Better

So I’m better.

Somehow solid again, more real. Somehow my feet planted firmly on the ground.

I don’t know how I got here. There was and is meditation, and psychedelics, but they all came as I was settling down anyway. Maybe they’ve kept me here, where better is. Maybe I would be fine without them.

I’m better.

I’m better and I look back on 2017, and it’s white noise, or a picture I can’t quite focus. A person I can’t quite remember being, tho I remember the things he thought and the things he did.

I’m better, and for the very first time I feel like I’m not just better, but wiser. More sure footed. I don’t know how I got here. Maybe it’s the meditation, maybe it’s the psychedelics.

I have regrets, you know? All these regrets, for how my life has turned out and the endless list of mistakes I’ve made. Frustration at not being where I’d hoped, the usual self recrimination and grief. Anger a how my mental health has disrupted and distorted my life, left me living far from friends and the city I loved and used to call home.

But so what? That’s life, and life is sad sometimes. That’s OK.

I have so many friends, and a loving family, and I’m healthy enough that I can go walk in the world, and feel the cold air on my skin, and breathe. And in that moment, there’s peace.

None of these things will last, and we have only a few heartbeats to call our own in this world. Life is sad sometimes, because life is loss. That’s OK. In this moment, there’s peace.

I’ve tried to kill myself. 3 times. I must have hurt so much, I must have been so lost and so afraid and felt so alone. Maybe I’ll try again, if I ever again get that lost and afraid and alone. I hope not. No one should ever feel that bad. I can’t imagine. I literally can’t imagine how it must feel.

The rain lashed down all night last night, hammering on my windows and keeping me awake. By morning, the exhausted sky was slate gray, and white water blue, ghostly. Starlings chattered in the park, gulls swept overhead.

The world is astonishing. I can’t imagine ever wanting to leave.

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Witold Pruszkowski - Falling Star

We all are Falling Through Silent Liquid Space

Preamble

My 2017 episode has resolved – and for once I think I’ve come out of the storm substantially stronger and wiser, and more able to navigate the seas. It was incredibly close at points – steps were taken with more than one suicide plan, and I probably should have been sectioned again but I managed to hide the depths of my despair well enough from medical staff and therapists. I was held through it by some incredible friends who were literally my lifeline throughout, and after months of depression by turns furious and hot, and empty lonely and cold, I finally found myself back on dry land in September.

Now, it all seems a crazy dream from somebody else’s head. Strange, to think I thought the things I thought, that I did the things I did.

I put this stability down to two things: Buddhism and psychedelics. Buddhism is an every day thing; psychedelics is a once a blue moon thing. One of the reasons for this is that psychedelic experiences are psychically exhausting; while they’re incredibly beneficial in ways I’ll never be able to articulate, they’re also intense in a way I’ll never be able to articulate.

I’m kind-of due another session, which reminded me that after the last one I’d written down this. The trip involved far more than is given in this, and probably far more than I remember, but this was the most intense… episode? Vision? Experience?

Anyway; here it is. It’s a bit muddled, but these things tend to be, and a bit hyperbolic, but, again, these things tend to be. Like I say – psychically intense.


I am falling

I am falling, we all are falling, through silent liquid space.

I am falling, we all are falling, through silent hallowed space.

This is not how it begins.

It begins with grief.


No, no not grief! My body wreaks up, hands claw my chest, mouth agape, no don’t go there, don’t go to death, the cold end of it all; the fear of my parents becoming one day only memories; I see the body, the coffin, the red red earth and roots and the cold cold hammer of loss, no don’t go there don’t go there, not to loss and regret over all the words left unsaid, I love you I love you I wish you knew how much, don’t go, don’t be lost, lost to the cold and the dark and the red red earth.

The horror of life is that in the end we lose everything we love, this horror comes it’s cold, rips through me makes me hollow my mouth agape I fall into black into nothing into silence.

I am falling.

I am falling.

I am falling now forever through silent liquid space.

Falling through water, falling through stars, falling soft and safe through silent sacred space.

Through dark red space.

Through blood red space.

