SR IV: This is the end, my only friend, the end. - Progressive Rock Music Forum

Don't do drugs, guys. This was a story posted on another forum, and I had to share. Try to read the whole thing, it's worth it even though it's very long. For reference, the writer is a 25 year old Canadian. He occasionally will tell stories like this, and while I have no way of verifying them, I would still buy his book if he wrote one.

So here's a story about drug usage. Back in the day, I used to really be into psychotropics and hallucinogens. Mushrooms, DMT, LSD, even did Ayahusca the one time. This story goes back to when I was 19, and decided to do some mushrooms with my friends. Now, for those of you unfamiliar with the consumption of psilocybin mushrooms, they taste like ass. They just do. The typical way people use mushrooms is to straight up eat them, but to be honest, that's not really a pleasant way to absorb the drugs into your body. We've experimented with different methods of doing mushrooms over the years, mixing it with conventional tea and making a brew of it seems to be the most pleasant. However, in this instance we decided to go over to my friend Mike's house and dice the mushrooms up into very fine pieces, almost granules. Then, we got a couple packages of those dipstick candy things, you know the ones with the powdered sugar and the candy stick that you lick and then dip in the pouch of of powder? We got those and then mixed the mushrooms with them to make the taste less awful. So, here we are, doing little piles of mushrooms and sugar with our little dippy sticks, watching a pre-arranged series of bad movies (Mortal Kombat was first to play). Usually, when I do hallucinogens, I make it a point of making sure there is at least one person amongst the group of us who isn't doing the drugs. This person's job is essentially to babysit us and make sure we don't do anything damaging or retarded, like take a kitchen knife to our arm to cut the bugs out of our skin or whatever. It's a thankless job, one that usually requires outright paying the person to do it. These guys, however, did not do that. Anyway, after a good while the shrooms finally kicked in for me, and I was having a pretty good trip. The reason I enjoy psychotropics is that I generally am able to enjoy myself without doing anything f**ked up or stupid, and very rarely do I have a bad trip. At one point, I find myself mightily hungry and go digging around Mike's kitchen. I find a tub of ice cream, and get a spoon, go back to the living room with the other guys and just start eating straight out of the tub. Rude, I know, but hey, I was high. The other dudes totally freak out. They yell at me, tell me to stop, and wrench the ice cream away from my hands. I'm pretty pissed about this, and we start into an argument about it. I lose the argument, apparently, and no more ice cream for me. I kinda sulk about this, and then wander around the house as my perception is all screwed up and stuff. In the hallway, I see Chris, and I just lose it on the guy. I don't generally like Chris, he's what one would call "a friend of a friend". So I just lay into the guy, shouting at him, and eventually I start hitting him. Just wailing on him. Kicking him, punching him, shouting obscenities at him. Pretty sure I beat the dude into unconsciousness. He's against the wall, completely out, and Mike grabs my arm and yells at me to snap some sense into me and get me to stop. I shrug him off my arm, and I go sit in the kitchen and drink water for a while. Nobody comes into the kitchen for a bit, nobody's talking to me, so I get bored and go upstairs to Candice's room. Candice is Mike's sister. She was 13 at the time, although she sure as hell didn't look 13. The Puberty Train arrived at that girl's station in all the right ways, and she damn well knew it. In the past, she had actually been quite flirtatious with me, which I never reciprocated because, hey, the girl is only 13. But, high on shrooms and expressing massively poor judgment, I slip into her room. It's dark, and I crawl into bed with her. Not sure how it ended up like this, but in the end her and I start f**king like wild rabbits. At one point I distinctly recall taking her from behind, and then pulling out and switching to f**king her in the ass. Why? I have no idea, but it's what I did at the time. Anyway, after a good powerful f**k of this young lass, I lay around for a bit but decide I just want to go home and sleep in my bed. So, without talking to anyone, I put on my shoes and proceed to walk home. At the time, I lived about four blocks from Mike's house, and I felt coherent enough to make the journey without incident. Along the way, I very vividly remember a raccoon following me down the road. Why was this raccoon following me? I have no idea. Maybe, like many animals in the area, it had become accustomed to receiving free food from humans who were all like "Awww, cute animal!" and was basically panhandling. In my altered state, I came under the impression that I owed this raccoon money, and he was harassing me for it. So I get angry, kick over a nearby garbage can, and start throwing garbage at it, screaming "F**K YOU RACCOON I DON'T HAVE YOUR F**KING MONEY!" It runs off, and I continue walking home. I didn't make it. I passed out along the way on some guy's lawn, as I awoke the next morning to find a paramedic taking my pulse. I was completely soaked (either from morning dew or it had rained during the night or something) and freezing. Standing over me is a paramedic, some police, firefighters, etc. Apparently, the dude who lived in the house I was passed out in front of called 911 and didn't know if I