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LSD taught me that you have no control over how tired you are. It also taught me what it means to hallucinate; not to see what's not there but to see what's already there but you never noticed, or what is still but looks like it's moving. It also made me feel like everything is connected.

Like when we were driving to Tasty's and all of the streetlights all the way down the street turned green. And it was snowing outside and Julieta was playing classical music that sounded so good.

It was like waves; one minute everything is happening and I have no control over my surroundings and no idea what's going to happen next, and the next minute it's still and I am gathering myself but I know that it's not over. And I can not feel tired.

I could live like that for days I think. I love feeling any other way than the way I am supposed to normally feel. Drugs make everything different, from the inside out.

And my mom was upstairs sleeping the entire time, and we came inside and out of the back door and she had no idea, but when I did the same thing the next night she found out; I had gone to a party but didn't end up going because Joey and I ubered to my house. My mother woke me up the next morning and told me my dad is upstairs and I have to go talk to them, and then she told me she found my pencil case full of cash and they think I am dealing drugs.

And then she told me I am causing her pain and that she wants me to have some decency and that she knows that I snuck out. And I just want to say the words that will make it over so that I can move on to the next moment. LSD also taught me that everything is about moments, and even though everything is connected maybe time isn't actually as connected as we think it is, just like how we think that light is one consistent stream but really it's just a million flashes over and over again.

And then I walk to CVS to buy Plan B because Joey and I had sex last night and the condom ripped, and I woke up in the morning naked and alone with the vodka handle on my bedside table. I did it because I wanted to. And I'm not dealing drugs, by the way, I have just collected a lot of cash. And I don't care what my parents think because this is who I am.

LSD also taught me that maybe I am trying too hard to figure things out. Maybe I am looking too hard for signs that things are connected. But then also there are these things that seem so obviously predicted; like the fact that I wrote that story when I was 12 about how the boy who can't remember anything, falls in love with drugs and has traumatic experiences. And that's what makes me wonder if everything is like that movie Arrival where time is nonlinear and everything is happening at the same time but we are perceiving it like a consecutive series of events. And why do people take life so seriously? Why do people take their own life so seriously, is what I mean, as if it matters who they are and what they think about what happens to them. We are all existing and what people think about who we are and whether we are decent is irrelevant in the grand scheme of things. I want to live in the grand scheme of things. I want to float with my thoughts. I can't control the way I perceive time, and I hate to wait.

And why am I writing this story? Is anybody going to read it? In a story there are motifs, there are hints between the words that connect later on, that cooperate to form a message, a purpose. But this book is my the story of my life. And there are hints, between the words, and everything is connected, in the story, and it relates to itself later on. And I relate to myself, in the past and right now. So does that mean that that's the way that life works, too?

And at some point when Maz and I were tripping in my basement, trying to make a bong out of a Sprite bottle, or a joint out of the first page of the book So You Want To Be a Wizard, I realized that nobody really has any idea what they are doing, some people are just better at making it appear like they know what they are doing. But if I take LSD again I will know what to expect, so does that mean I know what I am doing, if I have done it before? I don't think so. I don't want to know what I am doing.

LSD taught me that the world is beautiful. That I can be happy. That all I need is to get away from everything that sucks. That there are people like me. That things are good. And it doesn't make sense that the only times I enjoy myself are when I do things that my parents tell me are the wrong things to do, like take drugs, sneak out and have sex. And that's what makes it seem like my parents don't want me to be happy. But they don't know what they are doing, either.

And it doesn't matter who is right. And it doesn't matter what happens, or what has happened. Everything is happening. There is so much more.

Finally, LSD taught me that there is no right answer. I get scared, sometimes, that if people knew me, for who I really am, for everything that I am, nobody would want to know me at all. And I told that to my therapist, on Thursday, and I had just smoked with Nael and Maz but he didn't know.

We are all looking for instruction. We are all looking for approval. But we don't know what validates approval. We cannot trust our parents because parents are people too. I cannot trust anything except for my own reactions. I don't care about people because people don't know the answers. I feel like I am trying to figure something out, but I don't know what it is, and I don't know if I will know once I have figured it out. Is that what living is? Or what growing up is? At some point will I stop trying?

When I was in primary school I used to go to the bathroom and tell myself that my body was being possessed by an alien from a different planet on a mission to improve my life. To fix what's broken. And I had to pretend to myself that I didn't know anybody in the classroom, and I would have to figure out their names by waiting to hear somebody else address them with it. And I would have this person inside of my head, and I would imagine their thoughts. Am I special? Is that weird? A lot of people ask the question, Is that weird. Nobody knows what's weird. One time in the basement of the house I spent my ski vacation at when I was 10 with my sister and a bunch of other kids I don't know any more, somebody said, "If we are all crazy nobody is really crazy."

And when I told Maz that I feel so weird about how I didn't feel tired on acid, she said, you are on drugs. You don't feel tired because you are on drugs, not because there's something wrong with you. That's so comforting. Drugs makes it okay to feel crazy; it makes it normal.
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