weed, hash, LSD, PCP - nothing could beat my run-in with normal everyday meds…{sets scene}:
It was an average day, finished a field hockey game, came home, felt a muscle pull in my back, scavenged for some painkillers, found some muscle relaxant and acetaminophin and tylenol with Codeine…sweet jeebus…about 5 minutes later, I was sitting at my computer watching the screen throb, little faces all over the walls, angellic-looking lights on my shoulders, and dogs hiding behind the sofa…I heard my voice being called even though I was home alone and I could wave my hand in front of my face and watch a ‘light-trail’ follow my hand…it was fairly intense and lasted for 2 days. It was remarkable mostly because I had only taken normal, everyday medication (yes, perhaps a bit much, but nonetheless, nothing extraordinary)…odd
- first off, I must strongly reccomend that no one ever do what I am about to describe*
I went to a warehouse party at the packard plant in detroit, While waiting in line, I downed to 4 hits of blotter acid I brought with me. By the time I got in the building, I was tripping pretty nicely. I also had bought 40 dollars worth of Ketamine in the parking lot from this guy I knew. I had no intention of dipping into that at this point though. I got into the party( a huge ghetto ass warehouse/factory space in an almost competelty deserted area of the D) and there was such an incredibly good, happy vibe that when someone offered me some ecstacy I couldn’t say no(I was young and VERY stupid back then). I took two rolls and danced for an hour or so. by that point I was out of my head. Somehow, someone convinced me that it would be a good idea to dip into the Ketamine. I did about half of what I had and then slumped onto the floor an halucinated for about an hour or two. I was working at Meijer(a big grocery/general purpose store) at the time, and all I could think about was the different flavors of Ice cream that I had been stocking all day, it was miserable. thank god my friend Marie was there to take care of me. I don’t remember most of that night, but what it did teach me was that more is not necessarily better. I cut down on the trippy drugs after that, to the point where I eventually quit everything but alcohol(never went back either, ok, so I did smoke weed quite a few more times). It was the one and only time I hallucinated to the point where I no longer knew what was real and what was the drugs. It was rather scary.
Thank you very fucking much.
Anyway:
On my 18th birthday I smoked up, and then burst into tears because I was still living at home and I would never make any mark in the world and nobody appreciated me and nobody noticed me. I was profoundly depressed for three weeks after that. **
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Once I toked up after a bad experience and just kept repeating the scene in my mind over and over and over… It was after a family argument (I hadn’t been directly involved, but it was disturbing nonetheless). Later in the evening I went to my brother’s house, and it was there we toked up. After that I was always careful not to get high unless I feeling generally OK about things.
It is a toss up:
Either the long conversation I had with the giant, purple, Chuck Taylor All-Stars Converse Sneaker; or,
The night I wouldn’t come off the swing set (“No, you don’t understand. I was born to swing. I’m never going to stop.”) I also brushed my teeth for half an hour that night. Damn, that felt sooooo good.
They say I’m difficult, they say I’m drunk, even when I’m not. Sure, I take dolls, 'cause I’ve gotta get up at five o’clock in the morning and “Sparkle, Neely, sparkle!” That psychiatrist says that I’m self destructive. So what? What do I do about it? Well, the hell with all of 'em. Even the bad publicity helps when you get to be as big as I am!
. . . Oops, sorry, I was channeling Patty Duke there for a moment . . . Guess I climbed Mount Everest and got to the Valley of the Dolls . . .
Long long ago, when my former husband insisited on me taking drugs with him, I took a small white piece of paper (LSD).
I’d never even seen one before.
SO…I’ve read about it, and am awaiting weird stuff.
Well, I felt okay, but the pictures on the wall started getting blurred, then normal, then blurred.
I know thats not much of f afreak-out, but I was a pretty good drug user-meaning i never had any bad side effects.
And I am anti-drug. i would never take any illegal ones. I don’t even like to take legal ones.
I guess I’m lucky, I’ve never had any really bad experiences on drugs.
