The first time I smoked pot was on my fourth acid trip. I had just come home for winter break and was going through a rough patch in college. My 2 best friends, my girlfriend and I got together at my friend's house and took 2 tabs each at about 9pm. What a pleasure it was to share that experience with my favorite people. In the morning we were still tripping of course, but my gf and other friend went home.
I'd never smoked weed before because I had a negative perception of it. I didn't understand its potential and only saw it as a drug that stupid people did. And that was the belief I held when, outside on his porch, my best friend started smoking behind me. Anyone experienced with hallucinogens knows the power of belief. I had resisted for so long, but he offered, and this time curiosity got the better of me. The smoke he exhaled distorted the light behind it, and his body had a green outline, which seemed to be his aura at the moment. I smoked a good amount with him, and then we went inside to listen to Dark Side of the Moon.
The pot set in rather quickly, and the time distortion was multiplicative: the track "Time" lasted somewhere around 45 minutes, perceptually. The combined distortions were more intense than I'd ever imagined. When we went up to play keyboard together, our fingertips were about 1 foot long as they meshed with the keys, and when I turned to look at his face, it was enormous. It was about the size of a car tire, yet still fit in my field of vision. And it was the strangest combination of real and cartoon: it was flat, yet still had dimension. It was huge, yet fit seamlessly onto his body. Apparently he saw a similar illusion, and we marveled at the mere possibility of it.
In his kitchen was an island. Hung in his foyer was a collection of paintings. It was early in the morning, perhaps 9, and the sun was coming down through the high windows in such a way that you could feel the warmth on your skin. There was an abstract painting there of a beige character, with a dark grey arrangement resembling a settlement in the center. This is important.
We went downstairs, to eat perhaps, I don't remember. I don't even remember how it happened. But the most terrible thing happened. I became a prisoner of my own body.
It all started with a walk. I felt chilly, but uncomfortably warm. I put my hands behind me in my back pockets. I felt insecure, uncomfortable. My emotions from college began to manifest. I began walking, and since there was nowhere else to go I circled the island. Completing the circle, I still wanted to walk, so it seemed reasonable as my body began to circle the island again. The third time I was amused.
The fourth time, my friend noticed and was puzzled. I laughed and he did too, it was pretty funny.
The fifth time, it wasn't so funny.
The sixth time, I was nervous.
The seventh time, I was not having fun anymore. I was very much not having fun anymore and I wanted to get out. My friend wasn't paying much attention anymore.
I wanted to get out of the loop. Eighth time. I had to get out of the loop.
Ninth time. Something was wrong. With all my willpower I prevented myself from continuing around the island. But I kept walking, into the foyer.
The sun on my skin felt uncomfortably warm, as if I were in an attic. But at the same time I knew I was cold. Or was I? My body walked as I thought. Then I looked at the painting as I passed it. Something about that painting felt so oppressing, so judgemental I could physically feel it push at me. I reached the front door and my body turned around, and I realized I had only adopted a larger circuit. When I came back to the island it felt cold as I was no longer in the sun. Hands already in my back pockets, I clenched my buttocks and my teeth started chattering. My compulsive walk continued its course and I passed the painting again. And again. And then the most terrible, destructive thought entered my mind: I was going insane.
There is mental illness in my family. We've all heard how LSD can bring out latent schizophrenia. This was my reality. As I rounded the island, my friend took notice. He asked, "Dude, are you okay?" And my head nodded yes but inside I was like NO, SAY NO but my body continued on. And my teeth were still chattering and I couldn't stop them. I couldn't stop walking. I couldn't communicate with my friend. And then I realized I couldn't talk. As I spiraled into paranoia I thought, "This is it. I am broken. I am mentally broken, and I am going to lose my girlfriend, and my life, and I am insane."
As my friend went to go upstairs he turned and again asked, "Are you sure you're okay?" This time with great effort I shook my head no. He asked what was wrong, but all I could do was shrug. I was still walking. He went upstairs and I was alone. And as I helplessly walked, I wondered how there could be no end to it. Why couldn't it end?
He called me upstairs and it seemed natural to go upstairs, since that was still walking. Finally, it broke the cycle and I could feel the painting staring at me as I left it. Upstairs, I managed to STOP walking in a room. Standing in the doorway, he asked me if I was okay. I was terrified, I felt like I had snapped and I couldn't break it to my best friend. All I could do was shrug. He insisted, but I couldn't speak. And I started to fear that I had just permanently lost my speech.
We stood there a while and he kept insisting, and I kept trying my hardest, sweating with the effort to just respond. Eventually it became so preposterous that a groan came out. And that broke the lock. And I was able to explain as best as I could understand at the moment what just happened. He was glad I could talk again, and said he was going to take a nap.
After 15 hours of mental exertion I was done, and I tried to nap on his couch but I couldn't shut my mind off no matter what. I had no car at the time and I needed to get home, but my friend wouldn't wake up. I called my girlfriend, but she didn't pick up. And then it occurred to me she may have gotten into an accident on the way home.
I called her ten times, each time feeling more and more terrified. Was she dead? I saw the wreckage in my mind. Were the police coming to our house? Were her parents going to know we were tripping? And then she picked up. She had been sleeping peacefully, and thankfully her parents hadn't interacted with her enough to suspect she was tripping. She agreed to come pick me up, and then began the second-longest wait of my life.
I realized I was putting her in danger again by having her out in traffic. Was she going to get pulled over? Again I saw the police coming to our house. Again I saw her dead. I didn't want to call her because I was afraid it might make her crash, but after an hour I had to.
Again it took multiple times for her to pick up. She had fallen asleep. So began the second longest wait of my life.
She finally arrived, and we went to my house and slept, and later that night we were awoken, still tripping, by my little sister to go to a christmas-themed amusement park. But that's for another story.
It took a few months to process what had happened. But I was not mentally ill, thankfully, and I could talk and act like nothing ever happened. That was many years ago.