poptarts69
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Mar 10, 2016
- Messages
- 49
This is most definitely going to be a long post.
I've always really loved drugs. When I discovered psychedelics I thought my true calling was answered. A history of depression and anxiety runs in my family, so for as long as I can remember I've tried to change the way I feel with drugs. I tried to get on SSRI's when I was younger but couldn't stop using drugs, so I found solace in weed and psychedelics. I'm 22 now, my drug use started at 15, and my experience with psychedelics started when I was 18. I used a lot of mushrooms, acid and the 2C's.
My life took a turn for the gnarly this past summer. I'm an every day stoner, constant roller, habitual slope-skiier and heavy drinker. In august I finally found a good hook for mushrooms and I added "very frequent tripper" to my list.
I went to a 3 day music festival with my buddies and it was bananas. After my great experiences I decided I wanted to cannonball into my own head for real and I bought two ounces of gold cap mushrooms.
I had read about people taking psychedelics and figuring out key issues in their lives and was really excited to be holding ancient elven communication tools in my hands. I started taking mushrooms every day and going about my life, the only way to describe it is absolutely wonderful. I felt like my best me, solving tricky problems and being more creative than usual, even tripping at the gym and while doing jiu-jitsu training. I tripped at family dinner and I tripped in the backyards of my friends houses. I felt evolved and like I finally had crossed the barriers that had been holding me back my whole life. I listened to a Joe Rogan podcast and smiled ear to ear when I heard him say, and I paraphrase, "we should all live in a community that eats mushrooms for breakfast, lunch, and dinner." I got it. I agreed wholeheartedly.
Forward to the end of the summer and I was getting ready to go back to college and one day my family was getting extra whiney so I took my bike ride out to the local park and brought along with me my one ounce of shrooms, as my mom is notorious for poking her nose around. By this time I had been taking mushrooms every day for 3 weeks with major success/fantastic stories that include nightclubs and steam room discoveries. I had one ounce left.
There surely was a little bit of tolerance built up after 3 weeks of constant shrooming and I only ate a few caps, half an eighth. It was a low-key night and I didn't really want to trip that hard, just listen to music and think about my future. I laid down under a tree and started listening to to pimp a butterfly. By this time I truly felt like King Kendrick and was enjoying my time thinking about how I was going to kick school's butt like an alpha omega destroyer of worlds. Then I got up for no apparent reason other than my stomach felt super weird, like a panic feeling. I was alone and it was around 7:00 pm with just me and the geese until I saw a man and a woman walking super slowly from behind a tree a bit aways from me with a big camera like you would see in an NFL game. I thought nothing of it and figured they were tourists taking pictures of the geese, they definitely looked like it, and laid back down. Then that horrible feeling came again and I got up and they were closer but honing in on me. The camera was facing me and they looked like they were trying to sneak up super quiet. They were closer and I got a good look at the dude's face- peoples faces morph on shrooms and this guy looked pure evil. He was visibly pissed about something and did not have good intentions. They were approaching me cautiously like lions coming down on prey in the saraha. I kept eye contact with him the entire time and felt nothing but dread. Something told me to get on my bike and get the hell out of dodge. I felt terror running through my bones and as I kicked up the kickstand and hopped on with my camelback they started reaching in their coats for something. Before they could pull it out I biked as fast as Lance Armstrong racing for a missing testicle, swerving and ducking in case I would hear bullets whizzing past my ear. I remember seeing a family with two dogs walking the way I was going and I was in a panic. I wanted to make sure I was not in shroom world and I asked them if they saw the two people over there. They said yeah and I said they're sketchy as fuck you should probably get out of here! The dogs started barking towards their direction and the family said thanks, yeah we think so too we will. I looked back and I saw the two bad people get in a small red car and turn it on.
