the tunnel
There’s a glimmer ahead-
but it’s miles of pain over brutal terrain.
I’ve been down this abyss before.
Dark enough to die in.
Everything in me screams: DRINK. SMOKE. NUMB.
But I won’t.
Because I know this:
If I use again,
I won’t make it out.
And what if-
just what if-
that light ahead,
is more than I’ve ever dared to imagine?
A life full of actual miracles.
Of magic in the unseen.
My faith leads me there.
A strength I didn’t know I had.
To meet your hand, my friend, which lifts me up,
when I forgot how to stand,
and out through this portal of love and light within.
Now I see it.
Now I feel it.
Not just the streaming light=but the possibility.
Where peace, always waited for me like a velvet robe=
soft, quiet, and finally…
mine.
I feel it in my bones, in my breath,
in the way my body no longer clenches like a war zone.
It’s beautiful here=
not loud, not dazzling-
just still.
Just honest.
Finally… safe.
I’ve come too far to go back
to the dark.
This time, I stay.
This time, I rise.
I got this.
With you, I got this.
And honestly?
It’s about damn time.
🖤 Love and spirals,
Cyn the Bougie Hippie
I sincerely thank every one of you who’s helped me from going off the rails, from your posts that light the way, your DMs that keep me trudging and those blessed souls who have bought me coffees and subscriptions to keep me bleeding on the page. Forever grateful.
Cyn..I have tears in my eyes. Firstly..I’m touched. Touched that you dedicated such a beautiful poem to me. I’ll always hold your hand when the darkness tries to pull you back. I know it all too well. Sending my love all the way from London. Substack has also become such a beautiful safe space and a community for me …you are part of my soul tribe now. 🖤 And I couldn’t be prouder of you for following that light..it’s always been within you from the start. X
> but it’s miles of pain over brutal terrain
My first psychedelic therapy session was done on top of a microfiber blanket. In the normal world, it's ultra soft and feels wonderful. Under psychedelics, it felt like my entire body was on fire. I had spent a year learning what to expect and what happens, so I understood pretty fast that what I was feeling was every single nerve in my body screaming all at once.
In a moment I had so much empathy for people with sensory issues. I only had to feel that way for 4 hours. They felt that way every moment of every day.
It was so overwhelming that I broke with 'protocol'. I turned my music off, I opened my eyes, I stood up, I just got to a place where I felt like I could 'reset'. Where I could take a breath and get back on top of the deluge of information from my nervous system. Then I laid back down and spent some time just learning to process that feeling of fire. To make peace with it. I started the music back up when I could, and paused it when I couldn't. As much as happened during that first trip, a lot of it was learning to juggle the incredible volume of information my thalamus was no longer filtering.
Why does this matter? What's the point? With later therapy sessions, it was easier. My mind had learned how to manage the deluge of information, and rather than be overwhelmed, new systems managed the flow and let me go deal with other issues.
Sometimes you must face the suck, and focus on embracing it, in order to master it. It doesn't work for everything, and I'm not in your head. I don't know if this is a form of pain that can be helped this way.
During a later psychedelic session (a MUCH lower dose!) I went on a bike ride. Pedals, not motorcycle; I'm not insane. I could feel the individual muscle bundles (groups of muscle strands) in my body. I could feel sections of my quads go 'dark' as they got exhausted and shut down. Normally a bike ride is about 1 hour, and I'm cooked afterward. That day I biked for 3 hours, and the only reason I stopped was because my upper body/core muscles could no longer maintain balance, they were exhausted after 3 hours of holding me up. I stopped before I fell, but it got close.
The point? As groups in my quads and glutes shut down, I felt the 'final group' of muscles, deep inside, right next to the bone. They never got tired. They were not as strong as the full quad. They couldn't handle off-axis movement. They couldn't handle bursts of power. But if I just kept pedaling, kept my legs in-axis, and didn't try to race or push, they could go and go and go. After 3 hours, they still weren't tired. The next day I wasn't sore. Because I routed around muscle groups as they went dark, I didn't damage them with over-use, instead, I only used the muscles that were 'left'.
That day I learned that the SEALs are right. You can push yourself much farther than you ever imagined, if you only learn how. You can't go 100%, but 50% for 15 hours is a lot better than 100% for 1. So, perhaps that is a lesson more useful than the first. There is a way to endure, but it requires care and listening to what you can and cannot do. It requires you be humble, and set your ego aside, and only go as fast as you can sustain. I say that not with harshness, but as a technical manual might explain rebuilding an engine.