I suppose I should. I need to work on dealing with a world I once belonged. This may be triggering.
For a time in my life I lived on a repurposed barracks with a tribe of drug addict punks and outcasts. Over a dozen of us living there, but it fluctuated, friends of friends, people too wasted to be allowed out into the real world.
Drugs everywhere, everyday, anything you could imagine. The owner and I used to trip together, which turned into something special.
I was democratically elected to lead our trips, I had special clothing, was given the most, and would preach. Filling drug fueled centers with my stories and lessons.
My closest allies became the piggies, we ran the place, they handled day to day, but I was in charge of my ranting.
I would bless people while feeding them LSD from my hand, we would perform rituals as we came up. When everyone was good and melting, I would hold my sermons, regaling the crowd with angels and light, morels and community.
I was very sick, and not in a good place, but I was their chosen, fueling delusion, reinforced by my tribe who considered me a leader.
Any money we made went into more drugs for our increasing numbers. I remember having hundreds of hits on me at times.
For a time it was all so special. I felt I had love, a sense of purpose, and was doing good by expanding these peoples minds.
Calling it what it was, I was leading a cult. Least that what the feds who raided us said.
After the raid we all disbanded. Few charges filed on a few piggies for possession, but nothing major. I walked scot free.
I left New York shortly after, never to speak to any of them again. Gave it all up. I hope they’re all doing ok. I never meant harm on anyone.
So that how I started a religion and had a flock.
I need to work on detangling some of my more complex feelings.