|This is a photo of me on actual mushrooms. I'm laying in the corner on the floor.
I did drugs. I have previously been on drugs. Over the weekend, I was 100% under the influence of drugs.
(It's so embarrassing.)
4th of July was a holiday. 4th of July is, and was, a holiday that took place this past Saturday. My wife and I had plans for the day and they included: setting up our new patio furniture, having breakfast while sitting at the newly put together patio furniture, packing up picnic lunch materials and fireworks and then riding our bikes over to the waterfront area near our house to loiter around and wait for it to get dark so we could see the fireworks like two normal ass married people who are normal and don't do drugs on holidays.
One activity that definitely wasn't on the list of activities planned for that day was: Kelly doing drugs and melting into the dirt, thus ruining the 4th of July for everyone, God and America included.
Holidays are really important to me. Any holiday. I know they're stupid, but I don't care. It's a holiday. It's a day intended to be different than any other day, and that's a day that means something to me. I like special days. I like days to be special. I like days to be FUCKING PERFECT AND SPECIAL OR ELSE! Holidays are very important.
I get this from my Mom. My Mom would purchase large quantities of decorations for every holiday there is and throw them all over the house, inside and out. Plastic turkey? Sure. Inflatable Easter Bunny. Got it. Light up stuffed snow man that's also a hat? You bet. One year my Dad and I were unable to make it to my grandmother's birthday party (her b-day is on November 16th, which is close to the climax of holidays, Christmas) and to punish us, my Mom fled our home, unknown to us, sometime before we woke up Christmas morning, and didn't return until the next day. My Dad and I spent all of Christmas that year sitting in chairs and talking about her, and where she could be. We made mentally exhausted attempts to have a normal, good day. But we couldn't pull it together. Later we found that she had stayed in a hotel that day. My Dad saw the charge on the Visa bill when it came in the mail. I thought about this on this past Saturday while I was on drugs and even made a point to say something about it to my wife.
"At least I didn't do this on Christmas."
I spent several hours towards the end of my 4th of July this year (which is definitely a holiday, although not Christmas, which we just established is the most important holiday there is) flopping around on the floor, crying, and repeating to myself inside of my foamy goop brain "you ruined the 4th of July. You ruined the 4th of July. You ruined the 4th of July.) I texted my friend Ben, "I ruined the 4th of July," and he replied that I hadn't actually done that, and everything was fine, and I was okay. This brought me comfort for a few seconds, but then my phone started making me nauseous. Because that's a thing that happens when you're on drugs. My phone was making my stomach hurt, and this one night lite was trying to fuck with me. I don't know. It was though.
So yeah, I did drugs over the weekend. I don't know why I did them. I just did. The earlier part of Saturday (which was 4th of July. Known holiday) was good. We had our picnic by the waterfront, drank red wine out of plastic cups we got and then kept from the time we went to see Rocky the Musical in New York, when we still lived there. It was a good day. 4th of July was looking good. Then our friend showed up and mentioned that he had acid and mushrooms. Hearing this news, for no known reason, my brain was like "let's do drugs!" I asked my wife if she wanted to do these drugs and she said no. She also said that I personally was not allowed to do these drugs, but then, after thinking about this, my brain was like "drugs!" and I turned to my friend and was like "I want your drugs!" I was given a bag of mushrooms that I clumsily shoved in my backpack, and then proceeded to shove into my face. I didn't know exactly how many I was supposed to take out of the bag, so I made a big point out of not taking "them all." I left about 4 crumbs. I did too many. I forgot what doing drugs was like.
The difference between doing drugs when you're younger, as opposed to when you're pushing 40 lies in the difference between what your young brain was holding onto under the floorboards, and what your pushing 40 brain is now holding on to for dear life. And granted, the last time I did mushrooms (not this very last time, on the 4th of July, but the time before then) was only a few years ago, but a few years ago is still younger. A few years makes a big difference.
During the majority of my previous drug experiences, and there honestly haven't been that many, my primary thoughts/rambles, were something along the lines of "let's walk really far!" Or, "Let's say something awkwardly poetic about dirt!" This most recent time they were more like "There's dishes in the sink, I can't even clean my house anymore." And, "What if this makes my wife fall out of love with me?" I was also extremely concerned with losing or damaging things that cannot be easily replaced, if at all. I kept trying to hide my phone from myself, and I hid my wedding rings and then announced it to my wife by saying "I put my rings in the thing!"
On drugs as an adult my house smelled funny. My back hurt. I couldn't figure out how to put a shirt on. I looked at my face in the mirror and my imperfections made me cry and feel afraid. What had I done to myself? What was I currently doing to myself? When was this going to be over?
I watched a video on my phone, I think it was an ad for something on Facebook, it showed young people teaching old people how to use the internet. I kept watching it and then sighing and crying. Crying and sighing. I thought about my Dad. I thought about my Mom. I tried to summon the ghost of my Mom and then got so scared that it would actually work. I was afraid to touch the cats because I didn't want to hurt them. And something was menacing behind the bedroom door.
Drugs are whatever. Drugs are a thing you can do. They're not bad and they're not good. I guess I just taught myself over this holiday weekend that doing drugs when you have a lot to lose, and also a lot you actively try NOT to think about, isn't anywhere near euphoric. It's terrifying.