drugs pt. 2
pills taste like candy.
……majority of major depression medications don’t mix well with ecstasy or any hallucinogenic.
Balancing ecstasy, about three to four depression/anxiety medications and sprinkles of marijuana was enough; if you consider enough just the right amount for a short period of time. I was beyond floating. Have you ever just sat somewhere for hours hearing music, not listening to music, but hearing music? As if the space your in is within the sound you’re hearing but you’re a larger part of the space in itself. The universe seems so unfair when this happens. Reaching out trying to touch death but always falling short, falling into a sobering consciousness.
On an average Saturday, I would check to see if my parents would be working the graveyard shifts at their jobs and plan accordingly. I was in the unspeakable relationship of my ho hum life so the night felt young long before the sun had risen. Usually my day started off with pill number 1 and pill number 3 because I can’t take my vitamins with pill number 4 and lord forbid pill number 2 gets lonely. I needed to occupy my time until it was late enough to not be judged by the bewitching sun so with a palm full of dreams, I took them all. This is a normal occurrence for me. I experiment with myself. (thinking: sounds like I test hazardous dildos on myself or shock myself in sensitive areas for a sexual thrill.) In reality, I experiment with myself to understand what exactly my body can take; whether that be physically or emotionally. The extent of this will not be discussed.
I didn’t sleep at all during that time. The closest I would get to some sleep was one to two hours of sleep but insomnia victims tend to over exaggerate their sleep loss so don’t quote me on that.
The sun is going down and I was in my manic zone. My manic zone is when I take certain types of pills together and get this layer of aggression. It is all the benefits of being calm but with a lingering aggression; not the best high but it killed time. So the night progresses and I leave to go enjoy my youth. My bestfriend at the time was present.
side story: I had a best friend that I knew longer than any of the other children across the land. I fucked up. He fucked up. In the end, my best friend of nine years won’t look me in the eye and I wouldn’t either if I saw what he saw.
So I’m in the car; by this time I’m like 13. My oh so wonderful boyfriend always had drugs. Whether it be heroin, coke, these numbing pills, some of my depression pills, oxy, little pricks of something that resembled morphine and anything else in his candyland of drugs. But this isn’t about him so I digress. Baby had some e and I was feeling feisty so I took two. The night continued on as usual. At that point, it was a routine more than it was actual fun. It was night so we would do absolutely nothing in hope of finding something bigger than ourselves which I realize now was completely perverse. Why spend so much time doing the same thing with the same people, just to discuss how different we have to be for doing a different form of what they’re doing? As we just sat in a basement of someone’s house, I started to feel really dizzy. Not my usual dizzy but this sonic boom type of dizzy. I just went outside and sat talking to my best friend about everything I wish I could still talk about now. I was mid sentence and I fucking threw up. Not a wholesome throw up but one of those weak, watery hiccups; I can’t even throw up right.
The person’s house I was dying in, happened to be a bitch. Not just what if my parents come home type of bitch but this isn’t dead nigger storage type of bitch. I don’t know exactly what he was saying because I felt like I was being spun into the devil’s thread count but I know that he was trying to kick me out as I was trying hear. Not only were people participating in line races with coke on his table but someone was probably shooting what sounded like a subpar pornographic film in his den but the hoe that is having a stroke is his main priority.
People exaggerate and my memory is cloudy but the short of the story is that I fainted and shook a little. I didn’t have a seizure, I just shook a little; like one of those not even on our radar earthquake shakes. Since majority of the people were fucked up and didn’t know me, I think I was betting on death. Not saying I was aware of what was happening but I just felt like crossing my fingers and hoping to die. My bestfriend (I haven’t been using his name because using a name is too personal and I haven’t earned the privilege) came to the rescue and just took me to the hospital. Not just a hospital but a specific one where someone his dad fucked worked or something along those line but the whole situation was sketchy and not one person will tell me what happened. I hope to one day wake up with flashbacks and be able to properly reflect on that night.
Fast forward to me being propped up and pushed in like a pushpin, I was uncomfortable as all hell. The last time I was this hooked up was when my kidneys almost failed because I caught a virus that only a select few contracted first. Some call it luck but I think it’s just fate trying make me into a comic strip. My ears were warm and ringing so I couldn’t even hear what that whore was saying. So when they were gesturing for me to throw up into this pale pink tray, I just turned my head hoping that the swift movement would snap my neck and kill me faster. Still couldn’t hear what the whore was saying, I did hear my throat ripping when they shoved the plastic, rubber, gear-like tubing into my holiest of holes though. I heard that loud and clear. Then the other tube to whatever was supposed to go inside of me was inserted inch by inch. The little tubes that waltz up my nostrils were an added bonus too. Describing how it felt isn’t possible. I can say that it’s like having a tummy ache or like you’re about to throw up but it feels like you’re getting your stomach pumped. The worst part about it is, I was getting my fucking stomach pumped and this nurse is having a conversation about her husband as she’s pumping away at my intestines. sonovabitch. I swore on that stretcher bed hybrid that I would find her husband and fuck him until he left her. This may sound cruel but there was a time and a place for her not to piss me off.
When I woke up it was morning and I was covered because my parents thought I was with my cousin or whatever I decided to tell them the day before. Years later and my parents still don’t know but there is plenty they don’t know about me. Even though I realize now that he came out of pocket for whatever was done and the whore let me leave even though it’s not only against the law but violates hospital regulations. Calling her a whore isn’t ideal because I should have stayed for observation, my parents should have been contacted and I could have been forced into the psych ward for whatever the required time was. But this whore just left me go. People always say “I know you’re a smart kid” so they let you live on your own but even when I do an ultimate wrong, I am still smart enough to handle myself. If I wasn’t a little girl genius, I would have needed the whole shebang of counselling, interventions and divine discipline. But no, the smart girl can handle her drugs; of course.
I didn’t go home because I could barely walk and my throat felt like I swallowed acid with a hint of smoldering, hot lava. I basically just waited for a reason to be taken home. I slept through the night, just slept for hours and hours without a single worry. I was a sore and I couldn’t eat solids for the most part so school seemed like somewhere to be. Being in a house surrounded by food and ethnic smells wasn’t ideal so why not be on a crowded bus and surrounded by masses of hatred.
Praise the holes in my brain and the extensive memory loss for the inconsistencies in the story. I can’t fact check it since I don’t speak to a single person from my past life; like they would tell me anything anyway. But I wish I could just know what happened but this universal rule of don’t talk about fight club has left me with blanks were memories should be. Being 18 and not being able to remember a healthy chunk of your life is bloodcurdling. I could have murdered someone that day and it slipped my mind until I finished this sentence. All the lights flash and the orchestra plays as I flash to a bloody night of flesh coated merriment.
