My paranoid drug trip story

I work with this crazy girl, Sarah.  She likes to go out almost every night, meet people, get hammered, stoned, screwed, what-have-y0u.  On occasion, I like to accompany her on one of these wild nights out.   I only do this on occasion because every time I wake up hung-over, my brain resets.  I fall into recovery mode, forgetting everything that I’m working on.  I fade into the backdrop, I drop to ground zero.

The empty void in me fills with exhaustion and when the exhaustion fades, the void needs to be filled back up.  And me being at ground zero, it’s easiest to fill it with booze.  It’s a cataclysmic cycle of deterioration.

My future and life become a dusty rolodex of unfulfilled possibilities.

That’s what happens when I’m hungover.  I reset.

Anywho, (sorry for the ramble tangent) Sarah wanted to go to Sully’s, a tiki torch tropic-looking bar in Hartford.  I invited Joel to come along.

I met him across the street from my house at Cheshire pizza.  He introduced me to 4 or 5 of his friends who were all older and very fond of him.  All of them sat at the bar, 7 o’clock on a Friday night.  It felt like home.

After some lollygagging, we went to pick Sarah up.  We got to her place late and found her completely passed out on the couch in her pajama’s.

Sarah’s crazy.  She drank an entire bottle of Jack and had about 6 or 7 beers with her neighbor who was already tucked away in his bed.

She wakes up and insists that she’s fine.  Then she offered us pot.

Me – “Sure I’ll take a hit.  Just one though, I’m a lightweight.”

Joel – “No thanks, I’m driving.”

I take a hit, hand the bowl back to Sarah who takes a hit and passes it back to me.

Me – “Oh no no, I only wanted one hit.”

Sarah – “Aww come on, it’s a little bowl – not much is in there.  Just do it, come on, just do it.”

I hit off it again, leaned back in the comfy armchair and waited a few seconds.  Then I felt it.  I knew immediately that it was not good pot – it was the kind of pot I had in high school – the kind that made me paranoid.

I felt a cold wash over my chest.

I knew that it was imperative that I stayed aware of my thoughts, but not attach myself to them – just witness them float in and out.  I had to remember that they’re not real thoughts.  They were paranoid delusions that don’t exist.  Except for the cold feeling spreading over my chest, that was real.  I read a little about it and it happens when you’re anxious – but I wasn’t anxious, just seconds ago I was happy.   My guess is that it was adrenaline and cortisol shooting thru my system – a reaction to the laced pot.

Me – “Oh shit.  This is the paranoid stuff.  Not mellow.  Not mellow.”

Joel – “Was that stuff harsh you gave her?”

Sarah smiles and nods her head.

I felt the muscles tighten in my jaw.  I was aware of every muscle fiber in the lower half of my face.

My thoughts – “Am I clenching my jaw?  Are my teeth going to chip?  I’ve never noticed my jaw muscles before.  Joel is laughing at Sarah, does he like her more than me?  Joel hates me.  He disowned me for 6 years so of course he hates me.  Okay, stop thinking stop thinking stop thinking.  You’re clenching your jaw again Melanie, relax!”

The whole night went on like this.  When you’re on a paranoid trip, it’s easy to start fights with people.  Every word that almost escaped my lips ranked with venom.  It was my body reacting, not my mind.  I was still in control of myself as long as I stayed focused.  I had to disconnect.  There was no other solution.

Joel sped us to Sully’s in his Mini Cooper and blasted some awesome tunes.

We seemed to arrive there instantaneously.  We decided to go to Sully’s, then when I opened my eyes again, we were there.

I go up to the bouncer and stare at him.

Bouncer – “That’ll be five bucks.”

Joel pay’s for me.  I still stand there in front of the bouncer staring at him.

Bouncer – “And some ID please.”

I give it to him, he hands it back and I wait for my next order.  I look up at him expectantly.

Bouncer – “I’m done with you, you’re all set.”

I stand off to the side.

We go into the bar and start drinking and dancing.

Than I see Sarah throwing herself at Joel.

Sarah – “Let’s hang out tomorrow.  What are you doing tomorrow?  Want to do shrooms?”

Joel – “Let’s see what Mel is up to first.”

Sarah – “The hell with her, fuck her, let it just be the two of us.”

