Despite my jolt of reality that this wonderful psychedelic perspective of the world was yet another manifestation of my addiction, I was still going to enjoy it. I sucked on my weed vape and bopped along to my music as I weaved through wonderland on my way home. I was going home to my wife and I was going to take another dose of 2CB and go for a walk with her to the Woody Point pier.
I reflected on the day. I had enjoyed it more than I expected. This was as good as it got. And yet I asked myself was it better than being clean? The old adage. “My best day using wasn’t as good as my worst day clean.” Was certainly not true for me. In fact I think my worst days clean were worse than my worst days using because I didn’t have the drugs to numb the pain. But today, as good as it was, wasn’t much better than being clean. As good as I felt in my own isolated perfection of psychedelic wonderland where the plants glowed vibrant colours, the ocean shimmered like diamonds, and my heart was full of Narcissist love, there was still a small emptiness. I had hurt all the people I loved by coming here and I had made myself unavailable to their love. I was on my own.
I got home and rested with Ricky. I was done spending time on my own and grateful for her acceptance of me despite my state. We got ready, I dopped another 20mg of 2CB and we headed out to Woody Point. We got to the Gayndah wreck where we had gotten married, and both been high together many times. We sat on the seat overlooking the pristine views and cuddled. We reminisced about all the adventures we had had here. She had never taken a single dug before I brought her to Australia and took her on a crazy psychedelic and sex fuelled adventure. It wasn’t sustainable, but the good times were good. I asked her to marry me right on this spot while I was high on Lucy, Molly, and 2CB. And then we got married (straight) at this same spot.
On my own I had sat here in some of the highest, and weirdest, states of my life. Once I completely floated above this seat through time and space while the world morphed around me. Another time I had an internal orgasm on LSD on this seat. Then once I felt like I was in an alien universe thousands of years in the future, and then another time I felt I was a 90 year-old man sitting there reflecting over my life, and the pride I had in my kids and grand-kids. Tellingly this glimpse into my desired future was a future of loving relationships.
This psychedelic adventure had certainly been memorable. And it was really coming to an end. It wasn’t me swearing off. It wasn’t me committing to not pick up under any circumstances. It was me believing in the instructions of the AA big book as to how to have a spiritual awakening as a result of the steps written in that book. I had done steps 1 and 2 in the last 18 months of my relapses and now it was a simple process of steps 3 to 9. And I knew exactly how to do it. The magical doorway of Steps 3 to 9. I envisaged the door with God’s white light shining behind it again – my second dose of 2CB was really kicking in. I knew without a shadow of a doubt that this process would work for me. If I did the work, if I followed the instructions in the book, if I was honest and didn’t leave anything thing out, then the drug problem would be removed from me.
I didn’t want to tell Ricky my thoughts. I had told her I was going to give up many times before. I believed it at the time. We had had one last party a few times together and then a few times with just me getting high and her joining me straight; she decided that her joining in the drugs was encouraging me. I believed that with the help of NA I would have the power to not pick up. I was wrong. There was no point telling her again. This time I was going to have to show her.
We got up and headed to the Woody Point pier. The sun was setting and the weather was perfect. At Woody Point there were fish that looked like little sharks jumping and creating quite an audience. We got fish and chips and sat at the table overlooking the bay. The sunset was remarkable and the fish and chips tasted so good. I had walked 25 km or something that day and was enjoying the calories. I sat with my beautiful wife, our thighs touching feeding on our delicious dinner, the chips were so crunchy. I couldn’t have asked for a better psychedelic day.
And the truth was I didn’t know how not to do it again. Trying seemed pointless and only postponing the inevitable. I was powerless over psychedelics. No human power could stop me using again. God would and could if he were sought. I remembered the last time I used heroin, over 20 years ago. It was as good as a day of heroin use as I had ever had; a couple beers and a few bongs, some friends around, and no real dramas. As I sat there at peace with myself and the world around me in my comfortably numb state it dawned on me the only way I wasn’t going to use heroin again was if I never had the obsession to use again. I thought just maybe I will wake up tomorrow and never have the obsession to use heroin again. And for over 7000 mornings that has remained true. Maybe tomorrow I will wake up and never have the obsession to use psychedelics again.
Red Pill Recovery 