Two Hits

Just when I can't take anymore, inexplicably the TV flickers back on. It demands my unwavering attention and breaks me out of this personal hell. My mind goes silent. The TV begins its new broadcast with an eerie sense of autonomy. A brunette reporter with wavy hair framing her beautiful face appears on the television. She is confidently donned in a dark blue blazer exuding professionalism and poise. An uncanny stillness fills the room as if the very air has been sucked out, leaving me in a vacuum with no sound. Her lips move but her voice eludes my ears, conveying a message of utmost seriousness that remains shrouded in silence. The sight of her face, carrying an unspoken heaviness, strikes a chord of unease within me. But it's more than unease. It's terror. Pure, unadulterated terror.

I reach out for the remote, its form morphing into an alien artifact in my hands as I try to turn the TV off. The drug is clearly in full effect now. I press the foreign and unfamiliar buttons with no effect. Why won't the TV turn off? As soon as the question exits my mind, a subtle shift ripples through the ether. The images before me plunge into darkness and the visuals completely dissolve. I find myself staring at a blank screen that elicits a perplexing mix of relief and bewilderment. What the hell is happening?

Sitting in the silence and looking around the room it seems as if I'm completely sober. A palpable sense of presence descends upon me, directing my attention to the intricate nuances of my physical body. I can feel each one of my toes individually. The awareness spreads to the rest of my feet and I notice the perspiration gathering on the soles, causing them to adhere to the fibers of the rug beneath me. When I glimpse down at them they seem miles away from me, shattering any remaining illusion I had of sobriety. My mouth feels bone dry. A solitary word emerges with resounding clarity - Water.

I rise to my feet, my legs stretch feeling a bit wobbly, like a baby deer taking its first tentative steps. The weakness in my legs is alarming, my knees threatening to buckle with each step. My balance is off, the world tilting around me, and I have to reach out, steadying myself against the wall. Each stride feels gargantuan as I make my way down the hall, like I'm walking through water, through mud, through something thick and resistant. My muscles feel weak, uncoordinated, and I'm hyperaware of every movement, every shift of weight, every breath. Touching the walls and using my hands to balance, I make my way toward the bathroom, reminded of a funhouse, where floors slant and twist with playful mischief. But this isn't playful. This is wrong. This is all wrong. The disorientation is making me nauseous, my stomach churning, and I have to pause, closing my eyes, trying to find some sense of stability. My head is spinning, and I can feel the blood rushing to my face, my cheeks hot and flushed. Guided by a willful determination I manage past my bedroom, finally reaching the bathroom at the end of the hallway. By the time I get there, I'm exhausted, my whole body trembling with the effort, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

With a flip of the switch, the room lights up. I eagerly bend towards the faucet, splashing cool water on my face, and drinking greedily from its stream like a wanderer stranded in the desert. Raising my gaze to the mirror, I am confronted by my transformed reflection. When I see my face, it's as if it belongs to a stranger, yet paradoxically someone I intimately recognize. My once ordinary pupils have expanded to the size of dinner saucers, dilated and consuming the majority of my eyes. Only a faint sliver of color remains, almost imperceptible. But it feels like something else is in the reflection. Something behind me. Something watching.

As I cast my eyes downward, to my astonishment, the pattern on the tile floor seems to be raised and floating above the tile itself. The once solid tiles now dance and undulate, giving birth to a mesmerizing display of hallucinatory visions. Swirling rainbow fractals cascade and intertwine, shapes materialize and dissolve, as if an unseen artist is painting these whimsical creations. Were those patterns always there? How have I never noticed them before? I see a small wizard mounted on the back of a dragon flying across the floor. I blink my eyes a few times, unable to comprehend what I'm looking at. I continue to fixate upon the captivating swirls and shifting shapes, visions that light up the synapses of my brain. My senses are tingling with wonder and delight. Cooooool!! I'm finally starting to have a bit of fun!

I turn off the bathroom light and start back down the hall. A flicker of movement catches my peripheral vision. I slowly glance over my right shoulder. I turn, and there, in the murky depths of the guest room, a shadowy figure abides. Its presence casts an ominous aura that permeates the air between us. Time stops. In the depths of my being an abyss of terror opens, ice is coursing through my veins. The weight of the ancient fear settles in the pit of my stomach, dragging me deeper into unrelenting dread. Paralyzed in place, I stand in the hallway staring into the dark void that stretches before me. The figure shrouded in darkness gazes back at me. Unseen, malevolent eyes penetrate the depths of my soul. My heart thrashes against my ribs, each pounding beat ringing through my ears like thunderous hammers.

