My drug hell
Someone, somehow, somewhere spiked my drink last night and condemned me to an utterly miserable evening. One minute I was happily enjoying my Stella in a party, the next I was freaking out big time as things started to go very s-t-r-a-n-g-e.
People’s faces started to change shape, the lager seemed too thick to drink, the music went all ‘warm’ and distant and I had trouble speaking and standing up. I was out of my chuffin’ tree!
All my instincts told me to get the fuck out, so we left the party and headed for home, with me seeing all sorts of weird shit in the street ( a yellow car revving at the lights looked like a cheetah growling to my drug-addled eyes!).
And then I had to face the tube journey back to Brixton – a trip which turned out to be one of the most awful, frightening and scary events of my life.
My whole world had gone into Warp-o-Vision, my Paranoid-o-Meter was on full and my poor brain could nae take it, cap’n. I could hear everyone’s conversations on the tube – every word – and they were coming out with some mighty weird stuff. People’s eyes were staring at me and I was seeing all sorts of bizarre things flashing in front of my eyes.
Normally, I’d be quite happy to sit back and enjoy the fabulous world of acid visuals – if that’s what I’d wanted to do – but having a trip come at you without warning, in a strange place, is one of the scariest experiences I can imagine.
It was shit. Terrible.
Thankfully, I’m feeling a bit more ‘normal’ today, with a walk around Brockwell Park and a late brunch at the Lounge sorting me out no end.
But I won’t forget last night’s drug hell in a hurry, no sir! Spiking drinks is about as low as you can go…
