Sunday, February 20, 2011

Mor Phine Please

I switch on the radio in my car. The station is playing Boston’s More Than A Feeling. I lay my head back against the seat cushion to enjoy what’s to come. This is fantastic. The speed impresses me in a purely visceral sense. It’s the only sense I have right now but that doesn’t bother me. I feel so immediately gratified. It’s hard to account for this rapidly beautiful change and I won’t attempt to try. I’d rather just enjoy it.

Pain is a word without a definition to me now. I almost can’t believe it ever existed in my life. But I sense that it did and I do remember the general concept associated with the term. The sensation itself is what escapes me presently. And I’m more than okay with that. In fact, I don’t know that I’ve ever been this okay before in my life. I smile and close my eyes at the revelation. It’s nice to feel content, so completely devoid of unease. It’s unfamiliar but of course welcome.

It has left me unconcerned over whether the pain might return someday in the future. I don’t care if it does; all that matters is how I feel right now. It makes me think I might be dreaming. Only I’ve never dreamed this nice of an experience before. My dreams are usually more like nightmares, blatantly mocking me with meanings I wish I didn’t understand. But this is much different; this is the polar opposite of those things called nightmares. In all honesty, I don’t believe it’s even humanly possible to dream this particular kind of contentedness. I’m sure countless people have tried and failed many times. I guess some things are just relegated to the effects of substances and there’s no getting around it. I’ve learned to accept that in the most mature way that I know how. I indulge the substances on a regular basis and I won’t claim to be sorry. How could anybody ever be sorry for this?

I open my eyes. Wow. It occurs to me that the world is still going on around me. I hear voices talking in the distance. But they’re not bothering me. I know they want to bother me and that they’re attempting to do so, but the drug won’t let them be successful. There is only so much of my attention to go around and the drug is selfish and wants to keep me all to itself. But I won’t be complaining or trying to fight it. I don’t care that it has hijacked my body and has quickly retained complete control over my mind. As far as I’m concerned, it can have me for an eternal amount of eternities. I don’t even want to fight it.

This is nothing short of amazing. I’m so blessedly powerless in the wake of this powerful drug. Wow, an injection was definitely the right way to go here. No ifs, ands or buts about it. Anyone who wastes drugs by swallowing or smoking them is an idiot and I feel sorry for them. They will never feel quite like this and that’s a real life shame. They are cheating themselves out of the greatest peacefulness they could ever know. It’s hard to not feel sorry for people like that. I admit that at times I am people like that. But I’m trying really hard to change; it’s unarguably worth it.

Hello morphine, my new friend. I mean that in the sincerest way possible. This is much, much better than I ever thought it would be. I find myself smiling again. What an unimaginable niceness I have found. I’m in awe, literally. I consider writing a ‘thank you’ note but I refrain. That would take too much time and waste precious seconds I could be enjoying this high, and I’ve never been one to condone any sort of waste, especially when it comes to substances.

Wow, this high is incredible. Seriously, it exceeds my expectations. Admittedly, those expectations were not terribly high to start with but still. This is amazing. I feel so warm and pleasant. I feel like I could do anything. The morphine is all over me already. It didn’t take long for it to infiltrate my entire being. Now it has me cornered into a large blanket near a fireplace in a cozy enclosure with pillows and other soft things all around. But that’s not all. It has me draped in euphoria, the real kind of euphoria that you couldn’t otherwise experience without dopiates. I laugh. Dopiates, did I just invent a new word? I’ll have to remember that later. It really is rather clever.

I can’t get over this. I don’t want to get over this. Everything around me is so soft and non-threatening, like a big, comfy euphoric bubble that has me pleasantly immersed in its womb. I love this womb. I cannot describe it or adequately explain it using real words. Its qualities are necessarily indefinable. I marvel at my newfound peace. Nothing matters anymore, but in a good, almost positive way. The concerns I once had in this life are not concerning anymore. I know nothing bad can happen to me in this bubble. Someone could kill me and I’d still be alright. I would survive it.

And I don’t care if I’m the only one who believes in my invincibility. Other people’s views and opinions are irrelevant in the most literal sense. Nothing can bother me, not even the voices speaking all around me. They won’t be successful in knocking me off this high. The morphine will not allow it and I cannot possibly express my gratitude enough for that.

This protective womb-bubble is like a body guard, massage therapist, and lover all rolled into one. It is everything I ever wanted but couldn’t honestly believe I deserved. I still don’t think I deserve this but I’m too selfish to let it go. I only wish we had met earlier and under different circumstances. We would have been the best of friends by now. But I don’t make a habit of dwelling on past mistakes. Instead, I will make the best of our time together here and in the future. We will have lots of fun together.

