"Way to Go, Mister microphone..."

Show us all, what you dont know - Space Dog by Tori Amos from Under The pink

I dont like the sound of “antipsychotic” but of course it’s one of the first things out of my mouth right now & onto this blog.

I feel relief. and It’s been 1 week.

I actually feel more than just relief… i can walk into my grocery store & not feel like im going to be shot. or bump into Freddy Krueger. Or that everyone is staring at me. This medicine is showing me how deeply haunted i have been. Because all of a sudden… Im NOT.

Suddenly, im dreaming. At night, i get a full nights rest… loaded with perfect imagery. I was a woman last night. Its been a long time, since ive been somebody else. Bleeding out from her broken lip. The night before i saw my family. I stopped dreaming a few months ago. and when i stop dreaming, i know i didnt go as far as i should.. I know that im not really sleeping.

I think ive kept one eye open, for so much of my life. i tumbled me like a stone… from side to side in so many caterpillar circles, we slept a broken waltz & tried my hardest to weave a healthy sleep. When i am active in my addiction, forget about it. Its a real pity.

When the anti-depressant Wellbutrin, sent me straight into a very scary psychosis, 2 weeks ago.. i knew right away, i had a bipolar brain. “Ive always thought you were bipolar” says my mother & has been saying for the past 20 years, but i would never let it touch me.. I never wanted to BE bipolar. (who does?!) In my early booze & meth recovery, when i made sure i wasnt going to break my promise to myself & i did everything to not drink or drug & stay sober, I was ignoring the wolf at the door.. by not doing anything. I would be crippled, sometimes.. a strong paralysis takes over my mind & body & all i can do.. is stare at the air or wall. and keep still. keep quiet. even the sound of my piano, so loud it sometimes hurts. and i dont want anyone to come & find me. It’s almost as if im just waiting for Armageddon.. a lie I’ve already come to terms with.

It paralyzes me. Like a creature in shock. and it would happen alot.

. . .

4 years ago, when i was fresh out of rehab & tried my very best to end my self destructive behavior of self medicating with alcohol, meth & cocaine… i heavily leaned on psychedelic plant medicine (specifically psilocybin mushrooms) to help me with the seduction of cravings & to prevent relapse. And it worked!

I did what many in recovery warned me not to do. I isolated & buried myself deep in California’s Gold Country, without any recovery program or sponsor to guide me through it’s many steps.

I wanted to find my very own stairway to recovery. And i did.

It was there, in California, where i found a work trade position, feeding & taking care of 10 rescued, broken & rehabilitated horses. I lived above the barn, where we stored the hay, prepared their supplements & housed the farm tools.. where every morning at 5 am, i would wake & bleed into the mists of that avalon.. open the gates & let their spirit’s fly, into open pastures.

It was HERE that i learned about boundaries. And that i pretty much, along the way, lost so many of mine, or quite possibly, never really had them.

“Joshua..” my boss, who was a very stern but respected Hungarian horse whisperer, would say, “you MUST learn boundaries! You must protect yourself & show them your power… or else you’re going to be pushed around & possibly very hurt.” She handed me a horse whip, as my talisman & when she looked away… i put it down & seldomly used it. I couldn’t imagine punching them in the chest, as she did whenever they got too close or shoved their way in front of us, trying to get to their food. Needless to say, whip them! It was only when i was cornered & needing them to back away from me.. or move in another direction, that i would grab that whip from the 4 wheel trailblazer that i would drive around, to spread their hay & move from barn to pasture. I would hold it above my head, as their master & quickly, they would run away, as if that whip, was a gun.

I wanted them to love me. Not fear me. And within a few days, this kind of love, was moving between us, both ways, as i was becoming my very own horse whisperer. Spooked by my very own ability to remain sober & on my own.

It was there that i learned the power of love & respect, which looking back at now, is one colossal & potent metaphor.

Six months later, due to false assumptions that i left the main gate open overnight & a gallon of gasoline, directly in the sunlight… I disliked how my boss was treating me. I am NOT a horse to punch! And her fears & paranoias were beginning to reveal a much more sinister & unworked character. I was not being paid for my work there & i never had a morning or day off. (something i agreed to, to help her with shortage of staff & america’s first covid lockdown)

Keeping busy was keeping me sober. and keeping me alive.

I may have just been learning about boundaries.. but i would surely show her who was Prince of my very own, by leaving that position & moving deeper into my America. She made sure to keep my deposit, for a door & lock, i never broke.

I weeped the morning i left, as i looked back & saw all 10 horses, silently staring at my exit, as if they knew, i would never be back to feed & love them.

They kept me from drinking… from loneliness.. they taught me boundaries & how to stand up for myself..

They goddamn kept me alive.

From California gold country, i headed to the high desert of Taos, New Mexico - a random decision to prevent me from heading back into San Francisco, where i feared possible relapse & the seduction of it.

I first landed in Santa Fe, where i quickly found the rent was too high & it was very hard to find the right living situation for myself. I hitchhiked to Taos, after missing the bus that morning & within 10 minutes i received a ride by a native american woman : such a young angel & guide. She picked me up cause it made her nervous.

“Your’e much too pretty to be asking for just any ride… hop in.. i got you.”

I was impressed with her bravery. We giggled & laughed, for most of the drive.

Taos was much more my vibe & when I remembered that Tori Amos had recorded her iconic album, Under The Pink, there.. I knew that was my sign to spend a year there, during America’s 2nd covid lockdown. I soon found a very cheap & cozy, studio apartment, very close to the center of town & this was a life saver, as i did not have a valid license to drive, due to a DUI I received in Vermont, a few years prior.

My mother was such an angel. From Oklahoma, she paid my rent & covered my bills, in exchange of my oath & promise to each other : that i would remain sober & just focus on that.

Every time i felt the need & craving, to head to the liquor store… i ate sacred mushrooms, instead.

I also hired a wonderful & very wise Psychedelic Integration Therapist, based in Northern California… who also is in recovery & has been to hell & back, herself.. many times.

Via Zoom, every week, we would meet inside of our laptops.. and we would discuss what i was experiencing & how deep my complex trauma actually is. Religious Trauma is at the root of my dis-ease.. and i remember being sexual with a close family member, from the age of about 5 years old.

I was petrified to tell my mother. In fear that jehovah would find out.

Under my belt, now… 20 years of self medicating with booze & street drugs, alongside being a sex-worker with dissolving boundaries, was becoming an iceberg, headed straight to my Titanic Ship, cruising treacherous waters, at 100 miles per hour.

I knew i needed to just pause.. everything. booze, sexwork, meth, cocaine.. i knew these were the things haunting me. So i stopped. and we worked it all out. or so i thought.

. . .

It also became my mission, in Taos, to find the hacienda where Tori Amos recorded, Under The Pink.. (this was not public information but there was plenty of photographs i found online)

and after many winter months, riding my mountain bike through mud & snow.. being chased by feral & vicious, reservation dogs… going from door to door like a good jehovahs witness.. I almost gave up on my mission to find it… with several guesses from the tori amos online community & musicians & friends who worked on that album, with tori… I successfully did. Even wrote a letter to & befriended the couple that now owns it & I received a personal tour, inside of it. Open sesame. Mission accomplished.

The irony of the hanging Jesus inside of it… “God sometimes you just dont come through. Do you need a woman to look after you? God sometimes you just dont come through…” The spirit of the scarlet woman who penned these songs & all that she helped me survive through.. guiding me deeper, into my personal & honest recovery.

That “pretty good year” in Taos, New Mexico… I’ll never forget.

Even when it got tough.. i got brave enough.

Sobriety works wonders, like that.

x

thank you, medicine.