That Time I Accidentally Smoked K2 and Wound Up in a Psych Ward!

This story begins in beautiful Savannah, Georgia. I traveled down there with my mom, dad, and brother for my cousin Jill’s wedding and marriage to her wonderful husband, John Michael. This all went down (haha, because we traveled DOWN from New Jersey to Georgia!) during the weekend of June 9th, 2018.

The thing about Savannah is that it’s one of two cities in the United States (the other being New Orleans) that legally allows anyone to walk around with any open container of non-hard-liquor alcohol (aka beer and wine) and just be willy nilly drunk anywhere! In my opinion, this is insanely irresponsible of the municipal department (is that who calls these shots? haha but not SHOTS of hard liquor! lol) because CLEARLY it is a recipe for disaster. Sure, I’m 28 years old. I can make decisions for myself. And maaaaybe it’s hard to make decisions when I’m drunk. And maaaaybe I can just learn to handle my drinking better. That’s my prerogative, right? Even if I’m drunk, because that’s just a consequence of my own drinking-based actions, right?

Anyway! After the nuptials, a group of us drunkies painted the town red in our dapper suits, etc. I remember buying 20 jello shots at some trashy bar while karaoke was happening at one point. It was so fun. SO FUN. There were even food trucks down the block!

So, eventually I met a very friendly man at 3 o’clock in the morning in a park who generously offered me a hit of some beautiful marijuana that he had on his person (full transparency, I am [was — I no longer am] a pretty ginormous stoner. I love[d] being high, and I’ll miss it. Or maybe I won’t. It’s really not worth it to me anymore. It didn’t cure anything for me, it only helped me avoid my problems. I will probably [through severe moderation] smoke it again some day, when and if it becomes legal in my state. But I digress, this isn’t a tale about marijuana use or legality. It’s about K2 and psych wards!). Free weed? Nice guy? Uh, yes please!

So, of course I took him up on his offer! And sure, maybe I didn’t notice that this guy was actually a homeless gentleman (no judgement, I just didn’t notice, and surely I would’ve rejected his offer had I been in a proper state of mind) and that the weed we were smoking was actually a disgusting roach that he picked up off the ground. Or maybe he had from earlier. Who knows? I sure don’t! So I smoked it. In any event, it was a total [alcohol-infused] lapse of judgement on my behalf. I can only blame myself. And I’m not angry at myself. Everything happens for a reason, right? My actions and my prerogative, right? Hmmm.

Anywho, surprise! It wasn’t weed. It was SYNTHETIC weed. AKA spice. AKA K2. AKA the scariest thing I’ve ever put in my body. This was when my D.A.R.E. program training should’ve kicked in. It did not.

At the time, the K2 tasted pretty much like regular weed. I smoked it, bid the gentleman a good night, got mac ‘n cheese from a food truck, walked back to the hotel, and hit the sack. I also smoked more weed (that I brought) the next morning in the bathroom. I smoked a lot of weed on this vacation.

So, for the rest of the trip I felt AMAZING. I spent so much time with my family. We got lunch together at Tybee Island, walked the beach, saw alligators, etc! I felt like an invincible hummingbird and also like Jesus Christ. I was so happy and energetic, and before I knew it, I was back in New York. Wow, that trip went fast. That “trip” went fast, because I only had the K2 in my system for 2 days before coming back up north. I read from the Bible for hours when I returned to Brooklyn and believed I was talking to God.

Oh boy does it get weirder. Let’s keep going.

From Sunday June 10th through Thursday the 14th I was running on nothing but adrenaline. I got maybe four hours of sleep each of those nights. I got an impulse tattoo on my left wrist (my first ever!), read lots of the Bible, thought I was IN HEAVEN at one point (I really did, it was scary and comforting at the same time) bought $159 Apple AirPods for no good reason (much like the tattoo, they are very cool hehe), and also, I thought I could do perfect improv. Perfect. Improv. That alone is one of the funniest things I’ve ever thought.

I also scared the ever loving shit out of a very dear friend of mine, and I’ll never be able to forgive myself for that. She brought her “volcano vape” over to my apartment and I believe it broke my brain. I snapped. That happened on Wednesday the 13th. Not so funny.

On Thursday the 14th I went to my UCB class (7–10pm) at the NYC Training Center and had a complete manic episode of psychosis (a complete disconnect from reality) in my class. I remember I’d spent that entire afternoon walking around Manhattan.

