I've always had a good relationship with cannabis in the ten years that I've used it; though I have regretted being stoned for some events in my life, I've never felt regret during the high, and I have certainly never wanted the high to end. This time was quite different. What was once a pleasant, relaxing, tool in my life has been utterly soured by this experience. It has been twelve hours now, and while I'm still quite elated I thought I'd share some of what happened.
I had already smoked this weed a handful of times throughout the week, both rolled with tobacco and with my DIY water-bong; so I was aware just how strong this stuff was. This time I decided to roll a joint, an enormous doobie that I intended to smoke halfway. As soon as I sat outside and lit this thing I immediately became very aware of each passing second, carefully analysing the flames wrapping every ground-up speck of herb. There was a moment about halfway through the joint when I began wondering just how long I had been sitting there, and that I was having to relight more frequently than usual. I completely forgot to stub it out halfway through and just continued smoking happily, listening to the calls of distant birds. By the last quarter I was practically laying down on a small stool, enamored by the occasional raindrop riding the wind and hitting my face, nourishing it. I finished the joint, stood up, and knew straight away that I had went in too deep.
Everything was great at first, I was laying in bed completely naked and listening to Led Zeppelin. After "Wanton Song" I got up to make bagels and realised I was higher than ever before, and that I was becoming quite nauseous. This caused me to spiral into a paranoid loop, convincing myself that it wasn't weed I was smoking but was K2, or that PGR had been used. The bagels distracted me, as did the packet of mozzarella I brought back to bed too. Once I finished the bagels, which felt like forever, I poured what was left in the packet of cheese onto myself, completely missing my mouth. This is when I started freaking out, frantically looking for answers to my poorly written web searches and coming across horror-stories of sprayed weed. I should have called a friend and turned on a movie or something, but by this point I had convinced myself that I was too high to talk, and that the best thing for me was to get to the bottom of what was happening. The next few hours were not fun, at all. Though I was able to stay laying down, my mind was spinning at 1000MPH, cycling through every possible subject; there was no deep introspection or meticulous analysis of this beautiful planet like I'm used to, no, this was a hellish paranoid episode I was unable to stop.
I don't think there is anything wrong with the weed, it looks natural and smells natural - Stardawg I believe, pretty common in the UK. I wonder if the stress and anxiety I've been dealing with the past couple of months were amplified by the massive THC dose? I've been through these bouts before, worse even, and weed was always an ally, so perhaps I was simply unlucky this time around? I'm not going to stop smoking, one bad experience in ten years doesn't call for that. We'll see how things go from here.
The offending Nug: