Kite Rocket Breakaway

 I don’t remember much from my last ketamine session — and that’s common.

But what I do remember is the pattern.

The pattern of deep emotional excavation,
ripping me open one layer at a time —
only to deliver me into a space of celebration,
of light, of clarity.
The playlist.
The imagery.
The cost.
All of it crashing together in a way only ketamine knows how to orchestrate.

And this time, the medicine asked a question I didn’t expect:

“Are they really worth it?”

Not just the money.
But the reactivation of every wound,
the resurfacing of memories I’ve spent years trying to bury,
the somatic aftermath that leaves me raw for days.

It’s no secret I came back to treatment after a rupture —
a relational trauma from people I still have to see regularly.
People who once spoke of love, of plans, of shared futures,
and now respond with silence, performance, or worse — revisionist history.

But the medicine didn’t let me stay in that confusion.
It reminded me of what I already knew.
It brought me back to the rocket.
The one that launched when I chose myself.
The one powered by every truth I refused to swallow.

Kelly Clarkson told me to Breakaway.
U2’s Kite wrecked me. That song’s been on loop for days.
Especially the line:

“In summer, I can taste the salt in the sea.
There's a kite blowing out of control on the breeze.
I wonder what's gonna happen to you —
you wonder what is gonna happen to me…”

And then:

“I’m a man. I’m not a child.
A man who sees the shadow behind your eyes.”

I saw it.
I still see it.
The shadow of false promises.
The flinch in the follow-through.
The ghosting dressed up as “self-care.”
The triangulation, the petty silence, the replacement attempts.

But here’s the shift:
I’m no longer in the swirl disguised as a circle.
That game has nothing for me now.

I've been introduced to abundance.
In my Amazon business.
In Jiu-jitsu.
At UVU.
In the way the love I pour out has finally started coming back.
The medicine once told me: Don’t burn the village when the rocket launches.
But that doesn’t mean I need to tolerate shitty patterns or stay in places that shrink me.

Since starting this treatment, I’ve said I went from not being in the circle
to becoming the whole damn sphere.

And now, I’m tasting love from my homeland again.
Tasting food that reminds me I come from flavor and fire.
Being shown waterfalls, trails, rivers —
and more importantly, being seen for real by someone who doesn’t flinch at my depth.

As much as the last couple months hurt,
they became the launchpad:
for my rocket,
my kite,
my breakaway,
my expansion.

And now?

Now I’m free.
Free from feeling small.
Free from the swirl.
Free to rise without apology.