Citation: Anonymous. "The Early Parents: An Experience with LSD (exp63834)". Erowid.org. Jun 19, 2007. erowid.org/exp/63834
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My parents took a long 3 week vacation to Paris (which was coming to an end in 3 days) and the house was under my care. My brother left for school and this was a perfect time to start tripping. My brother didn't really care so it was free reign. Our house was located out of the city, deep into farm country. Luxury homes surrounded by forests and private lakes.
I've tripped before a couple of times. My first trip being not so strong and my second one being intensely powerful.
So I began the day. Woke up, ate a small cheese sandwich and took at first 5 hits. Blotters. The trip crawled up on me as usual. When I felt its effects I took another 4 hits right after. I can't really say how strong they are but they were stronger then the last blotters I bought.
I made some tea, something I do one too many times when I'm tripping for some reason. Perhaps it was to see how I would fair every time I try to take a piss in the elusively rotating toilet. The house was quiet. I never tripped with anyone out of fear of what I might say or do. But I didn't mind. A lone trip is keeps it under my control.
So there I was, sitting outside in our huge backyard on our swing set, aviator glasses on, enjoying the sun beating on my freshly shaved head (thanks to the last trip). A hot cup of tea in one hand, a joint in the other waiting to be smoked. I reflected on how much I truly loved nature. Not to run or hike in nature. Not to do intense sports but to just enjoy it in all its splendor.
Just as the thought was concluding itself I hear sounds in front of the house. I stand up to see what the commotion is about when I see both my parents in the hall way, door wide open, their luggage still on the driveway.
They've come early.
An array of emotion raped my body. First confusion as I tried to remember what day it was fearing I did too many drugs that I blacked out a big chunk of time. Then fear as I had too many articles of evidence (ie drugs, clothing of other women, ash trays loaded to the top, etc.) all over the house (and kitchen table which is where they were heading) and the need to somehow gather everything and stash it all before noticed.
I used my parents house to host a few evenings. With friends, random sluts from bars, drug days which I would skip work for. Aside from having the mentioned articles above I also had a few other articles which would have landed me in jail.
The stress levels in my body rose exponentially. I could feel it. A bad friend who won't go away. Although my mind began to think it was a dream, my senses told me it was not. Now I don't judge those that tell me of such an experience. It was confusing, tricking me into believing the problems in front of me were nothing but a daze I could wake up from.
Back to my parents. I almost broke down. The idea of coming clean to my parents emerged one to many times. I just stood in the hallway, frozen in absolute fear. I couldn't think, I couldn't move. My glasses began to fog from the extreme amount of heat my body was making. My father is not a forgiving man when it comes to drugs. He turns a blind eye if I fail in university, in life, in relationships, in everything but to fail at the fight against drugs was not allowed. He would've, without a moment of hesitation (the old school type of father) stripped me of the shirt on my back and kicked me out of the house with no food, money, or anything to survive. Everything that I bought with his money would be returned to him and I nothing. I would no longer bare his last name and call him father no more. At that moment he would only have one son.
Those ideas came to my head. This was happening in mere seconds as I stood in the hallway. My father and mother began to laughing, thinking I was stumped and truly surprised by their early return. My mind clicked in a more survivalist mode. It continued to beat my more honest side. I called it the beast. It instinctually forced me to hug my mother and with haste grab the bags from the drive way. I paid no attention to the fact I bruised myself bumming into the door knob. Pain at that moment was a luxury and the beast has no time for this.
I put the bags at the front door and watched my mother shreek to how dirty the house was. She was appalled at how the house looked. Instantly she began to clean, telling me that if she did not clean now she'll have no spirit to clean later. My father quickly ran to the kitchen, I in front of him picking up random things off the cluttered kitchen table.
Somehow the mess in the house was a savior. With my mother occupied in her cleaning duties and my father...well...he too had an addiction of his own. The need to smoke the hookah. He loved it. And when he stepped through that door it was the first and only thing he had his eye on. Like a race horse. God threw me a bone.
My worry shifted from my father to my mother. My father sat in his kitchen chair and smoked the hookah but my mother was the one moving around. My mind focused on her. Stress levels still high I can see my heart beat exaggerated through my shirt. Her eyes caught attention to too many things. Questions arose that I had to intercept quietly as to not let my father hear us. I had to admit to the friends and women over at the house. At that moment my head told itself its better to say the truth on that aspect then to have her think you're a cross dresser. The beast was right. As for the cigarette butts, it was once again pushed onto my friends shoulders. I felt like a weasel, but then after words felt childish for feeling such things.