was dead or what the hell, and didn't touch me. After talking to the folks there for a little bit, telling them I had just passed out due to wandering home drunk and wasn't under any kind of medical duress, they let me go on my way. I finish walking home, and find out it's like 8 in the morning. Bleary eyed, still somewhat confused, and exhausted, I strip out of my soaked clothes and go back to bed for a few hours. I wake up in the afternoon. I crawl out of bed, feeling like sh*t, and slink into the shower. As the shower hits me, I start to recollect the evening as stated above. I immediately become concerned for Chris. Sure, I don't like the guy, but there's no way he deserved the beating I laid on him. Is he okay? Did the other guys even help him? What the f**k happened to him? Before I can meditate too deeply on how injured Chris might be, the thought also occurs to me... Holy Jesus, I f**ked Candice. I try to remember as much as I can about that. I try to figure out what the hell was I thinking, what the f**k did I do with her? I remembered getting into bed with her. I remembered it being dark. I remember f**king the hell out of her, including a foray into anal, and I remember holding her really tightly while I... Wait a minute. Did... did I... did I rape Candice? I mean, I don't remember her screaming, or fighting back, but I remember how physical I was with her and that she's just a small girl. Did she consent to it? That doesn't even make sense. Why would she suddenly consent to one of her brother's drugged up friends crawling into bed with her and wanting to f**k her? Holy sh*t, I think to myself, I might've just anally raped a 13 year old girl. I sit down in the shower and just curl up into a little ball. I am shaking, but not from the cold. I am filled with panic, revulsion, anger, a whole mixture of emotions that I can't even begin to completely put into words. Listen, I don't generally make apologies for the kind of person I am and have been. I know that, viewed through the lens of the objective observer, I'm a pretty terrible human being. I've done a lot of really bad things to people, many of whom did not deserve it. I've hurt people, physically and emotionally, on levels I am not proud of at all, but I don't dwell on it. There's a lot of really awful, and totally true, things people could call me. But one of them is most definitely not a rapist. That's a line I've never, ever crossed. It's a true moral event horizon, the sort of thing I hold myself strictly above that even at my most criminal worst, I could still say "Well, at least I'm not a rapist." Rape pretty much is the worst thing you can do to a human being. It's worse, in my eyes, than murder. I've been sexually assaulted myself, more than once, and I know how horrific it is and how it can have a massive lasting effect on the person it happens to. So I'm sitting there, stricken with all kinds of internal emotional turmoil about what the f**k happened and what the f**k I should do and so on. Eventually, I pick myself up and get out of the shower. The way I felt then was probably one of the most terrible experiences in my entire life. I actually contemplated suicide, opening up the cabinet behind the bathroom mirror and looking at the painkillers and things kept back there, and I considered just swallowing them all and ending it. But I decide not to. I try to hope for the fact that maybe Candice did consent to it, which while still bad (and really, the statutory rape of a 13 year old girl is not much better, even if she says okay) isn't nearly bad as forcefully f**king her against her will. I decide I have to face the repercussions of my actions, accept responsibility for them, even if it means I go to jail or whatever. If I did force myself on her against her will, she will need the closure of seeing me accept responsibility and being punished for my actions. If I didn't force her, if she consented to it, I still need to face the reality of what I did and make sure she has no illusions about what transpired and why it was bad. I need to accept that this will destroy my friendship with those guys, Mike especially, and that this entire thing might lead to me being criminally prosecuted and ruining my life. I don't know what to do next, though, or how to go about facing the music of my own decisions. I look over at the phone, thinking to call Mike first before heading over there, and I notice there is a flashing light on the phone indicating there is a message. I check the phone's caller ID record first, to see if I can tell who and when it was. It was Mike's phone number, and the call came an hour earlier while I was still sleeping in my bed. My stomach tightens into a rock. Hands shaking, I pick up the phone and check the voice mail. It's Mike. He's like "Hey, dude, f**ked up time last night, eh?" (He is laughing! Good sign) "Just wanted to make sure you got home okay. Listen, we're going to have burgers and beer later this aft, come over, kay?" I sit there and think for a bit. Clearly, this message tells me a couple things: Chris can't be hurt that bad, since Mike wouldn't be that cheerful if I had really beaten the man as badly as I had thought. It also tells me that I didn't rape Candice, since Mike's voice would be tinged with the tone of murder rather than a friendly invitation for BBQ. Also, thinking on it, would the police from earlier had let me go? No, no, that wouldn't make sense. Clearly, I didn't rape this girl. Okay, fine. I mean, at this point, I still ass-f**ked a 13 year old girl while her brother was downstairs on drugs, which is still horrible, but not nearly as bad as outright rape. So I get dressed and head over to