Don’t Do Drugs, Kids

!!! WARNING! this is CRAZY long. It’s mostly here for me, for future reference. If you want to look inside my mind, though, go ahead. !!!



In order for me to understand why I feel the way I do, I need to write something down about an event that has made a major impact on me, my mental health, my relationships and my future. It hasn’t even been a year since this happened, but I know that I’ll never be the same person I was before it happened. I think that, unless you’ve gone through something similar, all of this will seem kind of dramatic to you; but to me, personally, it’s not.

On July 8th, 2016, I took a drug called 2cb.

Now, to back up a bit, I need to explain what happened leading up to that.

I had been smoking weed for a while. I can tell you exactly when I hit my first blunt: on September 6th of 2014. Smoking weed for months had gone fine for me. I had never been scared of the effect it had on me and I’d never had a bad trip. I had been stoned out of my mind before, but because I was never afraid of the feeling of losing control, it had been good. I enjoyed the occasional joint, and often smoked and drank at the same time, which made me feel great.

Then a friend of mine “started getting into the harder stuff”, as people like to call it. She’d taken XTC, 2cb and LSD and loved it. She never pushed me to try hard drugs, and I don’t blame anyone for the decision I made, but it did become more accessible for me when I heard that some of my friends were taking hard drugs, as well. So, me, that friend and another friend (who’d also taken XTC before), decided we wanted to take 2cb together.

On July 7th, we’d all finished our 5th year of high school (technically, for me, it was my 6th year) and another friend of mine threw a party in a town pretty far away. That was the first party I don’t remember certain things of. My memory has never been too great to begin with, but people surprised me with facts about that party for three months because I’d simply blacked out and never knew they had happened (this is vague, sorry). Anyways, my point is, I was really drunk the night before I took 2cb.

The next day we took a bus from that town to school to hand in our books; I was hungover, I’d had about five or six hours of sleep, but stupidly, I still decided I wanted to take the drugs. After I’d handed in my books, I went over to another friend’s house (she’s home alone often, so she didn’t mind us tripping there) and we started off with some wine (VERY DUMB!!!). We each took a pill and waited. It took about half an hour to kick in, and when it did, it was the weirdest sensation ever. It was like being incredibly high, during daytime, but things changed shape before my eyes. I remember looking at a couch cushion outside, and I could’ve sworn it had a pattern, but it didn’t. I was laughing until my entire face hurt, and I couldn’t stop. I didn’t like that to begin with, but I could handle it. It was okay.

Then I made the fatal error of lighting a blunt. That’s honestly the stupidest thing I have ever done. The weed in combination with a lack of sleep, wine and 2cb, made my system break down. At least that’s what it felt like to me. Suddenly, everything sounded far away and I couldn’t focus on anything. I felt everything at the same time. My muscles tensed up and my heart started beating really fast. I could see, as in, my eyes worked, but my brain didn’t know what to do with the images, so I was barely aware of my surroundings. I kept picking at something because of the drugs and didn’t notice I was doing so. I was grinding my teeth.

I properly started freaking out.

We were sitting in the backyard, and suddenly, I couldn’t take it anymore. I ran inside, upstairs, to my friend’s bedroom. I hid in her bed, under the covers, and started shaking uncontrollably. She quickly came looking for me, because obviously I’d left them without any explanation. She got into bed with me and all I could say was “Ik ga bad”, which you can translate to “I’m having a bad trip”. She moved her hand up and down my arm, which was good, because it made me realise I was still on this earth, if that makes any sense. I asked her to tell me stories, so I had something else to focus on, some distraction, and she did.

I thought I was going to die.

