I haven't smoked pot since last month, and before that, since September. For only 2 weeks, I've been drinking vodka coolers, the kind that introduce the young'uns to booze and alcoholism. For a moment, I imagined becoming an alcoholic, that it could possibly take over my matter, as in mind over matter. I'm not even crazy about booze, but the buzz I get was quite soothing, and that worried me. Hang-overs don't effect me for a day and a half, so since I drank 2 days ago, it should be pouncing on me any minute now.

I was drinking at the beer garden, on-site of the Fringe Festival, and drinking socially is becoming more comfortable for me. I use to be proud, when I was in my virginal 20's, about being alcohol and drug free. I look back just a few years and think of the chemicals I've consumed.

Pot: With a friend while living in a hostel on Homer & Pender in Vancouver, around '94. I'd tried it 2 more times, but all those time didn't take until one day, a neighbor signaled the universal sign for 'wanna toke?' so I got off the payphone and met him in front of my door. I felt powerful about being immune to its effects, until the second or third toke, I felt a wave of THC wrap me up like a favorite coat. I compared it to movies and TV shows, but it was so differently disappointing, yet surprisingly better.

Mushrooms: A friend of mine, who worked at HempBC, had access to pot and mushrooms, and I felt safer taking them than acid, the latter being a different experience. I'd only done it one other time, but I don't miss it.

Acid: I'd taken it with a male friend, who I use to work with at Beadworks a long time ago. His advise was to take it with someone you trust, and to take 2 hits. It was the weirdest and most annoying drug I'd ever taken, and that's something I hope I never go through again. It lasted almost 24 hours, and I got peeved 5 hours into it. Everything looked beautiful, but when I was coming off of it, everything looked ugly wherever I looked. It was truly depressing.

Exctasy: I was at one of those BDSM parties. It's not my thing, but I was curious about what went on there. Anyway, my short male friend, who'd had a crush on me, said I needed to be around someone I knew and had to have a bottle of water. He made sure I had a little bit, but when nothing happened, he gave me another piece. Later, I was talking to this guy who was dressed as a surgeon (or gynocologist), when I felt a violent heave. We looked at each other, then I heaved again. I knew I had to get to a toilet soon, and luckily there was one a few feet ahead of me. I got there in the nick of time, when my homemade cabbage rolls poured out of me, like everything I'd eaten in my entire living days was coming out of every cell my body. I didn't feel lovey-dovey, just clammy and too alert. My friend escorted me home, tried to talk me into a massage and confessed his feelings, saying that he'd had strong feelings for me for a long time. I said that I wished I'd felt the same way too. Love sucks when it doesn't come together.

Zoloft: After X-mas'97, I couldn't get any sympathy or compassion after being violated, and I felt that whatever facade of handling daily life I'd put out there wasn't holding up, I needed to be sedated. I took 75 mg a day, and at times, I felt nauseaus and dizzy. A friend warned me not to drink alcohol, but this one day, at a strip bar catering lesbians, I'd seen a friend whom I hadn't seen in years, so she bought me a shot of tequila. Before that, I had one and a half joints to smoke with a girl I had a mild crush on. Before that, I hadn't eaten all day (my appetite withered because of the prescription). And before that, I took my daily dosage of zoloft. After taking the shot of tequila, I remembered my friend's advice echoing through my memory, "You don't want to know what it's like to drink while on zoloft, chuffnutt", but I pushed that thought aside, believe the effects to be minor. Intermission was over, the strip show continued, and a friend was talking to me. I felt light-headed, and thoughts of River Phoenix's death outside "The Viper Room" went though my head. I thought I was going to die as I sat on a step, feeling consciousness slip away too quickly. I panicked and after being escorted outside, I started screaming hysterically. It was oddly liberating, like crying or losing my temper in public, but I was still frightened. The most I remember was a woman holding my hand, telling me to repeat, "It's only the drugs, everything will be fine", and an ambulance coming to take me away. I made a complete spectacle of myself, and I never saw that cute girl again.

The people at the hospital were insensitive bastards.

When I told them where I was coming from, one woman said, "Oh, one of those places." Another doctor crossed his arms judgementally and told me it was just a panic attack and left me there. I walked home humiliated, but I definitely didn't take booze with zoloft again. It was a year later that I stopped taking zoloft; taking 25mg's and 50mg's was getting expensive!

By the way, I've never had cocaine, heroine, crack, opium, or any other anti-depressant/anti-psychotic. I'm almost glad that I didn't get addicted to the others. Now, I just glue my attention to the TV screen, or to this on-line diary.