The bad trip

Picture the scene: I’ve just lay down to go to sleep when...

“Fuck, I’m going to puke. Fuck fuck fuck. Shit shit I’m going hurl... No you aren’t, this happens, you take too much because you aren’t thinking straight and you get nausea. No biggy, just nausea, relax and you’ll get over it soon. No it isn’t and no I won’t. Man, I feel like shit. I feel like I’m drowning. DROWNING! Shit I’m going to drown. No you aren’t, you’re in bed, calm down, calm down. CALM!? How can I be calm!? I don’t feel well, I feel wrong, my skin doesn’t fit, I need new skin, I feel wrong wrong wrong, hot and clammy and wrong... Fuck I’m going puke. Oh man I’m sinking, my bed is eating me up. God help me help me help me please help me. Where are you? Why am I feeling this way? I overdid it overdid it overdid it. I need to throw up now. I should get Dad, Dad will know what to do Dad will help even if it’s just to tell me I’ll be ok I’ll be ok right? Yes, you’ll be fine, calm down. No no no. Have to puke, have to throw up now now now NOW! Hmm, maybe you’re right, maybe you’ll throw up, but it won’t be the end of the world. FUCK! Well come on then...”

At this point I think I started to hyperventilate. After the calm little voice in my head calmed my breathing I got out of bed and staggered to the toilet. When I got there I lay on the floor (the disgustingness of this act didn’t appear to phase me at the time, but at least I had the sense to angle my head towards the door and away from the actual bowl), curled up in the foetal position, and resumed my litany of anxiety...

“Ok what now? Fuck, I’m going to die here on the dunny floor, what a way to go, oh fuck oh my god oh fuck oh fuck”. More hyperventilation. “Will you calm down? Calm down! It’s not going to last, remember that, it’s not going to last. You’ll be ok in the morning.. It says so in the Bible. This is like a bad trip, fuck I’m having a bad trip, how fucking ironic. I’m going to die here I’m gonna die I’m gonna die. It’s ok, you won’t, don’t worry. Don’t worry!? Yes, don’t worry. I’m trying but I’m failing I’m failing I’m trying and I’m failing and... Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee. Blessed art thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. It won’t work. I know it won’t last but I don’t give a shit because I have to deal with it now and now I’m freaking out and I’m lying on the toilet floor and no one knows and... Oi! Calm the FUCK DOWN! I’m trying. Hail Mary, full of grace...”

As I lay there, drenched in sweat, repeating the Hail Mary with varying shades of success in my addled mind, I managed to calm myself down to the point my breathing became slow and steady. I know it sounds trite but I feel that the praying is what did the trick. I knew that sitting up would be pushing it, so I stayed there on the floor until I felt I could get up. I stood, went back through the deserted house to my bedroom and lay down. The clock showed an hour had passed. I grabbed my teddy bear and held him tightly to my chest as I drew my knees up to my chin. I was still unsure as to whether I would die in my sleep or live through this somehow.

But I did. And that, my friends, is what happens when you mix drugs the wrong way.