One More Day

The life of a 19 year old mental case living on her own.

Category: drugs

It’s not my Fault I’m Stoned

The question “are you stoned?” arises frequently in my life. If it’s a friend the question morphs to “you look fucked up.” 

“Your pupils are HUUUUGE.” 

So my drug cocktail is strong, but I need it to get through the day. 

I can deal with huge pupils but going into a panic over nothing just doesn’t fly with me. 

Sometimes I wish people would just stop pointing things out. 

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A Timeline of My Experience with MDMA

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Molly is a trip…but it isn’t all fun and games. For those of you like myself who have panic disorder or GAD, proceed with caution. 

I’m not a fan of any drug that makes me hallucinate, but I decided to pop some molly for two days of Ultra Music Festival 2013. Here’s a recount of my experience for one of the days. 

Day 1: 

  • 11-11:30 a.m: I got on the metro to get to downtown Miami. Near the end of the ride my friend said “ok, let’s do it.” I put the rancid tasting chemicals in my mouth and chewed. 
  • 11:30- noon: In line waiting to get in to Ultra, wondering why I feel so normal. 
  • 12:00-1:00 p.m: “Are you rolling yet?” “I…I don’t think so…” 
  • 1:00-2:00 p.m: A DJ I like comes on and the light show is awesome. When I start dancing euphoria hits me like a ton of bricks. I can’t feel my feet but I know I’m dancing. 
  • 2:00-3:00: Walking through crowds and trying to figure out what to do next—panic sets in. 
  • 3:00-6:00: At the main stage. “I’m okay…I’m okay..” 
  • 6:00-8:00: Sun starts to go down but colors get brighter. The lights are more visible and I feel like I’m in heaven. 
  • 8:00-8:15: A round of hugs with my friends and exchanges of I love you’s” 
  • 8:15-8:30: A round of hugs with all the people around me and exchanges of “I love you’s” 
  • 8:30-8:50: Dancing. Alternating between not feeling my arms and not feeling my legs.
  • 8:30-8:31: “When was the last time I told my friends I loved them?” “….oh”
  • 8:31-8:32: “When was the last time I told the people around me I love them?” “…oh” 
  • 8:32-9:00: I started sharing my immense glowstick collection and made many friends along the way. It’s amazing how much happiness a glowstick can bring someone who is under the influence. 
  • 9:00-9:15: I give a girl a glowstick and she gives me a beaded bracelet. We hug and say we’ll remember each other and will keep each other’s gifts forever. 
  • 9:15-10:00: I leave the crowd and start throwing up rainbows. 
  • 10:00-10:20: I find a portapotty and go in. I then leave because it feels like a space ship that is taking off. 
  • 10:20-11:00: I feel better…but the show is starting to end. I look around and many of the people in the crowd are crying. I start crying a little as well. 
  • 11:00-12am: More crowds and the metro. Maximum anxiety levels. 
  • 12:00- 1:00 am: I’m home…throwing up some more, still hearing EDM and seeing crowds. 

The next day I did it all over again minus the vomiting. 

I never had an appreciation for EDM and I really only went to Ultra to tag along with my friends. 

After my drugged up stupor I now understand and like EDM. 

It was a crazy, scary, yet totally worth it experience. 

New blog; clean slate.

I’ve been blogging for quite a while now and looking through my old blog, the posts began to irritate me. Blogging is a great release for me, so here goes. 

For my first post, I needed a little inspiration so I went to WordPress for help. It asked me about the most precious thing I’ve ever lost. I guess to answer this question, I’ll tell the story of how I lost my virginity. 

I was 15 and talking to this guy who was 19. We would talk on the phone for hours upon hours every night, text all day, and see each other whenever we could. This was during my rebellious stage, so we would smoke and drink together all the time. 

One day he invited me to a party, to which I excitedly agreed. When I walked into the party his hand was in one of my hands and alcohol was in the other. I had taken a Xanax bar prior to the party, and anyone who has experience with bars and alcohol knows that the combination is a blackout waiting to happen. Throughout the course of the party, we smoked weed, drank, mingled with his friends from school, and made out on the couch a little.  

Being 15, I had a curfew and once the time came I asked him to take me home. He took me by the hand and through a door. At my level of obliteration, I thought he was taking me to the front door to get to his car. Before I knew it I was laying down on a dark red bed and he was going down on me. I heard knocks on the door from the owner of the house, but I was too fucked up to feel guilty about getting down on his parent’s bed. 

The next thing I knew he was inside of me. 

I remember saying stop; that I wasn’t ready. My memory was blurred and I don’t even remember feeling anything. After it was over he took me home, and everything went back to normal. I tried to deny that anything was wrong with what had happened, so I continued talking to him and having sex with him. 

He started to talk about eventually having a relationship with me. That was when I really started to investigate who he really was. I wasn’t friends with him on any websites, and he swore that he just didn’t have a Facebook. One day I logged out of my Facebook, looked him up, and found him immediately. Looking through his profile, I found that he was in a long-term relationship. She was all over his Facebook, and I spent about an hour reading through their recent public exchanges of “I love you”, hoping I would find a clue that it was all a big joke. 

That was when my investigation skills were really put to use. She had a website through which people could anonymously ask her questions, and someone confessed to seeing her boyfriend with a small girl with dark brown hair and blue eyes: me. I wondered how none of his friends at the party mentioned anything. I felt violated and betrayed by everyone. 

I waited a few days to mention anything. I wanted to see if he would be able to sense that I knew his secret. He never did. The next time he mentioned seeing me again, I asked “how would your girlfriend feel about that?” He took a while to respond, and when he finally did he said “…how did you find out?” He begged me not to tell her. That was when I realized that I was a second choice; a piece of trash that could be easily thrown out. 

He ended up telling her… and of course she put all of the blame on me. I was a “slut” and a “whore”, while he was trying to be sweet and fix their relationship. 

I guess that set the tone for the rest of my sex life. Sigh.