The first time I dropped acid I had a bad trip, mostly because my friend was messing with my head. Part of me knew there were not cockroaches in my brain, worms in my nose, and that the dirt road I had to drive home on would would not open up a huge mouth and swallow my car and spit me out later into a creekbed so people would think I just drove off the road, but part of me kept imagining all those things very vividly. My friend had to give me a ride home after that, and I forgot where I lived and my Dad had to come get me.
Another time I thought I was going to have a heart attack for some reason, called a drug hotline to ask if you could have a heart attack from LSD, and they refused to give me an answer, saying that they couldn’t give any medical advice. I then decided to become a born-again Christian and cleaned my room very thoroughly. I was imagining a future of giving anti-drug lectures at schools, going to church, etc. THis made the trip seem to go away, but when I stopped cleaning it came back.
All my other trips on acid had some weird and normally disturbing imagery (a friend growing bat wings, imagining that my car was a rotting corpse), but none of it bothered me.
A couple of times I got really paranoid on weed, but that passed pretty quickly. One time, though, I went downstairs in the apartment building I lived in and stole the sign in sheet because I thought that it would be used as evidence against me in some way.
I don’t have any stories that compare to the ones above but I do have a couple that stand out in my mind.
About ten years ago, after smoking pot laced with something else, I did see a giant skull in a window that moved and blinked (no, I don’t know how a skull can blink either). Of course, no one else saw it and that freaked me out more than actually seeing it.
On another occasion, a friend of mine started talking about how the walls of the room were melting. I laughed at him until I looked and saw that they were indeed melting! He also said something about the trees dancing outside the window but I didn’t dare look.
This was the same night that my friends and I had a long drawn-out discussion about the riddle “If a tree falls in the woods and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound?” We all had some very valid theories, including my friend’s “If a tree falls in the woods and there is no one there but a deaf bear then no, it does NOT make a sound”.
Well, it made sense at the time…
When I was in high school, I had a sinus infection and I was relying on some generic over-the-counter sinus pills to get me through the day until my doctor’s appointment. I either had a bad reaction to the pills or took too many, because during algebra class, the chalkboard cracked open and hundreds of little spiders came skittering out.
That was a bad day.
When I was about 10-11 years old a cousin of mine decided to try acid for the first time. There were 4 of us young’uns in the house - him being the oldest at about 15 IIRC. We were sitting around playing Asteroids of summat like that when he lets out a horrendous scream and runs from the bathroom with his pants down and both hands cupping himself… Dear God what had he done to himself???..
He’s crying and hollering that his cock had melted in his hand and he was holding what was left… Would we help him find what he had lost, or at least check him out to make sure he wasn’t just tripping???
Uh huh!?! I didn’t hang around to find out what more went on… Just didn’t want to go there!!
During the festival, marijuana is legalised for 3 days. My companions and I order bhang lassi in a restaurant because it’s on the menu! My Australian mate says “make 'em extra strong” to the waiter. The waiter replies “oh yes, sir” with what I now know to be a wry smile. Six puke-green drinks come out on a tray. We drink one each. We pay up, leave the restaurant, and walk down the dusty village street.
Little children sit at the doorways of grass huts, barefoot and dirt-covered. Suddenly my Ozzy friend grabs my arm and says “ohhhh mate. Earlier we were on an animal safari… and now… we’re on a *human safari!”
The sky goes green. Everyone else seems to be OK, but I digest things faster than other people, and realise what’s happening, so I turn to my friends and say “lads, we’ve got to get back to the hotel. Now. This is going to be really rough.”
So we turn round and walk back through the village centre. Lining the streets on either side are dozens of Nepalese villagers, pointing and laughing. We accelerate, and end up in the safety of the hotel courtyard. My friends are starting to look pale. We sit at a table in the hotel garden, and start babbling to each other. I am starting to get The Fear very very badly. An elephant walks past. “Oh my God, I can see a fucking elephant!” I say. My friend replies “yeah, we’re in Nepal. It’s real.” Phew. Another friend says “we’ve got to hold it together. Let’s play cards,” so we get the deck out, but every time a card hits the table, it makes a noise like a gunshot. Strangely, we all hear it. My girlfriend is looking really pale, and she weaves off back to the hotel room. I sit, shaking and freaking at the table. Another friend staggers off to his room.
