by Joss Sheldon
It was an expensive price to pay. I felt utterly alone. Utterly lost. Utterly confused.
My little voice, that quiet voice inside my head, told me to look elsewhere for the highs I was seeking. And so, after much deliberation, I decided to turn to drugs.
I started off with antidepressants. Pink ones, blue ones, yellow ones. You name it, I took it. I took them all!
I only took a couple a week to start with. Then I began to take those pills every day. I took two a day. Then four. Then six.
Those little nuggets of release really worked their way into my neurotransmitters. They really made themselves at home in there; cleaning up my serotonin and scrubbing my norepinephrine clean away.
I felt a tiny bit of bliss each time I took those antidepressants. My mind became clear and my body became light.
But, alas, that bliss never lasted. And there were side-effects too. I suffered from diarrhoea and constipation; insomnia and drowsiness; headaches and dizziness.
I still felt unfulfilled, cast adrift and alone. I still wanted more. I still longed to fly free. I still longed to hear Beethoven’s Ninth ring in my ears.
So I moved on to cocaine. And boy-oh-boy was it amazing. It was out of this world.
Yee-haw! Whoopee! Hell yeah!
When I took cocaine, joie de vie flowed through my veins. A massive grin covered my face. I left my worries behind and danced on through the night.
But that feeling never lasted either. I needed another hit every hour to maintain the high. And, unfortunately, I simply couldn’t afford it.
So I looked in on myself. I questioned myself. I questioned my very existence. I questioned everything:
‘Who Am I? What am I? What do I want?’
‘What on earth am I doing with my life?’
‘Do I really think I can find happiness in this bitter and twisted world?’
‘What’s the point in even trying?’
‘Why don’t I end it all?’
Pause. Inhale. Exhale.
Relax.
Breathe.
It’s not easy for me to write this, dear reader. But those were my thoughts. And so I feel that I have a duty to include them.
Yes, I was thinking of taking my life. There, I said it! But please don’t consider that melodramatic or morose. That’s not how I saw it.
I told myself that suicide would be a great thing. A grand thing. A release from this world of suffering. A transcendence to a purer realm, free from the shackles of this base existence.
I’d be taking control of my life. I’d be the master of my fate. I’d be the captain of my destiny.
I’d be doing things on my terms. My terms! Just like when I rampaged around my primary school. And just like when I quit my job.
I didn’t consider suicide a cowardly retreat; flying away from my problems. I considered it a brave advance; stepping out into the unknown. It wasn’t an admittance of defeat. No. It was a victory. A victory of hope over despair, faith over doubt, and choice over coercion.
And so I researched it. I read everything I could about suicide. About how to hang oneself, how to electrocute oneself, and how to slit one’s wrists. I’ll spare you the gory details. But, needless to say, I did give those methods some serious consideration.
My thoughts, therefore, diverged along two opposing tangents. On the one hand, I was searching for the ultimate high; the ultimate reason to live. And on the other hand, I was looking for the ultimate low; death.
I was a creature of extremes. Although I suppose you knew that already. I have, after all, already told you about my All or Nothing Personality. I’m a black and white sort of guy.
And yet, paradoxically, these two extremes did converge. I searched for my ‘all’ and for my ‘nothing’, my ultimate high and my ultimate low, in the same source: Drugs.
Over the weeks and months which followed, my drug taking really clicked through the gears. I didn’t only take cocaine, I took a real bevy of mind-altering substances. A real potpourri of opioids and steroids; pills and powders; uppers, downers and all-rounders.
Each new drug took me a little higher. They took me to the twilight zone. To cloud nine. To seventh heaven. Each new hit took me a little closer to my goals.
Those drugs were either going to bring me nirvana or they were going to kill me. I was sure of it. And I was comfortable with it.
I wanted to die. I longed for death. My little voice called out for it every single day. Every single hour.
I wanted those drugs to raise me up. To carry me on through the golden clouds above. And then, in that instant, I wanted them to end me. To end my misery. To whisk me away from this world of suffering. To bring me eternal peace.
