Coma

I was once under the impression that my central nervous system could handle fifty grams of a Russian tranquilliser. Phenibut. Thats about a years worth at the correct dosage. I had tried it a few times and it was relaxing and mildly euphoric, similar to an English benzodiazepine. This was at doses of a gram or two.

It was Halloween and I had been drinking energy drinks throughout the day as well as my Tramadol, which was for an earlier injury involving a Thai lady who disappointedly stood on my back, which exasperated a previous injury where I winded my self pulling a wheelie, that worsened another injury where I jumped in a river landing on a rock…you get the picture, This was all in one week and my backs fucked.

Anyway, Halloween, fuelled by about ten cans of relentless and approximately two table spoons of Adrafinil I necked a tub of this eastern European wonder stuff and invited my sisters around who were both teachers and hardly drank. We watched a weird documentary and I decided to smoke again. I had a few roll ups. It was like I had never given up. I was hypomanic, which basically meant in short, I couldn’t shut up or sit still. They left.

Adrafinil is a CNS stimulant where as this Russian one was a CNS depressant. The energy drinks and Adrafinil could explain my psychomotor agitation, elation and impulsiveness and enthusiasm and focus on the documentary and as much as I try to put in words what happened when the tranquilliser kicked in, I don’t think anyone will ever grasp what happened in my swelling brain. I’m surprised I remembered it.

I got on the bus located a seat and tried my best to stay on it. By the end of the journey I felt drunk. I had slowed down and held on to the pole the entire way. I was in Canterbury.

I made a B line for a taxi, told the taxi driver that I believed in taking care of my self and got in. The black contact lenses were making my eyes itch and I slurred incoherently at him for a while, never forgetting to assure the driver that I usually take care of my self. I hadn’t had a drink for about seventeen years or taken illicit drugs or legal highs for the same period, just large doses of Adrafinil. I needed him to understand. I got out and greeted my friend who does understand. I laid on his carpet.

instantaneously I was on a hospital bed in Canterbury cathedral surrounded by women. They called me by first name. I assumed they were prostitutes which I had seen in the past. My solicitor was there with my sisters by my side. I struggled a bit because I had tubes and a catheter stuck in and up me.

I had a severe headache but after a while It subsided. One lady kept pointing at her badge and explained that I had been in a coma since October and that I was in intensive care in a hospital in London. I found out that at my friends house I had to be restrained because I kept head butting the floor and table.

When the air ambulance arrived the medics had to Google what I had taken. And I was airlifted to London. I had a Glasgow coma score of four, which is the seconded deepest.

The sound muffed a bit and I heard deep demonic grunting and what sounded like giant cogs moving and pistons. Directly opposite me in another bed lay a geriatric aborigine lady accompanied by a human/bird hybrid witch doctor with a long slender beak looking like Thoth. My vision was blurred but I still stared at them for hours. The women kept asking me if I knew where I was.

By this time I was adamant that I was in Canterbury Cathedral. I began to hear babies crying alongside the deep demonic grunting, growling and machinery noises.

At one point in my stay three scientists in lab coats wheeled in a huge machine with an interface. It looked like something from an old Star trek set. There were dials, coloured buttons and a four foot high vagina flush with the grey metal front. It was left there slightly to my left. For some reason it didn’t phase me. I would occasionally look over at it.

A chubby nurse tended to the tube in my arm. She was harsh and quick and the bandage felt tight. I asked her if she had seen the film ‘Misery’.

In my delirious psychotic state I attended a Masonic ritual, had the most strangest shit and witnessed a birth of a silicon based head which was forever morphing into other sand structures. I was wheeled down a slope and on the way I began to panic. I didn’t know where I was heading to. I knew that there were either two things that were going to happen to me.

1) I was to be cut up and my organs harvested.
2) I was going to be genetically modified into an androgynous slave/pet for a group of wealthy Asian businessmen.

Out of the two only possibilities I was hoping for the latter. I didn’t want to die. I’d rather serve green tea and get buggered occasionally.

I arrived into a dark ward. And decided to escape. I lifted my legs up and down on the bed for a bit to strengthen them. Then got in the wheel chair. In the bath room I slowly pulled out the catheter and tore my jap’s eye.

I went berserk, picked up a drip stand and pinned a nurse against a filling cabinet. I thumped a few more before three huge black security guards appeared. The first thing one of them did was punch me on the nose and I gave up and washed the blood off me.

I was interviewed by some psychiatrists and I told them everything. I was transported to a PICU ward. It was so hectic. I had Clonazepam four times a day. And spent a month on a section 2. I spoke to my sisters about my experience and they reminded me all of what I was saying was linked to the documentary and the music was listening to on the day I suffered the brain damage.

When they read out my experience in court I tried not to laugh. Everything else was so formal then I heard ‘metallic vagina’ and I had to lower my head so they couldn’t see me giggle.

I’d give Phenibut a 3 out of 10. It’s relaxing but a bit scary at times.

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