Tag Archives: Buick Lesabre

Eating LSD for Breakfast, and Experiencing Hell

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Mayor Hall and Lucifer

Mayor Hall and Lucifer (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I slipped into deeper depression in the Fall of 1998 than I had ever experienced before.  The summer seemed like a vague memory, and all quests for the omniscient faded into a vague fog behind me.  I had tasted and seen of the chemical darkness.  I was going to jump back down into the chasm of addiction more deeply than ever.

I was a senior in High School.  I was failing all of my classes, and I didn’t care at all.  I didn’t do homework or put in effort.  I may have had little stints where I would try and be sober and grades would start to rise, but then something would happen again and I’d be back to my old tricks.  Just to illustrate well, I was taking seventh grade math in sixth grade, and by twelfth grade I was taking tenth grade math, so I had officially fallen three years back academically.

Because of my misfit academic career, I was in a freshman level geology class.  I was the only senior there.  I had long hair far past my shoulders by this time, which was pulled behind my ears and swooping out on the edges.  I had a goatee that made me look a bit like a devil, and always wore psychedelic shirts featuring the Grateful Dead, the Beatles, Zildjan cymbals, and bands like Yes and Rush.

My girlfriend Harmony and I had broken up.  I was a scholastic ignoramus.  My creative passion for writing and creating music was at an all time low.  My addicted mind could only go back to the desire to do harder drugs again.  I had lost my way towards joy even more than before, and could not sleep unless I had done wrong; I was robbed of sleep unless I had made someone stumble. (Prov. 4:16)

These are how my nights before slumber went; I would lie awake with a guilty conscience, restless.  I would have to drink a beer or pack a pipe full of pot and smoke it just to sleep.  If not, I would be left to my thoughts.  Regrets would swarm around my mind like a legion of angry yellow-jackets, stinging my brain.  I would think of my parents, and how we had come to despise each other so much that we constantly fought, yelled and cursed.  I would think of my ex-girlfriend Harmony and the fact that she had found a new boyfriend.  I would think of all the people I had dragged down, who were living a drug infested life because of my influence.  It was too overwhelming to bear, so I would medicate myself once again, just for a night of inebriated slumber.

I was stoned all day, every day, mocked by those younger than me in High School.  I started to take LSD more intensely than before.  I would eat it in the mornings before school for breakfast with a bowl of Frosted Mini-wheats and a joint for dessert.  I would end up in strange situations at school every day…

One time I was in geology class, on acid, and having a rather bad experience on it.  We had a teacher, Mrs. Albee, who was a kind, loving and compassionate lady.  She even put up with my strange antics in class, trying to love and understand me (while occasionally making a joke towards me, which was completely understandable!).  On this day, I was having a very bad moment in my trip.  The walls were breathing, and dark shadows were everywhere, as if the power of hell was alive in the room.  I noticed something strange about Mrs. Albee.  She had what looked like a white force field around her, and none of these dark shadows and images could penetrate it.  It scared me so badly that I actually yelled out, “Whoa!!”  Then I came out of the intense wave of the drug, only to realize that an entire class of freshman were laughing at me, this crazy drug-addled maniac who had just publicly exposed his madness.

I found out later, that Mrs. Albee was a follower of Jesus…

Another time, I was on LSD with my friend, Kristian, who was angry about his Mom divorcing his Dad and leaving his home in Orange County, California, to move in with his new stepdad, whom he hated thoroughly.  In all his bitterness, Kristian would often join me on these drug escapades.  We were tripping, and I pulled my car, a 1988 Buick LeSabre with 250,000 miles on it, into his driveway (I had finally obtained my driver’s license at the age of 17).  We got out of the car and locked the doors, and I realized that I had left the keys in the ignition, with the car still running.

“Oh man, what are we gonna do???”  I exclaimed.

“Dude I don’t know!”  Kristian replied.

We knew that we would have to call the cops to unlock the door, and I had drugs and paraphernalia in every crevice of that car.  I grabbed a baseball bat from Kristian’s garage, and smashed the small, triangular window behind the rear passenger window, to bits.  We unlocked the doors and turned the car off, then duct-taped the window with grey tape.  Things like this put my flagrant drug habit on display for the world to see.  They used to call my car “The Shwag Wagon”, and people would flip a coin to not have to sit by the cold, duct-taped window while riding with me into dens of mayhem.