This park is huge and each location is easily accessible by car. Where I was I couldn't get out without them driving right in front of me. I did not want to cross paths with the loon loons again so I reached a bathroom and hid in a stall. While I was biking I called 911 on gut instinct, didn't even question it once and almost couldn't believe that I did. I didn't believe it was a hallucination. I have never hallucinated that way on mushrooms or acid. I've taken high doses before and people didn't magically come out of nowhere to get me. I explained everything on the phone and even told them I was on shrooms and freaking out but that I felt I was in real danger and these people were possibly armed. I also said I wasn't tripping hard enough to hallucinate visually so they should hurry the fuck up. Eventually I heard a car park and the sketchy people had arrived at the stall. The man and the woman got out. By this point I had seen enough Dexter to figure they were probably sadistic murderers who show people their pictures before they go in for the kill. The guy was in an angry rage and was almost incomprehensible yelling crazy violent shit while the girl was trying to calm him down and ask him what they should do. I listened to them talk about how they wanted to kill me and cut me out and debate about why I deserved to die or live. I remember thinking all these thoughts in my head about why I deserved to die or live right along with them. Then another crazy thought came around and I figured it had to do something with the way I look because they were taking pictures of me with a nice camera from far away. Maybe they target people who look like me. I remember thinking all these thoughts in my head that designated if I lived or died and I even called my parents to tell them I was going to die because these crazy people were going to kill me and I couldn't fight back. I told them they could come and save me if they wanted to but it would probably be too late and they seemed like they were going to do it. They kept walking in and out of the bathroom in the park and deciding what they were going to do, then heard I was on the phone with the police and only had a little more time left before they arrived. I remember the girl convincing the guy they had to get out of there and it seemed like 10 minutes passed that they had gone before the cops arrived. I coincidentally was thinking the thought "I do jiu-jitsu and I can kick his ass if he comes in here" before he left.
The popo fished me out and questioned me and I remember giving up my ounce of mushrooms to them. I had done more than an ounce in three weeks and it was glorious. I felt alright giving it up for what I had just gone through. It all turned out okay and we talked and they were super cool, they said it was no biggie since I wasn't selling. The shrooms were in a giant vacuum sealed bag, they took them and left and gave me a little ticket.
I only tripped one more time after that when I found half an eighth in a pants pocket and drove 9 hours to school. It was a sweet car ride. Nothing happened with "people trying to kill me" and I had another good mushroom time. My dilemma is I can't figure out if what happened to me was real or made up. It didn't effect my life in any other way other than that I was a little shaken up from the vivid memories and had a tiny bit of a harder time looking at people in the face. It was nothing noticeable. People like my parents didn't believe me and unbelieveably my life got even crazier after that.
I moved into a new place at school and had to take a weed tolerance break since I had been maxing myself out on the highest dose of edibles. I also met with a counselor to process what had happened to me. After I told him my life story he told me I was "tapped out" from drugs. I heeded his warning and took a sobriety break of 4 weeks. Then I started taking a bunch of good ecstasy (shout out to green snapchats and orange teslas) and baking edibles in my kitchen. A girl came down to visit me and ecstasy happened, then we smoked and I broke my weed tolerance break. I remember feeling like I had outgrown weed in a way since I wasn't getting high anymore. A whole week went by that I was so fucked up I didn't sleep and started hallucinating. I was eating cakes of weed all day and going to school but not being able to sleep at night. I've heard weed is a hallucinogen in high doses (thanks again Joe Rogan) but I never really experienced anything crazy other than seeing bunnies when I would close my eyes. I started seeing ghosts in my room at night and dead people when I closed my eyes, hearing video game noises whenever I would do anything in real life and even the voices of my friends giving me advice. I thought I could hear everyones thoughts in my apartment complex and I thought I was going crazy. I would venture out into the night and I would experience weird things like people parking their cars, coming out, making eye contact with me, and then when it broke they would look super confused. I genuinely thought someone was after me and I started getting super paranoid. I remember trying to fall asleep on the sidewalk and I was scared someone was going to do a drive-by. I went out there because I thought that at 1:35 something crazy was going to happen to my roommate and I couldn't be there for it. I then hearing cats meowing from a running car parked a little away, got up to see it was a car full of girls with a dude driving, hearing "oh shit" and they drove away. During that time I was coincidentally thinking about how I didn't want to live where I lived anymore and I would be much more down to live in a house full of girls like some of my friends did.
I finally checked myself into the hospital since I felt like I was going super crazy. There was a waiting line of 3 hours and I was with two friends that drove me but all I wanted to do was listen to music in my headphones. I was outside with a blanket over my head and there was a big group of 20 people outside all hysterical because someone in their family had just died and then one of them pointed at me and started yelling "its his fault!". My friends then took me to a different hospital and I was given sedatives. I explained to the nurse all the crazy stuff I was seeing and hearing and how I thought someone was after me. I was transferred to a psych ward and given a diagnosis of "drug induced psychosis".
