I was under to acquire a certain professional certification. Maybe the procuring cause was that I had not been gainfully employed for several months, or that I no longer enjoy any activity. Maybe I came to a point where I had no aspirations, and no goals, and I didn't want them. The end result was that I became very tired and overwhelmed.

Knowing that I was not of sound mind I searched the web for methods for committing suicide. The first links were help sites, which didn't do much to put me off of my intended purpose. I read them anyway. "Suicide is simply having an imbalance of pain versus ability to cope with it." There was other rot just like that, and the truth is that I don't believe that any of it helped. I just became too fucking tired. I was exhausted, and I wanted to sleep. If I wanted to paint the walls I could do it in the morning just as easily as I could do it that night. So I slept.

I can't remember what prevented me from going for the brass ring the next day. I don't much care what it was. I am here now. I can't say that my mantra isn't still true. I can't say that my batteries won't ever die down, and I won't have a charger at hand. What I do know is that someone out there cares enough to share his pain with me, and to let me share my pain with him. I know that there are number of someones who are out there and who have suffered, and who don't quite know how to cope with it, but are willing to be a dysfunctional family for me when I can't rely on my own.

I returned home from Central Illinois happy for the first time in years. I got a chance to see people that I had worried about, and people that I had not had the chance to see in some time, and I was struck by how upset many of them would be if they knew that I had done something so reckless without even giving them a chance to help. I was also revitalized with a desire to write, and fill the holes that still exist here. I was reminded that tomorrow can hold better days. Most importantly I was ensured that my decisions to purge the poison from my life were right-thinking. I would like to thank you all for the extended lease on life you have given me. Whether you realize it or not.

I was quite disappointed when I woke up that the dream I had slipped out of my mind like sand in my fingers. Normally I wouldn't care but last night (or should I say this morning) I had a completely lucid dream.
I don't remember how I realized I was dreaming, it just became obvious and I didn't even have to check, I knew just as much as I know when I'm awake. I wasn't able to change the setting or anything I couldn't normally do, so I enjoyed intereacting with the random people.
This one kid, I pushed in on the sides of his head and it warped so it was too long and narrow. He got pretty pissed off about that, so I said something along the lines of 'you're not even real so what are you going to do'.
I talked to this other girl and had a good discussion about reality with her. "You're not even real, you only exist in my head. You're just a hallucination. When I wake up, when I'm gone, you won't exist anymore. Haha! Now give me your rollerblades or I'll kill you" (my original purpose was to take her rollerblades).
I really wish I remembered more of it, I know it was very long. It wasn't like a dream at all, it was like I was awake.

The trees are so beautiful this time of year. It looks like they've been sprinkled from the top with color, deep red, orange and pink. It's a shame it doesn't last.