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Dickhead With A Beard (NYE 2016)
#1
Dickhead With A Beard
(New Year’s Eve 2016)


Note: With the exception of a small amount of editing and adding previously forgotten details, this report was written whilst I was still very much still under the influence, the metaphorical back doors to to my vulnerability box having been utterly, unequivocally and unromantically smashed in, therefore I don’t believe I would have even been capable of describing anything other than (as best as my grasp of the English language allows) open and truthful descriptions of what I had been and was feeling as I typed. Or to look at it from a less vulgar angle (especially bearing in mind the next comparison I am going to make), my “adult” emotions had been temporarily disabled, so in a lot of ways I was seeing things as I’d imagine a child might. Hopefully I will have explained by the end of this report why it is that, with the gift of hindsight and regardless of how hard certain parts of my experience inevitably were, I feel very lucky to have been able to see things in a different way.


Substances and quantities :-
1P-LSD (300ug)
2C-B-FLY (20mg)
Lager, 5% ABV (8 x 440ml cans)
Cannabis (3 or 4 joints, not weighed)



As I sit down to write (2PM New Year’s Day), it’s clear that the concepts of “I” and “me” are becoming a little less alien, and actually trying to write down some of the thoughts and feelings which have been present over the past hours feels like it could be important.


At around 8PM last night I took 300ug 1P-LSD, and then added 20mg 2C-B-FLY around two and a half hours later. As midnight approached I found myself feeling lucky to be able to spend this time talking to kindred spirits - people who, without judgement, can comprehend what’s happening to me - so I’m grateful to everyone who put up with me and my increasingly mixed up thoughts as the morning wore on. I was still me as the New Year arrived and would continue to be so for at least a couple of hours, but as the effects of the FLY increasingly began to make their presence felt, on top of the 1P which was really coming on strong by this point, something told me that this could be a tough one. Not a great seed to have planted in one’s mind at a time like this but much like herpes, by the time you’ve realised it’s there, it’s might be a bit late to do something about it.


Despite the time dilation and thought loops which were becoming more and more difficult to process as well as the very uncomfortable bodyload which just added that extra layer of challenge, to my surprise, time continued to pass. Much like it is renowned for doing, granted. The confusing thoughts and deliciously complex visuals became even more confusing and complex respectively. I remember saying at some point around this time that I was losing my grip on reality, and then a while later claiming that my ego was gone. Thanks to someone very wise indeed asking a couple of pertinent questions at this point it was clear that there was still a bit of something resembling me still left - which at the time didn’t feel particularly useful but I now know how useful those questions actually were, as I would subsequently be able to ask them again until I could no longer make sense of them. With difficulty I finally managed to roll another joint and went to smoke it sitting outside. It was at this point, sitting outside in the freezing cold smoking a joint which was rather well loaded by the taste of it, that things really started to change. Who was this doing the smoking? Is this sensation of cold important? It doesn’t seem to be a bad thing like it used to be. Wasn’t it? If “me” was no longer something comprehensible, did it matter? It was a sensation that was present, surely, but what did that matter when the constraints of such minor human conditions as “identity” and “self” were now all but a mere speck on the horizon of a new reality. One of oneness, of all and nothing simultaneously, one of harmony, destiny and peace. Essentially the hippie dream felt like a reality for the first time and being able to catch a glimpse of that is wonderfully humbling.


The drugs had been coming in waves until this point so for ever decreasing stretches of time I was capable of remembering at least in part who “I” was. Whilst wondering why being content with just existing isn’t possible at any other time, “I” had one of the aforementioned moment of clarity and reached some quick conclusions. “Tidying up the drugs before I’m gone for good is priority number one right now. Music. Warmth. Needs to be met somehow. Tidy drugs. Quickly.”


Doing my utmost to lift my conscious mind above the thickening chemically induced fog, I did just that. Tidied the drugs, dragged myself to bed, found headphones, and that was that. What happened next is impossible to put into words, but I finally got it. I was finally free and without care and it was beautiful, awesome (in the old fashioned sense of the word) and terrifying all at the same time. The trappings of human emotions and feelings were gone - all that was happening was just, happening. How could it possibly change if “I” didn’t exist any more? Not that I could remember what “I” even meant any more, it was an idea that just would not compute. No sense of positive or negative thoughts, not even sure what constituted positive, negative, good, or bad any more. Just contentment, pure, simple, deeply welcomed with that hunger that stems from the deepest of roots - the desire to escape that so many of us feel, fear, loathe, learn to live with, can’t imagine life without and then feel unable to let that desire fully leave us, no matter how much our rational minds tell us we’d be better off without it. A bit like that last line at 2AM, knowing full well that what’s happening is nothing more than self sabotage, but for some reason that you can’t quite understand, it feels as though the choice isn’t even yours to make. Anyway, I digress...


11AM. I woke up and went for a cigarette, and I was just starting to feel (I? feel? There’s a sign that normal service was slowly resuming) that maybe there was some part of what was once called “me” just thinking about returning. Not long after this things took a turn for the worse when my ex-partner woke up and in my head at least, she seemed pissed off. This bit was probably that nagging guilt when there are gaps in your memory due to [insert substance here] and you don’t know if you’ve pissed in the wardrobe whilst barely conscious in the night. Obviously this is just an entirely made up example that isn’t at all based on past experiences, honestly! Of course she said she wasn’t pissed off, but to me there was a very nearly tangible taste in the air that this wasn’t strictly true. Eventually the truth came out - she was pissed off because I’d left my open tin (weed) on the end of the sofa. I’d fucked up and now I was paying the price. What a jolt back to reality it is when words are thrust in your direction, words which feel like the verbal equivalent of having the wind completely and totally knocked out of you, whilst simultaneously and with grim determination, you try to regain a grip on what’s real and what’s not. This is quite apart from the fact that, at the same time as that’s all happening, you’re still just trying to work out if you’ll ever be able to remember how to function as a single (human?) entity again! Phew...