Oh yeah! Wait! I also lost my job that day! I wrote a letter of resignation and walked right out at 3pm. I knew it was for the best. I was mouthing off left and right to ordinates (both sub and super). I wasn’t myself. Again, I thought I had gotten on God’s cool side (maybe I still am?). I’m a little embarrassed about those actions at my former office, but I can’t change what I did or what I said, so I was exhausted in my UCB class. EXHAUSTED. But I was still running on the adrenaline. And also a Red Bull! I spent a good hour walking around Central Park, talking to myself (and God!), smiling at the trees and the birds, drinking a sugar-free Reddy B, and listening to Improv4Humans. It was beautiful. And horrible. Anyways!

The next thing I know I’m being strapped into an ambulance. Right before that happened I remember using the bathroom at UCB and, again, thinking I could do PERFECT IMPROVISATIONAL COMEDY LOL. Total maniac mode. Total euphoria boy. I could’ve easily been thrown in jail, but I had a guardian angel in class who rode with me to Bellevue hospital and waited for my parents to arrive from New Jersey. My pal Eddie. He saved my life. Eddie is the man.

I spent Thursday and Friday in “CPEP” (Comprehensive Psychiatric Emergency Program) and then Saturday-Friday (16th-22nd) in the “18 West” unit (which primarily helps the mentally ill and homeless). Bellevue hospital feels literally like Hell on earth. More like HELLVUE am I right!?

I spent those days with people unfit for society. This is not a judgement of their lives. They cannot control their problems, but I certainly did not deserve to be locked up against my will. I lived with HIV+ heroin addicts, schizophrenics, crystal meth users, and then some. Fights broke out all the time. One guy made a finger gun and aimed it at another guy and screamed BANG very LOUDLY, which was disturbing. One woman told me she saw me at the Jersey Shore last summer with my best friend, Nick promoting a comedy show. I have never done this. She insisted that I did. There was another patient who I asked “how are you today?” in the friendliest possible voice, to which she replied (in the friendliest voice as well) “none of your business” which I think was the scariest of all incidents. It was scary. Really scary. Especially for a Wonder Bread, vegetarian, timid child such as myself.

A majority of the staff showed close to zero empathy. One worker rolled her eyes at me when I asked for clean socks. A nurse told me Neosporin “is a myth” when I asked for treatment for a cut on my foot (from the very aforementioned socks!). The building is literally infested with gnats. The provided meals contain NO SALT (and you could only ask for pepper, cruel in my opinion) and my weight went from 173 pounds to 168 in eight days. The bedroom I stayed in was kept at 60 degrees, and they only offered sheets (no blankets) because of an unexplained suicide risk. The entire place was a suicide risk.

The only saving grace at this dump was my friends and loved ones who visited me during my time in Hellvue: Nick, Cassie, Alexis, Sasha, Shannon, Matt, Mom, Dad, Matthew, Brett — I love you all more than I could ever put into words.

For the record, I am not suicidal and I never have been. I experienced an episode of K2-induced psychosis and I mentioned something (I don’t actually remember) about suicide. I think. I guess? I really don’t know.

If you ever feel suicidal or notice someone who exhibits signs, please call the National Suicide Prevention Hotline (1–800–273–8255) or call ME and we can talk. I am serious. I’m always down to chat.

Those two weeks were the scariest of my life, but I’m almost happy that this experience has happened to me. I feel like I have a new lease on life. I’ve been living with my loving family in New Jersey and I feel like a kid again. A kid and an adult at the same time. The best of both worlds. I’ve been craving independence for the past seven years in New York City, and now that I’m living at my childhood home again I’ve never felt more like a grown up. WHAT’S THAT ABOUT?

I’m on medication that is indicated to treat bipolar disorder, Depakote® (divalproex sodium) though I was analyzed and diagnosed by a psychiatrist. They’ve ruled out both bipolar disorder and schizophrenia. I have been medically diagnosed with one mental health condition: “Severe Cannabis Use: DISORDER” and I’ve been sober since my hospitalization. I have to get off these pills, but one step at a time.

I was removed from my UCB class (I’m not upset, I need the break) but I’m hoping to enroll in another improv class once I get back into the swing of things (aka employment). I’ve emailed some UCB staff and explained my story and they are COOOOOL with everything! I miss my comedy friends and passion!

I’m hoping to move back to the NYC area by the fall, God willing. Again, one step at a time. I’m just happy to be home and to be on “summer break”. I’m happy, blessed, and very privileged to be able to say that.

In any event, I’ll be around the Jersey shore all summer if anyone wants to hit the beach, mall, boardwalk, mingolf, go carts uhhh and I can always come to the city on weeknights and weekends! I wanna hang out and drink La Croix! Happy summer! SAY NO TO DRUGS (unless diagnosed or recreationally purchased!).