Deep down, I was coming apart at the seams.  I would use LSD 2 or 3 times a week, even during school.  All the friends I once had became afraid of me, because I was going crazy.  I was depressing and frightening to be around, I’m sure.

My trips began to go into a deeper realm of darkness than ever before.  There would be times when I would see skeleton shaped heads weaved into the carpet in my room.  I would stare at the floor and it would turn into a frightening scene- souls in turmoil who were being tormented in a place of punishment.  When I would see images like this, I’d ask those who were tripping around me, “Dude, do you see that?”  They would always reply, “Yeah, totally.”  We’d then describe the hallucination in detail to each other, realizing we were seeing the same thing.

This is why I believe that LSD uncovers a spiritual world that is hidden from us in every day life.  It is not a world of beauty and kaleidoscopic wonder.  It is a dark world, bereft of light and joy.  I would read of a place three years later that seemed similar to this place, a place that Jesus talked of in Luke 16:23.

As I entered the vile sub-culture of acid-freaks, I would hear stories of trips worse than my own.  One thing each person seemed to have in common was that they would literally experience hell.  I had a friend, a drug dealer, that took so much acid one day that he literally saw Satan jump out of the ground and rip his heart out before his very eyes.  I had another friend that went to an underworld, where he saw demons and minions gnawing at the souls of men.  Mind you, many of us had no belief in these things, but this drug would cause us to experience them.  I, for one, had no knowledge of the Bible or any religious upbringing or instruction, so it couldn’t have been a figment of my imagination.  The whole world of it was just plain strange and scary.

This is the cycle of addiction.  As Lenny Kravitz sang in November of 1998 on my Buick Lesabre radio in Cleveland Ohio, dialed to 100.7 WMMS radio;

I wish that I could fly

Into the sky

So very high

Just like a dragonfly

I’d fly above the trees

Over the seas in all degrees

To anywhere I please

Oh I want to get away

I want to fly away

And that was me.  I just wanted to experience an altered reality.  Even a dark reality deceived me into being better than my own.

Before you run to judge the life of a drug addict, remember this; They are enticed into a hole that they don’t feel they can dig themselves out of.  Sometimes the reality they have created for themselves is worse than the reality within their addiction.  They are truly stuck in hell.  Escape seems like a better route than dealing with all the destroyed friendships and family relationships.  It’s a vicious cycle.  An addict needs someone to penetrate through all that garbage, and give them a dose of reality and honesty, laced with love and compassion.  God gives this stuff out freely, and uses His true followers to dispense it on others.

The Rave Scene, Special K and Smoking My Dad’s Pot

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English: Ketamine Hydrochloride

English: Ketamine Hydrochloride (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Beck’s album “Mutations” came out in 1998, and though it was less popular than his previous album “O’Delay”, it was always my favorite of his.  One of the lyrics of the song “We Live Again” stated;

Love is a plague in a mix-match parade

Where the castaways look so deranged

When will the children learn to let their wildernesses burn

And love will be new never cold and vacant

My new girlfriend, Jamie and I were in the height of “letting our wildernesses burn”.  We were crazy, out of control kids.  I was 17, and she was almost 16.   We knew drug dealers that were dealing heavy, weird designer drugs in large quantities.  They had ties to mafia people with loaded metal guns strapped to their ankles.  They spent time in the ghettoes and crack-houses, encountering tweakers and midnight freaks.  And like the Soul Coughing song went in the billboards of January of 1999; “For the right price I could get everything, slip into the car, go driving to the farthest star.”  I was in a new arena of reckless relinquishment.  I was willing to try anything, do anything, eat anything, snort anything, smoke anything, go anywhere, get behind the wheel of any vehicle in any random state of mind and let the wind carry me into chaos.  Jaime’s malfeasance fueled my diablerie.  We were crazy kids connected to the source of destruction, perversity our food and drink, and some degree of violence our drug of choice. (Prov. 4:17, MSG)