My heart was beating so fast, I told her to call an ambulance. I genuinely thought my heart would stop. She kept telling me I’d be okay, which I didn’t believe, but I truly couldn’t do anything. I just laid there, curled up in bed, shaking. I can’t remember whether I had my eyes closed or not, because as I said before, nothing really came through for me. Nothing made sense. She talked really slowly, because she was making stories up as she told them, and every sentence she said, I kept repeating in my head over and over and over, like there was a whirlwind in my brain. I can’t explain it any better than that. It was like everything that existed, only existed in one point, and the rest was fading. The sentence only existed when she said it, and after that it was just an echo. Not real. Not anymore.

(In the next two hours my other friends came upstairs to check on me, and I started crying and screamed at them to leave. Also, the friend that was in bed with me left for a few minutes to call her doctor and ask for advice, and I was so fucking scared; it felt like I’d been alone for half an hour, and I’d been calling her name, when in reality, it had been maybe five minutes.)

After about two hours, the 2cb finally started wearing off. I was still scared and VERY high, but it was like somebody pulled me out of space and slowly guided me back to earth. Switched gravity back on. Created time.

My friend told me I could sleep over if I wanted to, no problem, but I told her no thank you, I’d rather be at home. So I cycled home, it was about fifteen minutes away, and went straight to bed. I couldn’t sleep right away.

When I woke up the next morning, I was still high. And I would remain high for the rest of the day. That night, and this had been planned for months, there was a party at the friend’s house I’d taken the drug at. Obviously I didn’t want to go, but my boyfriend, who never really got invited to parties, very much did. I couldn’t explain to him how shitty I felt, not really; and he pushed me to go, anyways. I thought I was feeling better, I thought I was okay, so we went to the party.

That was another huge mistake.

When we got there, I was very uncomfortable. Someone put a drink in my hand, but I didn’t drink anything, not even a sip, during the entire night. After about two hours, my boyfriend was catastrophically drunk. So drunk, in fact, that when I took him to sit in the living room, he threw up all over the floor (and my shoes). I’m quite afraid of vomiting, have been for years, so to be honest, I left him there. I couldn’t deal with it. Others cleaned him – and the living room floor – up, and put him in the backyard. He kept drooling and occasionally vomiting, and everyone – and I mean everyone! – was drunk.

I was on my own, next to my boyfriend who had gone outside to sit on the sidewalk at that point (and was still a MESS), and no one could help me. I tried for hours to get someone to PLEASE help me take him home, but no one could be bothered. No one cared. At some point, I ran three blocks and cried on the sidewalk by myself; a police car stopped in front of me and asked me if I was okay, and I told them I’d be fine (I did this because I didn’t want to rat out my friends; many of them were underage, and if the police had found out about that, someone might’ve gotten in trouble) and they drove away.

It was about half past twelve at night when I’d had enough. I called my dad, crying, who had already gone to bed; but I told him that I really, really needed him to pick me and my boyfriend up, and he did (I’m still SO thankful for that).

So. July 7th; black-out drunk. July 8th; bad (very bad) trip. July 9th; a vomiting boyfriend who had to be picked up by my dad in the middle of the night.

I didn’t notice any changes right away. I knew I never wanted to do drugs again, but I assumed that I could smoke weed again if I wanted to, since the bad trip had happened mostly because I’d taken a hard drug (or so I thought). I was wrong.


On July 8th, 2016, my brain rewired. It took me a couple of months to complete the transformation I went through, but I view the world differently now (again, you’ll find this very cringey and annoying if you haven’t had a similar experience). I’m scared of things like gyms, grocery stores, and ikeas; I can’t sleep without exhausting myself first, because I don’t want to be alone with my thoughts; I can’t smoke weed without losing it; I had a MASSIVE breakdown at the end of October, a panic attack (and trust me, I don’t use that word lightly, I know what real panic attacks are like) that lasted for three days.

Now, all of these things, even though I’m pretty sure the bad trip was the direct cause of it and put everything in motion, probably would’ve happened eventually anyways; I turned 18, I finished high school, I had to make a ton of important life decisions (still do), and on top of that, I really didn’t have any friends I could truly depend on or trust, not anymore (I have one now). This situation is the perfect cocktail for a life-changing crisis.

