My father once ate so many edibles he thought he was dying, I remember him laying face up on the couch briefly grasping at imaginary floating objects before yelling “IS THIS A DREAM?!?” “AM I DYING?!?”
Now, you can't really overdose on pot, you just sort of go goofy, become tired and then fall asleep. But it's common for people to overdo it on edibles. Digestion time varies from person to person, but on average, you get one to three hours, after eating, before you feel anything. A lot can happen in an hour or three. So, people sit there in the first hour, a dose or two in and not yet feeling it. And they keep eating. And then it hits them like a freight train and they think that perhaps, death is imminent. Perhaps, like my father they wonder aloud if they are dreaming and/or dying. Many, many times.
The Non-Scientific, science is below. I attempted to have him recreate the event and walk me through the timeline.
If you've never been high, maybe this will illuminate something. If you have, well, hey there's probably not much new here. But I can tell you this, that guy loves baked goods when they have weed in 'em. Loves 'em.
10 minutes after dosage: “I feel nothing. The bread was delicious and the brownies were even better. The bread even rivaled that which my mom used to prepare for me, it was that good.”
20 minutes after dosage: He admits he still doesn't feel anything and the anticipation is clearly wearing on him. “When will these things kick in?!?” He looks bored . He's watching TV, he picked up a book and I believe attempted to look for some pictures in there before tossing it aside. Bored he begins straightening up the house.
30 minutes after dosage: He asks about having a joint or perhaps drinking a beer. Wants to feel the effects from SOMETHING.
40 minutes after dosage: Though he did not drink, “I feel like I've had a single beer. Nice little buzz. Nothing over-powering. An airy sense of relaxation consumes him. He's sitting in the living room with the dog lying at his feet.
50 minutes after dosage: The dog is still lying at his feet. He has now halted communications and has spent the last five minutes staring at the dogs paws. He mumbles something about now understanding how feet work and finally gets up from his K-9 investigation to make a sandwich in the kitchen.
60 minutes after dosage: “I feel completely sober, do you have any cookies?....No? Oh yea, it was brownies, right?”
90 minutes after dosage: He is curled up on the couch under a blanket. Rubbing the fuzzy edges against his face repeatedly. The blanket he's using I believe is owned by the dog, who must think his owner is taunting him at this point.
He begins speaking quietly, talking about animals. Domestic and wild. Comparing and contrasting the lifestyle(s). His sentences are frequently interrupted by his own observations. “Oh, this blanket is SOO fuzzy!” He places a strip of the blanket in his mouth and starts gnawing his way through the cotton.
120 minutes after dosage: He looks comfortable. Says his whole body is warm and loose. He is limber. He displays his new found limber-ness eagerly. Goes back to talking to the dog about sailing ships. Begins to name these imaginary ships seeking confirmation from the dog alone at this point.
He spends five minutes coming up with ship names with the dog before procuring a half-pint of Cherry Garcia from the fridge. Placed there in anticipation of this very moment. He very nearly swallows the container whole before creating a pile of nachos on a paper plate in the microwave. What was he thinking?!?
He regularly alerts the room that he is stoned and the effects continue to increase. “Oh god, we're still moving up. It's getting.....I am getting. He is getting....more. More high. I don't need to be more high. Not good. Not bad. Just good. How do I tell my stomach that I'm good? Does my stomach even care? Why did I do this? Why don't my close fit anymore? What happened to my shirt?
150 minutes after dose: He's laughing at himself all the time. My father had spent approximately 25 minutes staring at a Netflix screen. Not actually searching for a movie, or watching anything. Just staring, blankly, at the Netflix welcome screen. He navigates through the settings, apparently having gotten lost.
He is curled back up under the blanket, shielding himself from reality. Or reality from himself. “I love you blanket”
180 minutes after dose: “I haven't been this high since I was a kid”
210 minutes after dose: “Help! I'm getting even more high than I was before. It doesn't stop and just keeps going.
240 minutes after dose: He has decided to curl up in bed with his blanky. But not before rolling around the living room floor asking if he was dreaming. Speaking, to nobody in particular about death and dreams. Questioning aloud his reality. Asking stupid questions and responding with stupider answers. He's lost it at this point. I inform him that bed might not be such a bad place after all.
245 minutes after dose: My father has kneel-ed down next to the dog and is barking at him. An effort, I can only imagine to communicate directly with the dog, on his own level. This is a site to see. He renames the dog and spends a few minutes re-training the dog to respond to it. As he gets up to walk to bed he turns back to the dog, remembering the dog had to be let out before he turned in. This exact thing happened four times. Four times he had gotten up and begun the walk down the hallway to his bedroom and four times he turned back to let the dog out. And they say people who smoke weed have issues with short term memory...
Luckily, he eventually found his way to bed. A brisk few hours after he over indulged and spent the night talking to himself and the dog while rolling around on the floor questioning reality, life and death.
On this night my father had over-dosed on cannabis. He had done so in a safe location, under supervision. I don't believe he had ever been in danger of endangering himself or harming others. He haphazardly through together copious amounts of food to consume. He laughed at anything and everything. He may have briefly had an existential crisis. If he wasn't already, he became best buds with the dog. And then a few hours later he was ready for bed. That's about it.
From an outsiders point of view it looked as if he had a blast. He however, recalls it quite differently. As if he had been truly stuck in a nightmare dream state. I am keen to believe him too, it's just that.....he had so much fun that night.