A Safe, Effective Method for Inducing Psychosis
November 2, 2008
Kingsley Amis, in his survey of hangover cures, draws a distinction and writes separate prescriptions for the physical and metaphysical ravages of alcohol abuse. The general tone of his suggestions is grim — roughly, ‘deal with it’ — and the only one that made any sense to me was Samuel Coleridge’s: six fried eggs and a glass of laudanum. I would probably skip the eggs.
What Amis neglected to mention was that going on a good, seven-day bender is a perfectly legal method of sending oneself into the spiraling depths of a psychotic nightmare.
A time ago, I was at the liquor store when, in the midst of my purchase, two young gents, who appeared to be solid with the clerk, asked me a question:
- Hey man, you do acid?
- No.
- Don’t you like to get looped, though?
- Oh, I get loopy.
- What on, man?
(Here I made a vague gesture with the bottle I had acquired)
- You mean, you trip on booze?
- Straight trippin’, Billy.
Now for the benefit of the reading public, I will present A Safe, Effective (and Legal) Method for Inducing Psychosis:
I find this works better if you don’t set out to do it consciously (people tend to get overeager, and as a result, end up with a run-of-the-mill headache, which simply won’t do); instead, upon waking on a Monday after a weekend of semi-heavy carousing, go to the mirror and take a long, firm look (this image will be used as a sort of mental anchor at the end of the week). Have a bowl of cereal. If you have a job, go to it. Drink three beers at lunch (no hard liquor just yet). If the barkeep presents you with a menu, politely decline. After work have a bowl of spaghetti and put away a twelve pack while watching TV and smoking. Watch something cheerful, laugh (recalling this lightness of mood later in the week will cause you a fit of schizoid-like panic). Repeat above everyday up to Friday (what you want is to gradually wear down your body’s tissue — what I like to call ‘the fiber of your being’ –, and impair its ability to heal). On Friday night make an appearance in public. Be easy and dashing. Have plenty of witty remarks nearby. Light a cigarette for a lady. Drink Martinis. Wake up somewhere new and interesting. On Saturday morning knock back something powerful (Recommendation: Fill tumbler with ice. Pour vodka to the halfway mark. Top with a nice Chardonnay). Keep going; by Saturday night it won’t really matter what you do; whatever it happens to be, keep at it as long as you possibly can — and try to hold everything down.
If you’ve performed these tasks correctly, you should wake up at some ungodly hour on Sunday morning with an unpleasant current running through your body and your eyes fixed steadily on nothing in particular. During the course of the day you will try to eat, or nourish yourself otherwise, but it will be of no use. You will desire company to distract you from your interior monologue, but your friends will not be eager to see you. Perhaps in a moment of desperation you will try a nip, but find even its scent foul. At around 10:30 PM you will make the bold pronouncement that you are going go to bed early, yes, yes, it was a rough weekend, and a little R+R is just what the doctor ordered. At 6:30 AM or so you might get a half-an-hour of light sleep after having undergone eight hours of severe mental anxiety. Hang on tight: the tightness in the chest, shortness of breath, aural and visual hallucinations, oppressive guilt, paranoia, and fever are all part of the ride.
Try not to pull out too much hair, and for God’s sake don’t tear at your flesh!
