I have been thinking of a word that escapes me. However, there are times when this word comforts me, depending upon moments in my life. I am thinking about the word euphoria or how this exists in the mind and the body.
I have felt this way.
I can swear to this.
I think this is more than just physical. I think this means to be orgasmic or to be intoxicated, as if to be flooded by a brand of something so joyful and gentle, or rapturous and delightful that all pain is numbed and everything heavy has been reversed by gravity. Thus, we are weightless as ever, like a feather drifting in the sky.
I want to explore what it means to feel this overwhelmed, deep within, or what it means to be high, as in euphoric, which is not limited to the synthetic or the chemical phenomenon that pushes through the veins. No, this is more than something cooked in a lab and stronger than something that causes a habit which blinds us to the surrounding world.
At the same time, I want to talk about the highs of life to which there is no more pain, and there is no more sadness. All that there is are the symphonies of something so overpowering that not even hell can disturb this.
This is the ultimate Do Not Disturb Sign and better than any that have been hung on the front of any hotel room doors.
I was thinking about a Billy Joel song. This is a song that dates back from my youth which occurred to me when I was alone or heartbroken or when I was going through the different transitions of my young man’s life.
The song is known as Summer, Highland Falls. I was thinking about the lyrics.
I was thinking about how the song opens up with the words, “They say that these are not the best of times, but they’re the only times I’ve ever known.”
I can relate to this.
I may not have seen the flowerbeds of paradise, and I might not have made my way out to Fiji. I’ve never been to Monte Carlo, which was a place I had always wanted to go. At the same time, I have seen what I have seen. I might not have experienced the so-called high life. But I have lived where I have lived, and I have done what I have done. I know the beauties of my local life, which are far greater than places that I’ve only known from stories that come from pictures or other people.
I have been told about the greatest places, but the places I’ve seen are the only places I’ve ever known.
So to close this journal, I have been mentioning the idea of pulling off my trick.
Therefore and in fairness to this journal, my aim is to feel good. That’s all.
I want to be happy.
I want to feel euphoric. I want to feel high, which I admit to my old misunderstandings because I thought to feel “high” was a feeling that was delivered to me in small packages of tiny poison.
I admit that I believed there was only one way to pull off this trick. Put simply, or as it was sung by Billy Joel, “We are always what our situations hand us. It’s either sadness or euphoria.”
Once again, I can relate to this.
How are we supposed to feel good? How are we supposed to find that station of euphoria and, of course, what do we do in the absence of bliss?
I think these questions deserve our investigation.
How do we hold our highs longer and how do we keep our crashes from being so devastating?
Or what about the panic? What about the fear that takes place when we think that perhaps we might not ever feel so good or so high again?
What about this?
Of course, it is important for me to repeat that feeling high or being euphoric is not synonymous or limited to the tiny envelopes that carry batches of poison. This is more than something in pill form, or smoked in pipes, or drank from bottles with an alcohol content that numbs the mind and euthanizes the moments, at least for a little while.
I can say that I have felt highs from both regards. I have felt the natural and sought after brand of euphoric bliss. I have been to places and seen things.
I have experienced accomplishments.
I have seen things, and felt things, like the childlike remedies of something as simple as sharing a meal—even if the meal itself was not particularly good; still, the interconnection of sharing and feeding, or serving and pleasing is an equal rush to some of the best highs on the market today.
I am ending this journal here and turning the page. I suppose I have to.
This means I am entering into another agreement with me, myself and, of course, you too, I suppose.
I am about to enter a new consideration that opens me up to a new journey.
I want to define what it means to feel good. I want to talk about the receptors in my mind and how they react to the highs I have felt, and more importantly, I want to explore what I go through in the absence thereof.
I want to talk about the devastation of the crash and the need to be back among the clouds when all else is low or just worldly.
What does it mean to feel high?
What does it mean to crash and feel the absence of the rush? Again, this can be the same as the way it comes with manmade synthetics, or even with the so-called natural buzz, or even better, I want to discuss and venture into the feelings of bliss. Thus, I want to open up to the insanity that comes when we live in the madness, think about, or feel the opposite of being high—whether it is pure, toxic, innocent, heavenly, poisonous, or even deadly.
I want to talk about the center in my mind, which is burdened by the fears that worry about the absence of pleasure. I want to search through the parts of me that worries about the despair which comes with not getting what I want, as in the absence of joy, or the sad awareness that highs can vary and crashes can be deep.
I am too passionate, which is not altogether bad; however, this is something that needs to be explained and explored.
I can think of fights, battles, arguments, and things that have been said out of spite. I can recall the mad tantrums, crazy as ever, which come to a point or explode, like the tip of a nuclear warhead, just inches about the target. And boom! I can recall the aftermath or how this lead to incur a self-induced devastation because, of course, we assumed the high would never return, or that in the assumption that we are never going to feel “that good” again, and in the panicked belief that we are going to be failed or let down—we fired our emotional weapons of self-destruction and destroyed the very thing that brought us out of this world.
At the same time, I want to offer the clear need, the drive, and the overwhelming desire, which comes with matters from the heart. I want to fully disclose the result of a touch from the hand, or a sight of the leg, or a smile, or even the desired appeal that comes when we notice the body of our desire and the object of our affection. This is a high above all else.
Or, so I believe.
There is no high like this. There is no bliss like a moment in a pool when the sky above is bright and blue, and the world around us is canceled because our attention is drawn inward. Or say, when the night falls and there is the need to get dressed and go out—ah, this is the best high ever.
I think of another song too, which was performed by Eric Clapton when he sang, “You look wonderful tonight.”
I am, of course, a fool at times. Afraid. immature and brat-like.
I am the one who overthinks and overcomplicates the simple situations. I do this out of fear that heights like this will crash.
And then what?
What do I do then?
How do you go back to living on earth when you’ve seen the face of heaven? Or what do you do when you watched an angel smile and then look around to see the commonality of routine life?
Yes, I am afraid. Yes, I am concerned that I am unworthy of say, a dance, or an idea which I’ve had for years. I have told you about this.
This is the idea to recreate or build the prom that I never had the chance to attend.
I assume that the benefits of adulthood will allow me to have this dance anywhere I choose. I can probably do this with a better budget and with better decorations in mind. And yes, i will do this before I die.
But, of course, I am a fan of palm trees and white sand beaches that absorb the day before sunset—and ah, yes. The sunset will be euphoric.
But the day and the sunset will be as beautiful as the full moon, and even this will be nowhere as blissful as the walk we take before we enter the room.
I have been waiting for this all of my life.
This is when we move slowly on the dancefloor, and yes, I’m sure that Clapton was right because of how he sang “and as she asks me, do I feel alright?” I can finally answer and say, my Darling, “Yes, I feel wonderful tonight.”
Don’t tell me about euphoria.
I know all about it.
I might not be wealthy or worldly or even seasoned or truly cultured.
But I know what the word beauty means.
I can draw this and describe this to you with my eyes closed. I can define and describe everything about this to you, with ease. In fact, I plan to.
In fact, this is exactly what I plan to do.
Defining euphoria and searching for the perfect high, which was always here, all these years, right before my eyes.
Be it what it may, I want to be this way, and above all, once we enter the room, I swear to you—
I don’t ever want to come down from a high like this
(again).
Do you get it?
The Written Addiction 