One night, I snuck out for an all nighter with Jamie and a random group of our friends.  I took mushrooms earlier in the day, and drove down route 8 at 3 a.m., as the white lines in the road warped themselves like winding serpents.  I ended up taking LSD also, with the continual mixture of marijuana, nicotine and caffiene going around all that day.  I can’t piece together how it happened, but we all ended up partying at a stripper’s house in some high rise apartment in the middle of inner-city, Akron Ohio.  I know at some time during the evening I actually passed out in the middle of my combination trip for a good amount of time.  When I woke up, everyone was worried about me that I had gone into a coma.  I told them that I had just visited a dream-like world that resembled Candy-Land.  Everyone laughed at me, because I was so out of my mind.  But inside, I felt so lost.  What was I doing in this wild den of villainy?

One day, Jamie and I took LSD and ecstasy together, inducing what was called a “candy flip”.  We were coming off of this intense, psychedelic euphoria at a drug dealer’s house in our hometown of Hudson, Ohio.  They all broke out a weird, white powder called “Special K” or ketamine.  They explained that when you snorted a lot of this stuff, it put you into a “K-Hole”, which was like an out of body experience where you were in a consistent lucid dream.  Jaime and I snorted enough of it to get a buzz and not go into a K-Hole.  We looked around at our supposed friends, Angelique and her drug dealer boyfriend, Markus, and watching them slip into a sub reality from this drug, where it seemed like they were staring into the realm of a dark, different world.

Another time, Markus the drug dealer sold us a pill called “Nexus” or “2-CB’s”, which was a designer hallucinogen (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2C-B).  We ended up driving all over Akron.  Markus and his friend Darin stole random items from a coffee shop that we stumbled upon because they had a hunger for kleptomania.  The drug took over Jaime and I’s minds and caused us to hallucinate and feel generally nauseous.  We ended up at a rave in the ghetto of Akron sitting against the wall all night.  The drug had made Jamie completely ill.  We suffered through the evening as the bass from the house music that the DJ pumped out beat against our brains.  At sunrise, we exited the building, with no police intruding on the experience.  I talked to many people on the way out who were “tweakers”, addicted to meth-amphetamine.  I don’t remember any of the conversations, just that they seemed to talk a mile a minute, even after being up all night with no sleep.

One night I had taken a small dose of mushrooms, and pushed my 1988 Buick LeSabre down the driveway in neutral, only to start it up and go to pick up a large group of young kids between the ages of 14 and 16.  It was 1 a.m. in the morning, and we were heading to a party in Cleveland called “Get Freaky 3”.  We stopped at a gas station to fuel up and grab some drinks for what would be a night full of rave-dancing and dehydration.  A cop pulled into the station.  My car full of kids went into panic.  I told them all to stay cool.  The cop walked up to the window of our car.  “Hello, officer.”  I politely told him, with the mushrooms swimming in my stomach yet to kick in.  “Hey there son.”  The officer politely replied.  “Where exactly are you and this car full of people planning to go past curfew?”

“Oh let me explain officer.  I got a phone call from my friend Jaime here about 10 minutes ago.  They were stuck at a sleep-over party where people were doing some crazy things and really didn’t want to participate or be there.  She begged me to come and pick her and her friends up.”
“Seriously…”  The cop seemed suspicious as he shined his flashlight into the car, waiting for any of our pupils to dilate.  Nobody had had any drugs kick in yet, though.

“Yeah officer.  I felt really bad about leaving in the middle of the night.  But I explained it to my parents and they said it was ok.”

“So you’re going to take them right home, right now?”

“Yes, definitely.  I can’t wait to get back to sleep!”

“Alright then, I’ll follow you to make sure.”

I drove the car out of the gas station the wrong way, as my young crazy friends rejoiced in me pulling one over on the cop.  We roamed around for a bit towards Hudson Ohio, and eventually saw the cop veer away towards somewhere else.  When we knew we had lost him, we headed towards the massive rave party, and didn’t get caught.