Mike's. Along the way, I see a turned over garbage can and garbage strewn across the street. f**king raccoon. I get there, and I hear the dudes laughing in the backyard. I head around back, and guys are sitting around the patio drinking beer and Mike is BBQ'ing some burgers. Mike looks at me laughs and says "What's up, Lardo?" (Which is not, I would like to note, a normal nickname for me or a term Mike uses generally. I'm not even fat, so this takes me aback). I sit down, nervous and quiet. Mike is smiling at me and chuckling. How do I say to the guy "Oh, by the way dude, I rocked your little sister's a****le last night. Sorry." The guys are laughing, and he's like "Dude, do you remember anything from last night?" I shrug sheepishly and answer "Kinda". So, they begin explaining things to me, specifically how I turned into a giant shouting tool and I had, at one point, started eating an entire tub of baking lard straight up with a spoon. (Apparently, the "ice cream" I was eating was actually a tub of lard) As an aside, as a result of this incident this group of dudes still call me "Lardo" to this day. And also how I wrecked the china cabinet in the hallway, putting a big hole through it and stuff. Chris, by the way, is completely fine. (Apparently, the "Chris" I beat up was actually an empty china cabinet) I stammer a half-assed apology about the china cabinet, offering to repay Mike for it (because, you know, it's totally important I set this whole china cabinet issue right, after I f**ked his sister) Mike tells me not to worry about it, as his mother hated that cabinet anyway, hence why it was sitting in the hallway empty (She's actually been bugging him for like a week to carry it out to the curb). Then, Enter Candice. She comes out of the house. She is cheerful, and asks Mike if the burgers are ready. He replies in the negative, and she nods and goes to go back into the house, but not before looking over at me and smiling and waving at me, saying "Hi, Matt!" as she always does when I am over. I am pale as a corpse. Dave, one of the other dudes there, gives me a subtle nudge with his foot and laughs "Think clean thoughts, Christian soldier." They are mistaking my horrified reaction for being all flustered lusting inappropriately after her. They don't even know what happened. After a little bit to collect myself, I excuse myself, telling them I gotta use the can. I go upstairs to Candice's room, deciding the best start to resolving this whole mess is talking to her first about what happened, why it was a mistake, etc. I knock on the door, and she tells me to come in. Entering the room and seeing it in light for the first time, it strikes me how this is so obviously a little girl's room. She has boyband posters and stuffed animals everywhere and oh god I violated this innocent girl what the f**k is wrong with meeeeee.... I feel like ten thousand knives are rapidly stabbing me in the solar plexus. I sit down, and she is all smiles. God, what could she possibly be thinking? How could she have even taken what happened last night? She's thirteen years old for Christ's sake, it's not like she's at the age and maturity level to be totally cool with a one night stand or casual sex. I mean, sh*t, this was most likely her first time with a guy. I deflowered this girl and now she probably thinks she's in love with me. I knew before that she sorta crushed on me a bit, but I always politely rebuffed her attempts at flirtation in the past. Now, I have to tell this girl I don't love her, nothing magical or special happened to us last night. I have to tell her I only did what I did because I was high on hallucinogens and that it was a terrible mistake and can never happen again and if she wants to tell the police and send me to jail or whatever I accept that. And she's just sitting there cutely and innocently smiling, wondering what I want to say. So, I begin gingerly with "About last night..." but before I could go any further with that thought, she giggles and says "Oh, Mike told me all about it. You must've been really drunk, wow, you started eating lard?" I... what? She continues on "I wished I would've seen that, it would've been hilarious. Too bad I went to my friend's house last night, eh?" Too bad I went to my friend's house... (Apparently, the "Candice" I f**ked in the ass wasn't even really there!) So, uh, I guess I hallucinated the entire experience with her? Holy sh*t, I have never been more happy that I had just hallucinated some bullsh*t. The thought occurs to me that I may have, in fact, violated one of her possessions or at least just rubbed one out on her bed. Which is still awful, but orders of f**king magnitude better than what I had thought happened before. I give a glance around the room, at her bed in particular, dreading seeing a big ole stain of my man-jam on the sheets or something. Nope, looks clear. So, I make up some bullsh*t, tell her how I found out I had smashed the china cabinet (another thing she laughs about) and I just wanted to make sure I hadn't wrecked anything of hers.... (like her ass) She laughs about it, looks around, shrugs and tells me everything looks fine. I let out a sigh of relief on a level she doesn't even understand, and I go back downstairs. I have a beer and some burgers with the fellows, and tell exactly none of them what I thought I had done last night. To this day, I've never told anyone who knows Mike or Candice what my hallucinations were. I do know one thing for absolute sure, though. A part of this whole experience I will carry with me for the rest of my life...

If I ever see that f**king raccoon again, I will kill him. I STILL DON'T HAVE HIS F**KING MONEY!