I know they want us to tell everything. They asked us all to come in here and tell our story exactly the way it happened, and exactly the way we all remember it. I know. I get it. But I don't want to tell this part of the story. I don't look good, and I don't like the way I acted. I was broken in a way I don't think anyone else could possibly relate to. I'm telling my story for one reason, and one reason only- I don't have a choice.
I left Natalie's full of tears and despair. For months, I'd kept at least some comfort knowing I wasn't alone, people were trapped just like me, but I saw her so happy, so completely at peace, and I felt a sense of isolation I can't even explain. It was more than a pit in my stomach. It fucking hurt. I was in pain and I couldn't imagine a way out.
I'd tried cheating. I tried to imagine simply letting myself out, but the safeguards blocked that. I tried to let myself fall asleep, escape from the world until everything was fixed. I don't know if the fact that my brain was constantly plugged into the stupid machine, or they worried someone would accidentally turn off their consciousness, but I couldn't do it. I was stuck here, and I was in hell.
My life was purposeless, and all I wanted was an escape. I'm saying all this to give, just a little bit of defense, because I felt like I didn't have a choice. I turned to drugs, alcohol, and meaningless sex, anything to make get through the day.
I had entire weeks where I couldn't remember having a single thought. I couldn't remember eating, getting dressed, taking a shower or brushing my teeth. I was simply existing. Everything that had given my life meaning was locked on the other side of some hidden veil.
Prior to all this, I hadn't had any experience with psychedelics. It wasn't some sense of moral superiority; it was terror. Afraid of what I'd see. Scared for my health, but in here, nothing could go wrong, because nothing was real. That was the entire problem.
So I don't know how accurate any of my trips actually were. I guess it all depends on how accurate the training data for the machine was. Did they train it on someone having an acid trip? On meth? Would it just be the computer's guess? I didn't know, and simply, I didn't care. I just needed a way to get through the day.
I was at a point where I could have made myself look pristine in the blink of an eye. I could have imagined myself as a wholly different person, and the world would bend around me to make it so- and I still looked like a homeless person with red eyes and tear stains down my cheek. I was so far past caring about anything.
The first time I experimented, I imagined myself in a small room. I thought if I focused on building a perfect stage for myself, it might kill a few hours, and I'd slowly march towards whatever the end was. I rearranged the furniture with my mind. I briefly drew psychedelic patterns on the curtains, experimented with and without shade, bright lights vs total darkness. I planned everything out without any experience, and no idea what a perfect tripping environment would be.
In the end, I settled on a small room, a single light, a couch, a tv, and a bathroom, just in case I couldn't handle it near as well as I thought.
I looked down at my folded hands and saw a small pile of squares. I stared nervously for a moment, my red eyes wide and uncertain. Then I reached forward, grabbed a tab, and popped it into my mouth. It was slow acting, but for the first time in my life, I started to trip.
That single light was the first thing I noticed. I felt like I could see the swelling corona around the light bulb, slowly emanating out, expanding into a fugue-like haze. I fell back on the couch, my arms feeling impossibly light as I stared at the lamp. It felt like the world was swirling around the bulb, some swelling balloon that morphed reality the way stars seem to spin around a black hole.
My small room felt like it was starting to expand. My head turned slowly, the movement automatic, and the far wall felt like it was jogging away, slowly getting further and further. I felt like I was falling deep into the couch, the cushions enveloping me and inviting me into some black abyss.
My eyes were staring straight up, watching the way the ceiling danced as dark fingers tugged at the corner of my eyes, pulling me, deeper and deeper.
I'd thought I was alone. At the start, I was certain I had been, but my mind was acting on it's own, my consciousness severed from my thoughts, and some mystical part of my brain must have imagined, must have longed for comfort, another human to walk by my side.
The shadowy fingers tugged at the corner of my eye, beckoning me towards the tv. It felt like it was rocking back and forth like it were rolling in the waves. The screen was slowly growing, maybe getting closer, maybe it was just the size increase. The channels were changing, images I couldn't understand. I couldn't blink, my eyes transfixed, watching the flashes of lights slowly change. I felt like I could see each individual pixel, slowly swelling and floating off the screen, like a meandering firefly, waiting for it's light to go out.
My mouth was open, I imagined I was starting to drool, as the screen changed, again and again. Then I saw the man on the tv, and I wasn't alone. He was looking right at me. He was speaking, but his words were hollow, a thousand miles away. The world behind him seemed to go in and out of focus, his face slowly narrowing like a dolly zoom. He reached forward, and knocked against the screen, carefully testing the barrier between us.
My hands swatted absentmindedly at the shadowy hands that held me in place. I flopped down from the couch, rolling onto the carpet that swayed like grass in the wind. It felt like the individual tendrils rose up and held me, slowly lulling me across the floor like a singer carried by her crowd. My wrist was limp as my hand shot out towards the tv. It was like I was directing my noble steed onward, the swaying grass-carpet leading me towards the man.