Not long after I wrote that last post I smoked some weed and had a complete mental breakdown. I went into a shame spiral which I've been trying to claw my way out of for the past couple days. I don't want to anyone to see me. That's the challenge of a shame spiral and the way to get out of it, in my experience, to let oneself be seen. Going to a meeting often helps, which I didn't do. Sharing about the slip or the break helps, which I didn't do. Showing up in some way and not letting the thing stay a secret. I did meditate, though, and treated myself to my favorite restaurant. I watched a little too much TV, I think, but later took a bath and read. The next day I met with a recovery buddy and told him about it. He didn't care about the weed as much as I thought he would, but I feel like a failure.
I often get that way with psychedelics when I have a bad trip. I seem to think I'm not good enough. One hopes that the good outweighs the bad. Sometimes the messages you get, or even the experience of a"bad trip" itself is more valuable than a good one. In the bad trips I learn to take better care of myself, to pay better attention to what's going on with me. The question is whether it's worth the collapse to figure it out.
I crave intensity and this is certainly what I got. I had been feeling some anxiety all day in the form of stress and hypochondria related, I think to the mounting pressures of this blog and the mounting time of my unemployment. Arrogance and addiction came in after I wrote and I was feeling like a cannibal, consumed with this intense desire to consume something, and shame came in, and then boredom, and I didn't really know what I wanted to listen to and couldn't figure it out, and felt like a failure because of it, couldn't figure what mood I was in or if something really sounded good or not, and felt ashamed over this, in short, I was not in a good head space, and I decided to smoke. Well, paranoia latched onto shame and I spiraled. I began second guessing myself, what if I really am a terrible person? My anxiety, thanks to some trauma and some bullying, also centers on my sexuality. "What if I'm gay and I don't know it?" Spin. What if I'm not who I think I am? There's this terrible sense of not being able to trust my senses, my surroundings, myself. Shame, and I collapse more and more into myself. I think that's what happens when you've been betrayed.
I couldn't pull myself out of it this time. There's tremendous shame in feeling like I don't know who I am, as if everyone has it figured out but me. I also didn't want to go backwards. In the past couple weeks I'd been listening to some pop music, some Justin Bieber, Ed Sheeran, Benny Blanco, and appreciating how good I thought it all was in spite of what my old friends might have said about it, and I thought I'd moved past all this. I thought I was getting to a place where I was more confident and secure in who I am, where things were possible. I thought I was becoming free and I didn't want to go back to where I wasn't, where I have to talk to myself and soothe myself like an inconsolable child, as if that means I'm not worthy of good things, as if that means I'm some kind of failure. I was being judgmental. Judgmental of the good experience and the bad, as if those experiences say something about me as a person, rather than their just being experiences a person can have. And what does say something about me as a person? It's the quality of my mindset, yes, and perhaps the quality of my relationships, meaning, how they feel, and how I feel about myself, but it's clear I'm attached to what those qualities mean, as in, if I'm doing well then I'm successful, and if not, then I'm a failure, in other words, I'm still very much attached to what others think about me, and what others think about me still in large part determines my happiness, and if that's the case then I can never truly be happy.
Not that any of this is really that important, and it's probably not going to solve anything in the long run. The important thing, I think, is to admit that I made a mistake and to own up to it, and now take corrective action if necessary. Maybe don't smoke when I feel that way. I didn't take care of myself well in this situation. I'm not perfect. In my recovery there's where I'd like to be, where I think I am, and where I am, and sometimes those conceptions become intertwined and confused, then reality comes in: I messed up and made a mistake. I didn't do what was best for me and now here I am, living with the consequences: feeling the shame deep in my body, paranoia, unable to make eye contact, unable to pick up the phone, which is already difficult, and I'm lucky nothing else happened. I could have acted out sexually because of this and then who knows where I'd be. So that I have to do better, take better care of myself, and pay attention because, in some ways, this can be dangerous. I need to pay attention when the anxiety and stress are up and perhaps find better ways to cope with them, or take a step back from the things that are causing it. I know, for example, that reading poetry helps a lot, getting into nature, maybe water. But sometimes I still crave intensity, and that's exactly what I got. I need to know this about myself so I can avoid these hard lessons and stop the cycle before it goes too far. I could have done something earlier in the day when I was feeling anxious. I could have gone for a hike. But here I am with dunce cap on.
The first time I took mushrooms since I started dabbling in psychedelics I had a terrible experience. I didn't know what I did to myself, and I kept saying that to myself as I paced the dark room, seeing faces in the wall, feeling the world ooze out beneath my feet, collapsing onto the bed with my head in my hands. I couldn't believe how irresponsible I'd been with myself and my mental and emotional well-being. In that disbelief, however, was immense care, love for myself which I'd never felt before. How could I do this to myself, precious being that I am? I couldn't believe the extent to which one can be responsible for oneself, and the extent to which I wasn't. I couldn't believe the ways I continuously abandon myself and my feelings for others, how careless I could be with my feelings and my well being, but I found out. The medicine was harsh but the lesson was learned, as it was here, and I hope it's one I don't have to repeat. I don't want to have to learn this way anymore.
I hoped for a profound experience and instead I got another. I got what I needed because I was limited in the kinds of choices I could make. Through these experiences I learned that I have more choice than I think I do. Sometimes one has to go through darkness to realize this, but not always. Knowledge of how much choice I have goes a long way in my being to able to craft for myself that kinds of experiences I want. We all want to feel good, but that means different things for different people. Recognizing how much choice is involved goes a long way in our ability to accept ourselves and others for the choices they make. The more power we believe we have the more freedom we grant to others. And the more freedom we grant the more creativity and love we feel. The more powerless we feel the more likely we are to shame and judge and project, and who wants to feel all that?
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