My roommate in the psych ward was a trip. I was really confused with my diagnosis because I hadn't tripped in over a month. All I had been doing was drinking, smoking and eating weed, and taking ecstasy. In addition to not sleeping for a whole week. At the end of the week I'll note too that I almost had my first panic attack ever on the phone with my parents right before I checked myself into the hospital, thinking I was going crazy. The four days I spent in the psych ward were the scariest I've ever had to do, people in there were actually crazy, calling me names, telling me they were going to kill me for my money and shit. I did make one friend though and didn't know why she was in there but we talked and seemed like the only normal people there. Note that I was still fucked on drugs when I was in there and I thought I had entered a level of consciousness where I had to start giving back in order to avoid being killed by people that wanted a friend in the psych ward but I was so out of it that I couldn't be one. I started doing puzzles with people and laughing and some stories. I would talk to my mom and dad on the phone and eventually my mom came to get me out.
After I got out I thought I could literally read minds. My mom and I drove back home and I started blabbering incoherent nonsense about stuff I thought she was thinking about. I was a mess. The people at the hospital recommended that I check into a chemical dependency program since I didn't want to go to rehab and we thought it'd work out alright. I finished the program and my counselor lady told me I shouldn't do drugs because she doesn't know how I'm alive. I listened to her and have been clean since.
I need some help processing this. It's a lot but really important for me to figure out. I'm going through life problems right now and all I really want to do is get a bunch of mushrooms again and figure out why I'm feeling the way that I do and get some guidance. I've been living a sober life but I have problems that I want to explore with psychedelics. I also want to go to music festivals with my friends and trip balls. My mind keeps telling me there is more to learn from psychedelics. I want to keep tripping but I don't know if I should. Like if I reached my limit or something. If the thing at the park was really real, real people who were bad and I was in a wrong place wrong time kind of thing, I'll think taking mushrooms again is a safe bet because I never had a bad trip. Bad things happened to me while I was tripping. Like a flat tire. And people pass out in my arms. If the thing at the park wasn't real, and I really had just done too many mushrooms and destroyed my brain, even though I've never ever heard of anybody having a trip like that, I'd be hesitant of taking more. If it was real then I would figure that my hallucinations back at school were from lack of sleep and heavy use of other drugs combined with flashbacks of what happened to me at the park. All the crazy hallucinations happened in that one week, nothing happened when I was sober for 4 weeks. I was toast once I broke my weed break. Is this how people go crazy? Should I not do drugs anymore? I love psychedelics and would be sad to see us part. I met with some friends who are sober months later and one of them said that shrooms turned on him too and told him he had to kill his brother. Nothing like what happened to me.
Thanks for all the reading and I really value your input! This is important to me and any feedback is greatly appreciated. Cheers!
I've always really loved drugs. When I discovered psychedelics I thought my true calling was answered. A history of depression and anxiety runs in my family, so for as long as I can remember I've tried to change the way I feel with drugs. I tried to get on SSRI's when I was younger but couldn't stop using drugs, so I found solace in weed and psychedelics. I'm 22 now, my drug use started at 15, and my experience with psychedelics started when I was 18. I used a lot of mushrooms, acid and the 2C's.
My life took a turn for the gnarly this past summer. I'm an every day stoner, constant roller, habitual slope-skiier and heavy drinker. In august I finally found a good hook for mushrooms and I added "very frequent tripper" to my list.
I went to a 3 day music festival with my buddies and it was bananas. After my great experiences I decided I wanted to cannonball into my own head for real and I bought two ounces of gold cap mushrooms.
I had read about people taking psychedelics and figuring out key issues in their lives and was really excited to be holding ancient elven communication tools in my hands. I started taking mushrooms every day and going about my life, the only way to describe it is absolutely wonderful. I felt like my best me, solving tricky problems and being more creative than usual, even tripping at the gym and while doing jiu-jitsu training. I tripped at family dinner and I tripped in the backyards of my friends houses. I felt evolved and like I finally had crossed the barriers that had been holding me back my whole life. I listened to a Joe Rogan podcast and smiled ear to ear when I heard him say, and I paraphrase, "we should all live in a community that eats mushrooms for breakfast, lunch, and dinner." I got it. I agreed wholeheartedly.
Forward to the end of the summer and I was getting ready to go back to college and one day my family was getting extra whiney so I took my bike ride out to the local park and brought along with me my one ounce of shrooms, as my mom is notorious for poking her nose around. By this time I had been taking mushrooms every day for 3 weeks with major success/fantastic stories that include nightclubs and steam room discoveries. I had one ounce left.