Barely an hour has past and my mind is tired. My body is tired. The levels of stress in my body were enormous. The beast inside of my laughed, taunting me by telling me how I enjoyed two weeks of pure sin. That was the word it used. Sin. And now I must pay up. I tried to fight the thoughts but they just became stronger. The word sin haunted my head. My leg was shaking and my hands refused to stop sweating. The idea of coming clean once again popped up.
My mother while cleaning served us tea. She cleared out the table (which I did help for the ample opportunity to displace anything into my pocket). I poured the tea, to my amazement without spilling it. My father took a sip of his, as for me...I looked at it, watching the sugar melt in this beautiful transparent golden red liquid. As if miniature streams inside the cup. I had no stomach for it unfortunately. The effects of the drugs were distorting time too much. I looked at the clock and saw how just a mere hour passed. A long day ahead still.
My father was hungry and asked that food be served. In our house my father is king. So we were raised and so he has set the family. My mind began to question his methods as a father. He would never lay a hand on anyone. He never laid a hand on any of us in the past but yet there is a fear of him. A genuine fear that would force my mother from vacation to clean the house so my father would have a clean place to rest.
At this moment I began to wonder where the beast was. My father once again asked that food be served but my mother continued to clean relentlessly. He began to yell. I was still seated and just froze as I felt drips of sweat roll down my temple and down my face. A screaming match broke out. The noises echoed in the room. The beast once again laughed. I wanted to cry for some reason but fought it with every last muscle. To the point where I held my breath just to stop the motion of tears.
My mother, having her hand forced (again without physical violence) began to cook. She served a quick dinner which I had no appetite for. They both ate. I watched them scarf the food. I felt disgusted. A hate boiled in me as they stuffed their faces. Both with greedy mouths constantly needing to be fed.
My brother came home from school. It has now been 2 hours after I took in the last four hits. He sat with us. He immediately saw I was tripping. He was younger than I, still fresh in his life. He knew what he must do. He too added to the chaos in the room. He continued to move and make noise. The more chaos there was the better I felt as then I can hide things. He didn't stay long. Said hello, ate a quick bite and disappeared. He would call me away from time to time to help him with his homework which would give me valuable time to recollect my thoughts. He was reading a short story for school. The Tell-Tale Heart. Somehow I managed to help him find three character traits for the unnamed murderer in the story. I wanted to read the story but my eyes could not focus on the words. I had him tell it to me.
Thatís besides the point. Now came the pictures on my fathers digital camera. I wanted to occupy my hands which were fidgeting more then they should. I browsed through them casually. I saw one picture of a twisted building. I ignored it, believing my trip warped the picture. My parents however asked if I saw that one specific picture of the 'weird building'. I gave them the digital camera as they scrolled to the same image earlier. I was confused once again. Too many things happening too fast. I had to look at the camera and compare lines to understand that the building was twisted and not my vision. Apparently the building was painted in such a fashion. That was a daunting task alone.
Then came what I thought to be was the hardest part. The gifts. My parents bought me new glasses. Of course they wanted me to try them on and tell me if the prescription is okay. With the way my eyes are I put them on, faked an act of how they are amazing and clearer then before and kept my mouth shut. The beast told me I don't deserve to see. It began to taunt me again telling me how my father brings you sight and you insult him by bringing drugs into his home.
I began to hate how I used his house, his car and his money to project how I was a man to other people. The beast's attack on me didn't stop. It continued to tell me of how I was not a man, I was nothing, I was still a child, a failure, a pathetic excuse of waste. A waste. I felt like I was a child again, hiding something bad from my parents. It's been so long since I've done such a thing. Memories of my childhood surfaced. Memories of punishment when caught doing something bad. I looked up at my father and saw the judge.
After they finished eating they both began to smoke the hookah. I continued to sit there. They asked why I did not eat. I had to lie and say I ate earlier. My mother kept giving me a suspicious eye. I would meet her eyes and then look down in shame. The beast laughed every time I did that.
