True Stories: The Bad Trip (Part Three)

If you want to learn about True Stories, it’s tag and what it represents, then please see my previous post.

What you are about to read is a True Story, and everything has been kept intact with what my memory holds.

Other articles in this series:
True Stories: True Stories: The Bad Trip (Part One)
True Stories: True Stories: The Bad Trip (Part Two)

February 1997

When you’re on a trip a lot can happen, much of it in your mind and reality becomes a massively distorted version of the truth.

My memories of the aftermath were @trolleydave ushering me into the living room and telling me to 'watch the spinning colours' on the TV.

This would have been great if the present company had not been mostly strangers and my disturbed fucked up mind could not tolerate it.

I lasted just a few minutes before stumbling out of the room and back into the kitchen.

The feeling of being judged had never dissipated and I was still under the spotlight, despite no words spoken.

Source

The words were not necessary, the panic, the fear was instilled into my head and I knew what I needed to do.

Frantically dragging a stoned, wasted @trolleydave in the room I told him I was going upstairs to wait it out.

There is no quick come down, no instant sobering effect such as the case with alcohol as this stuff needs to run its course and I knew only too well that I had 4 or 5 hours left.

The bedroom was basic with a mattress lying on the floor with a sleeping bag. If you have seen how the homeless live then this was it.

I curled up shaking like a leaf, knowing full well sleep was not going to embrace me any time soon.

Source

The music and noise were still pounding away downstairs and they were discussing me, judging me, snickering at that twat who couldn't handle his trip.

…’in fact, nothing like that was happening, as the downstairs crew were spaced out and barely conscious after getting through half a dozen spliffs’…

The time went on and on, I closed my eyes to block it out but the nightmare kept on recurring. The memory of what happened played back in my mind like a visual broken record.

Minutes passed, but how many I can't recall. Slowly the paranoia drained away and eventually sleep the merciful took me.

I came around in the early hours of the morning. It was cold as the house had no central heating. Nobody had disturbed me and the room was empty.

I was thankful for that; maybe @trolleydave had forbidden anyone entering. If so, I needed to thank him.

I crawled down the stairs feeling fucking awful. Most of it was lack of sleep, the Acid downer being mostly boredom and your body returning to reality.

Source

The room was empty apart from @trolleydave and HeroinAddict both slumped across armchairs, drool running down the latter’s lower chin.

It was over and I had survived one of the worst experiences in my life.

Epilogue

• You might think this would put me off taking Acid again. It didn't, but I never downed a Microdot again, not because of the 'bad trip, but due to the fact I was never offered another.

• The pup was never in danger of losing his toes and made a full recovery. He grew into a vicious big fucker and snarled at me whenever we made eye contact. First and early impressions count for a lot.

• After this visit @trolleydave moved back to his parents' house after relationships with the local drug overlord soured. He was a marked man for a while but still lives in the surrounding areas.

• I would have another ‘bad trip’ years later when smoking skunk. Don’t confuse this with regular weed, it’s strong stuff and can easily make you paranoid.

• The circumstances were different but the trigger was someone disagreeing with me in conversation.

• I walked around the streets for 3 hours before it went away and I could return safely back to society in a non-deranged state.

All images are cited and are free to use, or in the public domain.

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