“What can make this stop?” I ask. “Sugar, mate,” says my Ozzy mate. “I’ll get some Coke then,” I say. Coke, from the shop, 20 yards away. I try to work out what kind of money I have, and then try to stand up. Straight over on the floor. Stagger to my feet, and half-fall towards the door. I am too scared to go inside, so I shout through the door “six Cokes” and push all the money into the nearest hand, then I fall back to the table. My head and body are buzzing, and my heart is slamming against the inside of my chest. My mouth is like sandpaper, and my insides are buzzing like I don’t know if I’m going to puke or shit or piss or cry or scream. I can’t feel my oesophagus or trachea. I close my eyes and spinning lightshows explode behind the lids. The Coke comes out and I try to drink it, but it runs down the side of my mouth. I eventually get some in my mouth and it feels small, like my mouth is a cavern and the Coke a little lake at the bottom. I then realise I haven’t seen my girlfriend in hours, so I make it to the hotel room, and find her naked and unconscious on the shower floor, the shower running cold over her body. I pick her up by the shoulders and drag her to the bed. She doesn’t come round. I slap her round the face a few times. Eventually she comes out of her reverie. “I’ve just made love to the Spirit of the Tiger God,” she says. I towel her off and force-march her round the room until she’s warmed up a bit. She gets dressed and we head back out to the garden.
The other friend who’d excused himself staggers back saying he’d just made himself throw up to get rid of it, but it isn’t working. Then he looks at his watch. “Holy shit,” he says. “We’ve only been high for 45 minutes.” A whole night to get through. We all go to bed early. I fall into a sleep filled with dreams of pure illogic. About 3am I wake up, and my brain has deconstructed into six steel mandalas, each spinning round each other, each with its own train of thought. The babbling of all the different brains I now have is driving me out of my mind. My heart is really overdoing it now, so the bubble of self-awareness I still have makes me check my pulse: 200bmp. I wake my girlfriend, crying: “I’m dying. I’m sorry, I’m going to die. I just wanted you to know that I love you.” “Don’t worry,” she says, “everything’ll be fine”. I find out later that in the darkness she checked her own pulse, and found it to be 50bmp, and she thought she was dying too, but didn’t want to admit it. I need to get out of the room, so I crawl - because I can no longer walk - into the hotel garden, which is now a cartoon world. Jim Morrison floats past me on a cloud, saying “you’ve never been this far up before.” Thanks, Jim, you cloud-riding cliché. I crawl back to bed, and finally fall into unconsciousness.
The next day I awake, still tripping off my gourd. We have to leave early on a bus to Pokhara. I bumble around, then have to rush to the toilet, where my diaorreah is green and smells of dope. To get to the bus we have to take a jeep across the grasslands, and halfway into the journey it breaks down. I’m buzzing like crazy still, and we sit in the hot sun, with no water, while our driver’s mate runs the five miles back to the village to get another jeep. As I stare, dry-mouthed and red-eyed across the arid landscape, I vow never, ever to take marijuana again. It takes another two days before I feel remotely normal again. On the third day I feel like I’ve had one or two nice mild joints.
Later I discovered that when the waiter served us the drinks, he went and told the villagers “some crazy westerners are drinking one bhang lassi each! This is going to be fun!” When the Nepalese drink bhang lassi, they usually share one glass between ten people.
Either the first or second time I dropped acid, I did it at school. I had just moved to a new school, and my boyfriend at the time and I dropped around fourth block so that it would have started to hit by the time we got out at 3:30. I guess it was either strong, or maybe it was because I didn’t have much experience with it, but it hit right in the middle of english class. The only thing I remember about that class was looking up at the big white markerboard at the front of the room and realizing that a glare from the light and some kind of shadow formed a huge Gene Simmons head, and the more I looked at it, the more it started to move and the funnier it got.
