A friend died in my arms last night

November 12, 2015

I meditated last night until I started falling asleep. I kept trying to fight through the sleepiness, but it was to no avail.

I got up, went to bed, and almost immediately had one of those “You’re not yourself, you’re somebody else” otherworldly dream or dream-like experiences. I woke up in bed with tears streaming down my cheeks because of what had just happened. (A friend died in my arms. Why are these things always tragic?) I sat up, looked around, but couldn’t figure out who or where I was. With my body/brain/mind rejecting the situation, I barfed into the trash can by the bedside. I’m glad someone put that there.

After somewhere between thirty and ninety seconds I remembered who/where I am. With my body shaking as usual after one of these experiences, and not wanting to go back to sleep, I bundled up and went for a long, cold, after-midnight November walk. The clear sky was beautiful, and I was glad to be alive, even if I felt like crap. I made a note to myself that I need to take midnight walks more often, I appreciate the solitude.

It’s hard to do justice to these experiences. I wish everyone had them so they could know what I’m talking about, or I wish I could describe them more richly.

Phew, I’m exhausted, and the day hasn’t even begun yet. My head is killing me.

Later that day ...

After writing that previous text, I was doing a few things around the apartment, trying to do physical things to feel less disembodied, and after a little while I noticed that I was dragging my left leg. When I mentally questioned why I was doing this, I remembered that it was a characteristic of the person I had been during this otherworldly experience.

When this happens with other people around

I live alone, but occasionally I travel, and sometimes I end up staying with other people. During the holidays last year I stayed with my wife for a little while (we’re separated), and one evening her sister stayed over to help us set everything up for the holiday/family party the next day. The two of them slept downstairs while I slept upstairs, and during the night I had one of these events. In that event I knew who and where I was when I returned, but I still had to throw up. When I knew this was about to happen, I quietly made my way to the upstairs bathroom, closed the door, and threw up as quietly as I could, as my sister-in-law was sleeping on the couch downstairs.

Later that morning my wife and her sister probably thought I was hungover, because it takes 8-12 hours to recover from this, during which time I look and feel like crap, but I didn’t want to discuss it with them at that time. (I write about these things all the time, but only very rarely do I discuss these things with other people. It seems weird talking about it, and it only seems to make other people uncomfortable.)

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