Die sober or fucked up?

[sadasaulna]

When I was in AA I heard many Alcoholics tell me they wanted to die sober. I'm a "high functioning" alcoholic and wouldn't want to die of alcoholism. Awful way to go. I've had some good success in reducing my intake recently and am in a much better place. I've also been getting better in my physical health so at least I'm hoping I might not die in my 50s now. The AA folk would say that they would remain sober to their dying day and stare death in the face and die sober and without guilt and with pride at their achievement. I admire the braveness. I get the vibe. I once got a GP to prescribe me some diazepam for an MRI since I'm badly claustrophobic and I ended up deciding to not take them and face the challenge and it wasn't that bad in the end. While I was in the machine I pretended I was on a voyage to Mars in a capsule and I got over my claustrophobia.

But death... I mean I'm such an anxious person I think facing my death would be a permanent panic attack. And my panic attacks usually convince me I've already died and i'm in hell or purgatory (catholic upbringing!), I switch from panic to psychosis rapidly in that situation. I don't want the last weeks, days or moments of my life to be a screaming wall of fear and terror or psychosis dying thinking i'm already in Hell.

The famous poem goes "Rage, rage against the dying of the light." - Why? What is the point? Death is utterly inevitable. Every single last one of us will face it. Why Rage? What's that going to prove to the universe that gives zero fucks about you? That's like a gorilla beating its chest before having its head blown off with a shotgun. Your life is a split picosecond in time to the universe.

My dad when he was dying of cancer got the Midazolam treatment, they gave him hefty doses and I was immensely grateful for that. He was way too wasted to know what was going on and with the amnesiac effects would have had no memory of the days of trauma leading up to his death - no food and water for 12 days has to be hellish, and yes that's the 'death pathway' in the UK, just starve you and die of dehydration like those people in the Rime of the Ancient Mariner. Don't know if its the same in other countries?

When my end comes I want blackout levels of Drugs. Fuck alcohol that can't even get close - give me Barbs, Benzos, Morphine, Fentanil, Propofol, GHB, anything (a combination ideally) - I do not want to be present at my own death. You wouldn't want to be present at your own funeral, so why should you be present at your death? You're not present at your birth since very few people really remember anything of those days though I do have a vague memory of being in the womb - mainly that I didn't want to come out, I was very happy where I was. I'd be more than happy to hear some of my favorite music before I blackout completely and never have any further memories. I want to die happily and in a place of complete comfort and happiness.

How do the rest of you feel?

S.

 

[Pissed_and_messed]

Wow. Well said, really.

I just want to be there to tell people goodbye. Also one reason I'd like to see palliative high dose oral hashish or product of it to be established where I live. And then morphine any time I want, ofc. And shrooms.

But getting stoned every day while dieing, I could enjoy more of the last moments than just on the morphine. It has been studied and shown that additional cannabis therapy decreases use of opioids.

 

[Psycho_Logic]

Some of things I learned, experienced or read during the experiences called life:

We all live and die "fucked up". Some people put molecules in the body that change consciousness more faster and more radically. Normal, but not necessarily healthy, people ingest molecules/stimulus served via media and live a predictable experiences that are in the interest of their dealers that programme them and hijack the bodies and minds to serve their interest. The dealers of this programs are the ones that run the social game. Although the most malevolent ones they are at the same time the most respected by the normal/regular (better say regulated) crowds. Then there are people that understand the process and interplay of molecules they consume or are created by the stimulus to which their senses are subjected. This group knows how to regulate their endogenous drugs. They kow wich food, behaviours, stimulant exposure, ways of breathing...leads to forming of endogenous molecules and are more healthy with mind-body creating molecular soup that serves them in the most beneficial ways. Those are the true chemists.

Every molecule that affects the body is made by the body, and outside agents either support creating favorable or unfavourable amounts and types of endogenous molecules ( neurotransmitters, hormones, peptides, modulators...). Be it serotonin, dopamine, GABA, or opioids like enkephalins, dynorphins, endorphins... If you include DMT that is believed to be secreted in higher quantities via some diets and ways or living, when falling asleep and especially when a body is dying - than you have no chance to die "sober". One can only support which "fucked up" experience is the aim.

