How it feels to lose your goddamn mind

Alright so as many of you may know, or may not know, last year starting in June I had a bout of Cannabis Induced Psychosis. Here's the fairly blurry summary.

So as a young man, I had always wanted to try some of that George W. Bush, and I did! When my friends invited me to smoke with them in Houston, and let me tell you that shit was magical. We did a two blunt rotation and immediately got cottonmouth, and I also had this weird sort of flowy feeling in the back of my skull, but yeah I got blasted pretty quick. I may have taken a bit too many hits (foreshadowing), but it felt nice, and I couldn't stop laughing at my friend pretending to stroke a big imaginary weewee. We played some games which I didn't understand at the time, and we ate some chips and hummus (I ate most of the bag). Then the paranoia set in a little bit because I thought my friend's girlfriend was evil and out to kill me, but it wasn't too bad. I slept good that day.

The bad part kicked in the next morning, I got a pretty gnarly after high, which I thought was normal at the time and I didn't think much of it, but then it didn't go away. Over the course of a week I began spiraling into disassociation. It felt like my hands and legs moved by themselves, and my brain was floating above my head. It got so bad to the point where I cried and had to hold my friend's hand in his car after band dinner (dinner after band practice).

It was at the end of the week where I had my first episode of psychosis. It was at night time and I walked over to my friend's house in pajamas and knocked on their door and screamed their name until their parents came out. My mom followed me and dragged me out of there, thank god. Now this is where things get blurry. I remember being taken to the hospital, feeling a little bit better, and being released the next day because they didn't have the "resources" to help me. A few days, or maybe even the next day, I got an episode again and this time my uncle and aunt came to help my mom, and I got 911 called on me.

What I am about to tell you was the most terrifying moment of my life. I was laying on my mom's bed and trying to go to sleep, and then I arise to see police and firefighters surrounding me. They tried to talk to me but I kept silent, until one of them pulled the sheets from one of the corners and bagged me basically, then I was taken and strapped to the back of the ambulance. The way I saw it, I was taken into this mysterious carriage and strapped with chains, the ride was bumpy and everything was shaking and I thought I was dying and being taken to hell. I remember looking through the gap of the doors and thinking that is the last I'd see of the outside world.

I stayed in the emergency room for three or so days, only being conscious for a few hours, and then taken to the psych ward via police car. I had psychosis for the first few days in there and according to other patients and the doctors, I wouldn't eat, would pace around the walls, and sleep. Whenever I tried to sleep I would have the voice of God and the Devil speak to me, when I actually slept was my only solace, because I actually felt conscious and normal in the dreams I had, and when I woke up and looked at the light through the windowsill I thought it was the light of an angel telling me "not yet".

It is a very humbling experience staying at a psych ward. I made a few friends there. There was this really funny hispanic dude that would call me "malo malo". There was this ex-teacher lady who said her husband was poisoning her and abusing their daughter. There was a guy there named Frank who would rarely sleep, kept quoting bible verses, and shot hoops in the courtyard. Interesting bunch.

Every day was a monitored schedule, and once you got used to it it wasn't too bad actually. They would have a smoke break every few hours where you got to go outside which was nice, breakfast, lunch, and dinner (where I had the best pulled pork of my life), therapy classes once or twice a day, and lights out at 10. They had like two or three Nokia phones there to call people but they were always occupied so you had to be strategic on when to use them. They had two televisions there and I watched The Karate Kid twice (the remake), The Sandlot, a lot of Young Sheldon, and soccer matches. Overall, better than staying at Hilton.

I got out in a week or so and got myself a psychiatrist and a therapist, which helped a lot if you can believe it. It took some months to find the right way to approach my psychosis so I still had some episodes.

I missed the entirety of Hurricane Beryl because I wasn't conscious for it, and so when I walked around (I walked around a lot) and saw trees toppled and fields leveled I was like HUH. Hung out with my friends a lot, one of them called the cops on me because I was walking onto incoming traffic, and too far from my house to go to the waterway, I also told them we should explore the "ice caves". I don't know why I had such a fascination with the waterway, I think I thought that the waters had mystical healing powers and if I dived into it I would be cured.

Eventually, my psychiatrist prescribed me some anti-depressants which actually worked, and I didn't have anymore episodes since then. I am now off my medication and living normally, or at least as normal as an Emi can get.

The moral of the story ya'll is this, treasure your family and friends, try to find the positive in every situation, and that Reagan was RIGHT!!!!!!!!!! YEAH D.A.R.E. 2025!!!!!!!!! LET'S CRACK DOWN ON DRUGS AND PUT THEM IN BLACK NEIGHBORHOODS!!!!!!!!! MAGA MAGA MAGA MAGA!!!!!!!!!