The Day My Life Changed

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: True Confessions  |  House: Booksie Classic
I found this on my computer a few days ago. This story explains why I no longer smoke weed.

Submitted: July 28, 2017

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Submitted: July 28, 2017

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In August 2013, I had an experience that forced me to make a choice. This decision was one of the saddest, but clearest I've ever had to make.  Looking back, I feel it was the obvious and smart choice. It was a typical August night in Oklahoma, hot and humid. My 18 year old self, fresh out of high school, was hanging out with my pal Anthony. We were sitting in Anthony's room watching the TV series Smallville. Like most teenagers' rooms, Anthony's was a mess!  Pop cans, chip bags, and all kinds of garbage scattered throughout.  We had been watching it a ton over the past few weeks. It was a nice little arrangement. I would come over every other day and we would watch a couple of discs (Each disc has 4 episodes on it.)  It was not just us two that watched this show though, we would call our buddy Luke to join us.
 
Luke was a badass! I honestly like him more than Anthony. Luke is more genuine, whereas Anthony is more of a bullshitter. It feels like Anthony says things just to get a reaction out of someone or to try and impress them. These feelings aside, they were both good guys. I do not see Luke these days, which saddens me. I'll never forget about this one little habit he had. It's not even that funny, but it amused me to no end. Every time he would burp, he would say the word "beat" as his burp was projecting out of his mouth. After a while, I had to ask him "What the fuck is beat?" We would just laugh about it. I started doing it too when I would burp. It's funny how we pick up on things.
 
Back to television. I believe we were on the next to last season of Smallville. It was starting to get really interesting. As my eyes were glued to the tv, I felt my heart rate picking up. I wasn't sure why. The scene was not that intense to justify my physical reaction. "Could it be the weed?" I thought to myself. "Nah... I've smoked way more than this before"  I started to panic a little bit. "Hey man, can I go make a sandwich?" I ask Anthony.  
 
"Yeah man, go for it"  After his approval, I walk slowly into the kitchen to make myself a peanut butter sandwich. This was probably the worse food selection I could have made. I was just thinking that if I get something in my stomach, it would lessen my high. My plan was faulty. Peanut butter and cottonmouth do not mix!  So that did not work. I began to freak out even more, my body was on fire. I did not know what to do. I was so intent on lowering my heart rate that everything else did not matter. Sitting there I was scared for my life. "Luke, can you take me home"  I was in NO shape to drive.  So we hop into the car and he drives me 2 miles to my house. That was convienent too, the fact that all of us lived so close together. I felt like everything was in slow motion. This was the most scared I have been in my life up to that point. I felt I had no control. Once I got home, I went into my mom's room to lay down. I took my shirt off, so now I was only wearing basketball shorts. My mom was asking me "What's wrong?"  I had no problem admitting I smoked marijuana, she already knew I was a smoker.
 
My shaky voice uttered the words  "I'm scared mom, I don't know what was in that stuff, but I'm not ok"  
 
Now before anyone thinks "Oh, he just handle his stuff"  Let me give you a little context. I was a stoner my last 2 years of high school. There was not a day that went by where I didn't smoke. It wasn't like this was my first time smoking and I could not handle it or know what to expect. I knew what I was doing. I wasn't a lightweight.  I suspect that the weed I smoked this night was laced with something. My mom walks over to her dresser and pulls out a heart rate monitor. This thing was jumping off the charts. The number it said reflected that of someone who just got done with vigorous exercise. This frightened me even more. I was lost at this point, I just had to wait it out. The longest night of my life. I did not sleep. I could not sleep. I was up all night just trying to slow my heart rate.
 
The next day I was still rattled by the experience. I was racking my brain trying to figure out what went wrong. Anthony and I had smoked about 2-3 bowls before Luke arrived, then we smoked another 1-2. Did I smoke too much? No, that can't be right. I've smoked much more than that before. The stuff had to have been laced. Nothing else can describe my reaction to it. I never dabbled with any other drugs besides weed. That's an issue in its own right. "Is marijuana a drug?"  I personally don't have a dog in the fight anymore, as I don't smoke, but it's still a debatable question.  What was it laced with though?  The answer eludes me almost 4 years later as I am typing this. 
 
I take a few days off from smoking. I feared that I would have the same reaction as I did the other night. Eventually I caved though. I was hanging out with some other friends and I took a hit from a pipe. One hit mind you. I would say I began to panic within 30 seconds of taking the hit. I knew at this point it was psychological. A placebo effect. Even though the weed is not laced, I'm still going to act like it is because of my bad experience. To keep a long story short, I've had this same reaction every time I smoked since then. I've probably tried on 7-8 different occasions. I have reacted in the same fearful way. 
 
It's a little heartbreaking for me, I can't lie about that. So many of my fondest memories involved it. Hanging with friends in my shed, listening to the stereo, bullshitting, laughing, playing video games, playing basketball, etc.  I can look back and smile at all the happy times I had. I take the approach now that it happened for a reason. I would not consider myself a religious person, but maybe a higher power thinks I am meant for bigger things than just getting high. I have to try and justify it to myself somehow. 
 
 
 


© Copyright 2017 Kaleb Ferguson. All rights reserved.

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