I know I wasn't a stable individual. I was heavy into BDSM, fetishes and other stuff that makes most peopleís skin crawl. Usually I don't tell people stuff like this. As I grew up in life I believed I was two people. Me and the beast. The latter being that which tricked me into a sin filled world. Psychological connections were easier to see for some reason at that moment. Everything my father told me was forbidden, everything he denied me I in the end have done. The advice he gives me I would spit on and never listen to. It was as if my nature was to go 100% opposite to my father's wishes but never truly confront him.
My dad continued on about the beauty of France. I tried to stay calm and keep a decent conversation. I replied to something he said and from his mouth all I got was 'What's wrong with you?'. I quickly snapped with a sharp 'nothing' and forced a sip of the cold tea that was served hours ago. All I could think of is if this whole act if working. I was lucky. Although my mother was suspicious they both tired themselves out and both went to sleep early. I went to the office and sat on the computer, still on edge. I tried to watch an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (I'm late to the whole thing). I couldn't focus as the characters for some reason were very bright and their skin tones almost shifting in different shades of beige. I closed it and put my head in my hands.
My brother came in the room, told me that he knows I was tripping and just left. I cursed the world. I cursed myself. I begged a higher power to save me. I walked to the kitchen and talked to my brother. I think he sensed the fear in me. I told him how much I took. He gave a somewhat surprised 'wow'. I couldn't find a topic to talk to him about without shattering his image of who our father was.
Night was approaching and I can feel the drug winding down. The muscles in my body were sore. Apparently earlier I burnt myself but I don't recall how. I went to bed early. I moved all the incriminating evidence to my room in the closet. I would dispose of them in the garbage over the next few days.
I tried to fall asleep but through all that pain and fatigue my body and mind refused to shut down. I tossed and turned. I slept on the floor, on the small table, on a chair, I opened the windows, I tried pacing back and forth to burn any extra energy. Nothing was working. I cried. I laughed. I smiled and frowned. I felt intense guilt at what I done and intense pride on how well I managed to hide it. Trying to piece myself together in my dark room. I stood in front of the window and watched the quiet neighborhood. I learned our neighbor goes to work around 4 in the morning and that raccoons tore up our garbage in our garage (which I forgot to close, can you blame me really?).
I watched a raccoon trip one of our light sensors. I whistled at it through the window and it looked up at me. For two minutes until he scurried off with its pals to raid my garage for more chicken leftovers in the garbage.
I felt my body slowly relax its constant pumping of adrenaline. The beast was no longer there but I knew it was still around. I cried again, this time longer, at how much of a mess I was. How I would throw free shelter, food, education, entertainment and money for nothing but a 10 hour trip. The sorrow turned into hate.
I began to hate my parents. For the way they raised me. The way they pretend to be the greatest parents alive, as if they are the only people in the world that understand. They judge other people's parenting skills and capabilities when they refuse to look at how they've destroyed their son.
Hate turned into understanding. I realized I shifted blame once again.
I sat down and slept for about 30 minutes. I woke up to the early calls of birds. I sighed, went to the bathroom and continued downstairs. The house looked different. I didn't notice it till now but it was clean. It was clean for the first time in a long time. I flushed the blotters and weed. Then I took the car and threw out the clothing, the pictures and videos and all that of which would remind me of the three weeks.
When I came back I turned up the lies. Now that my mind was more clear I began to make more intricate lies. I told both my parents that I was drunk yesterday and that is why I was acting strange. They both accepted but still reserved some suspicion. I didn't care. I had no evidence and even if they believed I was a liar, I was through with this.
My resolve strengthened. I cleaned up my act. Got a job. Quit all my habits. I quit smoking. I left my girlfriend. I stopped seeing my friends. I relentlessly worked out. Worked on my art. Worked towards my school. I left home the minute I was able to. Working two part-time jobs and a full-time weekend construction job I was able to move across the country without needing to ask a dollar from my father. I sent him money to his account for the money he 'lent' me. The education. The plane tickets to China, Russia, Europe, South Africa, etc. I continue to send him money for the food over the years and the money I blew in those three weeks.
I'll admit I may have finally become a man, but at the cost of constantly fearing anything mind altering. I fear to even touch Advil or Aspirin or any pharmaceutical drug. I refuse to take pain killers when they operated on my knee last month. I feel the pain every god damn day and I know this is the price for those days of pure sin in that mans house.
Knowing that someone out there read this makes me feel better. This is for those that had their parents ruin their trip and faired less lucky than I. Thank you for your time.
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