There surely was a little bit of tolerance built up after 3 weeks of constant shrooming and I only ate a few caps, half an eighth. It was a low-key night and I didn't really want to trip that hard, just listen to music and think about my future. I laid down under a tree and started listening to to pimp a butterfly. By this time I truly felt like King Kendrick and was enjoying my time thinking about how I was going to kick school's butt like an alpha omega destroyer of worlds. Then I got up for no apparent reason other than my stomach felt super weird, like a panic feeling. I was alone and it was around 7:00 pm with just me and the geese until I saw a man and a woman walking super slowly from behind a tree a bit aways from me with a big camera like you would see in an NFL game. I thought nothing of it and figured they were tourists taking pictures of the geese, they definitely looked like it, and laid back down. Then that horrible feeling came again and I got up and they were closer but honing in on me. The camera was facing me and they looked like they were trying to sneak up super quiet. They were closer and I got a good look at the dude's face- peoples faces morph on shrooms and this guy looked pure evil. He was visibly pissed about something and did not have good intentions. They were approaching me cautiously like lions coming down on prey in the saraha. I kept eye contact with him the entire time and felt nothing but dread. Something told me to get on my bike and get the hell out of dodge. I felt terror running through my bones and as I kicked up the kickstand and hopped on with my camelback they started reaching in their coats for something. Before they could pull it out I biked as fast as Lance Armstrong racing for a missing testicle, swerving and ducking in case I would hear bullets whizzing past my ear. I remember seeing a family with two dogs walking the way I was going and I was in a panic. I wanted to make sure I was not in shroom world and I asked them if they saw the two people over there. They said yeah and I said they're sketchy as fuck you should probably get out of here! The dogs started barking towards their direction and the family said thanks, yeah we think so too we will. I looked back and I saw the two bad people get in a small red car and turn it on.
This park is huge and each location is easily accessible by car. Where I was I couldn't get out without them driving right in front of me. I did not want to cross paths with the loon loons again so I reached a bathroom and hid in a stall. While I was biking I called 911 on gut instinct, didn't even question it once and almost couldn't believe that I did. I didn't believe it was a hallucination. I have never hallucinated that way on mushrooms or acid. I've taken high doses before and people didn't magically come out of nowhere to get me. I explained everything on the phone and even told them I was on shrooms and freaking out but that I felt I was in real danger and these people were possibly armed. I also said I wasn't tripping hard enough to hallucinate visually so they should hurry the fuck up. Eventually I heard a car park and the sketchy people had arrived at the stall. The man and the woman got out. By this point I had seen enough Dexter to figure they were probably sadistic murderers who show people their pictures before they go in for the kill. The guy was in an angry rage and was almost incomprehensible yelling crazy violent shit while the girl was trying to calm him down and ask him what they should do. I listened to them talk about how they wanted to kill me and cut me out and debate about why I deserved to die or live. I remember thinking all these thoughts in my head about why I deserved to die or live right along with them. Then another crazy thought came around and I figured it had to do something with the way I look because they were taking pictures of me with a nice camera from far away. Maybe they target people who look like me. I remember thinking all these thoughts in my head that designated if I lived or died and I even called my parents to tell them I was going to die because these crazy people were going to kill me and I couldn't fight back. I told them they could come and save me if they wanted to but it would probably be too late and they seemed like they were going to do it. They kept walking in and out of the bathroom in the park and deciding what they were going to do, then heard I was on the phone with the police and only had a little more time left before they arrived. I remember the girl convincing the guy they had to get out of there and it seemed like 10 minutes passed that they had gone before the cops arrived. I coincidentally was thinking the thought "I do jiu-jitsu and I can kick his ass if he comes in here" before he left.
The popo fished me out and questioned me and I remember giving up my ounce of mushrooms to them. I had done more than an ounce in three weeks and it was glorious. I felt alright giving it up for what I had just gone through. It all turned out okay and we talked and they were super cool, they said it was no biggie since I wasn't selling. The shrooms were in a giant vacuum sealed bag, they took them and left and gave me a little ticket.
I only tripped one more time after that when I found half an eighth in a pants pocket and drove 9 hours to school. It was a sweet car ride. Nothing happened with "people trying to kill me" and I had another good mushroom time. My dilemma is I can't figure out if what happened to me was real or made up. It didn't effect my life in any other way other than that I was a little shaken up from the vivid memories and had a tiny bit of a harder time looking at people in the face. It was nothing noticeable. People like my parents didn't believe me and unbelieveably my life got even crazier after that.
