the last shroom trip I had was the fourth shroom trip I've ever had and the third one solo. Let me tell you.
let me tell you.
scary as shit. why I did it? I was scared as shit and needed was seeking connection.
I am allways seeking connection. I feel it so hard it makes me tear up writing "I am allways seeking connection."
it has been lonelier than anything I remember imagining, yet from the artifacts and broken relationships and this Current feeling of wanting to die reminds me of sobbing pasts that I've endured, and I know that this is only the latest in the tests on my life.... is
suffering.
theoretically, there's comfort in that. I died so many times. will again and in this all always, I wonder what's the point of me - alone in the bathroom with my loving family in the other room of a well-lived epic alone in the profoundly terrifying way that is now
and a cat that is empathetic gods pray for your Edith my love for your health
I'm sure you know that as I type this I've had so many tears come out of my eyes. does that make me more real? it feels often that I'm too much that my pain is too much to bear for others my feelings are too much they call my newest disorder emotional unregulated personality disorder in fancy Europe and I wonder would carrie fisher's second husband have beaten her? did he?
she would have told us I would think. reading 'wishful drinking' on the plane home. I just walked down the corridor that I had to do from the BART train to my home that night after leaving Edith and being with humans that had to love me and feeling safe for 120 hours was a near bliss compared to ...
and writing on words. jeeeeesus was that a smarmy trip to my eyes.
my fucking heart breaks harder than diamonds for kristen #1
let's face it, I was only defined - or allowed myself to be defined by my spouses.
(other work isn't getting a lot from me today)
the in-between was exiles, penance, solace, seeking
yet and I can write on words for some reason it appears in the options.
and honestly, that big fucking profile pic on solstice makes me never re-read - feels like large print readers' digest.
aesthetics mean a lot to me.
I really let myself go with the spouse that beat me when I was sick for three days with baby jellyfish larvae coming and stinging my skin in blisters...
the first time I did shrroms proper was with him.
although I disdained the fuckshit out of mark towards the end. it was different with fucking Andrew everything was different with fucking Andrew that's the way I wanted it right/ full stop. everything different.
forgot my wallet on our first date - THAT was unprecedented yet I wasn't walking back to get it. He didn't pick up on the joke, and I was only with him because my sister had said that cliche the way over a man is under a new one. I had a psychic thing with him and only went out with him because of his last name no shit. He violated one of my minor edicts: no glorifying of tatts. Like with mark when I psychically knew I'd marry him, then I'd psychically knew I'd leave him when something better (thanks for writing midnight rains Taylor swift's writing partner) wafted ...with fucking Andrew, it was "now that's a name I'll not get the chance to marry again..." and he had kids. that was different, yet it also made me way more cognizant of my behavior.
after this first date in this noisy place, I remember thinking "I'll never see this guy again" and he remembers "I really really want her." the entire courtship was a flattery. an architect minister's son from the south - it was the last words of solstice come true - honeysuckle, collards, all of it...
would have been way cheaper to just change the name of course. I think I'm looking at $30k in debt. my FAVE debt was the $5K in bail (my entire checking/savings after grad school's end) for... trying to kill him. Ironically, I had feared for my own life. Jail sucked hard dick. You could tell it was poor people and mental fucking torture. I ... don't think I could describe it but I think the most human I felt was hearing the wails from the tormented souls within these walls who had no one... and my spouse left me there when I later read in his diary that jail is his biggest fear in life.
and I am now in quintuple that debt because of this notion from my OD (original disease) that I was going to set up a life all by myself - just as nice if not nicer than Andrew's. I bought a rice maker - a zorijuro fancy one. a hot water boiler. a comforter. shower curtains. I only got this dark apartment because July is apparently the only month that it gets afternoon sun AND it has a claw-foot tub.
so shrroooms. we did them and I think it was like watching "closer" when mark and my marriage ended (I was already so gone) we did shrooms, and I was like "I will never ever ever get anything from this man of substance - cardboard vileness is it beige cardboard jail." yet never would I have left.
the killing that I supposedly did was demonstrating how on his hair, I had thought I had helped get most of my own problem with the sea lice/seabather's eruption (apparently I've both had it before and am highly allergic and it gets worse successively) but this day/night I was a psychotic fucking mess - hadn't slept in three nights. In fact, last night, I slept on the green sofa a bit to be near my projected sick cat. Life must be like PTSD and that must be why the therapist "joke" is "childhood never ends".
the last time I did shrooms is the last time I ever want to do them by myself until I'm recalibrated maybe and "they eat you for snacks" and "where have you been" being able to dance and talk to myself for the first time in ages....
you exist.
it was like that big sister goddess energy part that I have inside that will dare me to love myself again....
