I took speed as a teenager and mostly had a great time, although the night I mixed it with a litre of wine through a straw I had some weird hallucinations. Fingernails peeling off, lift doors opening in the wall where there was no lift, etc.
But the oddest was getting accidentally twatted on secondary skunk. I visited a friend who was a heavy weed smoker, the room was thick with pungent smoke but I declined to partake. When driving home later I started to get the strangest sensation of tunnel vision - I suddenly didn't recognise where I was, and even though I made it home I didn't remember much of the journey other than the terrifying tunnel of passing trees in the dark.
The following day I went to work but had a horrible sick, hungover sensation and couldn't focus on objects properly. I mentioned to a colleague what I'd done the night before, and he pointed out that I was probably off my tits on weed.
Prescription drugs are the worst though. Most just make me shit my pants, although sertraline gave me some pretty impressive night sweats and my lungs strongly resent the presence of nitrafurantoin.
After a gallbladder op - prior to which I had begged the anaesthetist for maximum anti-emetics and no opioids, for the hardest of hardcore nausea avoidance - I found myself absolutely unable to move my limbs. For 9 hours. Other patients came and went with their knee ops and hernia ops, having tea and biscuits and being discharged, whereas I continued to lay prone in the bed gurgling incoherently wondering if they'd removed my brain. Turned out they'd given me fentanyl. People actually take that stuff for fun didn't they? Fuck that, it was hideous. Even worse, the hospital staff thought I was faking so I could stay in. What bloody planet are they on that they would think I wanted to be there any longer than necessary?