Ever since reading an interview last week in Rolling Stone with everyone's favorite musical hedonist, Father John Misty (in which he candidly spoke about dropping acid for his depression and anxiety issues), my head has been in a tailspin.

If you missed the interview, Father John Misty admitted that the option of prescribed anti-depressants wasn't for him because he has no intention of quitting drinking. And his not fearing that he would pull a Syd Barrett or Brian Wilson because he knows he's not predisposed to schizophrenia seems pretty rational. In fact, everything he said in the interview — in which he was presently hippie flipped — was intelligent, insightful and thought provoking.

I talked about it with several of my co-workers who all suggested dubiously that maybe his confession was for theater and that maybe it only adds to the mythology of FJM. I, however, being a fast walker and a slow talker, bought every word.

I'm aware of the early findings of LSD in treatment of mental illness. In the United States, the psychoanalyst Sidney Cohen first took the drug on Oct. 12, 1955, and expected to have an unpleasant trip, but was surprised when he experienced "no confused, disoriented delirium." Cohen reported that the "problems and strivings, the worries and frustrations of everyday life vanished; in their place was a majestic, sunlit, heavenly inner quietude." Way to go, Sid.

LSD and Ecstasy began life as medicines for therapy, and new trials are testing whether they could be again. Chances are that you won't be given a dose at the Minute Clinic any time soon.

Chuckling as I googled "Acid trip," these fun possible scenarios popped up in my search:

Tripping acid by yourself.
Tripping while on your period.
Tripping with your boyfriend.
Tripping acid while sick.

I'm not personally wired for hallucinogens. So the thought of acid evening out my anxiety has me tweaking.

Regrettably, my first trip was not a George Harrison experience of enlightenment. I went to see a band I won't mention in the Entry, and for the first half-hour, I thought they were all wearing huge animal-mascot heads. The doors in my mind did not fling open with love and vivid romance. I realized I hadn't swallowed in 12 minutes, panicked and ditched my friend and took the bus home, which felt like it took five years to reach my stop.

Different strokes, people.

I also couldn't help but laugh remembering my friend Chris in high school describing an acid trip: He had just gotten his learner's permit and was bugging his parents to let him drive the family car. Walking in the door one day like the shirtless guy freaking out up front at Altamont, Chris's dad tossed the car keys to him to go for a spin — except in his present shroomy state, it looked like his dad was throwing a chainsaw at his face. He ducked and hit the floor.

I have no puritanical judgment about drug use; it would simply be too hypocritical. God knows back in my days when I had a relentless affinity for pills, I felt fully operational and confident enough that I could have driven a school bus full of senior citizens through Manhattan.

But these days, I guess I've tuned out and dropped in.

Resources

Father John Misty

Father John Misty Was on LSD During This Interview (Rolling Stone)

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