Years back, when I moved to California, I had the idea to try out some of Cali’s finest edibles one night. Two of my friends and I were celebrating one of them flying back home the next morning and we opted for a sendoff with cookies. The only edibles I’d had prior to that night were ones made by myself or friends. We knew how much was in them and how much to eat.
I don’t remember exactly how it went down but I’m sure it was something like, “One cookie, one person.” And not a single thought more on the matter. I remember one of the guys asking me where his piece was and me looking at him funny.
“I’m pretty sure these are meant for multiple doses.” He said.
“Nah, it’s just one cookie. Why would they make ‘em like that?’
“Dude, I’m pretty sure I read that on the package.”
Three doses per cookie.
Ehh… I’ve had edibles before. I’ll be fine…
My friends kindly decided to eat more in solidarity, though still a little less than what I did. I mean, solitary doesn’t need to send everyone to the nuthouse. No, that spot was reserved just for me.
The high rushed over me like a freight train and took on a life that no amount of smoking ever did. I was floored, but unfortunately not in the literal sense. I’d have happily taken an early nap on the ground and slept it off but the universe needed me to experience this lesson. Read the label.
No, my experience was quite the opposite of sleep. Here I was amongst two of my best friends and I was highly aware of everything, so neurotically aware that I found my every word spoken and movement made an uncomfortable and awkward self awareness that I was in no condition to deal with. We all stopped talking and I was noticing each of us retreating into our own minds. Or at least that was my interpretation of it. I retreated hard.
I couldn’t bring myself to have a conversation. I desperately needed to be alone so I made my way to the bathroom, but there I was confronted with another terrifying adversary: a mirror. I’d experimented with hallucinogens enough to know that this wasn’t the place to be either. Without even talking to anyone, I darted out of the bathroom, up the stairs, and into the spare bedroom, where I buried myself in blankets and pillows on a lumpy futon. This was where I was to be for the remainder of the ride.
Some time passed and I could hear my friends moving around a bit downstairs. Eventually they came and knocked on my door.
“Hey, are you okay? You coming back out?”
“I can’t. I’m done.”
The thought of being eye to eye with anyone and expected to converse was so overwhelming. All I could do was pull myself keeping into my futon nest. Soon after I heard one friend make his way to his room and the other pleaded.
“Dude, it’s my last night here. Come out.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t move. I’ll see you next time. Have a good flight.”
I couldn’t even open the door and hug the guy safe travels. I felt like a total ass, but the rest of my mind and body stood firmly onnope, not happenin’. Everyone got understood, but it still didn’t make for the best hangout. I’ve since had a few much more enjoyable and beneficial experiences with edibles. So I’m not saying edibles are bad or trying to warn anyone against them. I’m simply saying this: read the damn label, people.
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