Journal Entry 10-13-16

Tom Waits – Lucinda.

An event of extreme importance has just occurred. Well, in the metric of those whom are loin-boilingly wanting to understand me. I just imbibed marijuana. It has reminded me precisely why I quit over a decade ago, and the nature of a major component of my psychology.

I quit because marijuana makes me temporarily, wildly insane. I write, at this moment, under its influence; I do so because marijuana’s effect on me is extremely important to understanding me: the damage it did to my sanity severely steered the course of my psychologic and philosophic development. I am capable of writing, now, because breaks in the storm allow me to type intermittently.

Simply put: marijuana ruined my life. I’m not joking. I have an intense reaction to marijuana that, I believe, temporarily gives me high-grade schizophrenia. For example: for the past… hour.. that has inexplicably felt more like five hours.. I have been making constant, odd hand movements, in intervals lasting up to minutes.

Very odd hand movements. Alot like video clips of a robotic forearm extended, with the back of the hand parallel to the forearm, as the fingers rapidly and independently hinging up and down on the knuckles and “finger-knuckles” – quickly. That just repeats. And I’m shaking and fidgeting randomly.

Also, I’m extremely paranoid about making noise that would upset my housemates. I’ve only ever had.. one complaint. That I stomped in the morning. It made sense: I’m in a rush in the morning, and I have boots. Didn’t realize what I was doing. So I stopped. End of story. But I’m extremely paranoid now.

I’ve thrown up twice due to constant physical unease; my stomach seems empty but for the bread I’m stuffing into it. My thoughts are blindingly fast, going in multiple directions, and switching focus constantly with no aim or purpose. My five senses are behaving identically – especially confusing is the random degrees of focus on random body-parts. I can’t keep a steady train of thought for more than 10 seconds. My teeth randomly chatter. [Inserted edit: My heart is constantly racing, my blood is flowing furiously, I’m breathing heavily.]

Underneath all of those randomly occurring events, mixed with the emotions that are as wild as my thoughts, is the throat-gripping terror of my early childhood; a terror that has become muted over the years, and I’ve come to welcome as a force that warmly encourages focused calm and clarity. No longer accompanied by my ordered mind, that terror is no longer muted.

All that mental confusion, mixed with that terror, becomes enthralling when the next piece of the puzzle is added: the awareness that I am going insane, derived not merely from perceiving, but also understanding, the mental processes occurring within me. As always, that realization puts me into a panic-driven frenzy, exacerbating the entire god damned situation.

I see and feel my mind, the mental structure containing “me,” violently torn apart. I watch myself failing to think rationally where once it was second nature. I attempt to access memories and previously rudimentary patterns of thought and behavior, and fail with chaotic and costly results.

I can watch, and I can understand; if I could influence my faculties, I could easily steer my mind to order. But I don’t have that influence; I can’t control my mind; I know I can’t, because I constantly try and fail. That awareness of complete helplessness, juxtaposed against usually stalwart mental stability [even when suicidal – see earliest journal entries.], is.. I feel like I’m going to die of terror.

I literally, physically, feel that I could have a heart-attack, or some other organ in my body will be overworked, and I’ll die. That’s how I feel now. When I was a teenager, the mental chaos was much worse: the part of myself that watched and understood, somewhat stable and distant from the chaos, was also beyond my control, flapping in and out of existence.

At times, I was fully aware of the madness coursing through me; at other times, I was completely consumed by chaotic, constant, and explosive bursts of sensory data and thoughts – but the final, mind-shattering component, is yet to come.

I watch my mind, everything I am, crumble. But my brain keeps processing data; primitive instincts start to take over. My second biggest fear [ranked after “losing my fucking mind”] is that I will become the types of people who screwed me over throughout my life; when I’m not writhing in the madness that accompanies marijuana, it’s my biggest fear.

Despite my pride in upholding staunch morals, I’ve become functionally insane by this stage of the events, and start to think like a stupid animal: the vaguest whisper of genuinely predatory intent toward other people emerges, and I see it; I see my biggest fear, my only sizable fear, becoming real.

Already FUBAR before this point, this final twist of the knife is catastrophic: with the tattered remains of my fading sentience, in a desperate attempt to preserve my morality, I resort to repressing components of sentience itself, hoping to straggling the mental processes corrupting my sanity at the source – a destructive choice, but seemly the only remaining one.

Thankfully, I’ve never gone near being permanently turned into a rampaging lunatic – hell, I might kill myself out of pride before allowing that to happen. But I see the potential; I can feel the possibly existence of a complete psychopath, and am petrified by the horrors that twisted doppleganger would unleash.

I’m not bothered by the actions withwhich I could harm others, mind you: I agree with the existence of a penal system, so I understand that an action’s intent is more important than the action itself.  No, what really bothers me, is that I would harm others exclusively for my self-benefit; I would become what I hate most, what has been the nemesis of my entire life, and what I define myself by opposing – immoral people.

That experience, fifteen years ago, reoccurring to various degrees over months due to extremely excessive marijuana usage, ruined me, and dramatically improved my understanding of metacognition in my subsequent overcoming of the impact. Being high also, despite the damaging extremity of the situation, causes me to often think in new and insightful ways – which isn’t remotely worth being fucking bonkers. The cumulative horror of these mental events is life-changing.

Or, hey, maybe I’m just a megalomaniac. But that’s enough writing for now.

Overarching journal theme note: I had about 6 cigarettes today, the total since last time, and the act of writing is easy-peasy. Ya’ll better hope I never find love, because I’ll eventually give up and start smoking cigarettes again, allowing me to write fucking profusely.


Journal Hub



~ by Louis Naughtic on October 13, 2016.

4 Responses to “Journal Entry 10-13-16”

  1. Pot makes me paranoid and have panic attacks too. The last I smoked was 4 years ago. I can totally relate to the fear of literally thinking your heart is going to explode and that you are going to die, or that you wrecked your mind. What I always tell myself is that if I am cognizant enough to wonder and question my own sanity, then I am indeed still sane. Also, Neuroplasticity is a magical thing. You already know how to do metacognition. So you slipped up this time. It happens, and by the sound of your anxiety-fueled post, you’ve really learned something from it and dare I say faced an inner demon. Hope to read an update later. Be kind to yourself!

  2. I appreciate the concern. I’m fine; the insanity rarely extends past the drug’s influence. Previous longterm damage was done during.. a very stupid boy’s months and months of heavy usage while in the throes of puberty, love, and subsequent heartbreak. But this session’s lunacy came and went, though I currently feel very off-kilter and slightly fragile, and unique mental fallout remains.

    If anything, I enjoyed the occurrence. Not the experience, mind you, but the insights gleaned from; both from the process of going batshit insane, and from the perspectives that are unattainable while I’m sober. I’m slightly temped to weather the storm again, just for those insights. Curiosity killed the cat however, and I’d like possessing the ability to pass a drug test. I’ll attend to it again, later in life; love first. For the time being, I got exactly what I wanted: the reminder of exactly how crazy that shit makes me.

  3. Not a fan of the stuff myself either. I can sort of go with the flow while under the influence, it’s more who I become or how I feel during the period that follows that creates problems for me, especially relationship wise… ~pie~

  4. Em. At first it was very, very enjoyable; that’s why I kept doing it: it was soothing the stress it was causing lol.

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