I’ve been clean over a year and going to relapse again. Of course there is always an excuse, but this one’s a really good one. I should give some context. My relapses are not particularly devastating so It’s rationale to think that this one will be as benign as the rest. I vape weed, take psychedelics, get a bit messy, get sick of it, try to stop, fail, stop for a bit, then relapse again and finally get clean. A little battered, bruised, and humbled, but no real permanent damage.

My son died when I was only a couple months clean. He had been sick for the five years prior and I used drugs to cope with the grief of his sickness – especially in the early days, so when he finally passed I thought I should really stick this out clean. I went to MA and got through the grief clean.

I had done it. I had gotten through my son’s death clean. I was depressed and unable to do much for months. I would do the bare minimum amount of work and then go to the beach and listen to sad meditation music while I walked from one end of the peninsula to the other. I went deep into my grief. Partly un purpose, but mostly by intuition. My father died when I was four and my mother never really grieved. She had a lot of responsibilities and didn’t think she could afford the luxury. She lost her soul, or at least a big chunk of it.

I couldn’t do that. I wasn’t prepared to sacrifice myself for the responsibilities around me. I had to feel the grief of this loss, collapse, let it over-take me, cry like I thought I wouldn’t stop, allow sadness to engulf me like I might never get out of it. I also did a lot of Adult Children of Alcoholic (ACA) meetings. There was something so soothing about listening to other people share about how their inner family were triggered, how the events of the present triggered the injuries of their child-hood. I would do yoga and listen to their stories and feel comforted.

After 9 months I started to feel better. I was back at work and enjoying life again. And then the 1^st anniversary of his death came. I hit a wall. Back into the depression. It is what it is. I really thought it was over, but it would make sense it comes in waves. I had a reprieve for a few months, was able to get back to work and catch up on my affairs and now was time for another session of grief.

Psychedelics are good for grief. I heard a voice say. Oh shut up, that’s just my disease. Hmmm, but it is true. I remember when he was getting sick, degrading daily, turning into a spastic (literally) as I watched my healthy boy with a bright future lose a piece of himself every day over agonising day for months as his body twisted and contorted due to the dystonia or spasticity. The horror. On the days I wasn’t looking after him I would take LSD and 2CB and walk along the beach. The goal was to experience the true measure of losing my son. Or at least the vision I had of my son to the thing he was becoming – the same thing that I averted my eyes and tried not to stare at my whole life – the dribbling spastic in a wheel chair.

The psychedelics helped me get through that. When he died I figured it was important to grieve clean. Now, I have a choice. I can do this next phase of grief clean or high. I chose high. I don’t know exactly why. I think it’s God’s will. I think in this case I can get in touch with parts of me high not readily available clean. I think I can expedite the grief process. And I just want to get high.

I have a new son. A beautiful baby boy only two months old. I want to love him as fully as I can. I need to grieve first. Fuck, I’m going to have to tell the Mrs. She’s not too keen on me getting wasted. I will wait for the right time. If I am right and this is God’s will then he will give me a window.

Later that day.

Well, that was easy. We were driving home from the Gold Coast as we had just had a couple nights away. Her mum had come to stay and it was the first break she had had from the baby since he was born 2 months ago. She was feeling refreshed and a little sentimental, and told me how much she appreciated me and that she would forgive me for anything as long as I didn’t hit her or cheat on her – both of which I was confident wouldn’t happen. Now that’s a convenient topic, I thought

“What if I get high?” I asked

“It’s fine.” She said with a resigned sigh.

“Well.” I said in a long drawn out tone. “Now you mention it. I’ve been thinking of getting high. I’m really happy that I stayed clean for the first year after Tommy died.”

“I’m proud of you baby.” She said.

“Thanks baby. But now I want to get high a few times in ceremony to him.”

“It’s fine” She said with a sigh. “What will you take?”

“Just the usual. Weed, molly, LSD, and 2CB if I can find it.”

“Ok then. I suppose I just have to deal with it.”

 “Oh yeah, poor wife. I will make you walk along the beach with me all day then pleasure you in bed for hours.”

She just shook her head at me with hint of a smile.

Vitamin Day

A few days later a couple of express post parcels arrive in our letter box to a pseudonymous name. A few different strains of weed, a gram of Molly and a strip of 100mic LSD trips. I finish up work and take a couple of the LSD trips. I don’t want to go overboard. 200 mics will do, then I will take the molly after I peak in 3-4 hours.

“Baby. I’m going to the beach for a walk. You want to come?”

“Did you take it?” She asks.

I’m a little embarrassed. “Yes baby.” I admit sheepishly.