I tried to apologise, I tried to ask for forgiveness, or perhaps a little more gentle treatment bearing in mind the fragile and confused state I was in, but maybe because she’s straight, or maybe because I wasn’t doing a very good job of getting my point across, but she didn’t seem to understand what I was saying. How could she? Rightly, she simply wanted me to understand that what I’d done had upset her very much, and fuck me, she got that message across well and truly.


I felt chastised, scolded, like I was a child again. A child whose mother is making him feel small, weak and worthless. I must add at this point, I believe that the places these feelings were coming from were in part the drugs, and in part related to my issues surrounding my own mother and my childhood. Issues which have been brought ever closer to the surface over the past year as a result of the birth of our child. The things they don’t tell you in the books - like, for someone with issues about their own mother, when your partner then becomes a mother herself, it can be too much to handle. Too many traumatising memories are brought up by the changes in her priorities, demeanor, apparent lack of patience, she no longer can spare any time for you and it feels as though she never will again. It’s incredibly difficult, at least when you’re an emotionally needy person, to see the woman that you love flick the switch on the supply of emergency emotional support that you’d been so grateful for until now and use that energy as well as every other bit of energy in her to love her child. It sounds obviously really, and mothers are designed to love their children instinctively, but I certainly didn’t think about all this shit happening when we were discussing becoming parents. So if I’ve learned one thing, know yourself as well as you can before you think about bringing a new life into the world - it can’t hurt at least. Anyway, there’s probably a different forum for all that, but context and stuff.


I’m not sure if it was this shadow of negativity that’s been dragging at my heels for the past year, or perhaps it was the simple fact that I didn’t want to be me again - why couldn’t I be free out there in the void for good? Thinking is overrated perhaps. Musings like “what if death is like that” were then worryingly present and it feels as though I’ve gained an understanding of how people can feel suicidal at such challenging times, possibly even more so in certain circumstances when mind bending substances are involved, but fortunately I managed to put those thoughts to one side. Instead of killing myself I cried, I sobbed, and I mourned. I mourned the death of the respect that my ex once had for me. I mourned losing the clear and free mind I’d been dreaming of all my life but hadn’t achieved up until now. I wept deeply for everything else that I hadn’t managed to mourn at the time for whatever reason. I even wept because I didn’t feel anything on many of those occasions, and I wept because I’ve never understood why that was. My heart was hurting, my thoughts were scrambled, and my body was aching. However my inner sadness was being acknowledged, tear by tear, and that was no bad thing at all...


I must have had quite a lot of inner sadness to acknowledge, because some two hours later I found myself able to stop crying and start writing. And now it’s probably about time I stopped.



Afterthoughts: After I stopped typing, despite knowing full well that it probably wasn’t a good move in the long run, the first thing that I thought was that I could do with a cheeky line by way of a pick me up. It’s no wonder I want to leave my mind, I’m a fucking mess. However, if nothing else, this is something I can acknowledge more easily now, and it seems as though that’s the first step on the road to improving things.


Anyway, is all of this not the reason a certain number of us continue and will continue to follow in the footsteps of our experimenting ancestors by taking our experiences with substances like these to the next level? Not to see rainbows and unicorns as popular culture would have us believe, but to look within from an external perspective. This is certainly something I’ve not yet been capable of achieving without chemical assistance. It’s perhaps not for the faint of heart, but as a tool for self improvement, an experience such as this one (which I seem to have described in a rather long winded way so I’m sorry if it’s too long and / or boring) can be invaluable, so long as we can remember some of the things from within which have been reawakened and / or newly realised, then we will have something positive with which we can walk away. That probably explains why writing this felt important - to remember as much of it as possible for the purposes of reflection as and when sobriety decides to grace me with it’s presence. Assuming at least, that I didn’t leave any important grey matter behind as I left the other dimension I was happily inhabiting not all that long ago, and that sobriety can actually return. Not only that, but for the first time I can remember in a long, long while, baseline is actually sounding like a more appealing prospect than a little white line. Result. Finally, having had a chance to think about it, maybe being out of my mind wouldn’t be as enjoyable as I first thought, if it had to be for eternity. Who knows? There’s one thing I do know though, an ever present, comforting constant...


I’m still just a dickhead with a beard.
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#2
Hey dude i cabt read your post. Fyi if the back screen is black dont use black text.
love the world and it will love you back. chin
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#3
(02-01-2017, 10:53 AM)bigazznugz Wrote: Hey dude i cabt read your post. Fyi if the back screen is black dont use black text.

Thanks mate, it's because I copied it from a word doc - didn't realise it would also bring the formatting with it.
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#4
That was a beautifully written and explained TR HM....as per the rules, allowed for harm reduction purposes and just about in the past!
Can I recommend a book to you and your ex-partner if you or her are not already aware of it.
It's brilliant, funny and may give you some insight into how your ex-partner feels after pregnancy and childbirth & there'll be loads she can relate to as a mother in it. (I tried to do the link to Blackfriars Books who I bought it from rather than Amazon, but the link is insecure)
'Nobody told me' by Hollie McNish



[url=https://www.blackfriarsbooks.com/book/nobody-told-me/][/url]
This.....is real life
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#5
Thanks, in fact she already has that and I've dipped in as well as having had her read some to me, and you're absolutely right in that some of it really helped to put how she felt about it all in words that I could understand.

Also, thanks for the kind words :-) I know it was a bit wordy and I also know that this isn't a therapy group, but I just wanted to get some of it off my chest in a lot of ways. I do feel better for having done so at least, and the fact that someone's read (and even complemented on) it is a bonus!
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