Even before I smoked synthetic the first and only time, I was familiar with the substance – and in a bad way.
I was a sophomore in high school, 16 years old, when I was first introduced to the shit.
My boyfriend at the time, whom was only a year and one grade level ahead of me, started smoking it with his friends. (for the sake of their privacy, I’ll refer to them as Sean and Jack)
After he started in mid-April, he was different and not the person I cared about anymore.
Within the next 6 months, he was expelled from school and was kicked out of his house to live half way across the country.
So, I was bitter and jaded toward the substance anyway, but nowhere near as bitter and jaded as I am toward it now, looking back.
The worst night of my life began at about 8 pm on Friday, February 13th of 2015.
I was 16 and thoroughly enjoyed smoking marijuana with my friends as often as possible, which was usually on Fridays and Saturdays.
So although it was Friday the 13th, none of us thought much about it. (we weren’t superstitious at all)
One friend of mine, Claire, picked me up after school because I couldn’t drive due to having a broken leg from an unrelated incident, and we went to get some food in the small town we lived near.
We picked up another one of our friends, Luke, and while waiting for another friend.
We looked for weed in every place we knew, being as we only had 3 grams between 4 of us. We must’ve called a couple dozen people, all of which came up dry.
It wasn’t until we met my other friend, Jennifer, that we realized we were forgetting one of the biggest dealers in the county, Jack. (The guy my ex smoked spice with almost a year prior.)
So of course, I called him and he said his dealer was coming over with some medical any minute, they were both hanging out at Sean’s and for us to just head over there.
We all went over there and waited, all the while Jennifer’s mom texting her asking when we’re going to be home and bitching for being out past curfew.
After waiting for about 20 minutes, the guys suggested that we just go downstairs and smoke some roaches. Of course we were all on board, I mean shit a free high is a free high.
After 4/6 of us hit the bongs, it was just down to me and Jennifer, and they passed her a bong and one to me. We had our pick of the roaches left and we picked the biggest ones, of course.
I watched her rip hers first, expecting to laugh at her because she’d always cough.
As soon as her lips left the bong she said “I am so fuckin high” and Sean smelled the smoke she exhaled and yelled “noooooo” and ran across the basement.
I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but it was one of the last conscious memories I have from that night.
Before he made it back I had ripped it once, but didn’t clear it.
So, in an effort to assert my dominance as the baddest bitch in the room, I lit it and hit it again.
This time, before I even was able to sit the bong back on the pool table, I was fucked. And I knew it.
Jennifer was telling us all that we had to get up and we had to leave, her mom was going to kill us. And all I could do was laugh.
To be honest, it wasn’t so bad for the first 30 seconds.
But after those few moments, I passed out.
I leaned forward onto the table and I ceased to exist. At least that’s how it felt. For a minute.
Everyone in the room started talking, asking me if i was okay, telling me I was fine, talking to each other, just carrying on I guess.
Instead of black, I started to see static. Like if you put your TV on a channel you don’t have.
And everything everyone was saying started playing on repeat in my head.
I heard everything, over and over and over again. I couldn’t tell the difference between what someone was saying to me at the moment, or what someone was saying 5 minutes ago.
I would try to talk, but I couldn’t tell what I was saying and what I was thinking. I started having seizures. I was foaming from my mouth. I can remember I kept feeling myself spitting on the table.
I saw myself from an out of body position. It looked like I was watching security footage from a black and white camera.
I remember thinking I was on an NBC special about the dangers of marijuana in which Steve Harvey was the host, which is funny now that I look back.
I was able to raise my head at one point in an effort to let everyone know I was okay and not to call an ambulance because I was more afraid of getting in trouble.
Of course, I was unable to say that.
When I laid my head back down, everything was red and grainy. I kept looking for something in this new world that was my mind.
I was finally able to make out a full body figure of what I knew was the devil.
I started seizing again, so violently I felt the stool I was sitting on buck forward.
It went on for what seemed like hours, but I suppose was only a few seconds.
I raised my head again and saw what I know now to be Sean, but at the time I had no clue.
I asked him who he was, and he told me.
I asked him his last name, and I remembered the name, vaguely.
I thought I knew him from a past life, honestly.
I asked him what my name was in the last second I was able to hold my head up. Because, truly, I had no idea.
I remember being pissed after he told me, because I didn’t get to pick that name. And that’s the last thing I remember from that night.
The next morning, I woke up in the bedroom of my friends camper. I got out of bed, still stoned to the core, and woke up Claire and Luke to ask them about the night, because at this point I still thought that I had smoked some dank ass weed.
They told me that I had smoked spice and so did Jennifer.
They told me Jennifer made it up the stairs and almost out the door before collapsing and vomiting all over the mud room floor. She vomited for an hour, they told me.
They drove us home after getting me up the stairs, with my broken leg, mind you. And Jennifer went into her house and talked to her mom, somehow.
She told me all about her trip, and what was going on inside her head, but since this story is mine and already ungodly in length, I’ll leave it up to her on whether or not she wants to post it.
She and I didn’t smoke weed for a very long time after that. And even when we started again, we didn’t enjoy it. Or at least, I know I didn’t.
Neither of us smoke anything anymore due to this experience.
Because of spice, I am not able to do what I, at one time, loved doing.
I wouldn’t say it ruined my life, but it definitely impacted it and remains the scariest night of my life.
I know when I used to experiment with drugs, I would look up bad trips in order to see if it’s really worth it. So if that’s what brought you here, just take all of this into consideration.
I know I can’t tell anyone what to do, but the good highs on synthetic (although I’ve never had one) CANNOT compare to the bad ones.
If you want to get high, please just wait for someone you trust to give you something you know is what you want.
(All names changed for privacy reasons)