I come to this blog today to write about a pained time in my life that I eventually remedied. This is not an easy story to share. And yet I do so because I find increasingly that these deeply embedded stories are the ones I yearn to share, and to hear from others. So many of us have stories like this, secret words and thoughts we hold captive. I find that telling these stories, in particular, is one way to combat the social isolation we feel in these modern times. Bringing our deeply held stories into the light of others' illuminates the human condition and brings us into intimacy and trust with one other. We share experiences. We find we are not alone.
My story surrounds fear, specifically a fear of meditation that begins with a friend who I knew when I was 16, who took too many hallucinogens and ended up in a psychotic state in a mental institution for a year. Walt's story shook me up at a time in my life when I was beginning to question such things as infinity, the nature of mortality, how our minds work.
Soon after that, partying with friends one night, I took a strong hallucinogenic called MDA, akin to Ecstasy, both classified as psychedelic stimulants. I was in my boyfriend’s basement bedroom with friends listening to Jethro Tull and Traffic -- which I can't hear to this day without triggering panicky feelings -- when I began having scary hallucinations; my sister’s head had come off her body and was floating around the room like a ghost, her long, dark hair trailing behind her.
My boyfriend could see I was panicking and suggested we go to the store to get out of the room and distract ourselves. When I tried to walk, the ground looked like broken bricks, and I couldn’t steady myself. Attempting to cross the family room from one side to the other, I still don’t know if it took an eternity or if it was 30 seconds. I felt I had dropped into the vast reaches of my mind that had no end nor beginning.
I didn’t go to the store, but went back to the room with my boyfriend, who stayed by my side helping me calm myself, which I eventually did.
But the next day, I woke seeing trails on lights and feeling panicky. I thought I was still tripping and that I would never stop, that I would end up like my friend Walt. I didn’t tell anybody because I was afraid that I had done something to myself. The trails eventually disappeared, but I began, and continued for months after, to have full-blown panic attacks. I'd never experienced such a thing before, and thought I had done something to my brain. I was too afraid to tell anybody, which of course is what was causing the panic. I eventually tried: One day, some months later, I took a deep breath and braved to try to tell my mother by asking her a question about the nature of the mind; I was a tender 16, after all, and needing to talk about such things even if I'd not had a bad drug experience. Alas, the single mother of four daughters, who herself was anxiety-prone, my mother was often ill-equipped to respond appropriately to the musings of her teen-aged daughters. “Mama, do you ever want to take a break from your head?” I asked, holding my breath for her answer. “No!” she said, and that was that. She was 34 years old when I was 16.
But the next day, I woke seeing trails on lights and feeling panicky. I thought I was still tripping and that I would never stop, that I would end up like my friend Walt. I didn’t tell anybody because I was afraid that I had done something to myself. The trails eventually disappeared, but I began, and continued for months after, to have full-blown panic attacks. I'd never experienced such a thing before, and thought I had done something to my brain. I was too afraid to tell anybody, which of course is what was causing the panic. I eventually tried: One day, some months later, I took a deep breath and braved to try to tell my mother by asking her a question about the nature of the mind; I was a tender 16, after all, and needing to talk about such things even if I'd not had a bad drug experience. Alas, the single mother of four daughters, who herself was anxiety-prone, my mother was often ill-equipped to respond appropriately to the musings of her teen-aged daughters. “Mama, do you ever want to take a break from your head?” I asked, holding my breath for her answer. “No!” she said, and that was that. She was 34 years old when I was 16.
To my credit, I never took hallucinatory drugs again after that and stopped smoking pot with my friends, despite the social norms of my group. This further isolated me and made me feel even more like something was wrong with me, which dug me in further with fear.
