For many, the festive season brings a unique blend of joy and familial pressure. Writer Bunny Banyai planned a novel solution for navigating the political minefield of her family Christmas lunch: a cannabis edible. The reality, however, was a terrifying five-hour ordeal spent face-down on her bedroom floor, utterly incapacitated.
The Festive Pressure Cooker
Banyai's motivation stemmed from a classic festive dilemma. Her family gathering presented a challenging mix of personalities. Her partner's parents, whose views align with the current US administration, avoid topics like money. In stark contrast, her father, a self-described "hyper-polyglot peasant-savant," revels in discussing finances. The mix is completed by her conflict-averse mother, a politically argumentative 12-year-old daughter, and a 17-year-old largely indifferent to the family dynamic.
Facing potential conversations spanning parasite cleanses and the perils of 'wokeism', and as a non-drinker, Banyai felt an edible was a necessary tool for survival, not a mere indulgence. By mid-November, her plan was set: to be "just a little bit high" to smooth the day's edges.
A Plan Unravels: From Python Lolly to Paralysis
A neighbour, endorsing the plan, offered a 'killer python' edible lolly from her own stash, describing it as "nice and mellow" and "gentle". Despite being exhausted from a hectic December working in a bookshop and having a foreboding feeling she was "too fragile for substances," Banyai proceeded on Christmas Day.
Ignoring advice to consume only a quarter, she ate half the lolly before lunch, then impatiently gobbled the rest. The effects were swift and severe. With barely a parsnip in her stomach, her dinner plate began to warp and her cutlery became impossible to hold. As her heart pounded and her in-laws' voices distorted, she fled upstairs, collapsing in her youngest daughter's room.
Five Hours on the Floor: A Hallucinating Matriarch
Her partner moved her to their bedroom, where Banyai arranged herself face-down on the carpet. Here she remained for the next five hours, pleading for her life and vowing never to complain again, while the family continued Christmas lunch downstairs, trying to ignore the spectre of the hallucinating matriarch above them.
She received occasional visitors. Her sister-in-law, experienced with plant medicines, sat holding her hand and calmly dissuaded her from a trip to hospital, warning the bright lights would worsen her state. Her daughters, told she had a migraine, took her request for quiet as an invitation to argue furiously beside her. Banyai describes the sensation of children yelling as she wondered if she'd ever again distinguish a door from a window as a uniquely terrible experience.
The Sobering Aftermath and a Raw-Dogged Future
Miraculously, her coherence returned the moment the guests began to leave. The euphoria of being able to see again almost made the prior horror worthwhile—she had endured a terrifying internal episode to avoid a more terrifying external one.
The experience has led to a firm resolution for future festivities. This year, Banyai declares, Christmas will be "raw-dogged"—a medical term she adopts to mean no edibles, no alcohol. It will be just her, a packet of gravy granules, and the unfiltered conversation of elderly parents. A sober, if chaotic, hallelujah.