Every instinct urges me to flee, to escape the clutches of this haunting specter. But I remain rooted on the spot held fast by the grip of terror. Each passing second feels like an eternity, my mind conjuring a myriad of dire possibilities. With all my strength I summon my last remnant of courage. I slowly extend my trembling hand. Inching it closer with trepidation to the light switch in the guest room.

When I flick the switch, my eyes are met with a mundane sight. A towering pile of freshly cleaned clothes, harmlessly resting on a chair. A sense of relief washes over me, so intense it's almost painful, a release of tension that makes my whole body go weak. My knees actually buckle, and I have to grab the doorframe to keep from falling. The relief is followed immediately by embarrassment, by shame at my own terror, and my laughter bursts forth uncontrollably. I laugh for five minutes straight at the absurdity of how disproportionate my fear was to such a frivolous thing. But the laughter is hysterical, bordering on tears, and I can feel my face contorting, my eyes watering. My whole body is shaking with it, my sides aching, my breath coming in gasps. My laughter continues and bounces off the hallway walls, the sound distorting and twisting into a cacophony that echoes from the office and my bedroom. But the laughter sounds wrong. And underneath it, I can still feel the fear, still there, still waiting, like a predator that's just biding its time.

I breathe a heavy sigh and turn off the light and continue down the hallway towards the living room. Though relieved, after that scare I'm still feeling slightly on edge. I consider reaching out to Quincy. But what's the point?

When I think of my friend, I'm instantly reminded of that awful stench from his grotesque home. I sniff my arms and the smell seems to get stronger, like it's clinging to my skin. I realize now I should have taken a shower earlier when I got home. The thought of a shower now though seems way too daunting. Even just the simple act of walking had become extremely challenging.

Now back in the living room, I have a strange sense of forgetting why I even entered. Where is my cat? I become very confused and a quick shiver runs up my spine. As if possessed, the TV jolts back to life once again, the unnatural resurrection defying all logical reasoning, only further adding to my confusion. The same news report resumes that was playing earlier. I despise these endless news cycles, regurgitating the same stories twenty four hours a day. But this isn't the same story. This is something else.

The familiar brunette reporter reappears on the screen. The hallucinations I'm having distort her face making it appear as if it's melting before my eyes. The report plays, this time the sound brings an added dimension to the unfolding events. I hear the woman's voice for the first time as she says in a solemn tone: "In the wake of this heart-wrenching incident, our community mourns a profound and tragic loss. The impact of this devastating event reverberates through the hearts of many, leaving a void that words fail to adequately express. Our thoughts and deepest condolences go out to those affected by this unfathomable tragedy." Two police cruisers are shown for a moment and the TV goes black again.

The scene of the squad cars and the reporter's words awaken something deep within me. An invisible monster that's been chasing me, that I've tried in vain to outrun. The words and images evoke powerful memories of my parent's untimely death. I close my eyes for a moment, their faces vivid in my memory. Their laughter, their warmth—snatched away from me in an instant. I miss them so much. I just wish I could see them and talk to them one more time. I feel a lump in my throat and tears forming in the corners of my eyes. They begin rolling down my cheeks. The feeling of sorrow grows, turning from a small puddle into a vast ocean.

Drowning in grief, the distress becomes too much for me to bear. The grief is a physical weight, crushing me, making it hard to breathe, hard to think, hard to exist. But it's not just grief. It's the depression too, that familiar heaviness that makes everything feel hopeless, that makes me believe nothing will ever get better, that makes me wonder why I'm even trying. The two feed off each other, grief and depression, creating a feedback loop of misery that I can't escape. I can't deal with this.

