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Dilaudid Diaries Not everything feels like something else, but that does not mean mean it cannot be described. First you get dizzy and the lights begin to change. Next the world becomes kalaidescopic, and you enjoy the sight for a moment before the earth gives out beneath you and swallows you whole. It's a deadly multidimenasional fall through the many layers of space and time. A millennium goes by in the blink of an eye, at the end of the eternal drop Death is patiently there to greet you. You have accepted your faith and resolved to hold Death's hand and return home, head held high, dignity still intact. Instead of taking your hand Death herself reaches up out to pull back the curtains of the void, and reality melts before you. Nothing is real. Nothing is tangible. You can see existence as it is; atoms. Millions and billions and trillions of atoms all pulsating, dancing, and living in a way beyond comprehension. Suspended amongst the atoms you feel a staggering sense of awe. You can now only view your environment, your obstacles, your loved ones as atoms, energy, and light. Nothing is even vaguely familiar, there is no direction, and nowhere to go. Terrified, you grasp at emptiness, searching for familiarity in a quantum sea of chaos. The only respite comes in the form of a sudden pain so agonizing that you can feel it in every atom of your being. You are alive, but at what cost? Your lifeblood begins uncontrollably flooding out from your mouth, eyes, and nose. Every single pore on your skin opens up to secrete a deluge of pure ice cold adrenaline. Its as if God were wringing you dry like a wet washcloth, squeezing out every drop of life from your flimsy flesh. It's hard to breathe, your chest being crushed under the pressurized beats of your heart, an engine running full force. Soon a white light blinds you before your eyes have opened, surely this isn't heaven! There is no pain in heaven, is there? You become aware of a line vaguely
attached to your body and you see as it reaches up toward the light,
heaven bound, yet the agony persists. This is no heaven. This is no
hell. You feel the weight of Death's featherlight form sitting at the edge
of the hospital bed, watching you with an ineffable sadness in their
eyes. You meet his gaze with a grim understanding. Death will
not carry you home tonight. No one will. You are alone. Come
witching hour you flee the false heavan and make the lonely trek
back to the mundane through dark city streets, carrying the gravity
of your actions with the delusional air of comedy. Your denial
so great that even God cannot help you.