Two Hits

I started the drive back to my house, still feeling a slight buzz from the joint we just smoked. The high feels different than usual—heavier, more disorienting. My limbs feel heavy, weighted down, and I have to concentrate harder than usual to keep the car on the road. As I drove my mind drifted into deep contemplation once more.

I started thinking about my parents and how they were taken from me so suddenly. The grief hits me in waves, sometimes when I least expect it. I'll see something that reminds me of them—a car like my dad's, a perfume like my mom's—and suddenly I'm drowning again, the loss so fresh it feels like it just happened yesterday. I couldn't help but reflect on all the people who were once a part of my life but have since disappeared. Friends who stopped calling when I stopped answering. Family who gave up trying to reach out. Everyone who saw the depression and decided it was too much. It used to be so easy to make friends when I was a kid and it seemed to just become increasingly harder as I got older. Maybe I just stopped being able to connect, to feel, to care. Depression does that. It isolates you. It makes you push people away. It makes you believe you're not worth the effort, that you're a burden, that everyone would be better off without you. And after a while, you start to believe it. You start to believe you deserve to be alone.

Jennifer flashed across my mind again, igniting a surge of anger within me. The anger burned like a coal in my chest. My heart raced, pumping adrenaline through my veins. Despite our brief romance lasting only two short months, I had grown deeply attached to her during that time. The attachment feels like a physical thing, a hook that pulls whenever I think of her, painful and inescapable. But now I felt deceived and betrayed by her. Shocked by the glaring contrast between the person I believed she was and who she truly turned out to be. I suspect my attachment was more to the idealized version of her, rather than the reality of who she was as a person. It's frightening how on some level we can never truly know someone, only the mask they choose to reveal to us. Perhaps the signs of her true character were always there, if only I'd looked more closely.

I need to get out of this downward spiral. Think of something positive I forcefully tell myself in my mind. At least I met best friend Quincy. That's really the whole silver lining to the situation, and if not for him, I wouldn't be taking this psychedelic voyage that's ahead of me.

Pulling into my quaint suburban neighborhood, I parked in the paved driveway. The full moon had cast a delicate luminescence on my surroundings. Under the night sky, my well-kept home emanated a sense of tranquility. The sturdy bricks interlocked to form a solid foundation like a fortress. Standing strong and resolute, the impenetrable castle deterred any would-be invaders. My home was nestled in a row of other homes. It had a cozy seclusion, all the while remaining seamlessly woven into the fabric of the community. An instant sense of security enveloped me even before stepping foot inside.

I exited the vehicle and walked down the sidewalk illuminated by path lights. The dimly lit pathway seemed to beckon me towards the destination. As I walked past the carefully pruned shrubs and the recently trimmed grass, I could see through the window, the automatic timer had turned on the lamp in the living room, welcoming me home. I hopped up the steps onto the concrete front porch with my keys at the ready.

I entered my home relieved to finally be done with work for the week and locked the door behind me. Keys and wallet found their place on the small table near the front door, a familiar ritual signaling the end of my day. Slipping off my shoes, I neatly aligned them on the hardwood floor beneath the table, a small act of rebellion against the disorder of the outside world. But the order feels fragile. Like it could shatter at any moment. Like it's all just a performance, and I'm the only one watching.

Navigating through the living room, my feet gently glide over the soft, intricate patterns of the floral oriental rug. With each step I'm reminded of the comforts of home. My eyes are drawn to the slate grey sofa, inviting me to sink into its plush cushions and unwind. A coffee table stands as a perfect complement to the surrounding decor, its smooth surface gleaming under the soft glow of the room's ambient lighting. And there, mounted proudly on the wall as the centerpiece of the room, is my most prized possession—the big screen TV, poised to transport me to captivating worlds of entertainment. But tonight it will show me something else entirely.

Passing by the office and the neighboring guest room, I enter my bedroom across the hall. I shed the trappings of work, discarding my clothes into the empty hamper tucked into the corner of the room. I put on a Tie-dye Grateful Dead t-shirt and comfy gym shorts, a kaleidoscope of colors breathing new life into my wardrobe.

I retrieved a joint from my underwear drawer, carefully placing it alongside the Acid in one pocket and my phone in the other. I make my way back to the living room, settling on the sofa. I found myself delaying, a slight hesitation rooted in fear. The trip was about to commence and I grappled with a mix of worry and excitement. I have the sense that something is wrong, that something is about to happen, that something I can't stop is already in motion. But part of me doesn't want to flee. Part of me is too tired to care. Part of me just wants to lie down and let whatever happens happen.

I grabbed the aluminum foil and unraveled it revealing the blotter. Intriguing artwork catches my eye, a snippet of Scooby Doo's iconic head and his collar. I debated taking only one since it is my first time but I thought about what Quincy said about the full experience. "Well, here goes nothing," I muttered aloud. I took the two paper tabs and placed them under my tongue ready to embark on this life-altering journey. Now we wait. I grab my phone and text Quincy. "I took it just now lol. I'll let you know how it goes."

"Totally radical dude!" He responds almost immediately. If I didn't know any better I would think he was patronizing me.

