It’s a strange thing to have a head full of stories, one after another… sometimes jumbling on top and into each other … but unable to get them out.
I haven’t had the desire to write since forcing myself to finish a short screenplay pilot for an idea that had haunted me for almost a decade and kept screaming at me to finish. Something in me just says it’s pointless. Nobody wants or needs to hear what I have to say.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not insecure and am the type to stand on hills in arguments and debates. I know who I am (as much as possible since that’s forever evolving from second to second) and I make what I feel known usually, but only if necessary.
I used to spout everything I thought but I learned people tune out when you do that and the important points get lost. Not only that, not everyone means you well so you’ve got to watch what you say. Not everyone should have access to the most sacred parts of yourself.
Anyway, I’m doing a macro dose of what looks like APE. Maybe a small 2g or so. I was doomsday scrolling and watching some funny girl narrate something dumb that happened in her life and I was just cracking up. At this point, the shroom booms were starting to kick in and it made me ask myself “You’re ok hearing her seemingly silly story but you still don’t think anyone would care about yours?”. That got me ugly crying y’all. It was one of those out of the blue AH HA moments that only psychedelics can give you.
A wake up call. A reality check. A fuckin hit to one of those main soul veins…. I got myself an extremely painful core wound. So what do I do?
Do I process it? NO
Do I investigate it further? NO
I get on my laptop which was stowed away and start writing this instead. Because just THINKING about this one makes me start crying again. Also, processing and FEELING this one isn’t something I want to do right now LOL
But I will. It’s a big one and there’s lots to unpack. I grew up moving from country to country. I had lived in 4 different countries with different languages by the age of 8. Not because I was some cool military brat but because my parent was chasing a cult, wanting to be a full time member with them. That’s another story for another time though. I’m only writing that for some childhood context.
In cults, open communication and free thinking is an absolutely
BEFORE I GET IN TO THAT, the point was that I never felt seen, understood or cared for. And the ONLY people to show me real affection (after I’d left the country where the rest of my family lived) were pedophiles or people wanting something from me. So, on this core level, I don’t WANT to give people access to me. I don’t trust them.
Writing is an extremely vulnerable thing for me. Never being anything but a lover of words and ideas to having lived in different countries, struggling with various languages and codes of grammar and being possibly dyslexic among other things, my ways of communicating have always been different. I’d excel at a spelling bee but get openly torched for my essays. That made me not want to write anything for anyone ever again.
Plus cults have a way of squashing any dreams of being anything but a cult member. The crushing group think that you’re not valuable anywhere else but there and that anything else is a frivolous waste of potential and energy/time.
The energy of this epiphany is going away as I’m intellectualizing it here so I’m going to step back, out of respect, and go feel this crushing grief and disappointment my former self/inner child had to deal with. She had enough people dismissing and abusing her as a kid, she doesn’t need that from me.
As I wrote that, the feelings started coming back and tears came to my eyes. How many times have I dismissed myself and my feelings because they were inconvenient? Or not what I wanted to feel? Yet my inner child/former self was subjected to that shit nonconsensually so she deseves me floating back in time and feeling those feelings so she doesn’t have to.
I remember as a kid, being under the stairs (where I went with oranges and my books or jacks/pogs) to get away from pedo teacher and my bullies and just feeling so DEFEATED. There was no escape. I had told my mother I wanted to go back to my family abroad and she shut me down. I was in this hellhole of a “school” with violent and sick kids and teachers.
When you know you’re stuck and just have to deal with the abuse, it does something to your spirit. Maybe this isn’t a great correlation but when I read Victor Frankl’s “Man’s Search for Meaning”, I could relate to his description of what it was like in a concentration camp… how you had to find the smallest shit to give you hope or joy. Obviously the gas chambers and eugenics experiments are on another level and I’d never compare to that but just the mentality being very similar. That book really resonated with me. I was obsessed with the Holocaust for a while because it never made sense to me how fellow humans could do that to others.
Anyway, I’m rambling. I just remember being below these stairs and feeling this overwhelming grief that I wouldn’t allow myself to get out because the bullies might see me and tease me. I could hide for as long as able but I wouldn’t let them see how fucked up they got me since that just fueled their frenzied cruelty (mob mentality is real! And it’s so weird to experience).
I remember sitting there that one time and feeling another presence near me. I was a hypervigilant child with lots of paranormal experiences so that wasn’t new for me. What WAS new was the comforting and safe vibes it gave me. I got some comfort from it.
I like to think that was the current me, going back and holding that painful space for her since it was so overwhelming.
Oh lordy lord. That girl was so fuckin brave. Just containing so much pain in that little body. The distrust of people is honestly valid. That was her entire experience with vast majority of people. But it doesn’t serve me anymore. I WANT connections and those same protective walls I had to put up, I have to gently put down now.
Thank you shroomies. You make shadow work really possible.
I will be continuing to post as I journey. I’m not doing much editing of these so apologies in advance. But my practice calls for me to just write and not think about it as I tend to overthink. So this is literal brain diarrhea and I don’t really care if you like it or not hahaha.
But you are welcome here and I love hearing others’ journeys as well. As someone who hasn’t ever been a drug person and was introduced later in life to (firstly) ayahuasca, .then LSD and mushrooms on her healing journey after a rape, it’s opened my eyes to a whole new world. Psychedelics in general have shown me counter intuitive loops of self sabotage I’ve been on and why. I was terrified of them until I hit a plateau in my healing for a year or two.
After a few years of micro and macro dosing, I’m a completely new person. I really owe it to psychedelics. When you’re ready, the teacher will appear.
Mushroom Musings 