“Ok. I’ll come.” She says. She worries about me and wants to keep an eye on me. It’s nice to feel so loved.

We get the beach and start walking along the foreshore. I start zoning in and out. I’m not much conversation. This come-up is a bit rough, I think to myself, however there is nothing wrong with the acid. It’s smooth enough, but maybe a bit stronger than 200. We keep walking and I would lose all bearings of where I was. I would catch myself just standing there gazing into space. I’d look next to me and my patient wife is standing there with me. My forehead was sweeting, but it wasn’t that hot. This was the Lucy. This was as strong a dose as I had ever had. And I had taken 600 on multiple occasions. This was closer to 1000. Oh well it is what it is.

“I’m sorry baby. I’m fine. I’m not in any danger, but that Lucy was not dosed correctly. This is way stronger than I anticipated.”

“It’s fine baby.”

We continue walking and I remember I came here in ceremony to Tommy. Then it dawns on me that little shit over-dosed me from the grave. I remember when he was first in hospital and I used to sneak him in cannabis to help him with the pain – they eventually prescribed it to him. Sometimes he would let me know the next day that I had given him too much.

I imagined his face with a big smile and considered my state. “You little bugger.” I said with a laugh. And there he was just laughing at me with his big buck teeth pushed out by the dystonia, and his bellowing laugh that he was famous for. He couldn’t talk, but he never lost his laugh.

Next thing I know I am standing at the other end of the beach and Tommy is standing right in front of me. He is 13, the age when he first got sick, skinny, but not yet disfigured, still pretty. His body made of sand, I put my hand out and the wind blows the sand away and with it the form of his body, light blues and creams, flickering light, my arm outstretched, the sands of my sons life flowing across my finger tips.

I’m sitting on the park bench overlooking the ocean. I have no idea where I am or how I got here. I know I am me and I am high on acid, but that’s about it. I feel safe enough although I don’t dare move. I am watching a girl build a sand castle in front of me. I look next to me and there is a bag. That’s my wife’s bag. Oh that girl building a sand castle is my wife. That’s nice.

I remembered I had the MDMA at home. That might sober me up, I considered as only an addict would. Wifey came up from the beach and I asked her to drive me home so I could get some more drugs. She shook her head, but smiled knowingly that Micky is Micky.

I swallowed some of the Molly and we went back to the beach taking baby Nicky. It didn’t really work in sobering me up and the mix was even a bit strong. Note to self. Don’t take MDMA when you are over-dosing on LSD. As we walked along the beach again, my mind swirled in a kaleidoscope of psychadelia as I found myself waiting for the come up to pass and to get to the fun bit. It felt like most of the day had been like that – waiting to not be so high so I could enjoy it. I was disappointed.

Finally the drugs mellowed out and I felt the warm glow of the MDMA come over me as the sun set over the ocean. I looked next to me at my beautiful wife and baby boy. My new family. We had flights to Lombok booked in a fortnight where we were planning on buying a house and starting a new life there.

I reflected on the day. Tommy smashed me. It was now almost 7 hours since I took that LSD, and the first time all day I haven’t felt too high. It wasn’t meant to be like this. This wasn’t the plan, but it didn’t need it to be enjoyable to be effective. Did it help me with the grief, or is this just more mess of my addiction? I look at my wife and baby. Things feel pretty good now, but I am high and burnt out by my day of drugs. I’m happy in the present and don’t want to think about it.

I consider our future life in Lombok, a simple house in a new country, a fresh start, and with the low cost of living the choice to semi-retire and just hang out with my family if that’s what God has in store for me. I imagine us hanging out by the pool in our new villa, my pretty wife, my baby boy. I am blessed. I am loved.

A Few Days Later

I head to the beach for a vape and a walk. I’m disenchanted by my disappointing psychedelic farewell to my son. It was somewhat amusing that he over-dosed me on LSD, but I don’t feel any great conclusion. I then see him in my mind. See the wind blowing him like sand as I reach out for him. A pang of pain. No! I almost scream. My hand stretch out, the sand and dust of his earthly shell blowing past me. Nooooooo! Screams my heart as I burst into tears. It’s a public place so I walk up further to where it is quieter and I can cry in peace.

I feel my resistance to letting him go. I don’t want to let go of my dead son, my broken son, my husk of what he once was son. I cry and the tears stream down my face. I remember when I thought I was at the other end of the beach and could touch his crumbling human form, I was actually nowhere near that side of the beach. He hadn’t just overdosed me as a practical joke he had taken me to the brink of consciousness to say goodbye to him.