Craving a different backdrop, I seize the remote and decide to immerse myself in the visually stunning nature documentary Planet Earth. A scene unfolds of the sun rising and I hear the narration: "Everyday in the African savannah, a fierce battle ensues for survival as these majestic lions attempt to stake their claim, engaging in a primal contest for the limited resources that sustain their very existence." After some time I swallow the small pieces of paper, sealing my fate in this surreal journey, feeling like Alice about to go down the rabbit hole. But Alice had a way out. I'm not sure I do.

My eyes are locked on the screen, I absorb the vivid colors and breathtaking landscapes of the Serengeti, imagining myself as a mighty lion roaming those vast plains. Wondering how it feels to have such raw strength and power. A moment later while surveying the walls around me something peculiar stirs within my perception, lending the room a subtle yet otherworldly quality. Before I can fully comprehend this shift, a sudden crash comes from the office down the hall, prompting a frustrated thought to cross my mind: Fucking cat. I'm in no mood to clean up a mess right now, I'm going to be tripping balls any minute.

I try to focus again on the show but an onslaught of ideas and thoughts have begun to flow through my mind, slowly at first, gradually quickening into a torrential river. The sensation is overwhelming, like my brain is being flooded, like I'm drowning in my own thoughts. I can feel a pressure building in my head, a tightness that makes my temples throb. It's almost as if they were always occurring, obscured in my subconscious, but suddenly poured into the light of my conscious awareness. The realization is terrifying—all these thoughts, all these memories, all these fears, they've been there all along, just waiting. The overwhelming flood engulfs my focus, rendering it impossible to stay engaged with the television. My body feels restless, my legs bouncing, my fingers tapping, and I can't sit still, can't find a comfortable position. I decide it's best just to turn it off. I find myself fixated on the lifeless TV screen, its black expanse now reflecting my altered perception. But the reflection looks wrong. Like it's not me. Like it's someone else. Like it's something else. The disconnection makes my stomach churn, a wave of nausea washing over me, and I have to look away, have to close my eyes, have to try to find something real, something solid, something that makes sense.

The silence of the house is jarring. The only sound is the machine gun of thoughts ricocheting off the inside of my skull in an unrelenting barrage. Disjointed fragments dart in and out, teasing me with their elusive presence. They manifest as ethereal whispers and deafening shrieks, echoing through the corridors of my consciousness. "... a sum of seven will cold outside homeless people don't wanting tend to occur twice as often as four...I HATE YOU!!!....Queen takes Camaro…scored his first five NHL goals before ever…fucking loser…one and one makes cheesy fiesta…. I can't believe that she… Ferdinand was the eldest son! daughter? uncle… mother. of Archduke…I wish that I …Correlation kill does not imply kill you causation… do it... now part of Pakistan, killing between thirty thousand and … Shut the fuck up!… knock knock knock pink or white flowers that attract many … debates you're worthless of aim to to to to answer..." It's as if every sight and sound I've ever experienced, real or imagined, is careening and colliding at thousands of miles an hour, creating a disorienting tapestry threatening to consume my sanity.

I want this to stop. The desperation is physical, a clawing need that makes me want to tear at my own skin, to rip my way out of my own head. The intensity of the mental deluge becomes a crushing whirlwind leaving me gasping for clarity in the smothering madness. I can't breathe properly—each breath is a struggle, shallow and panicked. My chest feels tight, constricted, like there's a band around my ribs squeezing tighter and tighter. My head is pounding, a pressure building behind my eyes that makes me want to press my palms against them, to push back against the pain.

Unable to follow any single train of thought to completion, I yearn for respite, for the roaring tornado to quiet and grant me a fleeting moment of inner peace. But there's no peace. There's only chaos, only noise, only the overwhelming sense that I'm losing myself, that I'm drowning in my own thoughts. My body is shaking, a full-body tremor that I can't control, and I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold myself together. Like a desperate house fly trapped against a glass pane, I frantically seek to escape from the confounding labyrinth of my own mind, unaware of what invisible barriers actually imprison me. The panic is rising, a wave of terror that starts in my gut and spreads outward, making my limbs feel weak, making my vision blur, making me feel like I'm about to pass out.

In a futile attempt to regain control, I struggle to draw in a deep breath. My respiration is constrained as though an elephant is sitting on my chest, the weight crushing, suffocating. Further escalating my panic and causing me to hyperventilate.

The hyperventilation makes me dizzy, the world spinning around me, and I have to grip the couch cushions to keep from falling over. My fingers are tingling, going numb, and I realize I'm breathing too fast, too shallow. Each inhale I'm being swept away again and again by the unyielding tide. The panic is a physical thing now, a weight in my chest, a coldness in my limbs, a trembling that I can't stop. I'm sweating, my shirt sticking to my back, and I can feel the moisture beading on my forehead, running down my temples. My whole body feels wrong, alien, like it doesn't belong to me anymore. The disconnection is terrifying, like I'm watching myself from outside my own body, like I'm trapped in a machine that's breaking down, that's failing, that's dying.