 

[brokedownpalace10]

I just turned 69. Men in my family seem to live to 75-79. I'm going to beat that, but realistically I'll get 5-10 more years than that if I take care of myself.
So, I could die in 6-7 years and it wouldn't be a surprise. The most I can hope for is around 20. No biggie. It's my turn to realize that.
I quit pot for a couple decades to raise my kid. Now that I'm retired, I can smoke.
It's nice, but for some reason I don't really want to be stoned on the couch and feel symptoms of some kind of sudden death.
Yeah, if I was suffering I'd want to be pretty fucked up. I'd prolly go with opiates even though I hardly do them now.
But death? It's the ultimate trip they say. Sober, maybe, if I get to choose.
So, what's a mother to do?

 

[Bleaney]

It seems so cruel to me, that barring accidents or sudden deaths, then dying usually seems to be an agonising long drawn out process of suffering, distress, and pain.

If no physical disease gets you and you're still alive in your 90s then there's a high chance you're going to go out with dementia.

All of these scenarios seem absolutely terrible to me.

I'm very bad at bearing illness and certain types of pain, like really very very bad. I can't imagine how I'd deal with getting diagnosed with some debilitating ruinous physical disease. I'd probably be straight off to Switzerland for one of those assisted suicides, if I couldn't hold of GBL etc to tip myself over the edge in the nicest possible way.

At this stage, I just don't see the point in grimly hanging on to endure the suffering for months or years until death finally releases you. Maybe I'll feel differently if / when this does happen to me, but I doubt it.

I couldn't possible sum it up any better than John Cooper Clarke did in his poem below:

“Things are going to get worse, nurse …” a poem​

Northern poet John Cooper Clark on his 60th birthday in 2008 – a prophet!

“What me worry? I should care,
Shit for brains, wire for hair,
I’ve seen the future and I ain’t there,
Things are gonna get worse.

Velcro slippers and a spandex wasteband,
Washed up on Planet Wasteland,
Zipped up like a nylon spaceman,
Things are gonna get worse.

Things are gonna get worse, nurse,
Things are gonna get rotten.
Make that hearse reverse, nurse,
I’m trying to remember everything that I’ve forgotten.

Things are gonna get worse nurse,
things are gonna get crappy,
colour me perverse nurse,
bad news always makes me happy.

Things are gonna get worse nurse,
things are gonna get dismal,
smite me with a curse nurse,
make it something real abysmal

Things are gonna get worse nurse
I ain’t optimistic
I’ve got a mouth like a purse nurse
and a bungalow smelling of piss and biscuits

things are gonna get worse nurse,
murder by statistics,
take me back to the first verse,
the last ones just too pessimistic

Euthanasia – that sounds good,
An Alpine neutral neighbourhood,
Then back to Britain, all dressed in wood,
Things are gonna get worse.”

 

[brokedownpalace10]

"Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light."



Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, indeed.

 

[sadasaulna]

Talking of poems I used to write poetry when I was in a better state of mind than I'm in these days... here is one I found while cleaning out my inbox

"They beat us down,
and we stood up,
They cast their frowns,
Called us clowns,
and we stood up.

They bawled,
but we hauled.
They threw their weight,
but we shipped our freight.
They stung us with nettles,
we showed them our petals.
They hurled their rocks,
while we made their frocks,
They named the hour,
and we didn't turn sour.

They chuckled,
while we struggled,
Where they became bitter,
we became fitter.

When they wanted the same,
We overcame.

What they called the start,
we already knew in our heart."

 

[sadasaulna]

And here were some mini ones:

Seed:
In each of us a seed,
of happiness divine,
A new day dawning,
Anywhere this can lead,
Today you will surely shine.

Star:
Burn bright little star,
Kindle your light,
It is your inner fight,
On its beams you'll go far.

Find:
We're all seeking to find,
Amongst the hustle and bustle,
that secret to unwind,
written into our bone,
a place called home.

Seasons:
Winter's cold I shall scold,
Into Spring we burst,
Shadowing Summers' thirst,
So I may know Autumn's gold.

Troubles:
We found ourselves in a place,
Of gentle grace,
When we let our heart in,
Trouble vanished without trace.

Worry:
I was a person of worry,
From myself pleasure would scurry,
Until one day,
To myself I say,
Stop. Don't hurry.

Fate:
Strength has no length,
Real treasure has no pressure,
No need to wait,
We'll make our own fate.