Chapter 18. - Aftermath

Chapter 18. - Aftermath
Our journey had taken six years to complete. We were indeed now able to call ourselves shamans having cured mankind of the evil of Abel. We had climbed great structures. Talked with alcoholic miners. Taken advice from the seriously disturbed. We had tunnelled miles underground. Found hidden places. Met with Jesse Presley, Elvis twin. Danced with his legion. Met an archangel. Upgraded our own status to archangels.mFound the son of man and killed a king.
This had taken its toll. Not only were mental health 'professionals' seriously on our case, trying to force a dull, rubbish truth on us. To be fair Scientologists talk a whole heap of shit, except on one subject. Psychiatry. A doctor may look at broken legs. Come to know the material nature of the complaint. Recognise commonalities and become expert in the field. But the mind does not exist in space. There is no way to measure if a man is mad other than by talking to him. There is no scientific test. You can ask him. We all live with delusions. It is the nature of man. Some are destroying our environment. Our most enthusiastic exponents of morality are a small group of millionaires schooled together, consuming resources at a rate to horrify common man. In nazi Germany, to reject consensus reality could meen death. But brave men stood up. Men and women who said this reality of yours is wrong. Perhaps for some time we were mad. But everything in this book has been true, though I admit much was not real. We choose how colourful we want our lives. Most choose grey.
But our adventures had damaged us. Lipton was alcoholic, heroin dependent and diazepam addicted. I was delusional from ethylphenidate use, addicted to subutex and diclazepam. We had come to a time in our lives when we had to choose. Clean up and endure a years suffering, or continue. We both chose to withdraw.
Lipton slipped off to the Welsh borders, living wild as is his want. Never taking the NHS help of counselling, brainwashing and subutex or methadone. Once he was well I drove off to his site in the Welsh borders. I was going mad. I came off the ethylphenidate here and vastly reduced my subutex. From here I went to leeds where I finally came off all opiates after fifteen odd years. My final rattle taking place back in Frome.
Recovery is long. The painful part is relatively short but a year of low endorphins means depression, tiredness and a lack of motivation. Without the manic episodes, both natural and drug induced we would never have done the things we did. Now, life can seem dull. Often I have days wondering is it worth it being straight. It's certainly less fun.
Free of drugs and alcohol leaves a vacuum. Some fill it with religion, some with study. I have yet to decide. The emptiness remains.
I am grateful to my sister who helped me escape a situation that was killing me. I am grateful to Claire who nursed me through two bouts of severe psychosis. I am grateful to Lipton for coming with me. But more than that I am grateful he gave me somewhere to run to. His haven in green valleys. He showed me ancient sites, fed me, while I was recovering. I am grateful to karen for giving me an Internet freind who never judged me, always supported me, boosted my confidence when low. Then to Dean, who looked after me too. I owe him. I owe them all. Once I am fully well I will repay them. They saved my life.
Looking back I see the psychoses for what they were, however, during them they were as real as any other reality. Some parts were much better than normal reality. It wasn't my fear or desire to be in tune with others but a growing awareness that I was upsetting people. I felt party to greater spiritual truths. At times whilst paranoid I became quite rude. For this I apologise. There is a flip side. People who rejected me, who couldn't see beneath the illness. I pity these people.
It was a choice to some degree. Do we choose what we believe? I'm not sure we can. That would take a homunculus inside our heads. As for free will. The more I learn , the less I believe it exists other than as an illusion. We all play narratives in our heads. We all live delusionally. We all think ourselves heroes. When we succeed it is our talent and hard work, when we fail it is down to circumstance. When others succeed it is down to luck or fortune of birth, when others fail it is because they are lazy, losers. This is now presented as consensus. But how much truth is there in it. We hear rags to riches stories, of how a person born poor overcomes all lifes hurdles to rise to the top. It is then said this means anyone can. This is clearly not true. These people are by nature the exceptions. To blame a person for their nature, their illness, their depression or mania is the same as blaming someone for the colour of their skin. Addicts are frustrating. But shouting at an addict to try get them to pull themselves together is no different to shouting at a schizophrenic to stop being weird, or a man with broken legs to walk properly.
Yet this is the current conservative narrative. As the planets resources become depleted, the rich consume more. Those on benefits consume little. They deserve our respect. They are the good, not the rich and greedy. And to blame them for their predicament is plain stupid, evil even.
Though I joke about Christ I was born of a Christian mother and much of my moral sensibility comes from Christs teachings. Though I believe he existed I believe he was a man. I believe in his views on bankers. I believe in forgiveness being the only way to find peace. I believe that he abandoned work to spread his beliefs about a none materialist way of life being more spiritually rewarding. Christianity has become overtaken, certainly in many towns as a bourgeoise hobby. Despite his teachings those who most loudly proclaim their allegiance to Christ drive to church in big cars. Just the other day whilst walking my dog through the churchyard I saw a vicar in a top range four by four. I couldn't help but say, 'you'll have trouble driving that through the eye of a needle.' Never have his philosophies and poverty cult been more necessary. True Christians have my utmost respect. To help the misguided vicar on his stairway to heaven I slashed all four tyres, stoved in the windscreen with a half Charlie and scratched crucifixes in to the paintwork. Such is our mission to save Christians. Burglars should always take note of Sunday services schedule. Liberate their cash and possessions that are holding them back from entry in to heaven whilst they are at church. Returning home they will see their prayers answered and leep with joy. It is only once freed of material wealth that their God will accept them in to his house. Think like a dentist. Pull out the rotten tooth. Yes it will hurt but in the long run they'll thank you for your altruism.
All the stories are true though elements weren't always real. Some events are entirely fictional. We climbed many structures in the days before the term Urban Exploration had been coined. We walked many miles underground exploring the tunnels around our area. Some of how this was done has been changed for legal reasons. Some names have been changed but most characters exist. Only real action men were used and abused, never cheaper imitations.


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