Dangerous Compassions



“What does jonesing feel like?” Ming asked.  I had a hard day, a wretched suffering day, then a good day.  Then a so-so day turned wretched, then back to so so.  Getting off a psych med.

I lost my joy and my ability to make decisions.  I had already been having a distorted sense of time.  Ming and I went for a trike ride, and I wasn’t made happy even by triking.

“It feels like consciousness is painful,” I told Ming.  “It hurts here.”  I rubbed my torso.  “It hurts to perceive reality.  It hurts like discomfort to the point of pain.  Feels so uncomfortable, like I’m looking everywhere for relief, but there’s no relief for me.”

I was lying in bed in the half-dark in the afternoon, and he had come to visit me.  “It feels like I’m going to die.  It’s a pukey, howling feeling.  Hollow feeling.  It’s horrible.”

Ming made sympathetic noises.

Ming’s experience

“You never felt it?” I asked.

“No,” he said.

“You never got off a psych med?” I asked.

“No,” he said.

“What?  Of course you did!” I said.

“I never felt that,” he said.

“Wow!  You’re missing that?”

“Yeah,” he said.

We talked about drugs he has done and I have done–effexor, cocaine, cigarettes.  “When I quit smoking, that was the worst.  I actually did shake,” I told him.  “It’s like being really really sick.”

Then I was telling Ming how my reward pathways are weird, like touch feels really really good to me–too good.  Which of course he already knew.  But then some types of touch are intolerable to me, like being bumped, the tags on clothing, being touched by a zipper.  So maybe all my reward pathways are weird.

I’m glad Ming is 54 years old and doesn’t know what jonesing feels like.  I googled to learn what it feels like for other people.

The self-loathing is something I forgot to mention–seeing all aspects of my life in the worst possible way.  Hating everyone, but especially myself.  Feeling that I can’t go on–self-destructive.  It became difficult to care for my body.

new necklace

My friend made me a beautiful necklace that’s similar to ones she made for herself.  I admired hers in a polo, and she made one for me, protective.  She is a sweet friend.

Thank you to everyone who cares for me in your special ways

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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