I thought it’d be glorious. I thought it’d be the pinnacle of my earthly existence. My enlightenment. My release. My emancipation.
TWENTY FOUR
I arrived home at my lonesome studio flat and hung my heavy coat on its hook.
It dripped onto the crumbling floor:
‘Plip. Plop. Plip. Plop.’
I sat down on my only chair and looked across my measly table.
In front of me were the fruits of days spent trawling the city’s many dens of inequity. The disreputable establishments where Dickensian characters wheel and deal with all the entrepreneurialism of our country’s finest businessmen. Where you can get hold of anything you want, anything at all, just as long as you’re willing to line the hands of those kooky souls with enough silver and gold. And where the sweet smell of sweat, industry and endeavour, mingle with the bitter stench of blood, adrenaline and spunk.
On my tiny, battered table, were all the drugs I’d procured in those subterranean dives. All the coke, glue and amphetamines; mushrooms, painkillers and hash; mescaline, LSD and ketamine.
I was aiming for the ultimate high. And I was prepared to die for it. It was win or bust. All or nothing. I wanted to be released and I didn’t care how it happened. It was my time. My moment.
Grey clouds consumed the remaining slivers of blue sky.
I pressed ‘play’ on my stereo and waited for the faint sound of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony to fill my ears. Delicate violin strings sang a lullaby for my rapture. Hail tapped on my dirty windowpanes.
I started with the coke. I knew where I was with coke - it was an old friend.
A sharp chemical rush surged up my nostrils. Tiny specks of baking-powder flavoured dust cascaded down the back of my throat.
My eyes bulged. My body swayed. My arms were like branches in the wind; at one with nature, at one with time.
Cocaine always gave me that uncontrollable urge to boogie.
I was up on my feet. I was rocking. I was dancing a one-man tango.
Beethoven’s Ninth sounded glorious as it purred through the gears. Violas joined violins and cellos joined those violas. Double basses began to hum and flutes began to whistle.
I turned up the volume on my stereo. Then I took some mescaline, which I knocked back with a swig of stale beer.
I’d wanted to take mescaline ever since I read Aldous Huxley’s essay, ‘The Doors of Perception’. For Huxley, mescaline was ‘A toxic shortcut to self-transcendence’. A door to ‘Sacramental visions’ and ‘Gratuitous grace’. A spiritual drug.
Huxley believed that we place straitjackets on our brains; that we block out the spiritual realm in order to focus on the physical world. It’s a defence mechanism that helps us to survive here on earth.
But Huxley wanted to break out of that self-imposed straitjacket. He wanted to transcend the physical realm. He wanted to do more than just ‘survive’.
And Huxley wasn’t alone. The Huichol people of Mexico also believe that mescaline is a spiritual drug. They use it to heal, build inner strength and discover new prophesies. The Native Americans have been taking mescaline for centuries. Army folk have used it as a truth serum.
So for me, it seemed like the perfect drug. A ladder to the heavens. Spiritual. Enlightening. Transcendental.
&
nbsp; I thought I was onto a winner.
I took another couple of lines of coke whilst I waited for the mescaline to kick in. I took some painkillers. And I put Beethoven’s Ninth on repeat.
My pulse rate descended.
My heart rate increased.
My little voice whispered:
“Beam me up Scottie. I control your body. We all rock fades, fresh faded in la-di-da-di.”
At the gates of a forest I stood.
I heard some mermaids, cooks and field-hands sing a night-song. I approached them. I took mystery as my lover and raised light as her child.
At the gates of Atlantis I stood.
I talked to the Sea Son’s resurrected, the solstice of the day, who brought news from the blues of the Caspian.
And I ran to the lights, casting love on the winds. And I ran to the lights of infinity; a pupil of its sight, the wheels were spinning.
Beneath the surface of my purpose, I saw the rumours of ancient man. He was dressed in cloud-faced minstrels in the sky. The moon was my mammy. The storm held my eye.
