BeffJuckley
Greenlighter
- Joined
- Aug 3, 2012
- Messages
- 27
Two weeks ago I acquired 250mg of a brown, clumpy, slightly gooey substance that was 4-aco-dmt in the mail. I started with an allergy test, about 6mg, and came to the conclusion it was very much like mushrooms, one of the few psychoactive substances I care to take. I have never had a bad trip on any psychedelic before. Perhaps I thought it couldn't happen, or that it only happened to the inexperienced. I was terribly wrong.
I tripped two days after the allergy test on 18 mg. It was very enjoyable and I had a good time. I recently bought a bike and went riding and it was just too much fun. The visuals however were somewhat mild which made me want to take a higher dose next time
So about five days later I decided to take 25mg. This was much more to my liking. I was a bit worried I didn't wait long enough between trips but was proved wrong in the best way possible. I rented Fear And Loathing and was laughing hysterically the entire time. The visuals were much more pronounced and playing guitar was a blast as usual. I decided this substance was the stuff for me.
My trip yesterday however, was the worst experience of my entire life. I am not exaggerating when I say this.
After working a morning shift, I got home and realized my girlfriend would be at work for seven hours or so. Although my last trip was only four days earlier, I thought if I took 30mg, perhaps it was displace the tolerance to the drug and I would have a good time. I briefly considered taking 25mg again, but thought 'why not?' and tossed another 5mg clump into the glass of water, I drank it down, and immediately after doing so, thought 'well, it's too late to turn back now'. This was around 5:00 PM. This attitude and the brief time between trips is what I believe caused this terrible experience. It was an extremely reckless endeavor, and it wasn't until afterwards that I realized I was treating this compound like weed or alcohol, both drugs with considerably less detrimental effects to the psyche.
The trip started fine. I tried to get into my typical giddy, excited mood when coming up on a psychedelic, but I definitely had to force it. I just wasn't feeling it, but there was nothing I could do to stop it, so I just had to go with the flow. I got on my bike and decided to ride around aimlessly as I normally do, and it was really nice for a bit.
When I got back to my apartment however, I began to really feel the compound. I made my way to my studio to attempt to listen to tunes or play guitar, but when I sat down on the futon, it all started turning sour. I stared into space looking at the shifting visuals (which were obviously less pronounced than any past trips, due to tolerance no doubt.) and did so for probably 20 minutes. This however wasn't an appreciative stare gazing into the wondrous visuals, but a thousand-yard stare that you'd see in a troubled veteran or acid-casualty like Syd Barrett. It was as if I tuned out of reality completely. It took me quite a while to maintain enough mental composure to get up and move around. The reason I snapped out of this comatose was because TV commercials I heard upstairs were annoying the shit out of me. I walked upstairs, turned off the television, and then hit rock bottom.
I attempted to drink some coffee I had prepared before the bike ride, and did so with no enthusiasm. It was as if my mind was completely empty and void. It was a calm before the storm of sorts, for after this 5 minute coffee break my I completely snapped. I started wandering around the apartment and slowly dysphoria set in with a fervor. I don't even recall really 'tripping' after I left the futon, for the visuals were nearly baseline. I remember feeling very primal, and that I wanted to rip my fucking skin off and bash my skull in. I felt absolutely terrible. I was the total opposite of relaxed and didn't come to the realization that my mindset could possibly change things until much later. I went to the bathroom and must have eaten something awful the night before because I thought my body was literally falling apart. After that I remember walking from room to room cussing randomly and making awful tense contortions with my body and face, and went downstairs to lay down on the bed. It didn't help one bit, but gave me enough spare time to contemplate my life, and come to dire, irrational conclusions that everything in my life was wrong and terrible and that everyone hated me and that I've only made poor decisions. This is not true of course, but at the time I was even considering suicide, thinking that I finally went completely insane and that this would not come to an end. I remember thinking I was now like Syd Barrett, the founding member on Pink Floyd who eventually became mentally unsound to the point that he couldn't even hold a conversation. I thought I had finally broken, and that even after I came down things would never be the same. I was certain of all of these things. I never doubted these delusions for a second.
