I Took A Trip

                                                      
            I close my eyes and take account of my body, toes, fingers, arms, legs, chest, head.  Soft street lamps lighten the faces of five college aged young adults and myself. The haunting lyrics and acoustic guitar of Bon Iver’s “Holocene” drift past the sphere of the street lamps and into the thick shadows of Tom’s Brook Virginia’s deserted park. I am laying on the grass, arms stretched to either side ready take my first trip. My new found friends prepare the syringe holding what will probably the largest dose of LSD, liquid acid, I will ever take in my life. Reassuring words escape my friend’s lips in an attempt to comfort my racing mind. I am scared, completely ready for the experience, but terrified to be so close. I feel like my toes are slipping across the ledge of a building and in one moment the rest of my body will be pulled along. I hear my friend slap the syringe with his index finger shaking the contents into level, my body following suit with one last spasm of nerves as he approaches. The restricting pressure of a rubber band is placed around my arm, bulging my veins with blood and drawing an easy target for the descending syringe. A firm hand wraps around my wrist, pinning it to the damp earth. My eyes open and look into the ceiling that is the night sky, a sky that I have grown accustomed to seeing, a sky restricting me by its constant familiarity. Ready for change I squeeze my fist and extend my veins. The prick of the needle bites my skin, breaking through its thin translucent surface and into the blue eddies of blood.

There is no burn, just the sure sting of pierced skin at the injection site. My friend leans in, bringing his lips to my ear; a hot whisper of breath caresses the contours of my ear carrying the words “Enjoy your trip, lover boy.” A shiver runs through me raising goose bumps along my arms and neck. I start to count. Five minutes pass, I still feel the heavy weight of my body pinning me to the damp earth. Ten minutes pass when I feel gravity begin to lift its omnipresent hands from my body.  Air flows into me, and its taste is rich. The world starts to rotate around me, spinning faster, falling in sync with the strum of guitar strings. When I open my eyes I see people devoid of faces sitting cross legged in statuesque silence, me at the center. Joy feels as though it is breaking through every pore of my skin. The hair on my arms moves like waves of grass in the wind caressing my flesh like a lover’s touch. I am released. My neck and back arch and I stare up into the once entombing night sky. The stars ignite in my vision turning to incandescent orbs. With a sudden shift they plummet to earth, halting feet above the ground. I rise and approach the stationary stars resting above the surface. Reaching out with awe to the nearest star, pressure begins to build in my leg, just at the shin. With a sickening pop I feel the bone break. The earth rises up to me meet my body, catching me in a net of grass and green serenity. Retching I look down to see my leg whole, the only damage a scar from my youth reminding me of the fall I had in this very park and the shock of my bone extending through the thin eight year old tissue.

The figures in the circle have not moved. The do not seem to be aware of my fall to earth. I feel as stationary as them now, willing to lie with my face pressed to mother earth a comfort akin to love’s comforting embrace. The stars begin to shift and scatter around us in a rhythmic dance of cold silver light. One breaks formation and comes to rest in my hand. Immediately my entire body shudders and I find myself lying next to one of the faceless figures. When I look into the flat plain where a face should be, shapes begin to emerge: a prominent nose, light brown eyebrows, gently up turned lips, finally eyes chocolate brown, full of love. I am lying next to my high school sweetheart and sixteen year old lover, Jackson. Laying in the park after high school together holding hands, and laughing about our day were some of my sweetest memories. The LSD seeps into my body’s tissue, pulling all the emotions I shared with him out of my cells. One emotion strikes my soul, loss. Deep sobs send spasms through my body at the remembered loss of love and life. Days flash through my mind. Jackson lying on a hospital bed, IVs stuck into his smooth beautiful skin, a respirator regulating his breath in a mechanically inhuman manner. Then I feel a hand lift my face skyward. There is Jackson, his caring brown eyes and unabashed nature. He pulls my head into his lap, running his hands through my hair and sending shivers through my entire being. Time seems to stop and I am left to enjoy the sweetest gift this drug could offer me, another moment with Jackson.

