The first time I was lifted from Perdition by the magical electrolytes and other assorted vitamins of red-flavored shit, I was living a life centered in un-reality. The waking world, for me, had become a giant dream, and my emaciated body wasn't taking it well. A Benadryl addiction is something serious when you're popping 25 pills daily; it inspires intense hallucinations comparable to a pseudo-schizophrenia. You hear voices, see things that aren't really there, and you can feel strange things like bugs crawling under your skin and people grabbing your arm, causing you to turn to find them to no avail. It was interesting, but extremely painful. Over the course of a few weeks, I'd lost fifteen pounds and looked like a toothpick. It was only when I looked into a mirror in sobriety that I noticed this. Otherwise, I'd just morph into a zombie or goblin in the reflection and pull myself into the other side. But this time, I'd come down significantly, and the reflection spoke to me: "take your vitamins, bitch!"
I was right, but I lacked the necessary vitamins. All I had was a powder mix of red Gatorade, so I made do with that, filling a large pitcher of the stuff and slowly downing it along with saltine crackers. It took me a few days, but I reached some semblance of humanity and took back to my day to day life of the occasional J and nutmeg trip. I didn't need that brain damaging pink pill anymore, and I still don't.
You might be wondering at this point how I feel about the pinkies, and diphenhydramine. Verdict:
Benadryl can go fuck itself. I'm going to have to figure some blog stuff out, because posting these centered images is really stupid; I love it.