Blue Light

Well I hate to dispatch the message that I have just relapsed after 44 days clean, serene, pristine and supreme. Just thought I’d get that out of the way. Truth is (I told myself), I was bored of being clean. I’m just not a straight head and never have been unless the condition has been forced upon me, like it was in jail in my mid-twenties. As a Narcotics Anonymous compadre named Craig once said, “Being clean is like doing time.” Your release date is when you use again. It’s pure unclouded escapism to decamp from reality and scram away from life. But there is more to life than being an addict or not. There’s great music, good movies, and soulful companionship.

Don’t forget Christ. I will never leave you or forsake you. Is that the correct biblical terminology? Something like that. I believe it’s nor forsake you. I witnessed Jesus appear to me in one of my most recent hallucinations. He was carrying his cross, which sure-enough looked very heavy. He arose upon my blanket, at a time when I needed to be reminded of what he did for all of us, myself included. I receive a lot of visions on my blanket, for some reason. Maybe it’s because I spend a lot of time underneath it. Sometimes it’s like a portal into a different realm. I see dominions of warriors fighting wars in it. Little figures dancing and stuff like that. But it’s the way they move…so quickly, so sporadically, so supernaturally.

Once upon a time, a surge of a stream of blue light flowed out of me for about an hour. Because I was sinning at the time (fapping), I believed it was all of the good characters I had met, encountered and invented throughout my life. It was when I thought I’d lost my love (or was losing my love). The blue light was in the vague shape of the female form. It happened very slowly. Of course, because we’re talking about psychosis here, it is very difficult to describe. Not just in terms of language, but in terms of revisiting it, with all the sad, confusing and scary emotions which are carried along within the memory of it.

The blue light was keen intense sharply acute neon. Beautiful it was. One of the people who departed me was a woman called Constance Bell, the main female lead character in my favourite all-time book by the deceased author James Herbert, named Others. It was extremely unpleasant in the uttermost to glimpse the tableau of her luminously fluorescent presence vacate my psyche. The length and scope of her chiaroscuro, like radiant tinsel, was extraordinary. I told myself it was the Chinese Government using Project Blue Beam on me, which is basically induced hallucinations from satellites, as far as I understand it.

The next day I spent mindlessly wayfaring around my neighbourhood feeling dazed, distracted and disorganised. I was a devoid dry and hollow empty shell of a man. I didn’t (or hardly) knew what love was, only that I fiercely pined for it now it was gone. But it was too late. I was (I believed at the time) all on my own. I had had the universe in my fingertips and I had squandered it. I had had all I had ever needed and I had threw it away like some unwanted trash. All those women in my heart, now suddenly gone. Or so the Devil would have me think.