DXM Diaries, Act One|
In which a vile substance presents itself to us, and we cannot resist...
It's midnight. At least I think it's midnight. It is dark, and though it is freezing I am sweating my ass off, alternately shivering and feeling like I am going to burst into flames. I try to lie still but my body lolls around with it's own agenda, I cannot get comfortable. The room swims around me. I float. I sink. I see stars. I feel like I am going to throw up. Oh hell, might as well go and puke.
The trip to the bathroom is a slapstick event. I bang myself against walls and doorways, stumble down the hall, fumble for the light switch... I think I can remember how to work a light switch. But really, who needs to? The projectile fountain of clotted cherry-red syrup can't wait to find the toilet, and after witnessing the event in removed third-person double-vision, I realize what a pathetic fucking fool I am. I am dexer, and this is my sorry-ass story.
It all started innocently enough. A friend -- I mean, my drug dealer -- shows up one day with a bag filled with white powder. My mouth waters until I see what's written on the side: Dextromethorphan Hydrobromide. Ugh, DXM. Who would ever want to do that shit? But I'm told over and over it's the bomb, that I haven't tried enough, that it's the most far-out psychedelic trip in the world. I do not believe it, but am persuaded to keep a little for myself, to try a little later if and when the urge strikes.
And so it does. Not right away, but eventually I run out of other drugs to do, and since I had nothing but a long night of TV watching ahead of me I figured "What the fuck" and broke out the powder. I mixed about a gram with some orange juice and chugged it down. That was big mistake number one. The stuff made me gag like I was drinking rat poison, but since I already dumped the powder into the juice I drank it anyway. Ugh.
As I channel flip I think about the one time I had tried to get high on Robitussin in high school. I remember a slightly warm, detached feeling of euphoria, a floating sensation, a tingling and lightness of the body. I remember listening to "Comfortably Numb" by Pink Floyd when Roger Waters says, "My hands felt just like two balloons..." Well, no shit. My whole body swelled like a balloon. Everything was syrupy sweet and dreamy except for the burning in my gut as the vile poison wriggled around like a tapeworm, dripping through me like Drain-o, finally expelling itself in a bout of diarrhea that came back to hit me all night long. "Never again" I told myself as I sat on the crapper, my head spinning, thick cherry flavored drool hanging by a thread from my lower lip all the way to a puddle on the hard tile floor...
But here I was again, years later, burping and twitching, trying to keep down a belly full of DXM-laced OJ. The TV is on but I can't pay attention, it is just noise. Mostly I keep my mind on not throwing up. After a while my body starts to tingle and itch, my pores open all at once. I'm covered with a slick layer of sweat as some commercial on the TV tells me that I can fix my debt problems with one easy call. How did they know I had debt problems? Is someone reading my mail?
To keep my mind off the churning feeling in my stomach I begin flipping channels, sucked into the moronic world of TV. Literally sucked. I am in the TV, interacting with the insipid fools who parade before the camera for my amusement, then suddenly sitting in pitch meetings for the awful show I'm watching. I want to tell them they are all idiots for producing such garbage, but then I am confronted by a sexy woman cooing about how soft and shiny her hair is. I want to have sex with her but my dick doesn't work anymore, it has been cut off from Central Command. My body no longer responds to my wishes. I sit, unable to change the channel, trapped in some awful movie-of-the-week that follows, but too riveted, disgusted, and horrified to move.
Finally I can't take it anymore. I turn off the TV and the room goes dark, bathed in a glow of luminescent dancing ants that cover every surface. Images appear, images of... I don't even know what. Dismembered corpses? Lumps of shit? Morphing blobs of coagulated goo? I sit and watch this show of murky mystery, spinning through space, until finally I can't take it any longer, I have to purge. I try to move but I fall and bang my elbow into the floor -- hard. Oddly it does not hurt or even tingle, it only itches. I wander in circles scratching my elbow and trying to find the bathroom, wondering if I can manage to flush the DXM out of my body. Flush. Purge. Flush. Purge. Flush.
Finally I can move again and I return to bed. I have lost my sense of time and self. I am paranoid and tired and can't go to sleep. I have itchy, wiry insect legs growing out of my skin. I keep turning and spinning in space, lost in some ebb and flow of time that I can't control. My body sweats, weak and shivery, and on it goes for most of the night, lost and disoriented, white noise crackling in my head, body worn out and begging for sleep.
But the next morning I felt great, oddly great. Light, unburdened, slightly dazed. But looking back I could not believe my memories of the lucid un-wet dream with the model with nice hair, followed by a disembodied tour through the mixing bowl of the universe as delivered through the gospel of bad TV melodrama. I discovered that I loathed the experience of having my body warped and manipulated like that, tugged into another space, addled this way and that against it's will. Yet something kept haunting me about that feeling. Was it the intense unreality? The absurdity? The detached floating? Was it the ability to project myself into the television and interact with the players that had be fixated? Something about this substance had grabbed me. Even though I equated it with the most vile sensations a human can ever experience, a small part of me desperately wanted me to do it again, and again.
And I had more...
This article brought to you by DXM: It's for coughs stupid!
Tags : psychedelic
Rating : Teen - Drugs
Posted on: 2004-09-05 00:00:00