exhaustion.

[railenthe]

I’m a week off my most recent nde and frankly, I’m fucking exhausted.

I’ve gotten to the point where I’m afraid of consuming anything.

Between the incense trigger, the soap trigger, and finding out that I am probably allergic to Depakote, I’m scared of everything now. I’m even scared of my cannabis.

Isn’t that fucked? The very thing that I used to manage my anxiety, my sweet herb, the kind bud—because I was vaping at the altar when the last reaction happened, my brain has decided that it’s time to be afraid of cannabis.

I haven’t had a vape (beyond a test hit supervised by my roommate (long story I don’t feel like explaining right now if you haven’t heard already)) since the last event and even then I thought I was going to drop dead from it, because the last time I hit it, I was at the altar, communing.

Imagine being me realizing that I may have been spending the last couple weeks microdosing death.

As I write this, the memory returning to me again, Mowgli Beelzebub Momo Moogle Hawkins, Esq, sits netx to me, helping to bring my running nerves to a halt. He’s the sweetest cat I’ve met since losing Darling Prince. In fact I think he and Shelly are teaching Momo and Nanna how to ESA from the other side of the veil. The vaporizer sits next to my computer, running cleaning cycles as I try to make sure that there is no remaining resin from my last session inside of it. Since the last time I hit it for real was at my altar, the brain isn’t exactly primed to see this thing as a saviour rather than a threat right now.

The q-tips covered in black, fragrant resin are slowly accumulating next to the other side of the computer. The device itself, after its first run with Palmolive and boiling water, is running another cleaning cycle after having six or seven q-tips come back covered and one come back just fine. I don’t trust it.

I don’t know what I trust right now.

All that I know right now is that I fought the gods to come back, after having taken days and days on holiday in Suicide Ideation Island (and a week in the looney bin, which is where my relationship fell apart and turned back into platonic). I didn’t want to go the first day I went out again, and the cops had to epi-pen me back into life again. I didn’t want to go when the Depakote sent my body into lethal shock state not once, but twice, in a single day.

I spent way too much time learning about things that I wanted to live for to go out now because of a fucking pharmaceutical or a damn incense cone.

As I’ve said before, once you’ve been brought back a couple times, it gets harder and harder to drag back, especially if they’ve happened on top of each other like mine have been.

You ever heard your spirit guide shouting “GO BACK”  at you while your body tries to prevent that? It’s terrifying.

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I’ve been sleeping on the couch lately. I’m not in the doghouse, I have my own room and shit, but I’ve been staying out here because I want to tell my brain that this room is not a giant flashing neon hazard zone, that the room is safe, that I won’t die if I look at my altar, that I won’t die if I hit my herb, that if I don’t die if I hit my meal, that I won’t die if I drink a bottle of kombucha, that I won’t die if I have a glass of pineapple juice….

I know that sounds like a whole lot of paranoia, but—I’ve died twice now, man. They epi’d me back—and at this point I’m not sure if it was the incense or the depakote that fucked me over the biggest. This is why I’m going to go see an allergist in January.

I…I’m so tired of being afraid of everything.

LiveJournal Tags: update,ramble,rant,my so-called life,getting my own mind back,medical