"Tuesday, July 10, 2018" by Anith Mukherjee
There’s a crack in the window and I think a lion is trying to crawl through. It purrs and growls and I see it’s fangs dripping saliva and venom that I store in vials, to dry out later, into a powder that I snort before job interviews.
I was in bed all day. I drank two coffees. I didn’t eat anything but had two glasses of soylent. The soylent is bland but it’s pretty much all I eat now. At around 5.30pm I had a small waffle with caramel inside. I’m tired all the time. I constantly feel sick. I was lying in bed thinking,
‘I can’t do this. I can’t live like this anymore. This feels like an end.’
It’s nice to lie in bed, for up to 20 hours a day, trying to wrangle the unconscious forces that you believe determine all success or failure in a life where you don’t have any control, or, in moments where you felt like you may have had control, you made the wrong choice.
Periodically I get out of bed to stand on the balcony and smoke.
Currently I still have one vial of liquid psilocybin left and plan to take it asap. After that I’ll have to order more, and I’m considering ordering some liquid lsd. I feel like psychedelics are the only real way I can deal with my brain, and, over the long term, I still can’t figure out whether they’ve had a net positive or negative effect on my life. But there’s magic somewhere out there and I want to tap into it as much as possible.
I consider calling my psychiatrist and making a new appointment, but I don’t have the energy. I need to see her to talk about having no energy, and I want to ask her for a script for amphetamines to try and get some energy, also about being put into the trials for use of ketamine for treating long term, medication resistant depression. I also need to walk to the post office to pick up a package of fish oil and tumeric pills that I want to take to try and improve the general functioning, cognition and memory of my brain.
In a week I have an appointment with Reaya. She reads my tarot cards and does some energy healing work on me. It usually makes me feel better. I’m considering taking mushrooms before seeing her but I’m not sure.
Little elves point and laugh at me while I take a piss but I don’t pay too much attention. They laugh because I’m a sucker but I know that already. What they don’t know is that I am also, probably, an angel. At least that’s what a homeless man once told me, before the police came and took him away.
‘You have wings, but they haven’t grown yet.’
I’m still scattered from the bad mushroom trip I had a few days ago. I feel worse than before, more tired, more dissociated, with a less functioning mind.
My solution is to take more mushrooms.
And I want to be beautiful and brilliant and full of life, radiating warmth and kindness and creativity. But I don’t really know how to get there.
I remember times in my early twenties when I felt like a god or a holy prophet, and the green of trees felt beautiful and mystic, and I knew I wanted to be an artist, and everything kind and holy in the world seemed to be leading me through a series of trials towards a better future.
I feel terrified and broken and want to shape things into words that are beautiful but they are not quite coming out right.
I want to be healed and often have been on my knees, on the side of my bed, praying to a god I have to believe in. Shadowy figures hover around my brain and make me think bad things. And to this day I don’t quite know the line between personal mental health and external spirits that, for whatever reason, want you to fail.
In the afternoon I was on my knees in the front of my house, picking cigarette butts out of the grass, and the sun was out, and it felt good.