4/20 'Bad Acid Trip'

Reads: 86  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 1

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: True Confessions  |  House: Booksie Classic

This story describes my experience of 4/20 of 2018, where I smoked a lot of weed and did a lot of acid and had a very dark trip. I've wanted to share this story to both entertain and educate people
that these drugs are not to be messed around with. Enjoy!

Submitted: July 16, 2018

A A A | A A A

Submitted: July 16, 2018



The date was April 20th – a notorious day around the world for hippies, stoners and the average Joe who enjoys the occasional smoke. I believe any other avid weed smoker would agree with me when I say that 4/20 feels like a stoners Christmas. What better excuse is there to hang out with the friends you love most, get high and share great experiences with? It’s fucking 4/20, man!

Let’s begin with the night before – the eve of the day my friends and I had been excited for and discussing for months. We trekked to the usual man who would sell us weed regularly, about an hour journey there and back – no problem. He is a funny character, but always has quality weed and is always willing to sell. We’re definitely happy with the non-spoken agreement we have with this man. So, we buy an ounce of what was believed to be amnesia – a very common strain around London. For good reason, however, it’s always a nice smoke. The effects definitely give its name justice. Our weed is retrieved, and we head back home. The process of what we call ‘marijuana the split’ was performed, in reference to Earl Sweatshirt’s ‘Knight’. We split our weed four ways – seven grams of grass each. They were like our Christmas presents. We could open them early, but we wouldn’t have as many for the next day which is the day that really counts. I smoke as little as possible before heading to bed, and pre-roll all my weed. I find rolling outside to be such a pain; wind speeds can be unpredictable. You have a lot more control inside when rolling up a joint. I recall being able to make nine king-L joints, and two standard blunts – not too shabby for a quarter ounce.

I wake up, 10am. It feels like Christmas, but even better! Naturally the first thing you have to do on 4/20 is get one of your friends over to your place and spark up a blunt. We used a blueberry hemp wrap, and they have a very natural feeling to them. It’s the same sensation of smoking a blunt minus the lightheaded nicotine rush you get. Good flavour, too. My 4/20 squad gathers shortly after the blunt, and we begin our trek to Hyde Park. I’ve been there several times before on 4/20. Each time there has been a peaceful and accepting atmosphere. However a lot of people do just go there to smoke weed. It’s important to remember you’re trying to make a difference – a difference in making cannabis legal. Why? Less dealers on the street, legal use of it for medication, millions to be made on tax and less time wasted by police dealing with stoners – just to name a few reasons. With the amount of police and online publication this event gets, it’s important to spread a message of peace and positivity of not just the medicinal and recreational use of weed, but also a face behind the smoke.

My expectations of the event this year were very different than what actually happened. The weed we bought was quality, and we ended up just smoking, eating, listening to music and drifting in and out of consciousness in the scorching sun for a good four hours. It’s always a magical moment when it hits 4:20pm at the park. It’s almost obligatory that you spark a joint or blunt for yourself. Why not two? We decided a few days prior to attempt to get hold of some acid for after this smoky event. I called the iconic man, who we called Sid. In reality, we had and still have no idea of his real name; he sells acid, so obviously we had to call him Sid. Another drug dealer we knew who was quite the character. We always joked about him being an evil genius, who wore a lab coat round the house making unfathomable amounts of acid in his labs – he seemed like the type. I gave him a call around five, and he said he was at the park also – perfect! We gathered, and waddled over to meet him and one of his boys, as he guided us over to his spot with his other boys and his bag, which I can only assume was full of drugs. He explained to us he had no tabs unfortunately, but he did have liquid pre-dropped on sugar cubes. Of course I was intrigued – advertised at 260 micrograms per cube, who would be complaining? So we bought eight, thanked the man, and went on our merry way home to trip balls.

I distinctly remember what felt like a very long journey home. One long tube ride, and a bus in the afternoon sun is never pleasant. It gets sticky very quickly. We soon arrive back at our halls, and stumble back upstairs where we take our acid. I drop three cubes, friend A also drops three and friend B drops two. In retrospect, this idea was pretty stupid – however, we are all fools when it comes to acid; all seeking the psychedelic break through to ‘heal us’. How silly we were. In my view, acid doesn’t hold any answers but acts somewhat as a catalyst into our inner psyche to bring up subconscious desires and thoughts. It really is fascinating to be confronted with your true self and, depending on your point of view, that can be either beautiful or terrifying. Only after about twenty minutes of dropping the acid, I’m starting to feel it – pretty strong too. However, I doubt the sugar cubes were 260 micrograms, but were definitely very strong nonetheless. As soon as it kicked in, things began to slowly go south.