I got out of class, and couldn’t find my boyfriend anywhere. I decided that I was just going to walk home, but got stuck out on the sidewalk for about 5 minutes. There was this really interesting purrle of rainwater that had grass clippings floating in it, and they just kept swimming around like they were alive. A friend saw me then, and gave me a ride home. When I got there, I found my boyfriend waiting there, and we went inside to watch TV. We were watching the Flintstones, which I usually hate, but it was the funniest episode that day. Then we ended up watching this exercise show called Sit and be Fit. IIRC, it was for elderly people, or people that couldn’t move around very well. Again, one of the funniest things I’d ever seen.
Later that night, my dad came home, and he had a friend come over. They were sitting in the kitchen, and we were in the adjoining room watching TV. I could hear him talking to his friend about my brother, sister and myself. I remember him saying that “Dawn is the cheerleader, and Shawn is the athlete…” at about this time, I look at the TV (we were watching the news) and I notice that all of the people look like they are claymation. Really poorly crafted, blobby, falling apart claymation, but still. And of course, I say that. Loudly. “Oh my god! They look so weird! What is wrong with his face? He looks like claymation!!” and at about that time, I heard my dad in the other rom say “… and Angela. Well, Angela is the weird one.” Later that night, we were just sitting back, listening to the Doors, and I was suddenly the smartest person ever. I knew exactly what Jim was trying to say with his music, and there were all kinds of deep, hidden meanings that no one had ever been able to uncover before. I had wonderful ideas on how to make everything better, but I didn’t write anything down. I was really pissed the next day. =)
As far as bad trips go, once I had this horrible headache, and when I closed my eyes, I could see the headache in my head. It was set up like a black and grey grid, and every time I felt throbbing in my temples, I’d see this little ball bouncing into the side of my head. Then we turned on the TV and were watching a Tori Amos concert on Lifetime and they kept showing her singing and every time they’d do it, she looked more and more demonic. It was to the point where I was really very scared, but then she did “Me and a Gun” and it was so calm and serene and beautiful that I think I just started crying. Later that afternoon, we were sitting in the living room, and I guess the clouds went over the sun because it got a little darker. When it did that, I looked at my skin, and it looked grey. I breathed in, and smelled what smelled to me like cold air and dirt, and I turned to my boyfriend and said “I smell dead.” He asked what I was talking about, and I told him “I smell death. I think I’m dead.” I looked down at my skin and it was greyer than before, and now I could see bits of dirt and leaves on it. I was convinced that I was dead, and just hanging out in my living room. He freaked out, and got me off the subject and I forgot about it.
Had to revive this post. What a crack-up–read #31, an absolute scream.
Being pretty clean most of my life I never touched a drug until I was 31 and took five ounces of mushrooms (and maybe a few more; they were yummy!) on an empty stomach as my indoctrination.
Ultimately, I found myself sitting on a bed, totally engrossed in the idea of the yin and yang of it all, and those little fishies in that circle just kept moving faster and faster and I had this epiphany that THIS WAS THE END. And I suddenly got a little pissed, realized I had OD’d on drugs and was going to die now and what a waste of a life to die like this. I felt myself “fall through the bed” or something like that. Then I went and threw up, drank some water, had the shakes for a while and then I was back to “normal.”
But Butthead’s hair color was different after that. And I’m still not sure I didn’t pass into a parallel reality.
The first (and only) time I smoked marijuana was even more intense. About a year after the mushroom trip.
Brian (again) and our drug-dealing friend Mitch caught me in one of those moods and so I caved and took my first hit. “I heard smoking pot can make you gay,” I joked before I took the joint.
So I took the hit. Nothing. Another hit. Nothing. Another. Still nothing. Pretty soon I was inhaling enough to get a nosebleed and holding it for 30-45 seconds. “Some people just aren’t affected by it,” Brian said.
Nobody told me it takes a couple minutes for the sensatin to take hold.
