The Booze Hound

The day had finally come when I would face the top members of the social club whose membership I had invested time and money into. The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on my shoulders, as I knew this meeting could change the course of my life. I entered the room and seated around a long table were the elders, their faces lined with disapproval and judgment. I couldn’t help but feel a sense of déjà vu, as this scene reminded me of when I was disfellowshipped by the Jehovah’s Witnesses. There I was, a grown man, standing in front of a committee whose sole purpose in that meeting was to drill me about the things I had said I did. My heart raced in my chest, my palms sweaty as I felt their icy gaze upon me. “Is this something you do often? This doesn’t look good for you,” they began, their voices laced with a mix of contempt and concern. I glanced at my reflection, and could see the change in my eyes – they darkened and fell dead, a stark contrast to the fire that once burned within. The inquisition continued, and they would compare openly speaking about my experience with DMT to peddling heroin, a reference that I thought was truly disrespectful to both me and to what DMT actually is. I tried to explain to them, “DMT exists inside your body already,” but their expressions remained stern, their ears closed to my words. The pressure to conform mounted, but I refused to bend to their will. As I stood my ground, I couldn’t shake the sinking feeling in my stomach, knowing that while these people believed that I would “repent and fall in line,” that just wasn’t in my nature. I moved to the beat of my own drum, and the power of God had never touched me from a page in a book. “I can’t unsee what I saw, and I’m not sorry for what I did,” I declared defiantly, looking each of them in the eye. With the meeting over, I walked away knowing that my membership was over, whether they realized it or not. I could not comfortably be in the presence of people whose sole experience with the spiritual world was reading a book. That night, I made my way to the store, ready to get completely hammered and, once again, attempt to forget the newest failure to add to my long resume of broken dreams. Thinking about the staring eyes of those who judged me, I knew that regardless of what they said to spin this narrative, I would not back down. I would not regret the very decision that opened my eyes up to the world I was in. My pursuit of knowledge would not be stopped by the closed minds of others. I raised my glass in a silent toast to the unbreakable spirit within and took a determined swig.

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