Regrettable Edibles — 25 of 31

Or: “Reefer-induced Madness!”

Sangria, Pizza, and later Hospitalization.

I’m a patron of Ninja Writers and this is day twenty-five of the May Medium Post-a-Day Challenge of blogging for 30 consecutive days.

One. Two.Three.Four.Five.Six.Seven.Eight.Nine.Ten.Eleven.Twelve.Thirteen.Fourteen.Fifteen.Sixteen.Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-One. Twenty-Two. Twenty-Three. Twenty-Four.


SANGRIA!

Saturday, April 20th was a nice, relaxing day. I spent the morning cleaning up the house and would later that afternoon join my friends at Pitfire Pizza up in North Hollywood for Sangria and some moderate friendship on the patio.

Red or white, everything was feeling all right. #rhymes

And then, an accident occurred in the intersection just a hundred feet from where we were sitting. A Mercedes ran a light trying to make a turn and plowed into an oncoming sedan. Nobody seemed to be hurt, thankfully, though the sedan took considerably more damage.

The victim of the crash pulled over to the curb closest to us on Magnolia, while the other car pulled over on Lankershim heading north. Having seen a hit-and-run in Venice the previous summer, I took my sandals off and began walking toward the accident-causing vehicle. She was still parked and I didn’t want to run towards her initially so as not to spook her. However, before I could get close enough, she sped off and I didn’t get a chance to catch her plate.

“Damn it!”

I let another asshole get away with a hit-and-run. But, the worst part of my day was yet to come.

WHAT COULD GO WRONG.

As we all settled back in after the accident, the topic of 4/20 came up. For most of my life, I avoided drugs. I remember my uncle’s issues with drugs when I was younger, so I was wary of falling into the same fate.

Honestly, with my panic disorder, the idea of taking any drugs gave me pause.

But, I was curious and I would be with friends that night, so I figured I’d give it a shot.

A good group of us went over to a friend’s place nearby to celebrate the “holiday.” There was an assortment of stuff to choose from and instead of doing the smart thing and asking before taking, I decided to just go for it.

I had a decent sized edible brownie and smoked a strong Sativa-based weed out of a bubbler. At first, I didn’t recall feeling any different. One of my friends passed out on the couch and everyone got really mellow, but not sleepy. We mostly sat around drinking, for the most part.

And then the effect hit me like a buss while walking in the middle of the street with ear buds in.

Thought-progression:

“Am I really here and is this my life and my body? Do I really control anything? What if I don’t? What am I? What if I’m crazy? What if I can’t stop thinking I’m crazy? Oh my God, I’ll go crazy!”

I moved to the sink. I quickly drank some water and went out onto the deck. My paranoia was in full-effect.

I had to escape. To where, though? I can’t escape my body!

I couldn’t conceal I was having a panic attack as I stepped back inside and quickly gulped water. “Is something wrong?”, my friend Liz asked. I had to get out.

I bolted out the door and down the stairs and into the courtyard in front of the apartment. My friend Arman, who lived in the apartment, chased after me. My heart was pounding in my chest. I had taken a cup of water with me outside. I drank it as I paced around the courtyard and when that didn’t help, I poured it on myself. I was convinced I was losing my mind.

“What can I do to help? What’s wrong? Talk to me.”

No one could help me, I thought. “I’m crazy and I’m helpless.”

My pacing extended outside of the apartment and along the perimeter of the gate bordering the courtyard. I asked my friends to call for help. The feeling of needing to escape just wouldn’t leave me. No matter how far I walked and plus, my heart rate wouldn’t slow down due to the walking and adrenaline already in my system.

The police arrived at some point during this perimeter-walking sequence. I try taking off my pants because, uh, it helps me escape?

“Sir, please keep your pants on.”

An ambulance arrives. My memory gets a little hazy here. My friend Arman is the one they primarily speak with. I end up getting handcuffed to a gurney and taken into the ambulance.

Oh, if you thought I was scared before…

I spend the entire ride to the hospital thinking I’m going to die and this is it. This is how it ends. Handcuffed like a prisoner and losing my mind. Awesome. I’m tugging at the handcuffs so hard, they leave large indentations on my wrists.

We get to the hospital and they roll my ass into a room. I lay there, still handcuffed as a doctor talks to the officers that rode with me into the hospital. I’m still paranoid and the doctor is annoyed with me. I can’t remember what she said specifically, but she huffs off as they push my gurney down the hall and off to the side.

And then I start to slowly come to my senses. Two of my friends arrive at the hospital just as a different doctor comes to chat with me. He’s not a dick to me.

“Are you feeling better? Do you need water?”

My heart is still pounding, but I’m slowly calming down.

“No, I’m fine.” I just feel like a complete idiot.

The doctor writes a report and goes through how the whole process will work. Arman tells me he already talked to my Mom (I apparently told him to call her). He reassures me it won’t be so bad (financially) as we leave to drive back to his place.

“Let’s grab some food and play League of Legends.”


If I learned anything, it’s not that drugs are bad (Mmkay?). You really need to know what you’re getting into. I don’t have any desire to use drugs again, but the problem was more with my impulsive nature and less to do with their potency.

Also, wear comfortable pants while paranoid. I couldn’t figure out my belt.


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