[Ibogaine] neurosis

LEE JUNKBOY64 at MSN.COM
Sat Oct 14 07:14:15 EDT 2006


 slowone<mailto:slowone at hush.ai>,
THANKS for sharing!!! I totally relate.. in 5th grade I was reading at a college level and ive read all the encyclopedias and even the phone book, in effort to run away!! ive always held myself back, because I didn't believe in myself... its taken years, and an ibo treatment, but now I run my own business, and realise that im actually a cool person!!
lee

There is only love, all else is an  illusion.
  ----- Original Message ----- 
  From: Brad Hays<mailto:bradleyheathhays at gmail.com> 
  To: ibogaine at mindvox.com<mailto:ibogaine at mindvox.com> 
  Sent: Saturday, October 14, 2006 4:41 AM
  Subject: Re: [Ibogaine] neurosis


  umm hmm yep


  On 10/14/06, slowone at hush.ai<mailto:slowone at hush.ai> <slowone at hush.ai<mailto:slowone at hush.ai>> wrote: 
    I have always had a solitary streak. General sociability seemed
    shallow to me, moreover I drove away many people I liked before I 
    even knew what I was doing. I cherished the peacefulness of time
    alone - but often felt my isolation eating at me like a corrosive
    acid.

    I disappeared into books from age 5 through early adulthood. In my
    late teens, I had a sense that it was finally time to connect with
    people, to show myself and make my way in the world. I soon found
    that whenever I was doing something well, particularly in public, I
    froze. Whenever I felt something strong in myself, fear would 
    immediately eat it away. If I felt desire, I'd shut down.  I
    couldn't decide what to do with my life - I hadn't asked to be
    born, so why should I choose a career? It was as if a firm decision
    to live eluded me. 

    Rather than dwell on this, I discovered early on that I could make
    myself feel good by using my brain and willpower, thinking
    meaningless wordy thoughts that seem to release endorphins. ("The
    opposite of anti-oxidants might be onti-accidents.") This helped me 
    to remain aloof from others.

    I convinced myself that the life of the mind is most important.
    Humanity will be extinct someday, so why get excited?  But I found
    myself looking in my mind for some answer that could bring me 
    happiness.  Every now and then, I would think that I had found it
    in an idea that would acquire a buzzing momentum, with supporting
    lines of thought weaving around it like bees around a hive. But the
    next day I would find myself holding bits of dried moss instead of 
    the
    golden insight of a lifetime.

    It wasn't until my mid-30's that I had a job lasting more than a
    year, although I pursued various frustrated creative activities,
    attempting or perhaps waiting to find meaning in life. 

    Several times in the early years of therapy I had acute
    claustrophobia, feeling as if buried in a coffin, needing to decide
    whether to calmly regulate my breathing in the hope of someone
    coming to free me, or to deliberately lose control, screaming and 
    breaking fingers clawing at the splintering raw wood planks in
    front of me.  When this scenario had occurred to me in my 20's, I
    felt that waiting was easy, that someone would come, that with my
    supernaturally strong control I could ration my breath long enough. 

    I made a strong dose of T. iboga rootbark extract by soaking
    powdered rootbark in vodka and lime juice, then evaporating the
    alcohol. I drank the black liquid, an estimated dose of 25-30
    mg/kg. I vomited it about an hour later, having only experienced 
    the first brief indications of a strong experience. My stomach
    lining felt sunburned afterward. Somewhat to my surprise, I was not
    motivated to try ibogaine again immediately, even though I soon
    acquired some in chemical form. 

    One evening at a party, a year later, I was feeling isolated as
    usual.
    Suddenly, I had a novel sense that I was seeing my familiar
    surroundings for the last time.  I became concerned that this might
    be a premonition of death, perhaps even in a driving accident on 
    the way home.  This motivated me to try ibogaine again.  I had left
    the sludgy rootbark soaking in vodka with lime juice, and now I
    poured off the dark liquid (3rd extraction) and slowly evaporated
    it to a black sticky substance, which I coaxed into capsules and 
    swallowed.