I quake, jolt up again, rock up into a foetal pose, arms curled around my chest, holding a newborn in blood red space, and this love this love it is fierce, it is wild and it howls, it howls, and it will break me apart it is breaking me apart in agony and exultation and the blood red lust of this world for life, for life, for life. I hold a newborn close furiously close I love you I love you I love you, you will never know you will never know how much, this love this love this love,

I sob, body shakes tears burst from clenched eyes I rock I shake I sob, no no no you don’t understand I whisper, you don’t understand this pain this blood red agony, this howl is a howl of love, I quake, the love of life for life, 

I sob

gasp.

Fall back.

We all are falling.

Ice cracks and thaws and cold crystal water begins to flow in channels, babbling and bubbling between still-frozen blocks, and as they thaw, as they thaw, this love trickles into all, into all the frosty walls we build between us, in the end in the end it’s alright, we love each other and that’s enough, we know we love and are loved and that’s enough.

Hands clasped over heart, chest rising with gasping breaths, falls, rises. Heart beating inside chest, pulse beating through body, blood, red red life. Only breath. Only blood. Beating, in silence, in black space.

Through all the pain and loss of this world through all your cruelties and misguided deeds, regrets and misspoken words, there is this,

love

and that’s enough.

It will be enough.

In the end is only grief, wild and terrible grief, it will break you apart and it is love, it is only love, wild and terrible love, it will be alright in the end, just remember this pain is only love, the only pain is love, the grief life has for life


I am still, breathing, pulsing.

Still breathing, pulsing. I am.

Still.

Breathing.

Slow.

I am falling,

up; flying up, into cool crisp air into the big blue, until I no longer am, up into the big blue into the night, streaming white stars flow from endless space into me, I am endless space rippling with streaming white stars, faster now faster, up into ruby red space, out and up and beyond, space and starlight dropping away from… from… I… away from… I…

and I vanish, and you vanish, we vanish, and this and that vanish, and words and the shapes around words vanish, and suspended outside time all that is left is the infinity of the universe


Until, again, I am falling

Falling, swift and gentle back into me, finally, white streaming stars become crisp streams of water flowing back into me, making me me again; breathing, pulsing. Gasping.

On the shore.

Lapped by warm clear waves.


We never stop falling; graceful and slow

through sacred silent space.

Counting blessings

grievingI’m back at work.

Well, I’m back working. A few months. Blessed income, blessed progress, blessed not sitting at home bored or – worse – sinking into myself. And it’s a job I’ve done before, in a place I’ve worked before, and it’s a nice place and nice people and it’s no stress, no stress at all. Collect papers, sit. Punch numbers into database. File papers. Repeat.

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‘lexa

This last episode was horrible.

I mean they all are, obviously. I wonder if they’re getting worse or I just forget, each time, how brutal and cold they are.

Anyway.

I thought I’d share a memory from it.

It’s not a happy memory, which you could probably have assumed given I was suicidally depressed at the time. But it’s a memory which plays on me still, and it’s typical experience that anyone who has been through severe depression will probably relate to.

I thought I’d share it. As catharsis, maybe? For education? Because misery loves company?

I dunno.

It haunts me, this memory. This memory is grey, and cruel. It makes me feel cold, shameful, angry.

Just like depression.

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Tang!

I’m re-discovering food.

Most people with serious depression stop eating when they’re ill, but I have the fattening version. I turn into a fun mashup stereotype of ‘gay man eating his feelings with ice cream’ and ‘batchelor surrounded by pizza’. Neither of these are stereotypes I aspire to but here we are.

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And flying I still will not move

I’m rushing.

I’m rushing and it’s beautiful.

Beautiful like fire and lashing rain and thunder and howling howling wind, I’m rushing and it’s beautiful and it’s taking my breath away.

Thank Christ at last I’m rushing and it’s beautiful, rather than hell.

Ideas whip into my head and hardly settle before being picked up spun around, turned about; impatient with myself and the world, plans that come to half a page of scribbled lines. And it feels good it feels good, you have no idea.

I want to just stay dancing in this whirlwind and laugh, and enjoy the storm.

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