I realised the trip wasn’t over. The ceremony was still going and this was part of it. The emotional state of 4 days after MDMA. My boy is gone and his broken body has gone with it. He is no longer in pain. His body is sand and dust. I can let him go. I am no longer responsible for him. I did my best. I couldn’t stop him getting sick and I couldn’t save him when he did. He smiles on me. He is handsome, not disfigured, timeless and ageless, wise. He has travelled to the place in my mind and heart where the departed go.

I see my father, the same ageless and timeless figure – their essence. They are standing together. The tears now become joy. They love me. They are together. My Son is no longer sick. He is free. He is no longer of this world. He is with my Dad. Oh my Dad. I loved him so much and missed him so much when he died before I even turned 4. I got to be a father to a son like my Dad didn’t get the opportunity to do and I got to give my son a father like I never had the opportunity to get. And there they are standing together looking down at me. They are free. They love me unconditionally. They are me. They are in the part of me where the dead go. I am a man, 10 years older than my father when he died. I get to be the father to a son again. My baby boy.

A Month Later.

We went to Lombok and had a great trip. I got clean the day we left and within a few days I had to pinch myself and wonder why I felt so good. It didn’t seem fair that I could get high for a couple weeks and have no real consequences, but that’s just how it seemed. I was in this beautiful 3 bedroom villa complete with ocean views and pool with my 2 teenage daughters, baby boy, wife, and mother-in-law who looked after the baby. 

We went house hunting and found something that was humble, but well below the budget. It was old and needed work, but I loved the location; right behind the tourist area, so there were plenty of restaurants and resorts. My days were filled with a bit of work, hanging out with family and then meals in luxury resorts and restaurants right on the ocean for the cost of McDonald’s.

I still had the rest of the LSD and MDMA at home in Australia and decided I would have one more ceremony for Tommy. It was to say goodbye to Tommy, but also to say goodbye to Australia. I was leaving my home. For right or wrong I wanted to walk along the beach in the world of psychadelia one more time. I had considered doing it the day before we left for Indonesia, but being responsible for so many people and the complexities of an international flight, not to mention my pour wife, I decided to restrain.

Three weeks into the trip anxiety hit. I had never bought a house overseas (with contracts in foreign languages) so I was scared of getting ripped off, but I couldn’t deny it was the drugs. I had to pay the piper. I didn’t get of scot-free as I had thought, but I could deal with it. We flew to Bali to put the teens on their flight home and got an Airbnb in walking distance to the meeting. I got into a routine of work at home, a walk to coffee and croissant at the café and then an AA meeting.

I really enjoyed the face to face meetings. It was the first time I had done them since the fake pandemic lockdowns. I felt fine in AA since I had the desire not to drink. I had gone to AA high on weed for a couple years and it probably saved my life by keeping me away from the addictive drugs. But I had the mental obsession for my drugs back home. It was partly enjoyable daydreaming about what I would take, in what order, and at what dosage – there are important issues, but the thoughts were a bit tenacious and invasive.

I reflected back on my relapse 6 weeks prior and didn’t have any regrets. I had been depressed for weeks before the relapse and had felt pretty good for the few weeks in relapse and then the few weeks away. I had had a major shift around my grief for Tommy. I saw him differently. He was no longer sick.

We got back to Australia safely and the first thing I did when I got home was get out my vape and go to the beach for a puff of sativa. To be honest it was wonderful. I was leaving. I had bought a house in Indonesia and was leaving. I was starting a new life as an international citizen. It was all very exciting.

The next day was sunny with a mild breeze. Perfect for tripping. I took the molly first and went to the beach. The come up was smooth and the dosage was perfect. I could feel myself peeking so took one of the Lucys – just one this time. Within 30 mins I felt on top of the world. I had done it. Admittedly I had a lot of work to do to move, but we now had somewhere to move to.

The recent trip had proved that I was able to run my business very smoothly from abroad. I had already shifted warehouse to a managed service and they had done a great job. My customers didn’t even know I was overseas. I had a beautiful young wife and baby, and I didn’t even have to look after the baby because we had her mum as a nanny. I was moving to an area where I was going to be so rich, and I felt like I was moving out of Australia at the right time. The west was falling and I had made peace with leaving rather than staying to fight. I was like a rat leaving a sinking ship, except I had a bag of treasure in Bitcoin – I was taking my assets with me.

It was typical of any MDMA session where I just run through all the amazing things in my life, oozing gratitude and self-love. I thought about Tommy and his presence was right behind me sitting on my shoulder, like when he was a little kid and just happy to come along with his dad. I was so happy, so much different than the month earlier when I got high. “This one’s for you dad.” He said. It was so clear. He had a big smile and he was so happy for me. We walked for hours. It was perfect.