The Sarcasm

In an earlier post I briefly mentioned the terror involved in a bad trip, along with the psychological impact of facing what appeared to be certain death. Sunday night, I sought to recreate this experience, so I ingested double the dosage of LSD I had previously taken.

It was beyond anything I had ever experienced before. The visual hallucinations were vivid, and it was my first time experiencing synesthesia. We connected speakers to my laptop and played various genres of music: metal, classical, techno, alternative, et cetera. Each produced its own wild assortment of colors and sensations. It was as  if the room had suddenly come to life; the sonic cloud massaging my ears and my neck with a feeling that the world couldn’t possibly be more beautiful.

The texture on the kitchen tiles had acquired an aura that separated it from the blandness of the clay. It began to swim, and faces grew out of other everyday objects in the room. Just as I was about to question my sanity, I looked at my friend (who saw the exact same things I was seeing) and said, “Let’s go outside.”

It was an intense argument. My friend, being a cautious conservative who’s afraid of taking risks, was utterly against the idea of going into public while tripping. It became a philosophical conversation strongly related to everyday life, and about 15 minutes later, we walked to the bike route nearby.

Its colors couldn’t be adequately expressed with words. The sun formed a perfect reflection in the water, and the bugs buzzing around my head weren’t enough to bother me.

About 4 hours later, the distractions became minimal, and I was left with the compartmentalization of my thoughts. It’s strange, when everything is broken into little pieces to be slowly analyzed and touched. We realized that our collective mood was manipulatable through the means of sunlight and music. There was giggling, mourning the loss of loved ones, relaxing, sweating, and nausea.

Overall, it was a mentally exhausting experience, but lovely, nonetheless. I won’t be doing it again for a while, in order to preserve its meaning.

About a week ago, I administered a small dose of LSD to myself right before smoking kush. To say the least, the experience wasn’t pleasant at all. The energy I felt from the LSD fought a vastly different mentality I acquired from an Indica leaf. Reality started to melt away, and it was followed by what I thought was going to be a psychotic meltdown.

For the most part, it was a bad trip you would read out of a textbook. I suffered from a severe panic attack, but completely avoided mentioning it to my friend out of fear that I’d also ruin his trip. I was trapped inside my own head, fighting off the vivid, nightmarish realization that my life was certainly going to come to an end. I creeped into a small corner of the room, asked myself if I was happy about how I had lived my life, and tried to accept the inevitable fate: I was going to die.

It was impossible; and inexplicably frightening.

When the drug finally wore off, the same questions stuck in my mind: Am I happy about how I’ve been living thus far? Why is death something to be feared? Can I overcome this?

To be continued.