I'm doing therapy when I do DXM

That's pretty much it.  I am toooooooooooooooooooooooooooo scared of this shit in regular chemical land, so I go to DXM land to do it.  But it is becoming absurd.  Because I know what I'm doing, the curtain is pulled back, the wizard is revealed.   You use drugs to think about things you don't want to think about when your brain is normal.  You are afraid you will die, I guess?  Or that you won't get it right?  We have to

 I N T E G R A T E

Trauma world with the fucking real world.  Integrate Trauma world with real world. integrate trauma world with the real world.  then we would not need DXM, but we are being a little bit of a chickenshit and will not do this without the fucking drug.  you need to be fuckind dead fucking sober and call your mother out.  Not to her face.  But to yourself.  And mayber your therapist, and a friend.  Because DXM land is possible in the real world.  its called facing the truth.  Serioulsy, I think thats what we've been doing this whole time.  We've been fucking frankenstein manhattan projecting this shit, trying to chemically get our brain in the right frame, the right ecology to understand and believe these truths.  Because we are a scientist first, (slowly changing to scientist/poet, but whatever) we fucking experimented with ourselves to cushion the blow?  It's not that simple.  We were not capable of hearing it any other way, or else we would have done it that way.  This is the way we found.  It's  not perfect.  By a long fucking shot, thank you Gina,Brian, Michele, Jeanette, Chris, etc.  But it is a workable solution right now, and I guess thats why I'm not stopping.


WHOAH

Fuck. I am not stopping.   BECAUSE IT FUCKING WORKS. i can access things very much more easily than when i'm regular.  When I'm sober, to get in the same state I have to feel safe and free.  Hah.  So... That means that I have to be alone in the woods but knowing support is available, with sunlight and privacy, and no shame.  I have to be able to do or say or dance or speak or type or fart or whatever I need to do with no shame... 

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhiiiiiiiitttttt.  I just called myself out.  I don't need a big 3 fucking ring circus.  I need time, privacy, support, aloneness, nature, basic needs (ie food, shelter, in a nice way, etc), sunshine, growing things, water, and time.   And then more time to record what I just went through.  Record the thoughts.  Write them., sing them, dance them? :), whatever.  So. again. Support. Green beautiful nature. Aloneness. Privacy, no shame. Time. Share with someone, that's it!  Even if it's sharing with yourself.  Share it.  Shout it. Dance it Scream it.  It is the truth and it loves when it's spoken.  The evil is washed out when you say its name.   ......           ......           .....            ....     


That's fucking it.  That's all I need. How did it take this damn long to get here?  I'm joking but not? I had to take every step I took, but it's funny that in the end, it's so simple. 

OK, so I'm peaking on Dxm, and I want to go enjoy it and it's not good for writing anyway.  or maybe itis?  I want Brian to read all of this, if he could continue to be my therapist.  Otherwise I guess, theres not enough time.  It's all coming down tomorrow Yay.  Tellin him everything.

Here I Come Again

So I'm writing again because Lara wants me to write. I would like to take some of the credit, but hell, I really don't want to write. But I am at my wit's end and don't know what else to do, so here it is, me writing.

I've been fighting, white knuckle fighting, doing something/anything destructive for the past few days. Over the weekend I was sure I was going to use. Either drink and pick someone up or do DXM and maunder on the beach after watching Dorian Gray. But I didn't. But I still want to. It's early enough still tonight for me to go get some alcohol and be a dumbass.

We have a ton of new people in group, which I wasn't thrilled about at first, but am now glad of it. They are going to bring new energy, new perspectives. Good times.

I really do hate myself. And when I hate myself, I'm embarrassed that I'm still alive. I think I want to kill myself. Ugh. But I think I do.

My watch is too damn big and was fucking up my typing so I just took it off. I guess if I'm going to die, then should I have fun first? I was in this same place in March, when I sent my super-duper awesome email to Dr. . Yeah, there was a veiled "hey wanna fuck?" question in there, but the bulk of the email was about how I hated myself and wanted to travel, get fucked up and jump trains until I died. But somehow that whole part got ignored. Wonder why?

So.... I am coming to grips with the fact that my mom might just suck royally. But I'm not there yet. It would be easier if I could remember some really horrible thing she did to me, but there isn't anything. She just was mean and extremely unpredictable and unsafe. She hit me. She dragged me on the floor. She kicked me. She slammed my head by my hair all the time in the car. She broke my stereo, my most prized possession. But I figured out how to fix it every time she threw it. Fucking bitch.

She left me at the mall once. I was 16 or 17. It was before college. She got mad at me and left me at the mall. I had to walk home probably 6 or 7 (or more) miles. I remember walking home and being so embarrassed. I stopped to eat at a pizza place and somehow felt that everyone could see how gross I was, how contaminated and tainted. I felt like an other, like an "it", but a gross, unwelcome "it", not a neutral being. I was tainted. I just remember being shamed.

When I finally got home I walked back in the house through the front door. I remember trying to decide: front door or through my window? For some reason I chose the front door. Walking through the door was harder than the whole walk home. I just sort of wished I could die and not have to face her. She was sitting in the living room watching TV and didn't say a thing to me. It must have been hours later, it was a LONG fucking walk, with a stop to eat. And she didn't say a thing to me. nothing.

How could she do that to me? How could she not say "I am so sorry, I know I got mad, but I never wanted you to have to walk all by yourself all that way." Or "I went back to look for you and couldn't find you, I'm sorry." She had no idea if I had money or not. And this was long before I had a cell phone. She left her kid alone miles and miles from home and didn't give a shit.

But I did have money. I don't remember if I had my backpack, but I almost ALWAYS had it with me as a teenager, and it was exactly for reasons like that. In fact, maybe that started the backpack thing? But I remember I always wanted to be ready. I always had money, an extra jacket, writing materials and a book. I was safe then. Set for anything. I didn't need her, or safety, or knowing I had a ride home. I could take care of myself. Fuck her. I think. I mean, is leaving me awful? It feels awful, but maybe it's no big damn deal. I mean it's not being raped. It's not being beat up... It's just being... left.