#god and it all comes back to my psychosis doesnt it? i couldnt deal with the world so my brain said ‘heres smth u will like!!!’

[ihaveab0y]

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[ithisatanytime]

   You know it has to be said, i reached out to skye because i felt like i was losing my mind, but not in the “im so stressed out” kind of way, because i literally lost my fucking mind for three months, bouts of complete psychosis, mania, absolutely lost touch with reality. it was the scariest most surreal experience of my life, and i have nothing to compare it to, and i cant even really talk about it because no one really has a frame of reference for this kind of shit, not even me. she was the only one who called back, i reached out to a lot of people, and nothing. even though we hadnt spoken for ten years, and back then the kind of shit we were putting each other through is just unbelievable, a lot of regret and resentment on both sides, yet she called me back.

  there is something special about her, i cant believe this fucking happened. i wish either we just didnt get the chance to talk that day, when i was losing my goddamn mind, or i wish i would have just stayed in the dream. what the fuck is the point of waking up from that nightmare the day after we stop talking again? just in time to deal with the shame and regret of what i said to her, luckily i dont remember most of it, i could go back and read the texts but man i cant even stomach it.

  it wasnt all the phenibut. my estrogen being out of control for a good four months or so played a part, but i have always struggled with anger issues. i definitely learned to manage it better in my mid twenties, to the point that i only really lost my temper a handful of times, when i was dating laura and that was pretty much it, but even that shocked me and filled me with shame. again though, a few incidents over the course of a decade is definitely progress. but the phenibut rage is its own fucking animal, maybe estrogen rage or a combo of the two i just dont know. i woke up furious, i was shouting from my room, they could hear me, all i could do was keep myself in my room but i was yelling so loud they could hear me for sure. they basically cleared out of the house. i was yelling at everyone, my grandpa even for god sake, he doesnt live with us, but i love my grandpa with all my heart, again caroline polachek from chairlift, etc.

 i very briefly got a hold of myself, i think because skye had texted me or something, i quickly left my room to try to make ammends, i told my sister i hope she didnt hear any of what i was saying, i started to explain that it was just the phenibut withdrawal and she stopped me saying she knew, she had read quite extensively about it. early on in this thing, when i realized suddenly i was physically dependent on phenibut, just how much phenibut i was on, and what that meant for me, i was destroyed. my sister was the only person i could confide in, and she could see how scared i was. i knew that my behavior was about to become erratic to say the least, that our living situation wasnt well suited for what was going to happen, that it would make me feel crazy, make everyone think i was crazy, make us hate each other. frankly i was certain i wasnt going to make it this time, i had gotten myself in over my head. i also knew my behavior would make it nearly impossible for my family not to go to the system for help, but i knew from my own research that the system really cant help with high gram per day phenibut dependence. the end result would almost certainly be a medically induced coma, and intubation, the outcome of which we all knew from my mothers experience being put into a medically induced coma and contracting pneumococcal pneumonia was not a very good option. so she just read and read and read, because she loves me. my mom on the other hand shouted from the other room “is he being dangerous?” to which my sister responded “NO!”  she said “im calling the cops” and suddenly the rage started coming back again. it was literally like static electricity crackling along my back and arms, all my hair stood on end, the hair on my head, the hair on my arms and legs, like a cat i guess. i told her to call them and id be ready for them when they got here, she picked up the phone and started dailing, i watched her, and then she put it down.

 it was at this point that skye called me. i dont remember what exactly sparked it, to be honest, i think that phone conversation was pretty tame except for my energy.i remember shouting that i needed a cigarette in a demonic sounding voice before hanging up on her, i briefly remember asking her “what do i have?” because since that dude killed himself, and she was married in florida, the last ten years of my life have been a joke pretty much. and then i just destroyed my room, i needed to destroy something, i prayed literally for something to destroy, and i remembered that dresser i got from the super market and just started punching it, which was awesome because it was rigid plastic so it exploded into shards, very satisfying. i punched it into a million pieces. i threw the pieces, then proceeded to punch every framed piece of “art” in my room, chuck stuff around, basically throw a tantrum. i was not really myself here, i dont do this. ive literally only ever destroyed one thing in a fit of rage, and it was a portable cd player when i was like 13 and i regretted it immediately. i proceeded to text vile things to skye, the sweetest person ive ever known, eventually i fell asleep. when i woke up literally surrounded by debris, i still needed a cigarette and proceeded to just pick up where i left off, just kicking debris off my bed, throwing shit, its like i had fucking rabies. but i managed to roll a cigarette finally and that calmed me down IMMENSELY.

 the next day, i took my usual dose of phenibut in order to continue tapering, i forget where we were at, but we started at thirty grams per day, which is fucking absurd, i cant find another example of anyone using that much phenibut for that long, but we got quite low. the dose hit me very weird, and i got “stuck on my bed” where i was standing on my matress, without any sense or consciousness i guess, for around seven hours. the clock on my laptop froze at 1:19 AM when i picked it up with one hand and crunched something internally, and when i came to my senses still standing on the bed, the birds were chirping and the sun was up. from that day, i couldnt really feel the phenibut at all anymore. no more cartoon vision, no more rage, no more waking up like a scared child, unable to recognize my own room or remember anything about my life. just nothing. this also correlated with the time my aromatase inhibitors arrived finally so my estrogen was being brought back into check. it was like waking up finally from a dream. to be honest, i despise it.  i dont care about the shame, the regret, the people i hurt. if me and skye arent talking anymore, and the only time we talked in ten years was when i was at my absolute lowest and meanest, fuck it. i want back in the dream, or in the ground. i just cant handle that.