    The amount of ibogaine and other compounds was barely enough to
    affect my motor abilities (estimated 2-5 mg/kg), but I stayed
    curled in bed for a number of hours, exploring my thoughts. I was
    dimly aware of thoughts coming from different places in myself.
    Each place seemed the locus of a character-like shadowy 'being'
    with different functions.  I noticed different latency times
    between having and then classifying thoughts of different types. 
    Some thoughts would dominate my attention, and consequently took
    longer to detect and label. These seemed to be more 'me', and they
    seemed to be a defence, intended to
    screen out other thoughts. (Their slowness possibly resulting from 
    habitual concentration on those particular ideas in order to block
    other subjects.)

    Presently I realised that the source of the problem that I have
    always been trying to solve is me - not just one of the hordes of 
    skills, stereotypes and memories (including scars) that I carry,
    but _me_, the very self who was trying but wasn't quite able to
    figure it out this time.

    The next day, I continued puzzling, as if over a Zen problem, 
    without expecting to solve anything just then.  My thinking had an
    unusual quality, it seemed as if I was intermittently letting
    myself think simple, logical things that I had consistently
    overlooked before.  Finally, while washing my hands, I realized 
    that I was not the person who I thought I was. I looked up at the
    mirror in real surprise - and, having just experienced a sensation
    of two selves merging, saw that surprise on an unfamiliar face.

    Then, as I was walking to a local park, I remembered a childhood 
    episode when my mother, having broken a promise by denying she ever
    made it, in response to my outrage, yelled "You'll do the same to
    your children!" Although the situation was mundane, the idea that I 
    would perpetuate the feelings that I was having in another person
    precpitated a nervous breakdown.

    Rather than let myself grow into an adult that would perpetuate
    such torture, I worked with great psychic effort to disable myself 
    and to conceal what I was doing from myself to make it sustainable.
    One thing that reinflamed my anger was that my parents would
    discount my protests at the way I was treated by claiming it would
    not matter when I was an adult. I was thus proving them wrong by 
    treating myself as they did, and thereby mutilating myself so that
    it would clearly matter when I was an adult. Following their lead,
    I was discounting myself as a human being. "Man will be extinct in
    the end" was the ultimate philosophical form of my self-denial. 

    Looking at my life, I now understood how my watcher self always
    intervened when I had intense feelings - in the form of spontaneous
    compulsive behaviours that had always amazed me with their subtlety
    and their effectiveness at thwarting what I thought I wanted to 
    accomplish. The best of the brains, talent, and force of will that
    nature had given me to excel with were unconsciously devoted
    to failure. In cutting my cords of attachment to people, I became
    entangled in their raw and angry loops, numbing myself as best I 
    could by staying in my head.

    The process of intermittent thinking that led me to the discovery
    of my
    'watcher' self in front of the mirror had an organic rhythm that I
    liken to birth, or to a snake shedding its skin: I was sliding out 
    in prosaic increments as I weakly traversed each simple but
    strangely opaque piece of thinking, all in the midst of doing some
    errands. In a sense, a process of growth toward adulthood was
    resuming after a long pause. 

    After this revelation, I quickly succumbed to grandiosity, thinking
    that I was cured and could now join the world with full capacity.
    But three months later, I wrote:

       It seems that the insights I gained on the ibogaine only 
       scratched the surface, that I am simply terrified of viewing
       the waste I have made of my life, and I'm not confident in
       ibogaine as a vehicle to cope with the terror - rather I
       wonder if the insights it might bring would just be a 
       distraction; probably even the thought of using it helps keep
       me from facing myself.  (It is so easy to imagine meeting that
       self in the future, as if it were not present now.)

    Several years have passed since I wrote the above. I have come a 
    long way since then, but still feel like I'm struggling. I found
    higher doses of ibogaine (to 12.5 mg/kg) to bring on paralyzing
    anxiety. I like ayahuasca in community musical settings nowadays. I
    had a spiritual rebirth experience in the musical ayahuasca church 
    Santo Daime that helped me feel reborn after my painful processing
    of the iboga message.

    I've enjoyed the ibogaine list and its predecessor for quite a
    while. A lot has happened here, rebirth and death inclusive. So 
    here's another
    person emerging from the shadows of those who don't tell their
    stories.





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