DOSE:
4 hits
smoked
Cannabis
BODY WEIGHT:
10 st
A few months ago, I had a bit of a freak out (to put it mildly).� I have wanted to write down exactly what happened both in my mind and in the real world, but didn�t know how to put it.� Well, I�m swallowing my pride and doing it.� It�s probably not going to be completely coherent, but it is, at least, honest and a very accurate representation of what I perceived to be happening.� Despite my fears and perceptions, the people involved handled the situation brilliantly and I could not have got through it without them.
It started at Tom�s, while Taya and I were watching The Wonderland Experience with Tom in his bedroom.� At least, I would guess that�s when it started.� I don�t really have a sense of beginnings with these things, it�s more of a gradual change.� There are a lot of uncertainties with this kind of experience, but I�m pretty sure the frame of mind I was in was a familiar one.� I have been smoking weed for a while now, and I know the risks.� I won�t go too far into details, but suffice to say, I�ve done my research.� Every experience with the drug is different - I have experienced extreme creativity, elation, philosophy and sadness.� All very different frames of mind, but all common in some way.� There is always a point in the evening when I feel a certain detachment from my universe.� This happens from day to day all the time, but when smoking weed I feel less sensitive to my surroundings, and I can analyse this experience more closely.�
The best way to describe it to someone that doesn�t know is this:
When I'm reading a book and my mind trails off - not necessarily away from the story, but doesn�t literally read the words on the page.� Suddenly I find myself right at the bottom of a page I don�t remember reading, but I know my eyes have scanned the words.� My brain has the words in it somewhere, but I have no real recollection of them.� I visit this frame of mind quite often when stoned.� It can often mean that I don�t grasp what�s going on in a film we�re watching, or understand what someone might have said to me, but as it�s only an intermittent thing, and not all night, it�s not a big problem, and can often lead to interesting adventures around my mind.� It�s sort of like I'm sitting in the back of my head, watching my life play out on a cinema screen.� Thinking about what�s happening, and leaving my body to react instinctively.�
Sometimes, when I�ve had particularly trippy weed and there are no real distractions around me, I feel like I�ve gone up another level altogether, and I�m watching my subconscious mind playing with my conscious thoughts while I sit in another cinema in my sub-subconscious.� This sub-sub conscious cinema is very interesting and exciting.� I can introduce a conscious thought, like a picnic in the park, and watch my subconscious flip through files so-to-speak - memories, ideas�often, for some reason, I will see vintage cartoons detailing aspects of the thought.� Cartoons I don�t remember seeing in real life, but that my subconscious uses to analyse a thought.� If I try hard enough I can see this happening during the daytime, when not under the influence.� I have come to the conclusion that this is how my brain works.� That makes sense to me, and it seems incredible that I can see these inner workings taking place.
Now, this is all well and good, but one evening, after watching aforementioned Wonderland Experience, a disturbing situation arose.� We had had a few shotties and I was feeling contentedly high.� I sort of remember the beginning and the end of the film, but have very little recollection of what went on in-between.� It is likely that I had a bit of a trip into my sub (or sub-sub) conscious during this time, and came back to reality after that.�
Except I didn�t seem to fully return to the real world.� I remember someone putting Family Guy on, and sitting while Taya and Tom laughed and chatted.� I was slowly becoming aware of an unintentional detachment from the room.� Try as I might, I couldn�t grasp the storyline on Family Guy.� It wasn�t that it was moving too fast, I just couldn�t connect jokes to punchlines or anything.� This is not an unfamiliar experience, but it felt a little unnerving because I had a small niggling feeling of claustrophobia, and the sensation that the longer I sat there, the deeper I was falling.� Then I felt like I had been quiet for too long and that I should say something to bring me back to reality.
Usually at this point, something would come to mind and I would say it, but all I could focus on was the question of what I would say.� I became fixated over the line between my positive and negative thoughts.� I need to say something/what if I can�t think of anything? I need to watch the TV/Why can�t I understand it? I need to get back to reality/what if I stay like this forever?� This fixation quickly evolved into panic, and I was becoming aware that my heart was beating quickly.� This sometimes happens when smoking weed, but due to me being already paranoid, I became extremely worried.� The fixation of positives and negatives evolved into a logical thought process: what if state of mind followed a long line, with happiness at the top, death at the bottom and whatever was happening to me, right in the middle.� I got more and more worked up about this and decided I was having a panic attack.� I couldn�t help but think about the line of mental wellbeing I had conjured up:
Happy
Pondering
Philosophical
Obsession / Fear
Panic Attack
Madness (Alzheimers, Autism, Aspergers etc.)
Unconscious
Heart attack
Death
I truly believe what followed was an episode of utter madness (though I now see madness to be another state of mind that, depending on how far down the rabbit hole one is, one may have the ability to control the outcome).� Tom asked if I was OK.� Apparently I was �fidgeting�.� I knew that I had felt like I didn�t know how I should sit, like sitting was alien to me.� Like being in my own body was alien to me, so naturally I was trying to get comfortable, and this appeared very strange to an outsider.� I suppose it would have appeared similar to a baby in a high chair.� Uncomfortable, but unaware of how to move his body properly to get comfortable.�
Anyway, when Tom quite rightly asked if I was OK, it acted like a catalyst.� It made it not in my head. when Tom quite rightly asked if I was OK, it acted like a catalyst.� It made it not in my head.