08/20/2024
CW/TW: drug name, vivid descriptions of experiences while under the influence.
Before I get to the body of this text post I want to frame a question:
How much is too much when reading about the intricate nature of life, addiction, and recovery? When do you, the reader, say "this is too much" when an author, poet, or writer shares there inner world and outer world in full?
Ketamine, mystic mistress of the mind,
A journey through your realms, I've left behind.
In your depths, I found a strange, sweet peace,
A world beyond the veil, where worries cease.
Your whispered promises, a siren's call,
Lured me to explore the hidden hall.
A realm of dreams, where thoughts untethered roam,
And the weight of reality, no longer home.
In your embrace, I felt the thrill of flight,
A soaring sense of freedom, pure delight.
The world, a kaleidoscope of color and sound,
A symphony of sensations, spinning round.
But, oh, ketamine, your kiss is double-edged,
A blessing and a curse, a delicate pledge.
For in your depths, I also found despair,
A darkness that haunted, a loneliness that lingered there.
Yet, still, I'm drawn to your enigmatic smile,
A mystic allure, that beckons me awhile.
A reminder of the secrets you hold within,
A world beyond the ordinary, where magic spins.
Farewell, dear ketamine, our journey's at an end,
But the memories linger, a bittersweet friend.
May your mystique remain, a siren's call,
A reminder of the mysteries beyond them all.
-Noun/known
My DOC the last 4 years has been Ketamine. I first became obsessed (not in love) with the substance back in 2014 after I had an abortion, during my first K-hole. That was one of the last times I used before 2020/2021 when I entered the Companionship-trade.
During this particular K-hole— a deep state of dissociation resulting in an Outer Body Experience— an alien, which resembled a Rorschach test in appearance, "spoke" to me via telepathy and tones that I would describe as Binural and isochronic.
I was mesmerized— I can remember comprehending that I was k-holing and even looked down and saw myself vomiting in the toilet. I brought my gaze upwards again to stare at the alien.
The voice in my head was baritone but soft at the same time— no rasp or scratch. I can still clearly remember what was said to me:
"My beloved Daughter, you made the right sacrifice. The blood of the son has returned to me in pure. You will bare the fruits of the next messiah in rite time. He will rise 3 days past the date he made himself known to you & you will carry him fully. You are forgiven for what this world calls a cardinal sin. You followed my will courageously. Be at peace for you are loved and without judgement."
My take away from this experience after I left that bathroom included questioning whether or not I had narcissistic tendencies combined with an overwhelming God-complex. I spent 3.5 years isolating myself because I worried I was insane and would find ways to justify hurting others.
Side quest: I found out January 11, 2014 that I was pregnant. I had the abortion February 11, 2014. Malachi had an estimated due date of January 10th 2019 and was born at 21:21 January 14th 2019 — just as the "alien" prophesied.
Throughout my pregnancy with Malachi I had horrid nightmares and dreams. The main themes of my dreams included memories of lying, being afraid, and with holding information which usually led to my family and friends being hurt or killed.
I would have reoccurring dreams of the same moments where I would be a little more honest— and less drastic events would happen to those involved. But still, death followed me and only took those closest to the situations at hand.
I dreamed of losing my mom, malachi, and David multiple times over those 9 months. I dreamt of terrible things happening to friends because I wouldn't say anything, and then also horrible things happening to them because I said things.
After analyzing my dreams I realized that I could remember my motives in the dream realms: fear, power, deceit, malice, anger, spite, and vengeance. Those motives were my demise in the dream realms and in waking life.
Those motifs always brought me back to drop points in my dreams where I could choose to surrender or choose to press forward— but only after determining the motive of my action or reaction.
I grew up having, what is known as, "pre-cognitive" dreams, here or there— all of which happened within 3 weeks at most. But never had I experienced dreaming of what would come years past the dream.
In my pregnancy, and up until Malachi was about 6-9 months old, I managed to convince myself that these dreams I was having were FOMO, drug addiction pleas, and PAWS— because exactly 28days before I found out I was 4wXdays with Malachi– I Cold Turkeyed all substances I was using before— which there was a few.
I thought my morning sickness was withdrawal from poppers (w**d and to***co) and co***ne and alcohol– which made tons of sense to me.
So when I had all these funky dreams with familiar faces from my rave days I thought absolutely nothing of it; I mean.. the brain works in mysterious ways right? Well... yeah correct haha just not how I thought.
The last dream I had before I went into labor with Malachi was what I now believe was June 5th 2023— the night I overdosed and was nearly pronounced dead. The only difference between the dream and waking life today is that days leading up to this moment I became honest with myself and others about my feelings and my thoughts. In my dream my mom called me begging me to go to rehab; but I was so consumed with anger I told her I would rather die.
So when my mom called me, begging me to go to rehab last year.. I bit my tongue so hard because I felt similarly.. but this time I remembered my dream— I remembered waking up in this body and the birth of my son... and instead of allowing my anger to win— the drugs anger to win.. I surrendered. And even though I still OD'd, I woke up in the waking life I left the first time I experienced it in my dreams. And since then I have kept waking up and moving forward.
I've been working on a few different short stories to capture the nuanced essence of my experience with life, drugs, and sobriety... this is one story that I have a reservation towards fully disclosing because of how it can be seen as romanticizing drug use in a way.. but I feel wrong leaving it out because it is a beautifully tragic origin of my desire to chase addiction and how it led me to the ease of allowing recovery to find me, waiting in my grave no longer willing to be buried alive.
Back to my question: How much is too much? Where do I draw the line at honesty VS discretion? How can I share my experience while trusting that it is one that is worth sharing if I honor the mess of it all and how it allowed me to find the clarity in the life every addict deserves: recovery and reclamation of one's voice and heart? Would it be a disservice to edit out the very aspects that led me to believe in a power greater than myself— to live life on life's terms... one day at a time?
