You have the uncanny memory of messaging your host "I've brought a weapon", among other words. How very American. There is some nonsensical dream logic which led you to that action, but in the moment you're not convinced it didn't happen. Whipping out your phone, you're relieved by confirmation of it's fiction.

With that catastrophe averted, you're afforded the time to peer beyond the jet lag, and in this unfamiliar place you find a familiar feeling: that sense of impending doom.

For the last few weeks it's been there every morning. It's an anxious fear that says you won't ever feel comfortable or confident, whether in action or stasis. You could sit there and feel restless, or you could walk through this foreign city with the threat of a person around the next corner. Both isolation and society seem intolerable.

Thankfully you've been here before and have overcome this many times. You're embarassed that you've managed to twist your mind into a knot again, but at least this is familiar ground. You know that the next couple of days will require a moderate dose of self doubt.

You'll need to doubt yourself thinking "this fear will last forever". You'll need to doubt your mind saying "movement won't change a thing". You'll need to sit up in bed, and wait for the minimum drive to be mustered. It takes you an hour, but if you sit there and wait it will come. This is not a sprint nor a race. This is a thirsty hike up an impossibly long trail with an oasis at the end.

Before the final, painful leg of the journey, you have one respite: your last dose. You've been tapering for weeks, and you've finally made it down to the crumbs. A quarter of a pill is all that remains. One last sigh of relief before you drag your aching bones to the finish line.

You swallow the bit of synthetic happiness, lift your weakened body, and step out into the Parisian air. The doom immediately intensifies. The sounds of traffic, the smell of burnt petrol, and the unintelligible mumblings rouse you to a state of focused tension. You feel a mild sense of danger.

Your noise-canceling earphones provide marginal protection. You walk from rue to rue with no particular physical terminus; your destination is a calm mind.

For now, the doom builds. You remember all the people you've let down and commitments you've failed. You assess the learning and growth you've delayed. You tally the lovers you've betrayed and the family you've deserted. So much time has been wasted. You have been so fucking mindless.

You walk along Canal Saint-Martin. Tent after tent barely shields the less fortunate from the noise of the busy street. You presume these tents house those who worship your same Hedone or a similar goddess.

What social structures kept you from ending up like them? What luck of the draw kept you playing the game? Further up the way, a mother decides to cross the street with her stroller. Would she have done the same if the tents weren't there? You wish she would fear you in the same way. You deserve her disgust.

You focus on your self-indulgent self-hatred, wincing at your inner critic's blows. A pathetic anger clenches your fists. But as you brace against the moment, waiting for the next strike, you find something new.

It's a deep, slow-moving tsunami, creeping from the top of your head down your back. Goosebumps rise from your skin and a chill dances across your spine. Your neck and shoulders relax as you unconsciously wiggle your toes. It only takes a minute or two for your worldview to invert completely.

A shadow of the deepest joy imaginable reflects somewhere within. It feels like holding your partner by the fire, or like your dad tucking you into bed. It feels like an assured smile painted across your face. It feels like you have enough love to hold the world.

Or at least it did feel that way months ago. Having tapered to crumbs, this moment feels like a crystal clear memory of that former experience; a memory which is impossible to recreate. Taking more won't help. You got to feel it a handful of times and then never again.

You release a sigh. The horrible voices you were struggling to doubt have quieted. For today at least, the withdrawals are over.

Despite this change, you are still distorted. The agony has been replaced by whispers of sirens, faint but alluring. Luckily for you, there is no way to heed their call. This country has outlawed your particular sin, meaning you lack the means to easily acquire more.

You have one last moment of guilt and doubt. "Should I have taken my last crumb?" "Could I have fought through without it?" You shake those questions aside. You must blindly follow the dosing schedule planned weeks ago. Until you are cleansed, all thoughts are untrustworthy.