With a deep breathe, focused, I meet it oncemore – a part of me, a season of this life – to reveal a part of the person I knew then. She and I, we are very different now, yet like a tattoo, she remains with me always. It was a time of great existential unrest. A shadowy, winding path up steep treacherous mountains, every timid step in the dark. Hello again, my old friend, I think there’s some things we need you to say now… Tell of that time before everything changed, when you were the darkness, and it was all that you knew.

…………..
Early April, 2019, journal entry.

I’m not sure what else to do now. I’ve tried, don’t you see how I’ve tried? Nothing sticks. Why doesn’t anything stick? There is a wall, between me and everyone else, between seeing a better life and actually believing I deserve it. I swear I’m not doing this on purpose, God I swear it isn’t like that – if you knew how much it hurts to feel this way, you’d believe me when I tell you I’ll try anything. I’m not giving up, but I’m just… so fucking tired. There has to be something I’m just not seeing. Please, help me find a way to feel better, I don’t know what else to do.

April 23rd, 2019

A comfortable couch, covered in soft blankets. Water in a glass next to a single medicinal dose of MDMA. Blindfold, headphones, and a rapidly racing heart. Deep breathe, swallow it down – the blue pill if ever there was one.

I said I’d try anything. Here goes… Everything.

No going back. Shit, what did I do? Shit. Shit. Shit.

No, Christina, dial it back. Trust.
Trust.

Tr u . .. .. %,#>>@,;…. .. . .

I can see myself think. Is this real? Tingles, every pore alive, radiating, this is new, do I like this? Is this normal, oh, my heart fuck I don’t think it should beat this fast – shit – deep breathes.

Music, thank God for music, strategically guiding the journey. Soft pulses, ethereal sounds, prayers in foreign tongue. It rises I rise with it, it plunges and fuck – not prepared. Ride this, oh that hurts, no, not this… Breathe, Christina, trust. You can do this. Not this. I can’t do this. No. Panic. Don’t panic. Panic. Fuck, oh God, what did I do?

Physical, this is physical. Okay, surrender. Okay, breathe. Just physical. Relax. Ease.

No, I was wrong. No. Stop. Stop not this.

Not her, no. I can’t see that. No. Fuck, this hurts.

“Go to her, be this for her. You have to”… who said that? No, I can’t.

It is here, see? See? Do you see?
You cannot unsee, you have to do this. Be here, now.

Upon her bed she lays, breathing, but not well. I go, oh God I can’t, I can’t but its pulling me, closer, closer.

My hands touch, either side of her face. The weeping, the guttural sobs from depths of pain I had thought could never be retrieved, pulled, pulled, pulled out of my soul, like threads yanked from seams recklessly, no regard it makes everything else fall apart.

I hold her face. Be here. See this. You have to.
No, Mom, please, don’t go. No, please…

… Time. Sit with it.

“It’s okay, you can open your eyes honey, it’s okay, help her go”.

Palms to cheek, a whisper, it’s okay…

She went.

While I, helpless, watch it happen.

The medicine isn’t slowing down, it isn’t getting easier, I thought this was supposed to help, I can’t do this anymore make it stop make it stop, no, please.

Be here.

Just breathe.

Watch.

Light. Instant. Faster than a blink.

The most radiant, there are … no words. Words are gone. Only light. I can feel God.

Light, everywhere. Swirling, being both the very nature of peace itself while also glowing with wild energy, all seeming to dance around a center. God, my God. How?

See.

Her.

Formless. Faceless. But I know.

Beside her, a vacancy, and I know that it is mine. She waits, though never looks back.

Peace.
My body is relaxing. I think it’s going to be okay now, I’m letting her go.
My God, I’m letting her go.
It doesn’t hurt.

Is this real?
Did this just happen?

Accept it.
Now let her go.

May 2019

It’s been a couple weeks now, and I am still in awe. Some weight is off my shoulders, I can feel the sun on my skin and I don’t dread the morning quite as much.

It always hurt, that she died alone. It always hurt me that nobody said I love you, nobody held her hand, nobody told her it was okay to go. Because, well, for us, it wasn’t. So for this… for this to be what came of that little magic pill? I feel like this was the exact right thing, and I still cannot believe it took something so intense to break through that wall. Maybe I really can recover, maybe I really can start to believe things can be different – if I am strong enough to sit with that, to see, to feel, to experience how deep and profound those last moments were, to watch her die. There is value in this, trust it. Don’t forget it, but let it move you beyond, it is okay to let it go, Christina. You can let her go.

December 2019

Soltara Healing Center, Costa Rica

Oh honey, you thought MDMA was a journey? Oh, you brave Warrior, there is nothing to prepare you for this.
This time, it is you that gets to die…

….

Please, I welcome your thoughts, perspective, and new ideas on anything I have written here!

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