Citation: scared of white vans. "Paranoia, War, Drugs & Warping Golf Clubs: An Experience with Opium, Mushrooms & Vicodin (exp9661)". Erowid.org. Jul 7, 2005. erowid.org/exp/9661
On Sept. 9, 2001 a small quake hit LA while I was under an opium induced spell. Being the paranoid person I am, began to think of a big quake hitting or the giant volcano under Yosemite erupting. Everyone in America would most likely die if it erupted. Watch the Discovery Channel if you don't believe me. So I did the most sensible thing I could do during the end of the world. I bought a variety of drugs and spent the next two days spending my savings and living in a paranoid coma, which is not great place to be in during school, fearing the end of the world. When I awoke 9/11 I took my morning dose of 250 prescription mgs of Vicodin and 500mg of amoxicillin and got ready to go to school. Then my mother ran into my room crying hysterically.
The WTC had been ran into by planes and so had the Pentagon, and we hadn't heard from my brother in two weeks. My bro works for UN and because of confidentiality of his job, we rarely know exactly where he is, and the likelihood of his being at the offices at the WTC or visiting the Pentagon was high. After my mother left the room, I stood watching CNN smoking opium and eating mushrooms, growing more and more patriotic and before the drugs managed really to kick in, it's like 9 am Pacific time, I watched those planes repeatedly crash, wondering where the hell was my brother? Was he dead? I ate damn near an 8th of shrooms and smoked nearly 3 grams of opium, just staring at the TV. My hearing was starting to fade, all I could hear were buzzing noises and wild echoes that I imagine schizophrenics hear. I began to pace back and forth wondering what was going to happen. Wondering if I was going to die. I considered leaving my home to buy a gas mask, but gave it up as the ceiling was starting to move wildly. There were waves crashing on my carpet. To pace, I had to step over these waves. I must have looked like I was mocking a Nazi.
I suddenly dropped to my knees and began praying to Jesus and the Virgin Mary to save me. I'm Jewish. I was genuflecting like a madman for the people who had died as they popped out of my dresser drawers like toys soldiers running from me. I began to get very scared. Why were these dead people following me and why on earth they not comforting their loved ones? Out of the wood grains were soldiers dancing with their women during WWII, then Vietnam was taking place in a picture of a palm tree. I could hear the gun shots and the yelling. The floor had stopped its rolling business and CNN was still showing the crashes. I watched and felt my spine burning up as though it was one of the WTC's. Then it cut to a picture of Palestinians dancing around and I was livid. I picked up a golf club ready to go to war with these people. Due to an old acid trip I can't watch TV without somehow interacting with it, 'specially on drugs. I started flailing the damn thing about and sent glass flying everywhere and put a nice dent into my ceiling fan.
Then they showed a picture of Bin Laden with a gun. I got down on my hands and knees, crawling about with my golf club that had transformed into a machine gun. I was gonna kill the motherfucker and then I thought why? Then I remembered my brother was dead. Was he? There was only one way to find out. Walk through the bathroom mirror. So I crawled into the bathroom, fearing that the Vietnam War might pop out of the picture. Fearing that Bin Laden was going to pop out of the TV and kill me. Fearing that the planes were going to come and attack my spine again. It was a paranoid moment, though I had not given in entirely. I knew I was on drugs and that none of this would happen, but a voice in my head kept telling me that was nonsense, you're on drugs so it can and will happen if you anger the Gods. Which Gods I asked? The ones who live in your top desk drawer. Holy mother of God, they were close, I'd have to be careful.
I crawled up on the sink and was about to walk through the mirror with my machine gun, when my mother walked into the room calling my name. Yes I responded. It's your brother. I took the phone, convinced at first he was calling from the after life, wondering what kind of electronics they have there. I asked him how Heaven was or was there none? He laughed at me and after about 5 minutes of jabbering on about how I was about to go through the mirror to visit him and that he did need to hike up the phone bill with such a long distance call, he got the picture. He told me has was not dead, but that they had evacuated him from the UN building and that he didn't want to wake us up earlier (my parents are sort of retired and I'm a live at home college student) and he'd just gotten the chance to call during a reasonable hour. It was about 12:30 pm.
Suddenly my trip disappeared, everything looked normal except I'd some how cut my hand, my fan looked like someone had beaten it to a pulp, and there were glass shards everywhere. I handed the phone to my mother and began cleaning up. She looked at me like, you really are a fucking idiot aren't you? If I were 18 I think that they might asked me to leave. My brother got back on the phone and yelled about how I should be grateful for my home situation (I'm 14 yrs. younger my closest sibling). I nodded and said yes. I have thus decided to chill on cocktails for fear of drug synergy (what make drug combos fatal to the brain) and that I've got to get a psychologist because getting that wrapped up is not healthy.
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