Drugs

When I was in my late teens and early twenties, I did drugs. A lot of drugs. I did marijuana (the status of this one as a "drug" remains up for discussion), cocaine, LSD, methamphetamines, and whatever else I could get my hands on. Whether or not all of this contributed to my current bipolar condition or to my depression, I really can not say. It would be interesting to find out though.

At any rate, I have a lot of memories from those drug induced days, some of which are scary to look back upon, and some that are kind of funny. I remember dropping acid during the first day of my senior year in high school. The acid trip peaked out during second period, midway through my English Composition class. The instructor gave us a written test on that day, and I remember sitting there in class, staring at the writing on the test paper that was handed out, and watching the printed letters turn into rainbow colored caterpillars that would move around and make cool designs on that page. The experience of this acid trip was so enthralling, I did it again several times during that school year. I deliberately timed my acid trips so that they would peak out while I was in that class.

As you might have guessed, I did not receive a very good grade in that class. But, despite that, I feel that I have turned into a decent writer. Or, maybe not. Who cares, anyway?

Not all of my experiences taking drugs were so colorful though. In retrospect, some were very frightening, to the point that I sometimes wonder how I lived thru them. When I was 23 years old, there were a few months when my drug of choice was something known as "blue shoot." My friend, Jeff, and I first learned about blue shoot from the movie "Drugstore Cowboy" - a great movie inspired by a novel by James Fogle. After watching this movie, we quickly learned that there are several different types of blue shoot, and we decided to try at least one of them.

The blue shoot that we did was based on a combination antihistamine tablet, the exact name of which I do not remember anymore. We would put the tablet into an ordinary table spoon, add water, and light a fire under the spoon so that the water would boil and the tablet would desolve. Then we would use a cotton ball to filter the liquid while we aspirated it into a syringe. The finished result would be a syringe full of clear, bluish colored fluid, "blue shoot," that we would inject directly into our veins.
The effect of blue shoot was nearly indescribable. It was a warm, subtle feeling of numbness that started in the spine, before spreading out to the whole body. It only lasted for about an hour, but for that hour, every worry in the world ceased to exist.

Before reaching this pleasureful phase, however, you had to survive the initial shock of the drug. This was the frightening part. Jeff and I used to tell each other that if one of us died while doing blue shoot, the other could tell everyone that him or I was found that way. That way, neither of us would have to live with a guilty conscious. Once the drug was injected into your vein, breathing became very difficult.
Your chest would become heavy, a crushing feeling would set in, causing you to gasp for air.

To be continued...

Potato Chip Madman

When I think back to my time in junior high school, there are very few good memories that come to mind. For the majority of those tortuous days, I found myself being teased, laughed at, and made the target of cruel and demeaning pranks, to the point that it caused me to seek out hiding places during the lunch hour. There is one memory from that time, however, that brings a smile to my face, even to this day: The Potato Chip Madman. 

The Potato Chip Madman was a substitute teacher, who filled in for one of my classes, and for only one day. I forget which class it was, or what he taught. What I do remember is the man himself, and how extremely insane he was. Now, how much of this is an accurate portrayal, as opposed to revisionism gone astray remains to be seen. But, here it goes. 

Picture the actor Crispin Glover, in his younger days, and in his most anxious, hyperactive state. Now add on a pair of taped up eye glasses, a big crooked brown bow tie, and a voice that sounds like Igor from the 1970s movie "Young Frankenstein." If you can envision such a person, then you will have a good mental image of the Potato Chip Madman. 

How did the Potato Chip Madman earn his name? I'll save that for another post. 

A Strange Dream

I don't know much about dream interpretation; in fact, I don't know anything about it. So, today, I decided to write about a recurring dream that I've been having over the years. I don't have this dream very often - maybe once a month at the most. The small details of the dream, such as the clothes that I'm wearing, the weather, etc., vary each time. The main story, however, remains the same. If anyone has any idea as to what this dream could mean, I'd love to hear it. Here it is...

The dream begins with me running through a large park. The park is very long, with many trees, picnic areas, and a moderate size river running through the middle of it. I'm running for my life, sweating, breathing hard, with my heart pounding so strongly that it's ready to jump through my chest.

I'm being chased by two men in black suits, with dark sunglasses. They are running after me with ease, and with absolutely no emotion on their faces. They are silent, dark, and deadly. They chase me though grassy fields, through children's playgrounds, jumping over fences, zig zagging around trees. Although they are both my size, something tells me that if I stopped to confront them, I'd pay for it with my life. It's clear to me that these men have only one goal - to catch me and kill me. So, I'm running like a bat out of hell - running for my life.

After an extensive chase through the park, I notice a large row boat down in the river, with an operator, and a small group of passengers that are going to take a river tour. At that moment, I realize that my only chance to survive is to run down to the river and escape on that boat. So, with my last bit of energy, I sprint to the boat. I'm almost there, and at that point, I think to myself that I'm safe. But, at this point in the dream, there is a strange turn of events.

Right when I'm about to climb onto the boat, the operator turns around and looks at me. He is a small man, with dark aviator sunglasses and a big, black mustache.

He turns around, looks at me, and says "sorry sir, no more popcorn."

At this point, the dream ends.

It Never Ends

Every time I think that I've beaten my depression, it sucks me back in.

:((

Memories

"Never be in awe of anything, except nature."  Laura Nader

Looking back at the time that I spent as student at UC Berkeley - supposedly one of the best universities in the world - I can safely say that most of it was a complete waste of time. I spent thousands and thousands of dollars for a series of classes that did nothing but stress me out, confuse me, and lead me to an even higher level of caffeine addiction.

There is, however, at least one good thing that happened to me during those largely regretful college days. I was lucky enough to hear one of my professors, Laura Nader, utter a quote that would have a profound impact on my life.

See above.

Today's Thought

I hate ass kissers.

Origins of Depression

Pain, tears, emptiness, alone, stupid, no friends, sick, helpless, shit, loser, alienated. Painful words to a nine year old boy: "Don't eat in the fucking living room! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME???"

"Yes, I understand" :((