The thing I have found with acid is I can’t stay in the same location for a long time, otherwise I will slowly but surely lose my sanity. From what I’ve heard, it’s a similar case for a lot of other fellow psychonauts. As a result of this, my friends and I decided to sit out on top of a communal area within our student halls. To paint a picture, it was surrounded by buildings which students all lived in with hundreds of windows with a perfect vantage point to the sofas we were sat on, which was located about a story or two high – whereas the other buildings ranged from eleven to sixteen stories. I distinctly remember the buildings we were surrounded by collapsing and falling into themselves, as if they had just undergone a demolition process. It was at this point strange vibes began to creep in, as I realised far too much acid had been consumed. Because of the buildings collapsing, I could only see blue sky beyond this building we were on. It felt as if we were on the only structure still stable on this planet. I remember thinking ‘shit, how are we going to get back? The stairs down to the ground with lead to the abyss, and our building has gone’. Silly, psychedelic overthinking is always stupid when you look back at it.

By some miracle, we managed to get back to the room, which I have absolutely no recollection of, of course. We proceeded to sit in pure psychedelia, as the visuals and other sensory deception took over – what I was absorbing through my senses was not what was really happening. I managed to somehow make it onto an airbed that was in the room, and lied down as the body high was simply far too much for me to sit up right. Because of this experience, the airbed still sends me bad vibrations every time I see it – as if it knows and has seen too much. As I laid on the airbed, my acid came on so strong to the point I didn’t even know it was possible it could be that strong. I was fully immersed in visuals – I could barely see my hand when I held it in front of my face. Ego death is a term that gets thrown around a lot regarding psychedelics, and oh boy did I go through one. I laid on that cursed bed, having forgotten my name, forgotten my friends names, forgotten who I was as a person and even forgot I was on acid. I was fully convinced this was my life for the rest of eternity. I couldn’t do anything to save myself from the hole I dug myself a few hours prior, which I only just fell deep into.

During this time, my visuals were very dark – physically and metaphorically. I remember it looking like a dark, grim and abandoned abyss – no love, no people and no hope. I was left in complete despair. Then, something magical happened. I heard a voice. But where was it coming from? Who was it? At the time writing this, I know it was friend A, who was also submerged in dark psychedelia. However, at the time these events took place, I had no option but to trust the voice. To quote myself ‘I don’t know who you are, but I trust you’. We eventually somehow found each other in this dark abyss in physical form. We held each other in our arms – crying our eyes out believing we were going to escape this dark void. Thinking about that experience still gives me a weird feeling in my throat and makes me shiver ever so slightly. However, our trust of each other’s voice prevailed. Shortly after, I began to remember social constructs and simple things such as people’s names and my own personal identity. It was beautiful really. Friend A and I have experienced a lot together, and we’re those two friends who you always see together somehow – never without the other, like Fred and George Weasley. To this day it still saddens me we had to go through such a dark and traumatic experience just to understand the true power of acid. We’re good people – we didn’t deserve that much of a dark experience. Nonetheless, we have both learned a lot from it and healed significantly from the trip. It helped us get a lot closer; not that we weren’t close friends already. We are brothers. I’ve only known the man for ten or so months – yet I still indescribably love him.

So what did I learn from this experience? I definitely learnt that I shouldn’t fuck about with acid! British culture around drugs is extremely fiendish – with people I’ve seen as young as fifteen taking unfathomable amounts of class A’s such as MDMA. It’s become a competitive culture – unspoken, but always lingering at a social gathering or a night out. ‘I can do more drugs than you’. It’s fucking stupid that people treat harming the body with neurotoxic chemicals like MDMA as if it were a sport. I guess that aspect of British drug culture engulfed me that night. ‘Of course, I can handle (supposedly) 780 micrograms of acid’. No chance, son. The friends I tripped with that night I will never forget. I have, as I’m sure they do too, so much love to give. It’s extremely wholesome knowing they exist and I can be involved with them. I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again to end on an upbeat note – I love them so much.

© Copyright 2019 joshb118. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:


More True Confessions Short Stories