My dad’s motto for parenting was don’t lie, or do drugs; if you do, you can leave. I didn’t “do” drugs until I was 21. I’m not going to lie, it was awesome.
Having anxiety kept me from phasing through the experimental drug stage when most of my high school was. Also that thing my dad said. Well, I needed a place to live.
I loved control, and when I saw my high friends, they looked calm, and happy. I don’t believe, in that state, they would recognize danger anywhere. Someone had to be the designated den mother. I didn’t mind.
Years later, on a night when someone finally peer pressured me enough, I caved. You know when you’re the token drug-free girl, and you say “FINE – Let’s DO this,” people get amped. In fact, without even asking for a volunteer, my roommate offered to be my “drug guide.”
I agreed to be led around, but I had rules. Strict, sign-a-contract agreement rules. We were going to ingest mushrooms. Magic ones.
Yeah, I didn’t start with gateway drugs, I went right for the pipe.
Rule 1: ” When, with no hesitation, I say call 911, you DO IT. You don’t ask why, laugh or say I’m dramatic, you get me to the ER and pump my stomach, because I’ve CHANGED my mind.”
Pretty much that’s it. Otherwise, let’s have fun.
I split a small cow patty shaped chocolate biscuit that had mushrooms mixed in. What you can’t guarantee is how much drug is in each portion. I’m sure I ate 75% of the whole.
Bottoms up, or choke it down. Either way, I leapt off my safety ledge.
Nothing happened for a good twenty minutes, which allowed my nervous system to calm down, and accept that drugs aren’t so bad. In fact, I was actually disappointed.
Until it hit.
My drug guide was so assuring and protective of me. He obviously knew me quite well and wasn’t going to ruin this huge moment in my life. Not realizing that in fact my brain had switched from “this ain’t so bad” to “high as a kite,” he sat with me and helped me write a letter.
Me: “I need to write a letter.”
Him: “Of course you do, and you should.”
I wrote something…on paper. Addressed it to YOU, flipped it over and made the return label ME.
Him: “Who is it for?”
Me: “They’ll know exactly who.”
Him: “Well then we should totally mail it.”
Me : (He’s a genius!!!) “YES! Let’s GO! But first I need to pack some stuff.”
I grabbed a large Ziploc bag and started scrounging for very important items that could not be left behind. Items such as a crocheted soap cozy, a gigantic lollipop, lip balm, and a dishcloth. My guide never judged. He simply allowed me my experience. I will always appreciate him for that.
We walked to the mailbox, which felt like an hour, even though it was at the end of my street. I didn’t know time could feel like that. I also didn’t know that when someone says, “Hey, doesn’t Detroit look like Gotham City?” the river would turn to velvet and the buildings would become gothic and villainous.
He took me on a thrilling adventure in my own neighbourhood. I saw the shiniest windows, the most precious spare change in my pocket and a scariest garden beast I’d even encountered.
I finally understood what all the fuss was about. Altering one’s mind completely fascinated me, but not enough to conquer my anxiety. Not once did I ask for an ambulance, but I didn’t mess with good fortune and chances, so that was the last time I “did drugs.”
Also I could be lying about that last part, but my dad may read this so… there’s that.