Saturday was well-spent; in excellent company, listening to music and trading stories.

…or at least, that’s how I should feel about it, rather than this blanket of anxiety that’s settled around me since.

Here’s the thing: If I met you for coffee tomorrow, and you said to me the same things I said to her on Saturday, I don’t know if I’d believe a word of it.

I’m not sure which is more upsetting, the realization my friends might think I’m full of shit, or that my experiences have been so divergent that they sound like fantasy when spoken aloud.

17 thoughts on “Entactogen/Integrity

  1. Yep, which is worse – that people think you’re full of shit, or that the shit actually did land there! I figure having dealt with all that shit already precludes you from having to give a shit about whether people think your shit is real.

  2. You know, this is close to what I had to say. You don’t have to prove anything, since you did live this. The stories are internally consistent, and external evidence exists to back them up. If there is any anxiety it’s probably because the other person was trying to discredit you, or it hadn’t sunk in yet that you have actually made it through all this because, wow, holy crap. Or perhaps they did accept it, you were just feeling a bit off and your brain made the erroneous connection between feeling off and this event, in which case just relax.
    Either way, the stories don’t change, and stay logical in the history of everything else surronding them. In time they will be convinced because the signs pointing to bullshitting just aren’t there.

  3. It does make sense, which is why re-reading what you said before I hit post on that I added the sentence about feeling off and associating the feeling. If I can explain from analogy in my life;
    I have the displeasure of having an unfun inherited condition called panic disorder. Quickly, all that means is on occasion I get panic attacks of a random duration and intensity. I bring it up because many times when this was a much more pronounced condition (it tends to ease off and sometimes even disappear with age. Attacks with me are actually pretty rare now) I would be doing something or even thinking on a subject when an attack would hit. Before you learn you have this condition you tend to try and figure out what the hell is causing you to be in a terrifying panic, and your brain will latch on to whatever it can, what you were doing, who you were talking to, what you were thinking about, perhaps even a shade of colour predominant at the time (for a few years yellowish light from low wattage incandescent bulbs could induce a phobia effect upon me). This lead to some very erronous conclusions from me about many situations.
    Is this relevant to you? No, probably not, you probably just tried to look at it from a third person perspective and realized it just sounded bug-fuck nuts. Problem there is you forgot the context of human life, and everyone’s story from a cold detached perspective can be made to sound bug-fuck nuts. See my comment on incandescent light above for something that I’d think you or others would find to be the most bullshit and/or dellusional thing I could say happened to me. Seriously a shade of lighting freaked me out to no end for years. However, because I went through something that strange, I can accept that other peoples experiences can be strange and alien to the point of sounding abstract, yet be 100% valid and real.
    Sorry, bit rambling, but, I am grandpa Simpson.

  4. Thanks — I wasn’t posting this to get validation from friends, or anything like that. I’m just thinking out loud.


  5. I know what you mean… I probably sound like I’ve stitched together my life from the interesting bits from the lives of no fewer than 6 other people. I wonder how I found the time to get into all the junk (good and bad) that I did, and, yes, telling the story sounds ludicrous.

  6. I don’t think I was responding to validate you. I was just giving my opinion because I felt like it. I can delete my comment if you want or feel that I did not really understand.

  7. It’s just feelings and people probably believe you and if they don’t it doesn’t matter because then who the hell are they? Your life may have a few of those hallmarks of fantasy and movie plot – cops and robbers, etc – but we all have things about us that we think are unbelievable, and we think it’s more fantastic to someone else than us, but really it may be harder for us to believe. Because others love you more than you could ever know and trust you and know you’re telling the truth as best you can.
    Maybe I just believe you because I was there – haha.
    The thing is, nothing we ever say to our friends can be entirely true, and this person knows that, and you know that and if she were to tell you you’d believe her and even if you didn’t it wouldn’t matter.
    None of it matters, there is no ultimate truth, there’s just love and good music and hugging and hanging out and drinks and drugs and fucking and pussy and cats. Those are the only things.
    And our past has this power to overtake us in mystical nostalgic disbelief and we search it for influence and realism and for how it shaped us and what Really Happened and what everyone thought and who was there, but there’s only right now and even that doesn’t matter.
    There’s only music and dancing. and PLUR, right? right.
    also, let’s do e and don’t listen to me anymore.

  8. Having no clue as to what occurred, I cannot give input on the situation.

    Attempt to remove the anxiety you are feeling and push on with your life as it is.

    Were you listening to yourself speak and found yourself wondering if what you spoke of was glorified by things you remembered? A skwed perception, perhaps?

    Not sure if that’s making any sense at all.

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