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First time tragedy

My name is Ciarán and I'm from Dublin, Ireland.

My name is Ciarán and I'm from Dublin, Ireland. This was my first trip ever and I did them is school. It was awful.
I've put in a little dialogue to set the scene

“Hey Ciarán, what’s up?”
“Alright? Look what I’ve got!”
“Excellent. When you gonna take ‘em”
“I dunno, I was gonna do ‘em at the gig last night, but I didn’t”
“You done ‘em before?”
“We bought some is Camden market on the England trip, they’re legal to sell in shops there, ya know?”
“Really? Sound!”
“Yeah, they were huge big things -Mexican I think. It was cool, it was just like being really stoned but sorta dizzy. You’re balance goes or something”
“Is that all?”
“Yeah, I dunno, they were weak ones apparently”
“This is about thirty, looks like a lot less if you ask me. They’re really dried out though, looks like a ball of pubes. I‘m thinkin’ I might do them now”
“Hahaha! Really?”
“Yeah, sure why not?”
“Good luck.”
“See ya”

(Enter toilet, gobble pubes ‘Fuckin foul’)
On to the form room….
Registration starts, getting tingly and stoned. This is deadly!
“Alright Ciaran… hey! You look fucked man!”
“Oh man, I’m on shrooms, they shouldn’t have kicked in yet though.”
“You mad bastard, why’d you do that?”
“Ah, it’s grand, I just feel great, fucking stoned”
(Run to Irish class)
(Get in the door)
“Oh, oh, oh no.”
-Suddenly -water trickling down the left side of my face. Heat and tingles, slight shivers down my spine. It was coming on strong and fast now. I turned my head sluggishly to look around the room, and by this point, it was so obvious that everyone in the class was paying attention.
“Ciarán, are you on drugs?”
“Shhh!! Yeah, oh I’m fucked!”
“Why’d you do that, oh my god”
“Come on, I don’t need this right now, not now”
-I touch my face to make sure that there wasn’t streams of warm water running down it.
But I don’t know if there is 'cause I feel wet all over.
I sit and wait for the teacher to show up.
I try to focus on my desk, my feet, the white board –Anything to anchor my senses. My floating head, the room is slowly warping now.
”Oh, shit”
(Teacher enters, announces Irish test.)
Conor Rooney shouts out-
“Ciarán’s on drugs miss!”
*Fuckin wanker*
I become increasingly paranoid, at this point.
So as everyone sits, quietly doing their Irish test, and the teacher nods off, I
Sit and change on the spot. Turn over, and watch the swirls on my Irish book.
I begin to hear the silence, really hear it. It is the weirdest, most unsettling sensation ever. It isn’t so much that I’m hearing the silence –It’s just that my hearing has become unbearably sensitive. Every cough, every scratch of a pen, that when it goes quiet, it sounds like oblivion, nothingness.
The mundane ness and stupidity of what we, as a class were doing struck me just then. The way my fried brain could see it; we were sitting there in a small classroom, healthy young, vibrant people, and we were wasting our time doing a test on a dead, subject. This morning was gone, gone forever, and all any of us had to show for it was a scrambled together Irish test and clumsy pointless chatting that only served to fuck with my head, permeating the void shocking silence. Bleak, but frenzied, I began to think that people were calling my name, whispering it. Which they in fact were, I later found out.
But this some how led to me believing that I had pissed in my trousers.
I desperately felt the surface around my crotch and legs, unable to tell if I felt moisture, because everything felt clammy and wet.
Then people began laughing behind me. -the worst possible thing they could do.
So, steeped in my internal vomiting and turmoil, I made a pathetic attempt at a test.
I looked at the heading that Ms. Campion had written on the board.
This is what it looked like to me:
¢#ˆ§®“ª¨¥ºªú– ºí¥ºªú– ºí“ºí?ú˜ˆ¨¶§§éÆæ’«“’ ‘’µí¥ ®¥
So I transcribed the scribbles ‘till it looked right, but decided against continuing.
“Can I go to see the matron Miss?”
“ ¢#¨ˆ#§¨¶ª¨º¨ˆª¶ˆ?ª!=ºªº!=–«‘æ…‘æ!=–ººª¨ˆª¶§¨§§ “
“Thanks” I said, and ran out of the room.
I began walking along the warped corridor floor, it felt like wading through a ball pit at Fun Factory. I stopped to refocus my eyes, but the floor remained warped and solid, so
I ran, out into the rain, lifted my head and held out my arms.
This gave me my bearings somehow, enough to locate the matron’s office. Right next door.
I sat on the tiny bench in the cramped corridor outside the office, with my head in my hands, when a girl from the year below me tried to engage me in convo.
You’d think that someone invading your mind like that would distress you, but on the contrary; something about her innocence and her ignorance to my inner suffering brought me back down, maybe because It showed me that at least I looked normal, and wasn’t a giant melting mess. Made me feel like it was all in my head, which was a welcome feeling.
So I went into the matron’s office and spilled my guts. Confessed everything. Now, some people look at me funny when I tell them this, as if to say “what? You just told her?” But considering my other options, I would rather be expelled than in purgatory.
Then the most amazing thing happened, the matron said that it was confidential, and that she wouldn’t tell anyone. She drove me home. Chaperoned my tripping self all the way back to my nest. Now you might think that would have been a comfort, but no. I got inside the car, and I cried. I cried for my life, it all left my body in great heaving sobs, there and then in front of this relative stranger. I felt as though life was a big chance, a lottery –and I had lost it all right there. She probed, I gave it all up, I had nothing else.
The only distraction was the cars on the motor way; their bumpers and lights like faces, and the matrons wind screen wipers like arms, all combining to make shuffling images of people doing that cheesy slow-song wave thing -See diagram A1.
When I got home I trudged to bed, looking for sanctuary from all the madness. I found none.
The pleats in my thin curtains, mixed with the shadows made face like patterns. First smiling, then snarling. So I got under my duvet and decided to txt someone -Eoin. A bit of advice later and I was melting away, listening to David Bowies experimental stuff, Scary Monsters/ Super Creeps and all that. It felt great. All my tension just slipped away and I spent a few hours looking at the blue light of my phone whilst sitting under my duvet. It felt endless but it ended, and I was reborn, fresh, awake, alive.

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