I then realized I had to rotate laundry in the apartment laundry room a block away. I put my coat on and decided I could keep it together for a few minutes to do this. As I was walking down the alley behind the apartment buildings I was becoming confused and lost and thought I was went too far or not far enough multiple times. I finally found my way there and put the clothes in the dryers, realizing I had forgotten quarters. This really made me furious and I'm glad nobody walked in at that time because I'm not sure what I would have done. I calmed down for a bit telling myself all I have to do is go get quarters.
I went back to the apartment to search for them, and found them and lost them a few times, aimlessly wandering around looking for them while they were in my pocket, and putting them down and attempting to leave without them, only to realize I didn't have them and searched some more. I walked outside and saw a couple of my neighbors and I'm glad that they didn't initiate much conversation because they would have quickly realized I was a fucking trainwreck. I went back, but the quarters in the machine and walked back to the apartment and was surprised again to find I didn't know where my apartment was located.
I opened my laptop and googled a few queries about mushrooms, insanity, and what to do in this situation but couldn't find one link that was relevant to my cause. I then typed 'HELP I HAVE LOST MY MIND' but still no results. The television was on while I was Googling for help (a show called Repo Games) but everyone on the show was speaking gibberish. Some phrases were English and comprehendable but when I wasn't paying full attention they were speaking utter nonsense. This really frightened me and I imagined this was what schizophrenics during psychosis experience. I proceeded to take my milligram scale and the bag on 4-aco-dmt and throw it in the dumpster.
Somehow despite all of this I calmed down and the dysphoria eventually left. I don't remember what events occured after throwing away the scale but I do remember grabbing my guitar later on and sitting outside on my porch. I was playing it better than I ever have in my entire life for two hours straight. I felt like Jimi Hendrix was a chump, and one of my neighbors got home from work and thought I was a freak of nature. It was really magical and I felt on top of the world despite how I felt only an hour ago. Somehow I felt it was worth the bad trip at that moment, but today I think otherwise.
Perhaps the compound and my reckless use had unleashed some sort of dormant mental illness. Maybe I just didn't have the right mindset. I doubt I will be doing any psychedelics for a few months. I think the easy access to so many trips available in a 250mg bag of 4-aco-dmt really did me in. I have never had access to such a large amount of psychedelics at one time. I normally trip as often as the drugs come along, which is months apart where I live. This trip was a real wake up call, and I feel like a dodged a bullet. I could have thrown it all away, and was briefly intending to, and given the means I probably would have. All I know is I'm glad I didn't dose any higher or I might not be alive to tell the tale.
I tripped two days after the allergy test on 18 mg. It was very enjoyable and I had a good time. I recently bought a bike and went riding and it was just too much fun. The visuals however were somewhat mild which made me want to take a higher dose next time
So about five days later I decided to take 25mg. This was much more to my liking. I was a bit worried I didn't wait long enough between trips but was proved wrong in the best way possible. I rented Fear And Loathing and was laughing hysterically the entire time. The visuals were much more pronounced and playing guitar was a blast as usual. I decided this substance was the stuff for me.
My trip yesterday however, was the worst experience of my entire life. I am not exaggerating when I say this.
After working a morning shift, I got home and realized my girlfriend would be at work for seven hours or so. Although my last trip was only four days earlier, I thought if I took 30mg, perhaps it was displace the tolerance to the drug and I would have a good time. I briefly considered taking 25mg again, but thought 'why not?' and tossed another 5mg clump into the glass of water, I drank it down, and immediately after doing so, thought 'well, it's too late to turn back now'. This was around 5:00 PM. This attitude and the brief time between trips is what I believe caused this terrible experience. It was an extremely reckless endeavor, and it wasn't until afterwards that I realized I was treating this compound like weed or alcohol, both drugs with considerably less detrimental effects to the psyche.
The trip started fine. I tried to get into my typical giddy, excited mood when coming up on a psychedelic, but I definitely had to force it. I just wasn't feeling it, but there was nothing I could do to stop it, so I just had to go with the flow. I got on my bike and decided to ride around aimlessly as I normally do, and it was really nice for a bit.
