CLUB
TO CLINIC
Words ASHLEY OERMAN & LAURA SILVERMAN
Photographs JOBE LAWRENSONS
amantha stands on the edge of
the Grand Canyon, looking down.
Her toes are creeping just over the
precipice and she waves at all the
people looking up at her. They’re
standing on fiery rocks, dressed
in long robes and silver armour,
their helmets glinting in the sun.
This is her kingdom. She’s their queen. She
tells them that, from now on, everything will
be different... in a good way.
Then she hears a voice. Tinny and metallic;
fuzzy as if spoken through a microphone.
“Hi, Sam. How are you feeling?”
It’s hard for her to speak, so she raises one
thumb, knowing that the voice is watching her.
She opens her eyes – looks around. She’s in
a small rectangular room that’s painted blue.
There’s an IV drip hooked up to her arm. In
front of her is a framed painting of a beach.
She closes her eyes again and suddenly she’s
on the sand in front of that very ocean. From
now on – she hopes – everything will be
different... in a great way.
Outside the room, Samantha’s mother waits,
biting her nails. Because while Samantha is
on a drug-induced trip, the voice speaking
to her and the IV drip aren’t hallucinations.
The voice belongs to her doctor. The drip is i“Party drugs” are being hailed
by some as the new miracle cure
for a range of mental-health
issues. But can it really be that
simple? Cosmopolitan investigates
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