Almost immediately after moving out of my parents' place I told my mom that I smoke weed, figuring she already knew ("Never underestimate the power of denial." - Ricky Fitts). She picked me up from Vic on my way back from Shambhala, and then gave me her drug rant.
Basically, she did acid when she was 17, had a bad trip and swore off drugs since then. She smoked a bit of weed and hash back then. But can't touch it anymore because apparently she gets flashbacks. (Frankly, the way I see it, we have a word for people who get acid flashbacks 20+ years later: Liars)
As a result her body has zero resilience to drugs. Caffeine kicks her for a good solid 8 hours.
She told me in this drug talk never to do acid. Funny thing is, it was approximately 48 hours after having tried it for the first time. Had to bite my lip not to laugh at that one.
My sister told me never to do E. My dad just doesn't want me screwing up my life. Seems he's the most levelheaded when it comes to drugs. All he ever mentioned anything about drugs was asking me if drugs was responsible for my depression that ended my living-in-Van stint that forced me to move back home. Makes sense. I wouldn't want a 22-year-old freeloader drug addict living in my basement for that long either, regardless of whether or not it's your own kid. I quite honestly told him drugs had nothing to do with it.
The irony of it being that drugs were what pulled me out of it.
My parents are both pretty anti-drug. My Mom for her reasons. My Dad's reasons aren't so much that he's anti-drug, but moreso that he knows what they do, where the highlights are and where they go wrong. Mainly, he had an alcoholic father and didn't wanna do that to his kids as well. I think I agree with that. I kinda think I have to, because as a result I had a father that didn't drink or do any drugs whatsoever. Which saved me from a whole slew of familial dysfunctions, I think.
(Course, that's all speculation).
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