Ever since witnessing a bad mushroom trip at 14, I've had one drug rule: no psychedelics when I'm in a bad emotional place. It's a good rule in theory -- responsible, even -- but in practice I'm 1000% more unhinged after taking mental inventory of myself. It's a Virgo thing, or an anxiety thing, or an "Am I Too Old For Drugs" thing. I have to wonder if people in good emotional places even bother with this level of masochistic self-assessment, or drugs in general.
I asked myself this question as I made my way to the Aspire Center for Health and Wellness in NYC. A month ago I'd received an email from the center, subject line: Get High without Drugs (& Unlock Creativity). Click bait for ex-stoners. Click click click. Inside was an announcement that the Lucia No. 03 Hypnogogic Light Machine was coming to town for two days. The light's website told me it "allows an immersion into your own inner consciousness; a place of unimaginable peace and beauty."
Except, on the day of my appointment, my inner consciousness was a pile of hot garbage. In recent months, my anxiety has become so pronounced that I can no longer pretend it's a trendy version of stress. My jaw is perma-clenched; I'm ever aware of my heart rate; my stomach acid sends stabs of pain up the left side of my body. If I had scheduled an actual drug trip, I would've called out sick. As I rode the subway, I wondered if the light would induce the heart attack my anxiety tells me is lurking in my future. Would an EMT volunteer have to wheel me out of the Aspire Center for Health and Wellness on a gurney?