Not long after this fiasco, I was rooting through my Dad’s closet one day, looking for a cigar to steal from him.  I looked in his cedar cigar humidor, and lifted up a small sheet of cedar wood, when something familiar flashed before my eyes.  A little bag was in the shadows of the container, and it contained a green, flowery substance.  I pulled the bag out, and gave it a whiff.  It was grade B skunk weed that appeared to be home grown.  Of course, being like I was, I stole a dime bag out of it.

Sometime later, I confronted my Dad on this…

“So Dad, I found a bag of dope in your cigar box.”

“Naw man, that wasn’t dope!  It was, uh…  Ok man, it was dope!”

“So all that crap about drugs being poison and you only trying pot 4 times was a bunch of (insert colorful expletive) man!”  I started to get angry.

“Look Ben, this can just be our little secret man, ok?  You can have all the grass you want now.  Your cousin Dan grows it and always has it for me.  I know it’s never cut with PCP or dipped in some kind of whacked out chemical.  I’d rather you smoked it than the stuff you’re getting.  That stuff can’t be trusted.”

“Seriously Dad?”

“Yeah Ben, seriously.  Just look man, don’t tell your Mom ok?  She can’t handle this stuff.”

“Ok man…”

“And hey, soon enough, when you turn eighteen, me and you can smoke together.”

Visions of my future flashed before my eyes in this moment.  Me, fat with a beard and mustache, eating cheetos and playing the newest video game system at the age of 42, and living in my parents’ basement.  It seemed like a dream come true at the age of 17…  Was it?

Things have certainly changed now…  My Dad and I are best friends, and he’s been off of drugs for eight years.  Read how the whole scenario blew up in our faces in the year 2000 here:  https://goddrugsandrocknroll.wordpress.com/2013/07/20/wasted-year/  Read about how my Dad became a Jesus Freak in 2005 here: http://benjaminbradfordwhite.wordpress.com/2011/03/04/how-my-dad-became-a-jesus-freak/

Jesus was speaking to corrupt religious leaders when He told them about their Father, the devil, that when he lies, he speaks out of his own character, for he is a liar and the father of lies. (John 8:44b)  I was certainly no corrupt religious leader at this time.  At the age of 17, I was about as irreligious and unspiritual as I’ve ever been.  But I certainly sensed the sinister euphoria of continuing in my crimes when we made it to that party without getting caught.

My night life was filled with mischief, deceit and intoxication at a high level, and seemed to be a careless, Epicurean world of selfish jubilation.  I was officially being supplied with weed from my cannabis growing cousin via my Dad.  But everything around me was completely falling apart.  It’s almost as if I was so high all of the time, that I didn’t even see that it was happening.  The enemy of our souls comes only to steal and kill and destroy. (John 10:10a)  And will medicate your mind and befuddle your conscience to the point where you no longer believe that the sky is falling and the earth is shattering around you.

My relationship with my parents’ at this point was completely dysfunctional.  Me and my Dad were playing Beatles music together in my basement, both high.  My Mother was so worried that I would come home in a police car or a coffin that she began to go to therapy and was prescribed an anti-depressant called Prozac.  I don’t even remember most of the encounters I had with them in these days.  I was often sneaking out all night, during the school week and the weekend.  I would skip school altogether or just attend classes and sleep through them.  Teachers couldn’t get through to me.  I didn’t turn in any homework or participate.  I was failing every single class I was in.  It was the last semester of my senior year of high school and I was barely hanging on.

Jaime was also falling apart.  She was failing every class.  Her parents had a large flow of income and decided to ship her off to an all-girl boarding school in February of 1999, in hopes that she would pull her life together.  It was an oddball gathering the night that we wished her well for her departure, a collection of druggies and drug dealers all packed into a limo to eat dinner at a swanky restaurant.  Jamie was going to leave town, and I was going to be left to my own devices.  We made a pact that we would try and pull ourselves together.  We promised to quit using psychedelic drugs and work hard at pulling our grades together.  Our strange addictive patterns were about to experience an odd shift as the end of my high-school days approached.

 

A History Channel Documentary about LSD,

Ecstasy and the Rave Scene: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3id6j6nJmlo&feature=endscreen

National Geographic Documentary about Ketamine (Special K):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6QGl9Pwl2RI&feature=related