I presented my feminine side with flowers.
She cut their stems and placed them gently down my throat.
My throat!
It burned! It grated! It stung! It bled!
Beethoven’s Ninth reached its first crescendo. The brass section began its battle cry. Flutes became one with clarinets. Bassoons boomed. Trumpets and horns squealed with uncontrollable delight.
The burning faded away.
And in that moment I felt happy. Truly happy. Dreamy. At peace.
A sliver of sunshine crept in between the curtains. It illuminated my face. It illuminated my whole entire world.
I smiled.
I positively beamed!
I inhaled a huge chunk of pure bliss!
I felt that I was on my way to the ultimate high.
And then my heart accelerated; starting off at a dangerous velocity and ending up at a truly supersonic speed. It was irregular, like the cymbals at a jazz concert. It had an inconspicuous rhythm, which rattled away at a thousand beats per minute. And it was electronic. Tight. Manic.
I felt like a belt had been wrapped around my heart at an impossibly tight setting. Bubbling lava surged through my arteries, liquid incandescence gushed through my veins, and burning embers scorched the ends of all my capillaries.
My nerves began to short-circuit.
My clothes bled white sweat.
My skin lost its colour.
Beethoven’s Ninth called out for redemption, glory and release. It was an impassioned cry. It was a fury-filled yell.
Every ounce of my being was yelling out for release. Release from pain. Release from perdition. Release from life.
The colours! The colours were everywhere!
I saw red-dusted children dance shadows. I saw white feathers descend, furnished with tidings of my doom. And I saw the firstborn daughter of water-faced darkness. She took the lotus position, with claret blood on her hands.
Poseidon gave me a ball of pink light.
The green river knew my name.
The sun was within me. The water was beneath me. My stomach turned, as if a compass. I prayed to the east and lay there breathless.
Terror paralysed me for a full two hours. Or maybe it was three. Perhaps it was more. Time didn’t exist. A clock ticked, but only to mock itself. Its hands didn’t move. Its face was blank.
And then I pushed through.
I was so close! So close to that ultimate high. So close to the end.
I grabbed some anonymous pills and shoved them down my throat.
I sniffed some glue.
I sailed off into an infinite sea of nothingness. I was the moon cycles revisited. I was the womb fruit of the sun.
I threw myself overboard, where I overheard the mystery of the undertow. And I understood, that down below, there would be no more chains.
I surrendered breath and name, and I survived as rain.
I was the weatherman.
The clouds said a storm was coming.
A white buffalo was born, already running.
I listened close.
I heard a humming.
TWENTY FIVE
‘Beep! Beep! Beep!’
I was falling.
I was floating.
I was a bird. My wings were spread. They were gliding through delicate wisps of smoky cloud. The air was caressing my feathers. The sun was fuelling my flight.
‘Beep! Beep! Beep!’
I was driving a car. Only the car wasn’t a car, it was an elephant. I was sat inside that elephant, turning a steering-wheel, and looking out through the elephant’s mouth.
‘Beep! Beep! Beep!’
An anime rabbit lunged at me with a blood-soaked dagger in its paw.
‘Beep! Beep! Beep!’
I finally realised that I was in a hospital bed. I was in a coma. Unconscious. Unsure of what was real and what was make-believe.
It was a gut-wrenching blow to my psyche.
I was neither high nor low. I hadn’t reached nirvana, nor had I died.
‘Beep! Beep! Beep!’
I heard two nurses chatter:
“One the one hand, Steven is a great lover. But on the other hand, Patrick really does love me.”
‘Beep! Beep! Beep!’
I heard the sound of music.
I heard the hoover.
I heard the nurses speak again:
“It’s been decided. We’re going to have to amputate his legs.”
‘Beep! Beep! Beep!’
I was at a party. The guests were all covered in manure. It was vivid. I could actually smell that foul excrement. I was convinced that I was actually there.
