Released Anger and Accepted Love as the Solution

“Oh, it was marvellous. Weed is so good after a break for 2 weeks. Guess what?”

“What?”

“I’m going to Thailand in 2 days.”

“Then I’ll be right behind you brother. I’ll be there in 5”

It was too busy this time of yeah to give Timmy a whole week off so I only said he could have 4 days away .

“Micky’s back. We’re going to be dating and fucking hot 20 year old’s every day.”

“Just don’t fuck them all before I get there.”

“No promises. So you know… my failing sober October and getting stoned at the beach went so well… I think I’m going to take some acid and go back again.”

“Haha, you’re such as addict.”

“Hang on. You didn’t even want me to do sober October.”

“I didn’t say it was a bad thing. LOL”

“So is there any reasons I shouldn’t take acid and go back to the beach?”

He stops for a few seconds in thought. “No. Go for it brother.”

“I love you Timmy.”

I go upstairs and drop about 225 micrograms, clean up my room, pack my mad esky for tripping with a smoothie, Carmens muesli bars and cold water. I grind more weed and charge my vape, and feel just about ready. I feel the trip coming on so go and eat a bowl of muesli – I need the sustenance for the 20km I am likely to walk along the Redcliffe peninsula today.

I finish my muesli and do some yoga. As I stretch in down face dog the colours start to flow and the house music from my ear phones pounds the base through every inch of my soul. My body feels alive and vibrant and I allow myself to dive headfirst into the multicoloured kaleidoscope vortex of my mind. Down the rabbit hole I go. The pain of the last year, the trauma. Oh my God! I shock myself out of my reverie. I got through that! I walked the edge of drugs, then sex, then compassion. I completely abandoned myself to my kids. The shock of my son staring at a fate worse than death, carrying him from one world to the next – his old life to his new.

Still in downface dog I stretch my shoulders lowering my head to the ground. How did I do that? Compassion 10 levels deeper than anything I thought I had available to me. I taught him to meditate, a wrote him a book (unfinished of course) and read it to him. I tried to give him hope for a life of happiness, satisfaction, and meaning despite how much his body recovered. “You are God’s chosen one Tommy. You will come out of this with a skill that you are the best in the world at and be able to bring love and hope to millions of people.”

I press down on my calves and alternate from one to the other. My daughters, 8 and 11, their lives uprooted, their big brother that did so much for them, who was so good to them – best big brother ever, now helpless to do anything for himself let alone them. When I wasn’t with him I was with them, lying in bed, vaping weed (me not them), music, cuddles, laughs, walks on the beach, telling them it’s ok to be sad. Taking the girls out in public and them behaving like ADHD kids, everyone looking at us, and me just laughing, letting them be lunatics, just being there giving them unconditional love and acceptance. I knew it was the thing they needed at this time, and knew I had the ability to be the one that could give them that, discipline could wait.

I come down to plank and then sit back on my knees. I feel the trauma, I feel the compassion like I was back there. Then I feel the pride that I was there and handled it, thank God I had my weed and psychedelic medicines. I’m so glad I relapsed. The first year of my relapse was the best year of my life; reclaiming my youth with the psychedelics, and then the sex life I was too drunk for in my teens. And then the second year the biggest tragedy of my life and having those medicines to cope, all the while without using anything (alcohol, opiates, benzos, meth) that I had promised myself I wouldn’t. Maybe there is a God. I stay sitting on my knees and the tears flow.

I finish yoga and head to the beach. I park at Redcliffe and walk towards Woody point. My head starts racing, the acid is confusing, flashes of images, the love of NA, the pussy awaiting me in Pattaya, should I bring one of them back to Australia, I could pimp them out. What sort of an example is that to my daughters? Relax, it is what it is. I am on my path. I am a sex and drug addict and I have become fucking good at it. I have a drawer full of 10 different psychedelics and half a dozen strains of weed in my room. I have the ability to travel and get my sexual needs met, the girls just keep getting hotter and younger.

My mind continues to race, it’s hard to hold onto thoughts, this is the come up, I expect it by now, meditate. I focus on the house music pumping in my ears and attempt to meditate. It works. I close my eyes and let the colours swirl. I open them and look at the sparkling ocean. I breath, focus on your breath, I remind myself, this will pass, I continue to walk. I walk leisurely for another hour taking breaks along the way and sitting on the bublic seating overlooking the ocean. The trip starts to smooth out a little. I get back to the ship wreck where I was vaping a few hours ago and decided to go home and get some acid. I sit back on the same seat. It feels like yesterday I failed sober October. Damn I failed sober October – why am I so relieved about that? Why aren’t I disappointed? Who cares.

Should I vape some weed now? No hold off a bit more until the come up is well and truly done, another hour should be good – acid is so much better after 3 hours. I close my eyes and get a flash of the Woody Point jetty. I have to keep walking there. My intuition has never been stronger. Ok, I get up and keep going, it’s going to be a long walk back to the car. I get to the jetty. The sun is out but there is a cool breeze. I’m starting to feel pretty good. My mind is racing less and confusion is starting to be replaced with clarity. I see my destination and walk towards the end of the jetty. I start to think about how my psychologist said I have a lot of unresolved anger towards my mum. She said I blamed my mum for my dad’s death when I was 4 and that my fight response to her controlling behaviour caused a lot of repressed anger I was not able to express. It made sense. I consider how this would affect my relationships with all women. I don’t want this. I don’t want conflict. I want to love not hate. There is no reason in my life now to blame anyone for anything, yet I feel pitted against the world. The inner critic tells me how fucked everyone is. The inner critic developed by my mums voice. I get to the end of the pier and look over into the ocean. It’s a deep green and there are hundreds of large jelly fish. As I look my breath is taken away. I am overwhelmed looking at the alien looking monster jelly fish.

I get back to my train of thought as I walk toward the seat. The way my internal monologue talks about my fellow man, he’s fat, she’s stupid, look how hen pecked he is, it’s relentless and it’s not my fault. That was how my mother was with my, nothing was good enough and after my father died just before my 4^th birthday there was no longer anyone to protect me from her perfectionistic criticism. I copped the lot. I look at myself as a helpless 4 year old. Not only did I blame her for him not being there she harassed me constantly. I just need to grieve, process my loss and that woman just wouldn’t leave me alone. Everything had to be perfect, everything had to be her way. I was there. I was back there. 4 year old Nick. Just give me some fucking space, just leave me the fuck alone, the infantile anger raised to the surface. I wanted to scream, and then just as quick I burst into tears. The anger slipped away from me down through the decking of the jetty.

I was no longer the 4 year old. I was back in my 44 year old body and I was sad. I was so sad for little Nicky. Poor boy so angry and didn’t even know it. I don’t want to be angry anymore. I don’t want to hate. I want to love my fellow man and woman. I need love in my life. I have spent my life pushing it away. I sit and bawl my eyes out. Through my tears I see the beautiful acid induced colours of the ocean. I want love. I no longer want to hate and keep people away.

I sit back in the seat, tears streaming from my eyes. My breath starts to calm. I saw it. The repressed anger of my child hood. I saw it but I couldn’t stay in it. It went straight to sadness. Still, I have glimpsed it. It was unfair, it wasn’t my fault. And I don’t want to be like that anymore. I don’t have to be right. I need to try and understand the other person’s feelings. I have empathy. I need to learn to be less afraid of using it. I am my own parent now. I can protect myself from others. I don’t need to keep people away.