The Bad Bunny San Diego Trip

Our flight was scheduled for the early hours of the morning. As the minutes ticked away and the moment approached to leave our apartment for the airport, I could feel my nerves fraying at the edges. In a misguided attempt to calm myself down without bringing weed on the trip, I had purchased a batch of edibles the night before. Little did I know how badly I had underestimated their power. As the taxi approached the airport, I committed the grave error of eating the rest of the entire bag—about 600mg of THC. We made our way through TSA, and I was already a bundle of nerves, but at least I was ready to get the whole process over with. It wasn’t until we boarded the plane that my situation took a turn for the worse. Sweat started to pour down my face, and I knew I was in for a rough ride. With the flight being almost six hours long, the inescapable reality of my situation began to sink in. Claustrophobia set in as the doors closed, and the 600mg of THC suddenly hit me like a train wreck. The plane began to take off, and panic gripped me like a vice. The voices in my head screamed at the top of their lungs, “You’re about to die!”. I clenched onto the armrests of my seat, praying for the voices to stop. “The plane is going to go down! Just die already!”. A severe panic attack washed over me, and within minutes of taking off, I became even more fearful that the plane would have to be grounded because of my own inability to cope. Desperate for relief, I made my way to the bathroom, washing my face and hoping that the cacophony of voices inside my head would stop. I just wanted to make it through this nightmare flight without ruining everyone’s trip. But as I returned to my seat, the full weight of what I had done hit me. Having ingested so much THC before boarding the flight, there was no one who could bring me down from this anxiety attack I was experiencing. For the next six hours, I was trapped in my own personal Twilight Zone, and I was the unwilling star of the show. Thoughts of never seeing my daughter again filled my head, along with the fear that this would be the last time Brenna and I would wake up together. Every negative thought a person could possibly think flooded my mind, and the choir of voices laughed as they guided me toward mental suicide. I covered my face with a blanket, trying my best to forget where I was and what was happening, but nothing worked. For six grueling hours, I sat there, in and out of consciousness, wavering back and forth on the life and death of Alex “King Roach” Montañez. The thought of dying before I could show my daughter what I had done with my life brought me to tears. As the flight finally landed and we exited the plane, I caught my reflection in a mirror and was barely recognizable. Those six hours seemed to have aged me a decade. While I was grateful to have my feet back on solid ground, I knew our trip would be short-lived, and I would have to endure this torment all over again on the return flight home.

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