Now and in the 60's, I exist(ed) with delusions of reality. For some comrades that existence was a cop-out, just an excuse for avoiding participation in the 1960's drug culture. Sure, sometimes I caved and took a hit, but I never got any refinement of my being, no higher level insight. Nothing. All I got was a sore throat.
The fact is, drugs and I were never compatible.
So, why did I drop acid in the gloaming of the 70's?
My self-analysis leads me to the conclusion I was trying to impress a young lady who was a virgin user as well. My friends and I met her at a hotel bar and I was immediately disgusted by her crude table manners, I watched her as she stuffed an oversized hamburger into her cavernous mouth, juices squirting out in every direction,
"Are you stoned?" she asked in a thoughtful way.
Eureka! That's it! I was stoned. She wasn't a pig; She was very pretty and even better, she wanted some of our stuff. That was OK with us, as you can imagine,
Unfortunately, not all trips are good. The drug played havoc with her mind so we drove her home. We later found out she had had a very psychedelic night and her father was looking for revenge.
For me, it was an evening of color, melting televisions, bloody knives and
strange sounds and I got scared, mumbling about losing my mind and losing my teaching job. Fear knotted my stomach as I watched my friend sink into a large, oversized chair. He was becoming part of the chair.
'RELAX" a calming voice drifted out of the dark. " It is just a drug. It will leave your body and by morning it will be gone and you will be right."
HMM. hmm, made sense. After 8 long hours, I began to relax. I wish I could have enjoyed the trip but I resolved "Never again!........at least not knowingly.
Jump ahead. Now I am in the gloaming of my time on earth, my children are all grown, the oldest being forty. His father in law has MS and for years has been on medical marijuana. As a gift for his loyalty, he was given 2 candies which he turned over to my son and his wife. They brought them for me to remind me of the 60's. They were two purple raspberry-looking treats with a gummie bear texture.
"Now, these can be quite powerful," my son explained. "Eat only quarters at a time ." With that, they continued their journey to their cabin. I put the candies on a shelf. I forgot about them, at least i forgot about the seriousness of my son's warning. I mean, how strong could they be, especially for a veteran of an 8-hour freakout on LSD,
I ate them both.
When my wife came home, I suggested we go to garage sales and she readily agreed. Off we went, stopping at our first one moments later and were in luck, there was another sale across the street. Less driving. More time to look around. I was looking for a DVD player and old movies. There were none. I approached the first homeowner and in a high-class deep voice, with all the sophistication I could muster, I said, "I am looking for a record player and records. Do you have any?"
" Sorry, I do not," she said while backing away from me,
"Next time?" I said. She replied with a twisted smile. What was her problem?
My wife suggested we cross the street, I went but stopped at the garage opening, feeling a little dizzy. ''Let's go. I can't see anything of interest."
My wife glanced into the garage."OK", she said while grabbing my arm when I stumbled making the turn, She walked me back to the car and on the way, I saw my left leg about a meter away from me, walking by itself, I got into the car, still unaware of my problem but smiling at my illusion.
My wife had one more sale to go to. Fortunately, I stayed in the car watching the bizarre bugs fly into the windshield killing themselves, and then watching them lift their squashed bodies from the glass and fly away.
I knew that was not a reality. What was the matter with me? It came to me in a moment of lucidity.
The candies!
I was stoned!
My wife returned. I explained what I thought was happening. She agreed and we drove to our cottage. As soon as we got in the door, I hit the bed and remained in a fetal position for the next few hours until my sanity returned. During the time I "slept" I half noticed my son saying something. His mother had called him and he rushed over, worrying about my well-being. I mumbled something that brought him relief and he laughed. When sanity returned he told me that I had said, "Why do people pay to feel like this?
I don't know the answer but I remember Jim Morrison saying, that drugs are a bet with your mind, or something like that.
I don't gamble. I don't take chances.
“Drug misuse is not a disease, it is a decision, like the decision to step out in front of a moving car. You would call that not a disease but an error of judgment.”
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