copy paste sa alt.drugs.pot. Ukratko čovjek je kad je prvi put pušio doživio intenzivan trip i završio na psihijatriji. Dalje objašnjava kako je prevladao sve strahove i kako mu je trava na kraju ipak pomogla da shvati neke stvari. Vrlo zanimljivo, isplati se cijelo pročitati. Ispričavam se na engleskom, ali nemam vremena prevesti...
"First of all, I used to be a regular poster here a few years ago, but
sort of drifted away. I wasn't toking anymore, so I just sort of felt
like I was the old lady hanging around a nursing home.
But now, I'm so glad to be writing this high as a kite. But a little
background on why I stopped smoking and why I restarted...
I first started toking in December of 1996. I was 26 years old at the
time. Some guy from work, who happened to be a 17-year-old, by the
way, after two months of asking, finally got me to try some. I never
thought I'd see the day that a Mr. Goodie Two-Shoes like me would ever
try "taking drugs." But I did. And I was disappointed...disappointed
in myself for believing all the crap I was told about marijuana, and
how it would make the world look like a mosaic of construction paper
and jellybeans.
I enjoyed just being high for a while, and noticed that I seemed to be
able to think more clearly than usual. I thought that might be
useful, so in March of 1997, I decided to start getting high, then
trying to find answers to the big questions in life. Things like: Who
am I? Why am I here? Why are any of us here? Who is God? Is the
universe infinite? Is there a Hell?
I used the internet, the Bible and apocryphal texts, and scriptures of
other religions, along with various new age books, trying to find
answers. Some things started making sense. Some things about my
life, the questions I was asking, the things I was experiencing, were
all starting to add up to something, but I wasn't sure exactly what.
Well, by August of 1997, I was having some wild experiences, basically
flipping out. Some idea popped into my mind -- some powerful message
from beyond that said, "You're God!" Well, I immediately shrieked in
horror, "Noooo!!!" I didn't want to be God! At that moment in time,
my own logic would not allow me to deny myself the experience of being
God. I was committing the biggest blasphemy of all, and even after
projecting through the cosmos a vision of heaven so full of lust and
sin that everyone in heaven would have to be a cheap slut to even cope
with the environment.
Then I got even more powerful messages from beyond saying,
"THAT'S NOT WHAT HEAVEN'S LIKE!"
I insisted in my telepathic communications back to it, that, "Yes
IT IS!!"
I got back, "YOU ARE GOING TO H E L L ! ! ! !" And at that
instant, my body was racked with something that wasn't pain, but it
made me arch my back and sort of force air into my lungs while trying
to hold my breath. Instant horror.
Later, I got high again and this time I was reading internet
messages and somehow my mind interconnected with what I was reading
and I got the idea that Jesus was back to rapture the world any
second, and I remember being so damned happy. But then my joy turned
to horror when I discovered that indeed it was time for the rapture,
but I failed and was going to Hell. Now. No discussion. Time has
expired for forgiveness. You're going to Hell, and I don't have to
tell you why. It was a horrible feeling. I felt my skin burning as
the torment of my soul commenced, and I was assured that the pain
would be quickly rising exponentially, and would last forever more.
In my horror, something got me to call my mother, but the number
I dialed was to my roommate's mother. And I got into a bunch of
questions with her, obviously scaring her to death. But that was the
end of that panic attack. But it put me over the edge into full-blown
psychosis. I ended up spending three weeks in a mental hospital,
diagnosed with psychosis, schizophrenia, narcissism, and emotional
displacement...oh, and a touch of autism, he said.
My parents took me home to stay with them for a couple of months.
They told me that the psychiatrist had said that smoking pot had
caused my psychosis. He said that some people can handle pot, and
some can't. The ones who can get along normally, and the ones who
can't (like me) go berserk. My parents told me that each time I smoke
pot, it will get worse and worse. I never heard the doctor say this
himself, mind you. I just heard this first from my parents, who are
verily, verily, I say unto thee, against the use of marijuana.
My friend and lifelong intermittent roommate came to rescue me
from that situation in December 1997. I stayed with him and got a
hold of some more pot. I smoked again and on that first time, I came
back inside with a nice high going. I put a piece of apple pie in the
microwave for two minutes and thought, "Hmmm... A two-minute warning."
I stared, mystified at the slice of apple pie turning lazily in
the microwave. I stood up and looked around and was feeling very
weird. My roommate looked at me and asked if I was okay. I didn't
know. Suddenly it hit me. I'd smoked pot again, so I was going to
Hell. Here we go again! Another trip to Hell! But this time I had
more sense about me and told my roommate to talk to me, and to keep
going back over the same topics so I can keep a grasp on reality. He
helped me out with that. I came out of that panic attack fine.