The thing about me that changed the most though, and this is also the thing that induced the three-day-long panic attack I had at the end of October (it was so fucking bad. It had a huge impact on me as well) is my view on life and death. I slowly started realising that human kind is on this planet for no reason. We’re born, we float around on a giant ball in an infinite (what the fuck does infinity even mean? I can’t comprehend it) “space” for a while, we make ourselves follow a path we’ve chosen and fit into a society we’ve created, we love, get hurt, and love again; and then we die.

There’s nothing more to it. That’s all.

We only exist to make more babies. Just like all species do. And the babies we’ve made only exist to make babies, too. It’s useless. There’s no point. I’ve accepted that now. And the realisation has changed me. It has motivated me to get less angry at things that don’t matter, it has made me choose not to attend university right away, and it has influenced the way I treat my friends and family (which improved, by the way).

It has also made me feel like nothing matters, though. Because it doesn’t. Now, at this exact moment, I’m okay. (Quite hungry, but okay.) But often, two or three days ago, for example, I’m not. I can’t see a future for myself in which I don’t overthink everything, ever, and I can’t see myself being boundlessly happy. I don’t think I’ll ever be content. Sometimes I wish mankind had never evolved to interacting, feeling, loving, hurting beings. It’s so much more difficult than just hunting for food, and mating.

Part of me doesn’t want to participate in the society that we’ve built for ourselves. I’m supposed to be free, but my life has been set in stone. I need to attend university, get a degree, work a job at least four days a week, eat, sleep, go to the bathroom, repeat. That’s what’s expected from me. But I don’t want that. At least right now I don’t (which is why it’s probably a good thing that I’m taking a gap year).

In my mind, it works like this:

I’m on earth for no reason whatsoever. Everything we do is made up, we’re the strangest, most self-obsessed species to have ever existed, and we’ll all die. So, nothing matters. The house I live in is a joke, and so is the chair I’m sitting in, and the laptop I’m writing this on. It doesn’t mean anything. Nothing does. I’m fine with that now, but it does make it hard to get up in the morning. There’s nothing I’m alive for, no reason for me to exist, so why should I even bother to get out of bed, or open the curtains?

Alcohol is often the only thing that truly makes life fun for me. It makes me feel lighter; when I’m drunk, the fact that life is pointless, doesn’t feel so heavy anymore. The hangovers and the regret after doing things I shouldn’t have, make things worse, though. It’s not a good solution.

After I’ve finished my gap year, there’s only one direction I see myself going in. And that’s human beings. The human mind is fascinating to me. Why do we do the things we do? What are emotions? How is it possible that when someone makes sound waves with their vocal cords, someone else picks those up with their ear and translates them into something that can make their hormone levels rise? The science of it all is amazing, and it’s the only thing I’m truly interested in. The human body, the human brain. It’s the only thing that makes sense to me. We’ve created money, we’ve created buildings, we’ve created the internet, but we haven’t created ourselves. We’re a product of nature. I could never study economics, or history, or law; those things are artificial. Not real. But we are.



4 thoughts on “Don’t Do Drugs, Kids

  1. I’ve had a very similar experience! Combining drugs is a pretty dangerous game. I experienced ego death when I smoked a joint during an LSD trip which got VERY intense and what you experienced reminded me of that. I had to take it easy on the weed because after that day whenever I smoked weed, I’d pretty much have an acid trip. Which I don’t mind, but not every time I smoke a joint. Sorry you had to go through that! It certainly sounds like the experience skewed your reality a little! If you want to talk to me about it, I’m more than happy to listen and talk. Hope you’re doing better now!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Thank-you for sharing, I know it’s difficult to tell the truth to a bunch of strangers – even if you’ll never meet or interact with each other. I did read your whole story, and I appreciate that you took the time to write it all out.

    Also, you have an awesome story telling voice through your writing. Amazing, keep going with it!

    Liked by 1 person

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