In Which We Take a Little Trip

 

You know, for a respectable old widow, I certainly talk about recreational drugs a lot.  I swear it is not my fault, the medical establishment simply thrust them upon me.  What can I do?

Perhaps you remember a couple of weeks ago, I was dealing with episodes of depression brought on by my withdrawal from opioids.  Dr Google assured me that was normal, but that they could go on for quite a while.  I talked to my physical doctor and she recommended ketamine.  Multiple jokes about raves ensued, but I went along with it.  The depressive episodes had been very unpleasant and I was willing to roll with whatever chemical might kick their little butts.

I was skeptical because I am skeptical of everything, but my chiropractor is all for The Wonders of Ketamine and recommended the website he uses.  And if you can't trust some guy who cracks your neck regularly, who are you going to trust?  So I signed up on the website, downloaded their app (because of course there was an app,) and got ready for my k hole.  

But before I could do that, I had to 

• Speak with a clinician for my intake, 
• Choose a Guide (The list had all their qualifications, but of course I picked mine based on his picture like I was scrolling through fucking Grindr)
• Select music for my trippin' session from their playlist (I am not making this up)
• Specify your intention.  You cannot go into this with the idea that you'll just see what comes up.  Oh no, you have to have a purpose, an objective and you have to write it down where the clinician and guide can look at it and make sure that you are intentional enough.  Trying to explain that you are not a very intentional person will not get you anywhere.
• Deal with numerous surveys, checklists, reminders about the surveys and checklists, and just random impertinent questions.  They seemed to worry about my suicidal ideation a lot.  A.  LOT.  I have no suicidal ideation, but all these surveys apparently didn't want to take my word for it.
• And plenty of other hoops to jump through.  The whole thing reminded me of an overly complicated party game where the rules need to be explained in detail, repeatedly.

Anyway, I finally settled down to take the first dose, but first I had to arrange for my Peer Treatment Monitor, which is a fancy way of saying a responsible adult who could make sure I didn't wander out of the house wearing my underwear on my head.  Since I don't know any responsible adults, I roped Super Agent Fred into the role.  The irony of that idea was not lost on either of us.

I knocked back the dose (encased in two large-ish tablets I had to hold in my cheeks to dissolve like a goddam chipmunk,) laid down in my room with the curtains drawn and the ethereal ersatz Brian Eno music quietly playing and waited to see what might come up.

HOLY MOTHERFUCKING MOTHER OF CORN COBS.  I got really high.

In my youth, my wayward youth, I had quite a bit of amusing experience with LSD, but that had not prepared me for how absolutely, blitzingly high I got with this. Plus acid takes a while to kick in, whereas the ketamine obliterated me within moments.

I saw god. Literally.  They didn't have much to say, but they seemed nice.  I left my body and soared through Someplace Else.  I understood the entire cosmos.  Look, you're just going to have to take my word for it. Trying to describe this is like trying to describe an orgasm; words are just insufficient.  

I loved it.  It was never scary or overwhelming but at the same time it was very profound.  I went from considering death and dying, the grief I still have about R Man's death, about surviving AIDS to wondering why my feet are always cold.  I covered a lot of ground.

The whole thing only lasted a couple of hours, but they were quite a couple of hours.  Afterwards, the company insists, pretty firmly, that you journal your experience.  I hate people using the word "journal" as a verb.  But I'm a good sport so here is my journal much of which I wrote whilst trippin':

• No wonder people like this so much
• The physical aspect of this is much more profound than I expected
• At one point I needed to get up and pee but my legs didn't work
• It allowed the Gary who is in charge to take a break
• I have slipped the mortal bounds and am one with the cosmos
• Part of me wanted it to last longer (come back, come back, come back) but part of me was glad when it was over
• It was very nonlinear, first I was here and then I was there

Yeah that's the kind of state I experienced.  Even after the session timed out, I felt like I was a second behind what I was doing.  Every gesture or sentence seem to come from somewhere out of my control.  It made me wonder, who is running this show?

Anyway I've done one more since then and enjoyed it and have four more to go.  Has it helped?  I'm not sure honestly.  The episodes of depression I was experiencing that were the reason of this whole circus have been random and so I don't know if they are done or if I just haven't had another one lately.

Naked guys:

Chase Stobbe and his lavish nipples.

Anonymous buttchops.

Blonde hotness David Ciachek

Cory Evans is very pretty.

Always glad to see Zac Beech and his charming rump.

I wish I was friends with Henry Kvil.

I appreciate photos that include the subject's name, cause I can only remember so many naked guys.

I am pretty sure I have featured this guy recently, but you really can't see too much of an ass like that.

Anonymous ginger beef.