First acid trip.

It was my boyfriend's second time around and he was having a bad trip after a few orgasmic and silly hours. I was very scared for him while he spiraled out, crying and saying he was in a "prison of his thoughts" and thinking he raped me (he didn't). I was high but grounded by the need to comfort him.

As soon as he found his footing, though, it got weird for me. He scribbled out pages and pages of his thought-loop about his ex-girlfriend and nihilism and a dozen other things I can't remember, and when he pulled out a goodbye letter from his ex I started to believe she wasn't real.

Did he write the letter? Was he schizophrenic? Did I have to indulge his delusions for my own safety? I felt like Alicia from A Beautiful Mind.

So then I spiraled into something dark and delusional, comparing the letter's h's to his h's and her e's to his e's and inching away from him until I curled into a nonverbal ball on his bed. Was I one of his illusions? Would I become one of his illusions? Was everything around me an illusion? Scary shit.

When I started receding into myself, he cut off his thought loop pretty quickly to comfort. There's something to say there about feeling needed.

Other shit happened, don't remember a lot of it. Don't really feel the same though, six months later.