Dream Therapy. Louis Shalako.

Louis Shalako

I’ve suffered from depression a few times in my life. It’s been chronic at times, and this has gone on since I was about fourteen. There are times, long periods, when I have been happy, and it was held at bay—yet I also remember my best girlfriend holding me as I cried, for reasons I could not describe. Those few years were the happiest time of my life, probably because I was getting laid—

Go figure.

That was a long time ago. But the fact is, I was suicidal at the age of twenty-six. All this over a woman. (A different one. – ed.)

Fifteen years ago, the same thing again when I lost my home, and got chucked in jail, (the bogus charge was later dropped), the loonie bin (that one’s on the record permanently) a couple of times. When some authority figurine tells you that there is something wrong with you, you tend to listen. What else you gonna do? This guy’s gone to school for a real long time and there are two cops standing behind you.

This time it went on for a year and a half, when every day, multiple times a day, I thought about suicide—and worse. I thought about killing other people, cops even. Mostly to make them pay. It was only when I realized that they were wrong, and that there was nothing really wrong with me, well…that was what saved me.

This shit can come and it can go, and yet we do have some control, because we have some experience, some coping skills after all these years. For one thing, we drink like a fish, smoke like a chimney, and say fuck a lot.

For some reason, winter seems a lot worse than summer, when at least I can go and sit on a beach for a couple of hours. In winter, I’m kind of on lockdown, for an average of twenty-two and a half hours a day. That’s the trouble with the Ontario Disability Support Program, all of that state-sponsored isolation.

This winter is better than last winter, when I definitely suffered from some depression.

This results in a lot of tailgaters being pulled over, dragged from their vehicles and beaten to death by the side of the road. (Just kidding.)

Last winter, bad enough, was better than the winter before.

A year ago, say October or November, I managed to hook up with a few ‘shrooms. I bought a gram, and then a gram, and then another gram. I’d been reading about micro-dosing, and I thought why not give it a try. It’s not going to kill me, right? Supposedly, it is an aid in battling depression and yet how would one ever quantify this…??? No one can say. None of them are scientists, and a lot of them are assholes.

I’ve been self-medicating since I was fifteen years old, with varying degrees of success.

Micro-dosing on mushrooms, (psilocybin), involves taking about a fifth or maybe only a tenth of a gram. You can feel the coldness all down along the spine, (it’s working all right) and the hyper-awareness of one’s breathing. Colours and sensations are lightly enhanced, and yet you aren’t hallucinating. At that level, it’s more of a tonic.

This story could go on forever, I won’t waste your valuable time. There are any number of things that you could try, not the least of which is to try and be a little bit more like me.

So, for whatever reason, melatonin is an aid in dreaming. Think about what it’s doing: it’s liberating the subconscious, in an analogous way, (it’s a completely different chemical process), to a micro-dose of a good hallucinogenic. I can vouch for this. When I wake up in the middle of the night due to some unfortunate pounding incident, you know, like from a neighbouring apartment, I can honestly say that I have been having really crazy dreams lately—and I haven’t been all that depressed. Although I did have a few crying jags today, that’s probably just a little back pain, life circumstances, and a few poor moral choices along the way. Sure, some of that comes from fucking bullshit, the death of a loved one, abject and hopeless poverty, living in geared-to-income-housing and the like.

Like the way my brother has changed, living in the rather grim 9-14 here in Sarnia, Ontario.

My nephews live there too. (Louis sure hopes they make it out of there someday. – ed.)

The dreams seem to go on and on. When I wake up, I can still sort of remember the most dominant or startling scene, and in going back to sleep, my thought is, ‘Boy, do I want to dream some more’. It works pretty well. I’ve seen family members, my best friend from way back when, the only thing missing so far is that first, really good girlfriend. The second one wouldn’t be bad either. The third one, maybe not so much...

Yeah, the visuals are really something. The cities, the towns, caves, cliffs and sparkling underground rivers, the odd-ball interiors, all up and down in some really skinny buildings, the tunnels, the boats and the cars and the crashing alien spaceships are really something.

Dreaming is cathartic to some extent. More than anything, it would appear to be the imagination at play.

Maybe that’s what was missing: my mind needs to play.

Maybe it's just me, way down inside, that needs to play...

As circumstances presently stand, the daily thoughts can be pretty grim sometimes, as we try and figure out where our next meal is coming from.

END

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