When the experience of drugs doesn’t fundamentally change you, it’s only natural to keep coming back for more.
When you get to enjoy the reoccurring insights that your new understanding of life offers you, there just isn’t the same urgency. One new theory is exciting enough.
Doing Mylie opened up a new cavity in my heart and expanded my capacity for love. Caring for my dog Norman expanded my capacity for love.
I also felt something pop in my emotional psyche when I had my last seizure.
The day after we did Mylie, as I sat in my boyfriend’s flannel and watched television with his sons, I felt a horror that he would leave into the garage and never return. Doubt spread through my veins like hot water stings and I cycled through horror and fear that my love for him was not equally reciprocated, that I had only imagined what happened the night before, that I would never love and care for anyone like that again, and that I would never be able to get over the sadness I felt mourning those moments.
The felt such a strong sense of loss that I couldn’t keep from telling my new boyfriend I feel really scared you don’t love me right now. He found this adorable and assured me the feeling would pass. It was true. My love for him went on and I loved him in a more honest, direct, true, atomic way than I had ever loved anyone before.
For the next year and a half we brought joy everywhere we went together. Together, we radiated. And when I walk Norman down the street, 9 out of 10 people we cross crack a smile. And when I ate mushrooms I developed the ability to distinguish my self from my clothes.
And when I ate mushrooms again I stood in a rain forrest pinched between freeways and felt tears spill down my cheeks as I longed for the comfort of Jason.
Drugs are real. My love for Norm is real. And I know something popped when I had a seizure.
The reality I’m not sure of is the earnestness with which I question my memory of him dragging me down, throwing me out, and leaving me fucked at a dark gas station in the middle of nowhere. And I don’t trust that I didn’t effortfully push him to do it.
Is this what people imagine when they refuse to try ecstasy because they fear sex will never be as good again?