I was on five hits of good acid a few years ago, split a tenstrip with a friend. It was the night before thanksgiving. Original idea was to hang out in some kid's house, sorta halfass party going on there...but for some reason our plans were foiled, and it never happened. I ended up hanging out by myself with the guy I split the acid with instead, relegated to his basement, hiding from his parents. Could've been worse.
halfway through the course of the night, playing CDs on this guy's stereo. Some extremely uncharacteristic music comes on by surprise. Immediately struck me as some homosexual love songs-type shit, although in retrospect I have no idea what that sounded like. Either way, it was bizarre enough to catch my attention and bug me the fuck out. I instantly piped up and asked...well...what the fuck was going on with the gay music!
thus I was propelled into some intensely uncomfortable interaction, exacerbated by the acid confusing the shit out me, in which guy basically suggested he was not only gay, secretly, but had some sorta sexual interest in me that suddenly needed to be appeased, right there, right then...with or without my consent. He mentioned his dad's guns in the house. He illustrated quite plainly I could not escape if I tried.
situation was complicated worse by the fact that this character was my best friend up to this point. I could tell he was having an incredibly hard time. This was a result of extreme desperation. He couldn't even talk about it in concrete terms; he was too ashamed. This only served to further compound whatever ridiculous situation I was just thrust into the middle of, and felt I had no choice but to mediate. Shit was fucking insane.
we kept going off-topic -- the topic being this sudden assault, naturally -- likely because I was too far gone to even keep full track of reality, and managed to continually forget what was happening. He'd even go so far as fucking with me in my fragile state by suggesting I'd fabricated the entire scenario myself, based off nothing but his deliberately subtle cues and my own faulty preconceptions. I almost believed it. It was a maddening cycle. I somehow convinced him, after what seemed like being forever trapped in his basement, to leave and go for a walk with me. I just felt claustrophobic as all hell and needed to get out of there; I wasn't thinking anything beyond that.
we walked upstairs, and he gravitated towards his computer instead. I quickly forgot what our original plan was and joined him, adequately appeased that I was free of his basement and this issue no longer seemed so persistent. We hung out for a while as if none of this ever happened. Maybe I forgot, but whatever. Didn't matter. Then at some point he just turned to face me nonchalantly and had his penis exposed. I speedwalked to the front door in a fucking frenzy, instantly.
I stood outside, apologetically. I told him I understood, and I was sorry, but I had to get the fuck out of there. He wandered around his living room immediately inside as I told him this, then approached me suddenly with a handgun pointed at my face. We stared each other down for a while, not saying anything...and then he shot himself in the head, spattering my face and shirt with blood.
I ran as fast as I could, loosely in the direction of my house, ten miles away. I ran for as long as I could possibly run, threw up, and ran more. I eventually slowed down and begrudgingly trekked back home, down a main road with no shoulder, in the middle of the night. I replayed the events in my head obsessively while dodging cars for the next two hours. By the time I got home it was light out.
I skipped whatever family shit I was supposed to be doing the next day, for thanksgiving. Offered pretty much no explanation whatsoever. Just laid in bed for the next 12 hours, acid slowly wearing off, thinking about what happened. I recovered after a day or two, yeah, but fuck....that shit was terrible. I handled it remarkably well, but goddamn. It was still terrible.
ok, fuck...I'm done typing.
::sigh::