Someone thought it would be funny to give me mushroom koolaid in the summer between high school and college.
After I stopped freaking out, I vividly remember being so clear about life in general and my future.
I would never do it again, and didn’t do it willingly, but it did sort of trigger an “I can do this” vibe in my mind.
I had to meet my dad at church the next morning and I can tell you this: when the hellfire and brimstone preachers is flailing his arms around and you are still seeing trails, you just have to enjoy it, or else it would make you crazy.
Mushroom koolaid? It must have tasted awful. I think standard procedure in my time was to choke down those awful tasting things, and wash it down with whatever it took to get rid of that taste.