Frank Black

I have at least six hours of being a madman left. This afternoon a technician will put a needle in my arm and I will be rocked on K and sedatives for forty minutes straight. The effects are intended to remain. I will do this about a half a dozen times in the near future and possibly again later. I'm on the aggressive plan.
Shit's all out of sorts. After presenting my symptoms again, twice, the doctor I'm going to started filling me in on her background and how things work. I put it together that this was information I was going to need as a patient. I've been pissed off for half a year and I could feel it melting out of me from the shoulders down. I was relieved when I left and tentatively excited but that built to a directionless energy. According to Webster's maybe I was a little manic but I don't really make those diagnoses. Honestly to a degree I did some of the things I did when I drank my heaviest, like a lot of the last few months. In a sense twenty year old me was right. It wasn't the alcohol.
I stayed up late, smoked less weed, got my sleep and microdoses out of whack, woke up crazy early today. I'm out of CBD and benzos. "But, sir, haven't you considered not being on drugs?" Actually I have. Maybe. I don't know. I've spent eight years seriously addressing my substance abuse and depression still has me in this spot. But there is a lot of time involved in the culturally accepted solutions and maybe on a day like today when I'm about to go sit in a dim room with some medical staff for a while I can admit I probably didn't have that. Is that a result of my own decisons? Probably.
A little after four I looked outside and saw the uniquely divine arrival of the sun on an Alaskan morning. It never happens but I went out on my balcony. I brought my phone and took photos of those purples and pinks transitioning into grey dotted across magnificent blue. God, what a hackneyed, shit-ass metaphor, people put a word or two in front of it and think they're clever. I fucking hate everything. Deep pessimism was a vague suggestion of where I have gotten. But I'm just listening to Frank Black, Sing For Joy, and wondering what a ketamine sunrise will be.
I've heard a lot of people, when they start therapy or get sober, worry they will lose something of themselves. I've been to therapy. I've quit a few things. I lost parts and I didn't. There are significant aesthetic differences but maybe I haven't changed a ton. Thankfully coffee doesn't conflict with my fast. I'm having a few cups, wondering again if I get out, will I miss being this kind of crazy?
Fuck, I doubt it.
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