In 2005, when I woke up paralyzed on Oahu, they had me doped up on opiates, and asked, "So, for long term pain management, would you like morphine, oxycontin, or methadone?" As my lower half felt like it was being roasted on an electric fence, I chose one, and for the next decade I thought it was necessary to help mitigate the pain. However, a couple years back, I began to wonder. I didn't like the withdrawls--didn't like "needing" to rely on anything but food, water and oxygen. But those opiates had me by the balls. Well, not by the balls. It was methadone that had me by the brain. The withdrawls, if I missed a single dose, made me want to rip out my hair. After just a few hours, I'd feel the urge to smash my head against a wall to relieve an anxiety that welled up inside me like a demon, making me panic, my breaths lurching in and out in ragged gasps. Luckily, I was able to gain some perspective. If it hadn't been for Jesus, I might still be on the opiate train. It took a few rounds of shrooms (the body of Christ) to convince me that I needed to taper off the odious opiates. Six months later, lo and behold: My pain level is exactly the same as when I was on opiates. Metaphorically, my lower half is still being BBQ'd on that invisible grill. God/Goddess has it set to broil. Pins and needles? No, it’s more like fingernails being raked down a fresh sunburn. If we switched bodies, you'd probably scream, "Kill me now, for fuck’s sake, kill me now!"... but being cooked alive is something you learn to cope with. The boiling water which my lower half believes it is submerged in (confused nerve endings) is not going to cool down, and whether that’s karma or chaos, I’m quite certain there are no take backs. No victim mentality here. No one twisted my arm and made me climb that coconut tree. But, believe it or not, I love life. I do. And am grateful. For all of it. The mental fog of opiates has long since evaporated, and after rinsing my brain’s receptors in a rainbow of psychedelics (Jesus mushrooms), I feel alive, and if not kicking, at least rolling onward to the grave with a smile on my face.