After four years of dealing with these mental symptoms, I was
able to work again after all my delusions failed to come true. I got
a job, then a car, then a different job, and then moved back closer to
home where I'm at today.
"First of all, I used to be a regular poster here a few years ago, but
sort of drifted away. I wasn't toking anymore, so I just sort of felt
like I was the old lady hanging around a nursing home.
But now, I'm so glad to be writing this high as a kite. But a little
background on why I stopped smoking and why I restarted...
I first started toking in December of 1996. I was 26 years old at the
time. Some guy from work, who happened to be a 17-year-old, by the
way, after two months of asking, finally got me to try some. I never
thought I'd see the day that a Mr. Goodie Two-Shoes like me would ever
try "taking drugs." But I did. And I was disappointed...disappointed
in myself for believing all the crap I was told about marijuana, and
how it would make the world look like a mosaic of construction paper
and jellybeans.
I enjoyed just being high for a while, and noticed that I seemed to be
able to think more clearly than usual. I thought that might be
useful, so in March of 1997, I decided to start getting high, then
trying to find answers to the big questions in life. Things like: Who
am I? Why am I here? Why are any of us here? Who is God? Is the
universe infinite? Is there a Hell?
I used the internet, the Bible and apocryphal texts, and scriptures of
other religions, along with various new age books, trying to find
answers. Some things started making sense. Some things about my
life, the questions I was asking, the things I was experiencing, were
all starting to add up to something, but I wasn't sure exactly what.
Well, by August of 1997, I was having some wild experiences, basically
flipping out. Some idea popped into my mind -- some powerful message
from beyond that said, "You're God!" Well, I immediately shrieked in
horror, "Noooo!!!" I didn't want to be God! At that moment in time,
my own logic would not allow me to deny myself the experience of being
God. I was committing the biggest blasphemy of all, and even after
projecting through the cosmos a vision of heaven so full of lust and
sin that everyone in heaven would have to be a cheap slut to even cope
with the environment.
Then I got even more powerful messages from beyond saying,
"THAT'S NOT WHAT HEAVEN'S LIKE!"
I insisted in my telepathic communications back to it, that, "Yes
IT IS!!"
I got back, "YOU ARE GOING TO H E L L ! ! ! !" And at that
instant, my body was racked with something that wasn't pain, but it
made me arch my back and sort of force air into my lungs while trying
to hold my breath. Instant horror.
Later, I got high again and this time I was reading internet
messages and somehow my mind interconnected with what I was reading
and I got the idea that Jesus was back to rapture the world any
second, and I remember being so damned happy. But then my joy turned
to horror when I discovered that indeed it was time for the rapture,
but I failed and was going to Hell. Now. No discussion. Time has
expired for forgiveness. You're going to Hell, and I don't have to
tell you why. It was a horrible feeling. I felt my skin burning as
the torment of my soul commenced, and I was assured that the pain
would be quickly rising exponentially, and would last forever more.
In my horror, something got me to call my mother, but the number
I dialed was to my roommate's mother. And I got into a bunch of
questions with her, obviously scaring her to death. But that was the
end of that panic attack. But it put me over the edge into full-blown
psychosis. I ended up spending three weeks in a mental hospital,
diagnosed with psychosis, schizophrenia, narcissism, and emotional
displacement...oh, and a touch of autism, he said.
My parents took me home to stay with them for a couple of months.
They told me that the psychiatrist had said that smoking pot had
caused my psychosis. He said that some people can handle pot, and
some can't. The ones who can get along normally, and the ones who
can't (like me) go berserk. My parents told me that each time I smoke
pot, it will get worse and worse. I never heard the doctor say this
himself, mind you. I just heard this first from my parents, who are
verily, verily, I say unto thee, against the use of marijuana.
My friend and lifelong intermittent roommate came to rescue me
from that situation in December 1997. I stayed with him and got a
hold of some more pot. I smoked again and on that first time, I came
back inside with a nice high going. I put a piece of apple pie in the
microwave for two minutes and thought, "Hmmm... A two-minute warning."
I stared, mystified at the slice of apple pie turning lazily in
the microwave. I stood up and looked around and was feeling very
weird. My roommate looked at me and asked if I was okay. I didn't
know. Suddenly it hit me. I'd smoked pot again, so I was going to
Hell. Here we go again! Another trip to Hell! But this time I had
more sense about me and told my roommate to talk to me, and to keep
going back over the same topics so I can keep a grasp on reality. He
helped me out with that. I came out of that panic attack fine.
After four years of dealing with these mental symptoms, I was
able to work again after all my delusions failed to come true. I got
a job, then a car, then a different job, and then moved back closer to
home where I'm at today.
jer nemogu nač onu opciju.