Then it was like my head was a small cottage that suddenly found a back door that led to a mansion. Just the most unexplainable, weirdest feeling I’d ever encountered. But the decisive moment occurred a few minutes later when I was looking at Brian and he was smiling back at me, really just totally amused at how goofy I was behaving.
But I interpreted it that he was hitting on me (definitely not so, but rationality had long since gone out the window). And in my nervousness I felt something start to tingle. Down there. Just the usual nervousness/fright of course, but I interpreted it as a sexual stimulant – caused by Brian smiling at me.
Oh my God, I’m gay!!!
This really turned me on my head and I flipped out, ran out of the house and down the street and wished with all my heart that I could unlearn what I just learned, but knew I couldn’t. Three hours I walked the streets, just thinking, thinking, thinking. About everything.
Came to the understanding (years later) that I am a microcosm of the Macrocosm; everything that exists, exists somewhere within me–and everyone else. It’s just a matter of what brings it forth.
What a buzz kill.
Exactly what is bhang lassi? I’ve never heard of it (and I thought I had at least HEARD of everything).
Here’s mine. This is back in 1977. It was the last time I took recreational drugs in my life.
Some friends and I took acid one night. It wasn’t the first time for me, and I’d always had fun before, so it didn’t seem like a big deal.
I wasn’t hallucinating or anything. In fact, I had pretty much decided this acid was a complete waste. So when someone suggested we all get in a car and go for a ride, it seemed like a fine idea.
We’re driving aimlessly around Queens. It’s a nice night, and we’ve got all the windows open and we’re playing the radio and generally enjoying ourselves. Somewhere in our minds there’s a vague hope of meeting some girls.
Then, in a flash, I know that if the car stops, I will die. I panic. I tell my friends not to stop the car, no matter what. They cooperate, god only knows why. So we’re crusing through Queens, running red lights, going down one-way streets the wrong way. I start to wonder what’s going to happen when we run out of gas. How are we going to fill up the car while we’re moving? I’m really trying to figure out the logistics of this. Meanwhile, I’m still screaming at the driver not to stop the car.
Eventually, it passed. But after that, I kinda realized that taking anything that induces that kind of temporary insanity is pretty stupid. So I don’t. Haven’t so much as smoked a joint in 25 years (although I don’t mind a nice whiskey from time to time, I must say).
The absolute peak of stupidity in all this was that the car was stolen (not from us, by us). And we’re running red lights and generally asking for trouble. I’m lucky I didn’t end up in jail that night. And I would have deserved it, no doubt about that.
“I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they’ve always worked for me.”
Hunter S. Thompson
Freshman year in college I started doing acid every weekend for about a month. On the third or fourth trip, I decided to take two hits, instead of just one.
My friends wanted to go to Steak and Shake before the acid took effect, so I went with them. As I’m sitting there, the black, white, and red decor suddenly became very disturbing to me. I began to get nervous, and told my friends I needed to go back to the dorm. While waiting for the elevator in the dorm room the walls began to melt right in front of me.
We went to their room and I immediately threw up on the floor. They started to freak out because I was freaking out, so they dropped me off at my room and left (thanks assholes). I then went through about a three hour span of throwing up and freaking out. The only thing I could stand to look at was my white blanket, and even it was swirling with colors and bright light. I just kept getting sick.
Finally, my friends came back and we went back to their room and smoked some pot. I felt a lot better, but the whole ordeal really turned me off to acid. I don’t much care for drugs you can’t control.
My friend and I were tripping in her basement (this was like '71 or '72) and the TV station went off the air. We were watching the static picture and all of a sudden it looked like marching men on melba toast. Fucking hilarious, but where did that come from?
Also, the first time I smoked pot, I got really, really stoned. I got home and found that my mother had painted my room screaming tangerine orange. The brightness and the fumes made for an interesting evening.
Ah, memories…
It is interesting that you can’t describe, or even really remember, the really important mystical aspects of hallucinogens - all that can be remembered is the screwed up parts, where wierd and unpleasant stuff happened.