Monday, November 15, 1982
I had a bad drug experience last night; smoking only my second joint of the evening I took a big drag, drawing the smoke into my mouth then hissss, inhaling it through my teeth and deep into my lungs. Instant effect, not really very pleasant but a strange semi-nauseous sensation in the depths of my head, as though I was about to be sick, so I staggered into the toilet and stuck my fingers down my throat thinking perhaps throwing up would make me feel better . . . This failed, so I crashed onto my bed and lay there feeling vulnerable and weak. Downstairs Ian came in and reported back to the others in Barry’s room, then Lindsey was there asking me if I was OK, a “do you want anything?,” a ribald comment from Pete, and Lindsey half runs-half jumps for the door as Pete, jeering, closes it to leave; she grabs the door handle to either stop him from going or from shutting it, I couldn’t figure out which. Susie later said I looked green as I lay there staring at the ceiling.
Afterwards, even though I’d recovered sufficiently to go back out amidst the smoke and dope smells, I felt emotionally tender as though all I wanted was an excuse to show everyone how I really felt. Perhaps I was tired of bottling myself up for so long; I was so confused and in such turmoil inside that I sat staring hard and angry at Barry’s bed just inches from my face. Confused . . . frustrated . . . so inept at socially vital activities.
Today I had two tutorials, American Civilisation and Philosophical Thinking, the latter excruciatingly embarrassing asr I was the only one of four who had nothing to say. I hadn’t done a stroke of work so I suppose I got my just desserts. I was totally lost: came away in a foul self-piteous mood, hating myself and everyone else and just wanting to lock myself away in my room to sort things out.