I can’t help the pure joy that comes across my face. I’m probably smiling like a complete moron right now. But this is so good that it’s hard to care about anything else. I don’t feel concerned about giving myself away. I just feel so relaxed, so very, very heavy, like I could melt into this seat right now and that would be alright. I close my eyes for a second to enjoy the feeling I’ve come to know as euphoria. This is so nice. It’s like a huge, warm blanket has crashed down on me, smothering me in feelings of wellness and forcing me into a putty-like goo that will inevitably and mercifully dissolve into the seat. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this okay in my entire life. Nothing can injure me. I can’t really believe I ever lived a second in a state other than this one. This is what life is really about, I’m sure of it. When people refer to the gift of life they are referring to this. I won’t believe there is anything better out there. I vow to replenish this feeling again and often. Only a fool could ever let this go and still carry on.

Now I’m done trying to capture this into words. Honestly, to describe it any further would be to waste it and I have way too much respect for the drug to do something like that. I open my eyes. It’s time for me to get to class. I feel as though I might get little out of a law lecture today but I’ve had so many absences thus far, they may consider dropping me out. I really don’t want to enter the real world yet. It’s harsh out there and often times unforgiving of self-indulgence.

I contemplate taking the other dose but I refrain. It’s better if I save it for the future. I like to have something to look forward to. So I exit my car and head for the stairs.

As I make my way down the stairs one at a time, I dig out my sunglasses and put them on. My eyes are way too sensitive to brave the strong rays of the sun all on their own. They need even more protection than the morphine bubble can offer. In fact, I believe that drug is the very reason why my eyes need protection at all. Brilliant lights are very clever at piercing corneas and causing permanent damage when under the influence of certain narcotics, namely opiates. It’s been a clear yet unspoken threat in the past and I’ve learned to take it seriously.

At the landing of the staircase, I nod at someone I know. He nods back in response and continues on his way up the stairs. I walk into the sunlight and out into the open. The weather is nice today. A day like this tells me that summer really isn’t that far off. It’s warm with a light, yet not unpleasant breeze. There doesn’t appear to be a cloud in the sky. It’s pretty impressive for a morning in February. Usually it doesn’t heat up until the afternoon this time of the year, if it heats up at all. But it’s warm today. I feel wrapped in the arms of Mother Nature as I walk. All assets of the planet are working in unison to provide me with more comfort and serenity than I could ever ask for.

A big part of me wishes I didn’t have class today. I’d much rather be somewhere else, enjoying the bountiful remnants of my morphine high. I imagine myself lying in a field of grass and dandelions, under the cornflower blue sky, blowing smoke rings around the golden sun in concentric circles. Somewhere in the distance music is playing; I like the song but am unable to identify it. But the rhythm is nice and calming and there is nothing around that could bother me. All the people who could be near are keeping their distance, pleasantly remaining out of earshot. I feel like they may be calling out to me but it’s too peaceful here to listen. I don’t care what they want from me anyway. The fact that I’m lying down, smoking and secluded from everything that could ever bother me, brings a lazy smile to my face.

But I realize it’s just a daydream as I almost stumble on the pathway. Someone passes by me and says hi but I don’t force a reply. I’m still wondering why I brought myself here today. There are many other better places for me to be right now. But I decide not to dwell on it any more. Obviously I had my reasons at the beginning of the day for taking myself to school. So I should probably just trust that instinct and forego any further questions. My motives and reasons for doing the things that I do make sense to me in the long run most of the time.

I glance up at the sun as I make my way to class along the designated path. It feels warm on my face and even through my sunglasses it appears much more golden than I can remember. Wow, it’s so very, very golden. It’s mesmerizing, like a warm golden pool of honey. I feel like just touching it once could renew the rush of euphoria that has temporarily subsided. The sight of the sun all golden and warm causes my heart to beat faster and slower at the same time. Its rays are reaching out to me and whirring around my body, causing feelings of euphoric giddiness and invincibility. I’m in love with this feeling.

Our sun truly is amazing. It provides just the right amount of warmth and light to sustain life. It's pouring golden rays of light everywhere I walk. It’s like the sun is spoiling only me and disregarding everything else here. The warmth it’s sharing is immeasurable. How did I become the sole creature of its concern? That’s some noteworthy kind of luck! I’m literally enthralled with the sun in this moment and I have to think I’ve missed out on something great by largely ignoring it for all these years. But I, like many others before me, fell for the myth that staring at the sun for too long can cause permanent blindness. And not wanting a deformity of any kind, I chose to refrain from any sort of sun-staring. To me it wasn’t worth the possible blindness and the associated stigma that would surely follow.