But I held my story and my fears inside myself. In fact, I could never bring myself to tell anyone what happened until almost 25 years after the incident, when I found the courage to tell a friend who is a doctor and then some time after that, a therapist. It was clear to both of them that the amount of the drug I took was not enough to have irreparably harmed me. What I was describing was a dissociative experience wrought of panic, wrought of the overwhelming effects of the drug, coupled with knowledge of my friend’s experience. There are some people who should never take hallucinatory drugs. People who are anxiety-prone are among them.
But I held my story and my fears inside myself. In fact, I could never bring myself to tell anyone what happened until almost 25 years after the incident, when I found the courage to tell a friend who is a doctor and then some time after that, a therapist. It was clear to both of them that the amount of the drug I took was not enough to have irreparably harmed me. What I was describing was a dissociative experience wrought of panic, wrought of the overwhelming effects of the drug, coupled with knowledge of my friend’s experience. There are some people who should never take hallucinatory drugs. People who are anxiety-prone are among them.
I felt a great relief after that. TELL PEOPLE YOUR STORIES. But the residual fears that had built over the years had yet to be faced and understood. My experience left me afraid of the dark recesses of my mind. I was often afraid to be alone, especially in the dark. I was afraid if I thought too deeply, that I would disappear and never come back.
It would be another decade, after my friend's son decided to become a Buddhist monk, before I would begin to move methodically into these fears instead of away from them, like the sages tell us to do when we are afraid. Matt was teaching a meditation course via Skype for eight weeks. I liked Matt and know his decision to become a monk came out of his own fear. He’d openly shared with me that as a teen-ager he'd had debilitating death anxiety. He thought that becoming a monk might help him. I knew that he would understand fear, and so I decided to study with him and in doing so, to tell my truth.
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| Matt, guest teacher, teaching yoga in Kent |
It would be another decade, after my friend's son decided to become a Buddhist monk, before I would begin to move methodically into these fears instead of away from them, like the sages tell us to do when we are afraid. Matt was teaching a meditation course via Skype for eight weeks. I liked Matt and know his decision to become a monk came out of his own fear. He’d openly shared with me that as a teen-ager he'd had debilitating death anxiety. He thought that becoming a monk might help him. I knew that he would understand fear, and so I decided to study with him and in doing so, to tell my truth.
Matt reassured me that fear of our own minds is not uncommon. COMMON HUMANITY. Psychologists use the term "pure mind" to describe people who are afraid of their thoughts, who want to control them, who believe they can keep themselves from thinking about anything bad or uncomfortable. Hearing this was in and of itself a relief, and I began to work toward my fears by approaching my mind, by meditating, 5 minutes, 10 minutes, 20 minutes and by talking about my meditation experiences with Matt and my therapist. Eventually, slowly, gradually, I realized I was meditating, indeed sitting with the deep recesses of my mind, and nothing bad was happening. I was experiencing only calm. and restoration. The darkness was abating because I was bringing it into the light. MOVE INTO FEAR.
I have meditated off and on since then and with renewed vigor of late, as I have been making physical and metaphysical changes in my house. I developed a space in my living room near a big window that lends itself to calm, quiet and intimacy. At the same time, I found beautiful meditation pillows at the local Farmer’s Market and a little book in the checkout lane at Earth Fare that has been helping me. "How to Meditate," Buddhist Practices for your Heart and Mind" is a great entry point for the beginner and full of reminders for the seasoned practitioner. |
| My new meditation space |
Thank you for listening and reading.
I too had an experience with MDA, and I remember thinking, "This is what it must be like to be insane." Just horrible. When I teach meditation, I assure people that the psyche is self-protecting. It will not present things that you are not prepared to deal with. In fact, if your mind it presenting something, it is because you're ready. Hallucinogens, especially the synthetic ones, short-circuit that protection. They drop your gates and let everything break loose, which can be terrifying. I'm so grateful for your stories and your authenticity. And I'm so glad you're meditating!
ReplyDeleteThank you for reading and weighing in. I wish I had known then what you just said is that the MDA made you feel insane. It makes sense to consider that hallucinogens bypass self-protection. See, we're not alone!
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