PAIN, FEAR AND INSANITY INSIDE THE BOWELS OF HELL
The body and mind are truly fascinating things. Perhaps even more amazing, is how much shit we put them through…and knowingly!! They are often put through grueling tests that don’t always mean anything – tests which only seem to prove that we can in fact do it, for whatever that’s worth…
We’d been up most of the night, only crashing in the last two or three hours of the morning, once all the drugs and alcohol had been consumed. That was the second or third fucked-up night in a row. During the days, we’d been tooling around town in our little grey sedan, completely twisted but definitely on the calm side. I’m sure that everyone we interacted with was able to tell, too; if not from the glazed eyes and huge bags under our eyes – since at least we were wearing sunglasses –, or the rambling though lucid conversations we’d establish with them, the powerful odour of Rum and Sweat emanating from us like steam out of subway vents was sure to give us away. Luckily, our charming personalities seem to have gotten through to them, because no one dared call the police on us…and for what? What would they say? Officer, these gentlemen reeking of rum keep bothering the help, jabbering about music and other things. Sure, we’d probably get some Public Drunkenness ticket, but it wouldn’t go further than that; there was no reason why it should, and The Fuzz doesn’t appreciate being called to places when there really aren’t any emergencies…The only hard time we came across was at some strip-joint, where we were being forced to leave for being too drunk and “harassing the help”. I can’t defend or attest or protest anything, because, quite frankly, I don’t remember. But nothing else came out of that. Once all the bars were closed, we’d head back to their place to reload on whatever it was we were packing for that night. But apparently shit was about to hit the fan, and our luck would run out…or at least mine.
We opened our eyes to the rays of light coming through the wide-opened window, which felt like daggers piercing our faces. My eyes hurt so much, way more than my head and body, which seemed to be vibrating and twitching all over; they felt like the amps in speakers when they throb violently back and forth because of the booming bass. I felt dizzy and groggy, and it took me a few minutes to realize exactly where I was. Eventually, after much noise and shuffling, everyone was up and sitting dispersedly around the room, on whatever they could find that was not wet, dirty or stacked with all kinds of things, from clothes to electronics and even some cutlery. We were watching T.V., just flipping around to find something easy to watch; something that wouldn’t take much effort to pay attention to – something like a funny movie or some cartoons. The dog also seemed lethargic and somewhat hung-over, though he had only drunk a few sips of beer and hadn’t really acted drunk, as other times, when he’d roll around with his ear to the ground, as if trying to dig out a tick gnawing at his brain. We sat quietly for a long time, unable to conjure any energy to even say a word. Suddenly, my insides began rumbling and in that calmness it was easily audible to everyone so that they all looked at me curiously. I instantly got up and ran to the bathroom, which was directly across the room, and slammed the door shut. I got down on my knees and was suddenly looking at chunks of half-digested food twirling inside a thick black and red liquid – which I was convinced was blood diluted in alcohol – pouring like a mini Niagara Falls into the toilet. But I wasn’t necessarily worried at that point – we’d all done the “Big Spit”, as the Good Doctor once described it, and knew what it was like and what was to be expected. But I did begin to get worried after my third trip – which was just as vile, if not more, and which happened within six or seven minutes from the first one. Everyone was beginning to ask me questions, though their words sounded like muffled woooas wooas wooas or something else nonsensical. I could hardly gather the strength to respond, much less move myself between rooms so constantly and frantically, so I decided to stay in the washroom after my fifth or sixth trip, when there were no longer any solids coming out but only a slimy residue which I figured was bale mixed with other stomach acids. I was now beginning to seriously worry, and my immediate though was that I should get to a hospital as soon as I get up and cleanse myself. But that would never happen, because almost as if being punished for even thinking that by some higher power, I began a descent into a physical and psychological hell I had never until then seen or been a part of, and to which I wish to never return.
The washroom door, which was half opened, became extremely blurry, and the little bit of light that was coming through it finished blinding me. Nevertheless, I could hear the background noise – voices, the television, water running somewhere – just a bunch of noises that clustered together into a deafening and constant hum. I felt as if I was tumbling around violently inside a running laundry machine. I wanted to say something to someone or to call them near, but I was losing my ability to speak. But I quickly lost sight of those facts when I began throwing up again, though this time nothing was coming out; I was dry-heaving savagely, completely reddened all over and pouring sweat and, more alarmingly, I was beginning to feel numb. First it started on my legs: like a small surge of electricity beginning on my toes, it kept creeping up my feet, then my legs and finally onto my torso, where it felt as if someone had smeared nitrogen inside and it was now spreading. Then my hands, which were clutching the sides of the toilet, began to contort: my fingers were slowly becoming warped, like deformed claws recoiling onto themselves, so that it was impossible to hold anything. Unable to hold the toilet, I fell back onto the wall, with my legs spread out in front of me and my arms paralyzed in the shape of tree-branches and half-opened claws twitching like spider legs after they’ve been stepped on. My neck was also beginning to stiffen on one side, so that by the end of my transformation I was left looking a paraplegic who had fallen off his chair, or some kind of disturbing realist sculpture symbolizing the Pain of Man or something of the sort. It was a horrific sight, like something out of a horror movie. With the bit of strength I had, I yelled out something incoherent and someone rushed in. Upon seeing me like that, they called someone else urgently, which worried me even more. It was all noise in the background to me; just voices without bodies moving around like wind and disappearing just like the same. At one point I heard one of them say, “no…I can’t see that again…just take him to the doctor’s…” or something like that. I couldn’t understand, but later, when everything had calmed down, he had told me that he’d seen too many of his friends die like that and he himself had been too close-a-call to go through it all again. Anyway, in that state I couldn’t even make sense of what was happening; all I knew was that I felt as if I were dying. Then I saw the legs of one of them moving around in the room again, and before they could leave, I pleaded the only thing I could muster at the moment: “Could you please…uh…just turn on the cold water….and shove me in the shower…”…
When I came to, the shower was running at full strength and freezing water was coming down on my face. For second, I thought I was drowning at the bottom of the ocean: that’s why I’m still fully clothed and I can’t move or breathe, I thought. But after a second or two I realized I was in the bath-tub, and that my fingers and legs were finally beginning to loosen up. Though my arms and legs laid in front me in the exact same position I was in when on the ground, my fingers were slowly moving until eventually I could make a fist and open it back up. Then I began moving my legs slowly, pulling them back and stretching them again; though they hurt, it felt wonderful to be able to move again. I laid there, letting the freezing water hit me for a good 10 minutes before I dragged myself out. I was shivering from the cold, but I was actually moving again, which was the only thing I cared about. Everyone was asking me if I was ok and if I needed a doctor. In retrospect, I should have gone, but at the moment I figured I should just rest.
After an hour or so, continuing to shiver and feeling my shins cramped up, though still able to move, I got up and decided to leave. I sat on the passenger seat staring out the window the entire ride home as my girlfriend, who had been with us only the last night and was unaware of everything else that had come before that, drove the car, quietly sobbing and wiping away tears. I knew it was a terrible thing to have seen, and I felt the fear and disappointment that emanated from her as strongly as her delicate yet powerful scent. I felt guilty, but mostly I felt scared: scared that I had nearly died; but particularly scared that I had exchanged what was then one of the most important things in my life for an unadulterated and savage physical and mental test that in the end, had meant nothing.
…Still, in some sinister corner of my mind, there was a perverse sense of victory at having stood on the edge of some kind of hell that most will never experience, and having pulled back just before it was too late…Though, of course, after one visit, I vowed to never return.