My thoughts – “Okay, is this the paranoia or is it legit to take offense to that?  Either way is it worth me getting upset?  No.  No, it’s okay, I’ll go along with it.”

Me – “Yeah, fuck me, you don’t need me.”  I smile and wave my hand dismissively.

She smoked the same stuff I did, so I gave her the benefit and permission to say anything she wanted all night without hearing any reprove from me.

I was well-behaved, very well-behaved and tried to enjoy everyone’s company and waited patiently for the drug to fade.

You’re not going to believe this, but it didn’t fade until 3:30 p.m the next day.  I had to work at 12.  I was a nervous train wreck during the first three clients.

My thoughts while giving a massage – “You can do this Mel, just do it.  Get through the day.  Only four more clients left, you got it girl!  What if I shit my pants right now?  Is that a side effect to smoking laced pot?  To shit oneself?  It’s a side effect from the Olestra in a bag of Fritto’s – I smoked laced pot!  So much worse than a Fritto!  Oh no, did I just shit myself?  Did I?  Can I do that just by thinking about it?”

It was bad.  Bad, bad , bad.  3:30 came around and I was starting to feel like myself.  And no I did not shit myself.

Back to the bar; Joel, I’m not positive, but I think he wanted to escape Sarah.  He led me up to the top floor of the outside patio and we sat on a little bench and talked.  He did most of the talking, I took it all in and listened.  I felt everything he was describing like he was peeling back my own hidden layers.  It was crazy!  Damn, I wish I remembered what he said.

Before I got stoned, I had my own little epiphany that I wanted to jot down for memory storage.  My epiphany linked into what he was talking about, so I shared it with him.

Me – “I’m afraid to be happy.  I figured out why and it’s because of my fear of death.  To me, being happy is linked to death and I’m afraid to die.”

I was stoned and knew that I had to start making sense fast before I lose Joel forever.

Me – “It’s just that when I’m happy – I mean REALLY happy – I’m scared to die, or get sick and lose everything.  When I’m happy, I never want it to end.  When I’m miserable, it makes death more bearable.  I’m not scared when I’m miserable.”

Joel – “Wow.  That’s really profound.”

I bet if I let a psychologist read my blog, he’d prescribe me a lifetime supply of Xanax.  Huh, not a bad idea actually.  Maybe I can get free Xanax if I list one of their ad’s on here.

In other news, I have not heard back from Uconn, so I applied to Manchester community college.  I have to say that this college is immaculate!  It’s pristine and huge with well-manicured grounds for organized sports teams – inside the building has fresh paint on the walls, no trash or stains anywhere – and everyone is nice!  It’s the opposite of Gateway community college.  Gateway looks like a storage shed compared to this place and the gateway’s admissions lady was  kind of bitchy.  Their campus grounds consists of a muddy potholed riddled parking lot.

It’s so clean and big and new there.  They have free computers set up, a book shop, a library, cafe.

If I go there for two years to study liberal arts and science and maintain a 3.0, I’m granted automatic acceptance into Yale.  Wouldn’t that be something?  I barely graduated high school and I’ve been a drunk waitress well into my twenties.  I’m poor.  Well, poor for Cheshire.  Me?  Go to Yale?  I don’t think so.  Ha ha ha.

I’m actually wearing a Yale sweatshirt now.  I got it close to 10 years ago at the Yale gift shop.  I’m wearing my 10-year-old Yale gift shop sweatshirt, sitting in my bedroom typing away and listening to my parents argue upstairs.  At this moment, I’m not afraid of death.

I need to take a drive down to Uconn’s Waterbury campus.  That’s where I initially applied to (online).  If their campus sucks, I’m not going there.

What else do I have to say?  I don’t know, I think that’s it for now.  Oh no wait, one last thing.  When I was stoned, Joel started talking about music, and a tv show.  I could hear the music he was referring to –  I knew the muscian that played the music as if I read his bio – and when Joel was talking about a tv show, I felt that I’ve already seen it.  I kept all this to myself.  It sounds too crazy, even for me.

I had a similar experience when I smoked with my cousin.  I could visualize tv shows as if I seen them myself.  But I never knew I could hear music.

When I’m stoned, I gain a limited form of telapathy.

Okay, I’m done for now.  And I’m pretty sure I’m done with pot too.

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Filed under journal, Massage therapy

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