“I never felt so high. I never laughed so loud. Nothing going to stop me now, I think I am coming down.” The lyrics of Anais Mitchell “Coming Down” enter my mind as I begin my descent back to the constricting world of reality. “Please, please don’t leave, easy feeling please, don’t leave me like that, not yet. Don’t set me free, free, free…” I watch as the face of Jackson slowly turns into my new friend. My eyes fill with tears and I feel myself breaking apart. I reach around and grab a syringe. Not holding back I force the needle into my leg pushing the “solution” into my body. My vision begins to go black and my head hits the ground.

I wake to florescent light stinging my eyes and stabbing my mind. Slowly moving my head to the side I recognize my mother curled up in a chair sleeping. There are flowers and what look like cards on display at the foot of the bed I am in. Slowly lifting my hands I meet resistance from IVs plugged into my veins, feeding the body I would rather let starve. I roll onto my side and take a breath. I am still here, trapped in the place I have tried so hard to escape. Tears begin to leak out of my eyes and I cannot help but sob. I feel so weak and small. My mother rushes over, grabs me up into her arms, and slowly starts to rock me. My sobbing is anguished. I feel the weight of how long I have fought, how long I held out hope against hope. In this moment I am a child again, cradled by a caring mother. I am allowed to be weak; I can allow myself to fall apart. Slowly my crying begins to lessen and I start to grow tired. I never let myself become so vulnerable, so childlike. I must have rested in my mother’s arms for an hour. When I finally decide to look around I see where my decisions have led me. A hospital room with all the worries of the people who love me comprised of flowers and thought filled cards. The dark night outside the hospital window is only broken by parking lot lights. I look at my mother and see that she too was crying, weeping over her young son. I can only imagine how shaken she must be. I will never forget the time I came out to her. I am sure she thought that was the largest challenge she would face. Now she is holding her son in a hospital bed after he overdosed on LSD.

She squeezes me and tells me that she will be back; she is going to get a nurse. As she leaves I start to take account of myself: toes, fingers, arms, legs, chest, head. They are all there. My leg is sore, I must have dug into the bone when I filled myself with the lethal injection. The nurse comes in with my mother, father, and two of my sisters. All of them looking worn down and incredibly relieved. I can tell they have all been crying. They each take turns embracing their son or brother. The nurse looks me over checking just about every square inch of me. We are given the okay in a few hours and allowed to pack up our things and move out of the hospital into the waiting world. I do not know how I can return to a world that I so blatantly wanted to give up. 

Three months pass of being on suicide watch and going to rehab. I have met so many people with similar stories to mine, some that are far worse. Looking at the people in the rehab center and seeing their strength and courage gives me so much hope. The human spirit is truly strong. The situations some of the people in rehab have faced and still contend with would be debilitating to other people. I am not the only person that has experienced loss; the world is full of loss. What I experienced broke my faith and shook my confidence; it changed things about me and brought to light aspects of my personality I had never seen. My experience exposed my vulnerability, but did not weaken me. Now that I am free from the sadness that plagued me and surrounded my motivation, I can begin something new and something better.

One morning, nearly half a year after my suicide attempt, my sister asks if I would like to grab coffee with her before she goes to work. We head over to our favorite Starbucks down the street. It is a crisp beautiful autumn morning. As we walk through the door we are welcomed with the familiar sent of rich, roasted coffee, and fresh tea. I speak with the peppy cashier, who obviously has been enjoying the perks of working in a coffee shop, and place my order. My sister and I talk about school and her massage therapy classes. I talk about my physical science course and the attractive professor that has no problem holding my attention. After a while we settle into our seats, content with enjoying our coffee and looking outside the coffee shop window. I cannot help but feel the joy of life, life with new chapters; life that although I had given up on, did not give up on me. Jackson lived and he died and I will too.

As we sit the Regina Spektor song “Firewood” begins to play. “Rise from your cold hospital bed, you're not dying. Everyone knows you're going to live, so you might as well start trying.” “…Everyone knows it's going to hurt, but at least we'll get hurt trying” “Love what you have and you'll have more love, you're not dying. Everyone knows you're going to love, though there's still no cure for crying.” The best years of my life are yet to come. I cannot wait to experience everything life has in store for me and right now I am ready to take everything it has to throw at me.