by Tess Adair
This is the first image that comes up when you search "acid." Obviously.
General warning to the public: don’t Google image search “acid” unless you’re prepared for some graphic content. You will see a number of images of acid attack survivors, some of whom have not yet healed very much. [All the survivors I saw were women. Heartening.]
I took acid this weekend. [Comical mic drop.]
Originally, I was supposed to do it with one of my dear friends. But a few days before, she sensed she might be getting sick and, because she is conscientious as fuck, passed me the tabs and said I should find someone else to accompany me if she didn’t feel up to it on the day. And then she didn’t feel up to it on the day.
I asked a few other friends if they were interested, but it turns out very few people are ready to drop all their previous plans to take psychedelics with you at a moment’s notice.
So I took it by myself.
I regret nothing.
I’ve been reading about the use of ketamine and LSD as a depression treatment. Based purely on my own experience, I have to say this seems like an excellent idea. Of course, everyone’s brain is different, so anyone else might not have the same experience. I can only tell you about my own.
I took it around 4:40pm. About 20 minutes later, I decided to put on headphones to listen to a Smodcast (Kevin Smith’s podcast with Scott Mosier) while I went for a walk. In the November rain, in a dress because it was laundry day.
As I walked along, I felt a growing sense of contentment. My street looked unnaturally beautiful. I knew it was cold out, but I didn’t feel cold. My feet got wet through my old boots, but I didn’t mind.
It did not look like this at all. But it was nice.
For about an hour, I wasn’t sure if it had taken effect. I felt good, but I didn’t feel particularly different--except that I’m not accustomed to feeling so happy for no reason. I walked down to a lookout point with a view of Lake Washington and the 520 bridge. A light rain kept up its patter, and clouds of fog rolled through the valley and up to the lookout. I felt entranced by the city lights and the cold breeze.
After that, I walked to a playground in a nearby park. I played around on it, feeling the kind of euphoria that comes with the act of abandoning yourself to impulse. So much spinning, so much climbing.
Once I got back home, the drug kicked into higher gear. I had a lot of thoughts.
Our bodies are an illusion. We are an experience of the universe. Everything is made of the same fabric and everything is connected. The human race is slowly evolving into a single interconnected organism. My ceiling has wavy lines in it.
Not really like this. But it's a cool picture.
Some of the thoughts were dumb. Some were cool. Everything was nice.
Mainly, I felt at peace. I felt like everything was pretty and benevolent. I felt connected to everyone I have ever known and everyone I haven’t. And then I watched Star Trek: Voyager; I have never felt so absorbed in a TV show in my life. And, somewhat strangely, I’ve never felt so certain that the future was full of promise (which maybe means that I believed Voyager was the future.)
Like I said, I don’t know how it goes for everyone. But this is how it went for me. And I kind of wish everyone could have a chance to feel that way.
Also, Star Trek should seriously be the future. Let’s get on that.