‘Beep! Beep! Beep!’
I was sold to a sweatshop by a gang of human traffickers. They made me sow branded labels onto generic clothes, twenty-four hours a day.
‘Beep! Beep! Beep!’
Stereotype Jesus approached me. He had long brown hair and a long white robe. He was surrounded by a golden hue.
“I can take you to heaven,” he said. “But only if you’re ready.”
I was about to shout out; ‘Yes! Yes! Take me! Take me now!’
But I saw the sadness in my parents’ eyes. Sadness was in the air. Small insects were crying. Tiny tears filled eyes.
I paused to think. I thought about my family. About my friends. About my society.
I thought for hours. For days. For weeks.
But my resolution remained firm:
“Take me, Jesus,” I said. “Take me away.”
Stereotype Jesus looked at me. His countenance was as soft as lamb’s wool. I felt that he was smiling at me, even though there wasn’t a smile on his face. I felt his love. I felt his warmth.
“Take me away,” I repeated.
Stereotype Jesus shook his head.
“I’m sorry,” he replied. “It’s not your time.”
He rose. He kept on rising. He passed through the ceiling. And then he disappeared.
TWENTY SIX
‘Beep! Beep! Beep!’
They say it’s darkest before the dawn. They say nothing worthwhile is easy. They say an awful lot of things, whoever they are.
But I understood what they were saying. I knew it’d be hard to turn my life around. But, it’s like Lao Tzu says; ‘A thousand mile journey begins with a single step’.
I was ready to make that ‘single step’.
I opened my eyes and awoke from my coma.
Everything was white. Bright white. As sterile as a shopping centre. And as pure as earth’s first morn.
An angel in a nurse’s uniform stood amidst that whiteness. She wasn’t beautiful; she was overweight, with coarse worker’s hands and a craggy face. But she was handsome; her skin was as black as the universe and her eyes were as white as the stars. She was alluring. She possessed a certain sort of moreish-ness. A certain sort of gravity, which drew me in towards her.
“Hello ‘Sleeping
Beauty’,” she said.
I blinked the sleep from my eyes.
“Err. Uh,” I struggled. “Umm. Hi.”
The nurse smiled. It was a chubby smile. A warm smile; fractured by the years and reconstructed by pure emotion.
“Hello my lovely,” she said. “I’m Betty.”
“Betty?” I asked in a groggy voice.
“Nurse Betty.”
“Oh.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Hi Nurse Betty.”
“Hi Yew.”
“You have a nice smile.”
“Thank-you.”
“I really like your smile.”
“Thank-you. How are you feeling?”
“I’m feeling the warmth of your smile.”
Nurse Betty tittered.
“And how does your body feel?” she asked.
“Calm. Light. Empty. Non-existent. I don’t know. I can’t feel it.”
“Do you feel any pain?”
“So much pain!”
“Where?”
“In my mind.”
Nurse Betty tilted her head. She looked like empathy personified; with elevated eyebrows and sunken cheeks. She made me feel comfortable. I suppose that’s why I continued on:
“I wanted nirvana,” I explained. “I wanted death. I wanted release, any sort of release. And yet here I am, stuck in the material realm; neither enlightened, nor dead, nor free. And that hurts. It hurts so much.”
It was the first time I’d ever told anyone about my feelings. And I did it without even thinking. My little voice remained completely silent. Those words just slipped from my tongue, effortlessly, like water trickling off a declivous leaf.
It felt right. It felt good. It felt like a massive burden had been lifted from my shoulders.
There was love in Nurse Betty’s eyes.
Those eyes were whirlpools of translucent empathy. They were vortexes of heart-melting compassion and life-affirming humanity.
“Poor soul,” she said.
She placed her hand on my arm.
“Poor soul. We’ll have to get you some help.”
“You can help,” I replied. “I don’t need anyone else.”
Nurse Betty tensed one cheek.
“I’m not so sure about that,” she replied. “I’m just a nurse.”