When I got back to my apartment however, I began to really feel the compound. I made my way to my studio to attempt to listen to tunes or play guitar, but when I sat down on the futon, it all started turning sour. I stared into space looking at the shifting visuals (which were obviously less pronounced than any past trips, due to tolerance no doubt.) and did so for probably 20 minutes. This however wasn't an appreciative stare gazing into the wondrous visuals, but a thousand-yard stare that you'd see in a troubled veteran or acid-casualty like Syd Barrett. It was as if I tuned out of reality completely. It took me quite a while to maintain enough mental composure to get up and move around. The reason I snapped out of this comatose was because TV commercials I heard upstairs were annoying the shit out of me. I walked upstairs, turned off the television, and then hit rock bottom.
I attempted to drink some coffee I had prepared before the bike ride, and did so with no enthusiasm. It was as if my mind was completely empty and void. It was a calm before the storm of sorts, for after this 5 minute coffee break my I completely snapped. I started wandering around the apartment and slowly dysphoria set in with a fervor. I don't even recall really 'tripping' after I left the futon, for the visuals were nearly baseline. I remember feeling very primal, and that I wanted to rip my fucking skin off and bash my skull in. I felt absolutely terrible. I was the total opposite of relaxed and didn't come to the realization that my mindset could possibly change things until much later. I went to the bathroom and must have eaten something awful the night before because I thought my body was literally falling apart. After that I remember walking from room to room cussing randomly and making awful tense contortions with my body and face, and went downstairs to lay down on the bed. It didn't help one bit, but gave me enough spare time to contemplate my life, and come to dire, irrational conclusions that everything in my life was wrong and terrible and that everyone hated me and that I've only made poor decisions. This is not true of course, but at the time I was even considering suicide, thinking that I finally went completely insane and that this would not come to an end. I remember thinking I was now like Syd Barrett, the founding member on Pink Floyd who eventually became mentally unsound to the point that he couldn't even hold a conversation. I thought I had finally broken, and that even after I came down things would never be the same. I was certain of all of these things. I never doubted these delusions for a second.
I then realized I had to rotate laundry in the apartment laundry room a block away. I put my coat on and decided I could keep it together for a few minutes to do this. As I was walking down the alley behind the apartment buildings I was becoming confused and lost and thought I was went too far or not far enough multiple times. I finally found my way there and put the clothes in the dryers, realizing I had forgotten quarters. This really made me furious and I'm glad nobody walked in at that time because I'm not sure what I would have done. I calmed down for a bit telling myself all I have to do is go get quarters.
I went back to the apartment to search for them, and found them and lost them a few times, aimlessly wandering around looking for them while they were in my pocket, and putting them down and attempting to leave without them, only to realize I didn't have them and searched some more. I walked outside and saw a couple of my neighbors and I'm glad that they didn't initiate much conversation because they would have quickly realized I was a fucking trainwreck. I went back, but the quarters in the machine and walked back to the apartment and was surprised again to find I didn't know where my apartment was located.
I opened my laptop and googled a few queries about mushrooms, insanity, and what to do in this situation but couldn't find one link that was relevant to my cause. I then typed 'HELP I HAVE LOST MY MIND' but still no results. The television was on while I was Googling for help (a show called Repo Games) but everyone on the show was speaking gibberish. Some phrases were English and comprehendable but when I wasn't paying full attention they were speaking utter nonsense. This really frightened me and I imagined this was what schizophrenics during psychosis experience. I proceeded to take my milligram scale and the bag on 4-aco-dmt and throw it in the dumpster.
Somehow despite all of this I calmed down and the dysphoria eventually left. I don't remember what events occured after throwing away the scale but I do remember grabbing my guitar later on and sitting outside on my porch. I was playing it better than I ever have in my entire life for two hours straight. I felt like Jimi Hendrix was a chump, and one of my neighbors got home from work and thought I was a freak of nature. It was really magical and I felt on top of the world despite how I felt only an hour ago. Somehow I felt it was worth the bad trip at that moment, but today I think otherwise.
Perhaps the compound and my reckless use had unleashed some sort of dormant mental illness. Maybe I just didn't have the right mindset. I doubt I will be doing any psychedelics for a few months. I think the easy access to so many trips available in a 250mg bag of 4-aco-dmt really did me in. I have never had access to such a large amount of psychedelics at one time. I normally trip as often as the drugs come along, which is months apart where I live. This trip was a real wake up call, and I feel like a dodged a bullet. I could have thrown it all away, and was briefly intending to, and given the means I probably would have. All I know is I'm glad I didn't dose any higher or I might not be alive to tell the tale.
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