I moved into a new place at school and had to take a weed tolerance break since I had been maxing myself out on the highest dose of edibles. I also met with a counselor to process what had happened to me. After I told him my life story he told me I was "tapped out" from drugs. I heeded his warning and took a sobriety break of 4 weeks. Then I started taking a bunch of good ecstasy (shout out to green snapchats and orange teslas) and baking edibles in my kitchen. A girl came down to visit me and ecstasy happened, then we smoked and I broke my weed tolerance break. I remember feeling like I had outgrown weed in a way since I wasn't getting high anymore. A whole week went by that I was so fucked up I didn't sleep and started hallucinating. I was eating cakes of weed all day and going to school but not being able to sleep at night. I've heard weed is a hallucinogen in high doses (thanks again Joe Rogan) but I never really experienced anything crazy other than seeing bunnies when I would close my eyes. I started seeing ghosts in my room at night and dead people when I closed my eyes, hearing video game noises whenever I would do anything in real life and even the voices of my friends giving me advice. I thought I could hear everyones thoughts in my apartment complex and I thought I was going crazy. I would venture out into the night and I would experience weird things like people parking their cars, coming out, making eye contact with me, and then when it broke they would look super confused. I genuinely thought someone was after me and I started getting super paranoid. I remember trying to fall asleep on the sidewalk and I was scared someone was going to do a drive-by. I went out there because I thought that at 1:35 something crazy was going to happen to my roommate and I couldn't be there for it. I then hearing cats meowing from a running car parked a little away, got up to see it was a car full of girls with a dude driving, hearing "oh shit" and they drove away. During that time I was coincidentally thinking about how I didn't want to live where I lived anymore and I would be much more down to live in a house full of girls like some of my friends did.
I finally checked myself into the hospital since I felt like I was going super crazy. There was a waiting line of 3 hours and I was with two friends that drove me but all I wanted to do was listen to music in my headphones. I was outside with a blanket over my head and there was a big group of 20 people outside all hysterical because someone in their family had just died and then one of them pointed at me and started yelling "its his fault!". My friends then took me to a different hospital and I was given sedatives. I explained to the nurse all the crazy stuff I was seeing and hearing and how I thought someone was after me. I was transferred to a psych ward and given a diagnosis of "drug induced psychosis".
My roommate in the psych ward was a trip. I was really confused with my diagnosis because I hadn't tripped in over a month. All I had been doing was drinking, smoking and eating weed, and taking ecstasy. In addition to not sleeping for a whole week. At the end of the week I'll note too that I almost had my first panic attack ever on the phone with my parents right before I checked myself into the hospital, thinking I was going crazy. The four days I spent in the psych ward were the scariest I've ever had to do, people in there were actually crazy, calling me names, telling me they were going to kill me for my money and shit. I did make one friend though and didn't know why she was in there but we talked and seemed like the only normal people there. Note that I was still fucked on drugs when I was in there and I thought I had entered a level of consciousness where I had to start giving back in order to avoid being killed by people that wanted a friend in the psych ward but I was so out of it that I couldn't be one. I started doing puzzles with people and laughing and some stories. I would talk to my mom and dad on the phone and eventually my mom came to get me out.
After I got out I thought I could literally read minds. My mom and I drove back home and I started blabbering incoherent nonsense about stuff I thought she was thinking about. I was a mess. The people at the hospital recommended that I check into a chemical dependency program since I didn't want to go to rehab and we thought it'd work out alright. I finished the program and my counselor lady told me I shouldn't do drugs because she doesn't know how I'm alive. I listened to her and have been clean since.
I need some help processing this. It's a lot but really important for me to figure out. I'm going through life problems right now and all I really want to do is get a bunch of mushrooms again and figure out why I'm feeling the way that I do and get some guidance. I've been living a sober life but I have problems that I want to explore with psychedelics. I also want to go to music festivals with my friends and trip balls. My mind keeps telling me there is more to learn from psychedelics. I want to keep tripping but I don't know if I should. Like if I reached my limit or something. If the thing at the park was really real, real people who were bad and I was in a wrong place wrong time kind of thing, I'll think taking mushrooms again is a safe bet because I never had a bad trip. Bad things happened to me while I was tripping. Like a flat tire. And people pass out in my arms. If the thing at the park wasn't real, and I really had just done too many mushrooms and destroyed my brain, even though I've never ever heard of anybody having a trip like that, I'd be hesitant of taking more. If it was real then I would figure that my hallucinations back at school were from lack of sleep and heavy use of other drugs combined with flashbacks of what happened to me at the park. All the crazy hallucinations happened in that one week, nothing happened when I was sober for 4 weeks. I was toast once I broke my weed break. Is this how people go crazy? Should I not do drugs anymore? I love psychedelics and would be sad to see us part. I met with some friends who are sober months later and one of them said that shrooms turned on him too and told him he had to kill his brother. Nothing like what happened to me.
Thanks for all the reading and I really value your input! This is important to me and any feedback is greatly appreciated. Cheers!