Of course myth is all that was. The sun doesn’t steal your sight as punishment for taking in its golden beauty. I’m seeing, breathing proof that the sun is not that cold-blooded. It’s the naysayers that spread that kind of propaganda around, those that don’t believe beautiful things should be seen or touched or experienced. I hate them for their unnecessary dissemination of sun-related fear. They have robbed good people of the chance to see true beauty and for that they should be chastised.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

Dream No. 9857

I will preface this by stating that I have never taken a life nor have I ever had the impulse to take a life. This dream came to me from an unconscious gray area that I have yet to understand. But I am no scientist.

* * * * *

I killed Beverly Leslie. Was it a hate crime? I’m not sure. He was a closeted homosexual dwarf, a member of two protected classes. However he was also rich and white so the question isn’t quite so easy to answer. Ultimately I believe whether or not this was a hate crime is unimportant. It’s not the real issue here. The real issue is whether it was even a crime at all. Maybe there were some extenuating circumstances that take this killing out of the realm of the penal code. Only the jury will be able to answer that question for sure.

* * * * *

We met under cordial terms but he had a sinister message for me. Somehow he had found out that I was infringing on his territory with my pharmacy business and he wanted an end put to me. He wasn’t happy with the dramatic decline in his own business and had decided that I was to blame. So a mutual friend of ours invited me to a meeting. But that’s not when I killed him.

I agreed to the meeting, albeit reluctantly, because I trusted that my friend meant me no actual harm. Beverly Leslie came up and sat down at the counter next to us, wearing a white suit with an orange collar. I noted that his outfit could be viewed as either masculine or feminine. I didn’t dwell on it long though.

Beverly Leslie didn’t say much to me directly, choosing instead to speak through our friend. But the message wasn’t lost on me. Finally I got fed up with the bullshit and confronted him face to face like the adults we both were. Being clinically a dwarf, Beverly Leslie didn’t intimidate me much. Quite the contrary, I saw him as a pathetic little man with a fairy’s voice and really soft skin. He pretended to pay me no attention. Instead he brushed me off and resumed chatting with our friend. I took a sip of my raspberry lemonade. After another five minutes of small talk, Beverly Leslie rose to stand up. He put his knuckles on the counter and threatened to kill me if I didn’t leave his Quiznos. Deciding that he was serious, I got up and left.

The next day I was at my friend’s house discussing the situation. I told her I was certain that Beverly Leslie would try to kill me. He was known to carry a knife on his person at all times and he was small enough to fit inside a box. I was uneasy about the whole situation and there was the distinct feeling that our altercation had gone too far for an amicable resolution. Beverly Leslie was already determined to carry out his threat against me.

The next thing I knew, Beverly Leslie was lunging his tiny body at me and brandishing a knife. Without forethought or remorse, I grabbed him around the throat and threw him to the ground. I tightened both my hands around his throat, intent on strangling him. In the back of my mind, I kept thinking about having to look over my shoulder for the rest of my life. I knew that he would keep trying to kill me if I didn’t stop him. So tighter and tighter I squeezed, our friend crouched next to us looking on. She didn’t really seem to register what was happening and if she did, she showed no signs of disapproval. Finally Beverly Leslie stopped moving and struggling against my arms. He crumpled to the ground and I removed my hands from around his neck.

Our friend looked somewhat taken aback. She reached down and poked Beverly Leslie in the nose to see if he was really dead. He wasn’t. He gasped in a breath and rose like a horror movie villain. My heart skipped a beat and I yelled at her for meddling. She apologized profusely and took a step back from us. I reapplied my hands to Beverly Leslie’s neck and started squeezing again, this time harder and with more purpose. I don’t like having to do things twice. I remember feeling his trachea and esophagus as I squeezed tighter and tighter. This time it was going to work. When Beverly Leslie stopped struggling for the second time, I was a little bit wary. I thought he might be faking it again. But he wasn’t. He was really dead and I was the one who had killed him.

Sometime during the act of strangling Beverly Leslie, I realized that I had efficiently disarmed him of the knife he held in his hand. I knew there was no longer a threat to my life. But I persisted. It’s not really all that clear to me why I continued to strangle him even though he presented no immediate danger. I suppose it was instinct. I think I subconsciously realized that Beverly Leslie would harass me forever if I didn’t put him in the ground for good. In my mind, it had to be done.

* * * * *

Was it murder? I’m not sure. Self-defense comes to mind but the evidence might not back up that theory. Whatever the outcome, I’m not sorry for what I did, nor do I have any regrets. I believe it was necessary to save my life. And given the chance to do it again, I can’t say it would have turned out any differently.

The End.