woke and slept again this morning. Enjoyed the feeling of daytime ease and not a worry about a thing but just enjoying the morning laziness of slipping in and out of dream time. I got up around ten or eleven and slowly made ready for my appointment with Dr. Papatheodoro (as it is phonetically spelled). I would be late I knew, and didn't even try to leave early to make it on time. I'm stupid as ever. My mommy gave me a lift down to Finch station and I boarded the train and rode to College where I got off and boarded the streetcar and found it turned down Bay to Dundas. I got off and walked and was about a half hour late. Sounds about right? I wear a watch why? Why can't I be on time? Anyways, I went up to his office, and he wasn't there. I went up to the tenth floor and found him in the central nervous system of that floor. He turned to see I had made it eventually and we went down to his office to talk. I told him about my week. I told him all the good things and small apprehensive things and small mistakes I had made, like the brownie and the pipe hit. We talked about getting past the drugs. I told him my emotions were more stable and that I had a few appointments in March and had plans for new courses. I didn't tell him about the nagging sensation that I had stumbled upon the real equation of my existence and had failed to solve it fully. Or the gnawing inside that turned me from one truth to another. I need to be more open with him, but I may find I am more open with the other doc. I am still not certain that what I saw during that week of strange events and how they played up in my minds eye is fully the product of drug psychosis, but I know I don't want to touch drugs anymore. Sorry if you care. I don't even want to see privitised packages of candy coated placebos let alone believe they will help get me through the sicknesses that come and go. I eat garlic and ginger raw and try to believe in my diet and excersise. I am still apprehensive about my actions as if I will make a wrong move and damn myself to some eternity, as if I cannot believe that the self dies with the body. If I am just an animal, then I trust my death will bring release, but if I am some strange expression...I don't even want to think about it, but if I don't type it out then I will never see my words. I don't want to cry anymore like I did when I chased those waterfalls before my plummet. I want to believe in myself and my own stability and state of mind. The fact that I lost trust is what brought me to the brink, and the fact that I now have to rebuild all that trust is what pains me.
When the body ceases to sleep, the mind puts the dreams infront of the eyes.
I try and sleep as much as I can now. Just believing is a tiring task.
PEACE - Tristan
before || after
