And so it happened.
We drove out of the city and found ourselves in the middle of the lazy millennial’s paradise in the North. We hiked and saw waterfalls and we surfed and we drank booze and we ate spiked cakes.
I know that we’re bound to get all crazy but I never expected that my dear old friend paranoia would bulldoze me for good 2-3 hours.
Unlike my other friends, I would have to admit that my experience with cannabis is rather little. I prefer the bubbles and the spirits over puffing.
But during our trip, I never thought that I would get run over by a bad trip– bad enough for me to pull my hair and dig my nails under my skin.
It was pure hell.
Bad trips (as how film depict them) are funny casualties that could occur every now and then. We see them (those who are unfortunately combatting a horrible trip) moping on the sides or shaking due to made up fears.
But no one ever really talked about how extremely horrible it is to have one.
I for myself never expected that I would experience it that night and so I just munched on.
But seriously, it was a trip from hell and back.
Let me tour you to last Sunday.
It all began with the waves. Everything is waving in this rhythmic manner and the wave is beginning to pass through me. I told my friends that the effects are kicking in. My heart is beginning to race now. I am trying to sweep the thoughts of paranoia away but it seems to have its claws on me. Then my mouth began to dry up. I seriously have no saliva left for me to swallow. I asked for a cup of water but they told me that they didn’t have water they only have booze. I asked my friend to accompany me to the nearest mini-store. I am beginning to fidget. I am already asking my friend not to ingest any more of what we took because of it’s high-effectivity. “It’s way too strong” I remember trying to convince him.
The next thing I know, we’re already on our ride back home to our hostel. Lights are flashing wildly and I can feel the wind pressing on my cheeks. My eyes are darting from one corner to another.
Things began to get blurry from then on. I know that I am beginning to slur out incomprehensible words. I had to exert all of my might just for me to ask my friend to help me get to our dorm. I clung on to him like a child; trying to avoid stares from people who might see through my breakdown.
And then I got to my bed, now this is where the vivid nightmares began.
I stared at the wall, the ceiling and the lockers. Everything felt so familiar. I began seeing images of heartbeat lines sewn on a white cloth, then I began seeing familiar sketches of women ( there were 2 particular images that brought me great distress, the round faced woman with the long hair and the thin faced woman with the short, shoulder length hair). It was beyond creepy since, these sketches are rather similar to the sketches I drew before on the back of my notebooks. Then I also began seeing a black and white 2d flag with the symbol of a poorly drawn eye on its upper right most corner.
These images reminded me of my childhood. I may have drawn them somewhere before. Then things began to get a little bit more trippy. Deja vu began seething through my cannabis induced atmosphere. Everything that I do is something that I have already done (and everything that I am bound to do, I already know the aftermath). It was like being stuck on a rut. (Now I know what Sisyphus felt back when he was rolling that huge rock along the mountain side). It was terrifying. I began darting my eyes from one corner to another. My body began moving uncontrollably. I began pulling my hair and biting my arm, just in case I might get a little bit of my consciousness back (of course, this didn’t help me at all). Minutes began shedding slowly and I am trapped inside this paranoia. (Sleeping wasn’t even my option since I fear that I might carry the paranoia in my sleep.) To make the matters worst, I can feel my heart beating against my palm. (In my head I was thinking: Heart attack, for sure. I guess I’m going to die here. Who would have thought that I would die here, meters away from the ocean. I guess having said that fact, my death is already better than most deaths.)
Then time began to speed up a little, then a little bit more. I opened my eyes (well that’s how it felt… even if I know that I never really closed them to begin with) and the drug is already wearing off. I would still slip back to the nightmare every now and then but I am getting more and more of my wakefulness back. And when I felt better, I decided to go to the restroom only to find myself frozen scared whilst sitting on the toilet since I feel like I won’t ever stop peeing.
And the rest was completely forgotten.
I woke up the next day still feeling the fog, but definitely better. I never thought that I’d make it back to reality unscathed. That high was definitely my lowest. I was sold to the idea of dying because of an induced psychosis by the beach due to the mixture of strong cannabis and ice cold beer.
Maybe it was the wind, or maybe it was the beach but I am definitely certain that I have never had anything as vivid and as horrifying as that. I guess, I should have stayed with my friends outside, or maybe I should have put on some classical music (it may have alleviated the paranoia) nonetheless, the trip’s over and I learned my lesson.
Sometimes your highest high could also be your lowest low.
It’s kind of the same with all of the boys that I have kissed, but that, my friend is a completely different story.