Editor’s Note: “Because I Got High” content consists of community story submissions and does not represent the views of The Collegian or its editorial board. The Collegian does not promote underage or excessive substance use or impairment for the purpose of creating a submission.

The best friend scaries 

Long ago, I used to get so anxious after smoking weed that I refused to smoke with anyone. The only exception, aside from indulging alone, was if I could smoke with my best friend, and she was the same way. We couldn’t smoke with anyone else if it wasn’t with each other. So one day I was at my bestie’s apartment, and her roommate’s boyfriend brought out a blunt for all of us to share. My best friend and I were going round after round of puff-puff-pass when I got very high. I could feel my anxiety getting the best of me, so I casually stepped out and hid in the kitchen. Less than 30 seconds later, my best friend entered the kitchen, and we both just started laughing like we got busted for leaving the smoke sesh. But then we both started to realize how uncomfortable we were making each other. I said, “Dude, I’m sorry, but you’re even making me nervous,” and we both ended up in her room with a massive pillow barricade to separate ourselves and make it feel like we were alone until we were ready to talk to each other again.

Plasma low, brain high

I took a dab after donating plasma when I am typically a flower-only type of girl. On top of that, I did it while my dinner was cooking before I ate it. Immediately, I knew I had to lie down but got up shortly after to finish cooking dinner, only to fall to the ground, unable to see, and I literally became incoherent. I had to crawl to the fridge to get some sustenance, and my roommates finished cooking my raviolis for me. I couldn’t tell anything that was going on, and when I eventually made it to bed, I ended up sleeping for 14 hours — and it was my 21st. Moral of the story: Wait the recommended two hours after donating plasma to smoke, and make sure it’s not on an empty stomach.

Ganja ghosts

One time I got so high, I ended up ghost hunting in a cemetery with my best friend. After hotboxing the whip and smoking a variety of Mary Jane, we found ourselves in a spooky situation. Now, my friend was all about ghost hunting, but not me. Paranoia kicked in as an eerie feeling creeped among the shadows. Despite not catching any spirits, we were ghosting the ganja.

To submit stories, email cannabis@collegian.com or fill out our Google Form, which is linked alongside guidelines in our Letter from the Editor.