I need to call Quincy. My hands are shaking so badly I can barely hold the phone, my fingers fumbling, clumsy, uncoordinated. I hastily grab my phone, fumble through it and find his name. The screen blurs in front of my eyes, and I have to blink several times to clear my vision. The phone rings and I'm desperate for him to answer, it rings, and rings, and rings, but he doesn't pick up. Each ring is like a physical blow, each unanswered call a fresh wave of panic. My heart is sinking, dropping into my stomach, and I can feel the hope draining out of me like water from a broken vessel. But hope is a luxury I can't afford anyway. The depression has taught me that. Hope just leads to disappointment. Hope just makes the fall harder when it all comes crashing down. I hang up the phone, defeated. I feel so let down and abandoned right now, the feeling so intense it makes me want to curl into a ball, to disappear, to stop existing. But I'm used to feeling abandoned. I'm used to being alone. The depression has made me an expert at isolation. How could he not answer my call? He knew I might need him tonight. He is probably with Jennifer or something.. The thought makes me angry, but the anger is weak, washed away by the overwhelming sense of being alone, of being abandoned, of being lost. My whole body feels heavy, weighted down by the despair, and I can barely move, can barely think, can barely function. This is what the depression does. It makes everything feel impossible. It makes you believe you're not worth saving, not worth helping, not worth anything at all.

Despite the letters wriggling and writhing on my phone, through a monumental effort I somehow manage to text him the words "Bad Trip." After about a minute he texts me back "Go outside and smoke some weed man." His reply seems curt and somewhat cold. Especially compared to the highly emotional state I'm currently in. But he's right, I wipe the tears from my face, I need to get it together. I forgot about the joint I had in my pocket. Now that I'm thinking about it, that's a great idea. Weed always makes me feel a little better.

Making my way to the kitchen, I went out of the backdoor. I stepped onto the small wooden porch, its weathered planks creaking slightly under my weight. As I leaned against the railing, I lit up the joint, watching wisps of fragrant smoke dance in the night air. The neighborhood was quiet except for crickets chirping and a dog barking somewhere off in the distance. The kitchen window, framed by darkness, emitted a warm and inviting radiance from within. But the warmth feels false.

I finish the joint and feel the effects of the marijuana relax my body and synergize with the LSD, the high kicking up another new wave. I think about what Quincy said earlier "Just go with the flow." The feelings of despair slip entirely from my mind and I'm on a new plane of existence.

Looking skyward towards the heavens, I'm spellbound by the cosmos above, feeling as though I'm gracefully floating into the farthest reaches of space. An invisible thread connects me to every single star in the universe millions of lightyears away. Their distant gravitational forces tugging and guiding these strings like I'm nothing more than a puppet, and the universe is the puppet master.

At this moment I'm on the crest of a majestic tidal wave, the raw power and energy that created the entire universe is directly behind me. Every event and decision I ever made in my life are inconsequential, insignificant, dominos falling. Paling in comparison to this tremendous force that eclipses and obliterates their meaning. I relinquished any illusion of control I thought I had over my life and let go, strapped to the front of this rocket ship hurtling forward through space and time. The inescapable current of the present moment propels me towards an inevitable fate, one that unfolds before my very eyes.

Still staring at the stars, my field of view is suddenly filled with a multitude of flying creatures, UFOs, and satellites. I start contemplating satellite communication and how information is encoded and decoded in the electromagnetic waves and the particles around us. It makes me wonder if there's an infinite amount of knowledge hidden throughout the universe, just waiting to be discovered and understood. In this transformative moment, I embrace the sensation of becoming an antenna, tuned into the cosmic frequencies of wisdom, as if the universe itself is whispering its secrets directly into my being.

I'm humbled by the realization that I'm just a collection of atoms and molecules existing in a boundless cosmic sea. There are no barriers between myself and the universe at large. It's just an illusion that I'm separate from everything around me. Immersed in this profound oneness with everything, I'm overcome with euphoria, embracing the sheer bliss of enlightenment. Experiencing true rapture for the first time in my life.

I close my eyes and feel completely at peace. The peace is profound, all-encompassing, like nothing I've ever felt before. My whole body relaxes, the tension draining away, and I can feel my breathing slow, my heart rate normalize. For the first time in what feels like forever, I'm not anxious, not afraid, not struggling. I'm just... here. Present. Alive. I'm deeply thankful for my friend and the invaluable advice he gave me. The gratitude is warm, spreading through my chest like sunlight. I open my eyes and find myself grounded back on Earth. The transition is jarring, like waking from a dream, and I have to blink several times, adjusting to the reality around me. My body feels lighter, more coordinated, and I can move without the disorientation I felt before. With this newfound clarity, I decide to venture back inside, embracing the warmth and comfort of my sanctuary. But even as I walk, even as I feel better, there's something nagging at the back of my mind, something I can't quite identify, something that makes the peace feel fragile, temporary, like it could shatter at any moment.