Flickering
Bluelighter
I got home from work and strode into my room, threw open the drawer that had held Robitussin Dry Cough Forte for the last three weeks, said "Fuck it" and chugged the whole thing. I'm not normally that impulsive, and I know better than to take dissociatives in a bad mood, but there I was anyway, gagging on the vanilla cherry flavour and I took the bottle in three ugly gulps. The taste, by the way - gah! It's still lingering ten hours later. I must've been high the first time I tried, with 120mg, because I recall thinking it hadn't tasted that bad.
But it was worth it. I spent the next hour chatting with friends on MSN, and rather more quickly than I thought, the clock ticked over from my starting time of 11:43p.m. to 12:43a.m., at which point I started noting effects. "One hour in and this is a lot like last time. I should be in Plateau 2 but so far, only nausea and dizziness." The first time I tried DXM, I staggered around my bedroom for a few hours and nearly threw up, and my head felt groggy. That was it. I was getting worried this 'trip' would turn out the same way, only worse.
By 1:10a.m., I was convinced this was the case, except that fortunately, the nausea wasn't strong enough to make me hurl this time. I played music, "The Same River" by Riverside, which is a Pink Floydish track and one of my favourite songs. But I wasn't noticing any psychadelic effects on the music, and was about to write the experience off as a needless sleepless night of vertigo, when...
1:15a.m.: "Things got choppy. My vision keeps shifting right-left right-left right-left rapidly. The world is spinning on a recurring (spacetime?) cycle. Glad I'm not feeling sick this time."
1:25a.m.: "Walked down the corridor to see if my pupils were dilated. They weren't." (In retrospect, they WERE.) The hallway was weird. I felt very out of myself. Saw my blank expression in the mirror, laughed. I looked really stupid."
This was the first instance of an amazing phenomena that lasted the next three hours. Whenever I had a thought, my face would mould like playdough into the appropriate expression and I would be unable to affect the process. A muscle-tearing grin would light up my face at the slightest stimulation. My mouth formed a perfect 'O' or simply dropped wide open whenever I had a staggering idea. The strangest thing was that by now, I didn't feel like this was happening to me at all, or that the guy in the bathroom mirror was me. That face was so comical and so clearly not me that I had to look away to not burst out laughing. I focused reeeaaally hard on taking a piss, washed my hands and left the bathroom with eyes slammed open wide in awe at everything.
A little background: I'm in shared accommodation with six other people, and I really didn't want to creep any of them out by lurching down the hall with an involuntarily twisted expression like I was ready to eat them. As such, I vowed not to venture outside my room if I could help it, and also to not make any noise. Which was a given from the start, but now I knew it was especially important.
Back in my room, things started getting interesting. I played 'Let Down' by Radiohead through my headphones, and noticed that though the music wasn't any different, it now sounded really good. The dizziness had subsided somewhat, so I closed my eyes, held the chair and swayed to the beat. As I swayed to one side, my mind's eye projected a shadow image of myself in the dark space ahead of me. I really loved this song... it was about the best song I'd ever heard... then I had the most brilliant idea I've ever had: why not listen to the album "Missa Atropos" by Gazpacho?
Oh, man. Bliss.
Let me set the scene. I dimmed all the lights in the room except the lava lamp, which went on pulsating blue globules of wax and glowing wonderfully. Turned the fan on low, so a slight breeze brushed my cheeks as I stood there air-guitaring, not giving a damn if anyone saw me. The album's melodies and lyrics lured me into a world where my bedroom was more than just my bedroom, it was my own special place, alike the lighthouse in Missa Atropos except, I realised, this was my darkhouse. This beautiful room with this all-encompassing music and blue seeping onto the walls, this would be my space for the rest of this trip... for I realised by now, this was getting trippy, and I knew it was only beginning.
My next journal entry wasn't until 3:22a.m.:
"Trippin' HARD. I keep thinking about the mentally disabled people I take care of." (That's my job, looking after handicapped adults in a day service. I've often been struck by the sadness of their incapacities.) "I was wrong. Their lives are pure bliss! I know because I'm behaving exactly like they do. SO open. Facial expressions exaggerated." (I realised I was imitating the gestures of several of the handicapped clients - and I finally understood why they did it. At this point, I kept guessing what my IQ was right now - about 73, I decided.)
"Someone else seems to be writing this. I know that won't convey this sense of dissociation. MICROPSIA! It's been a while."
The process of writing, from now on, would seem to work purely by automatic muscle memory, and I was never 100% sure what I was going to write. At this point, something special happened. The pen in my hand and the writing appeared far, far away even as I wrote it. I recognised this sensation instantly, though I haven't experienced it in almost seven years, as Alice in Wonderland Syndrome, or micropsia. The reason it took me so long to try drugs is because I have had this ugly condition since I was a child, and it's known to mix badly with certain substances, such as acid, so I had to research the matter via scientific journals to decide what I should and shouldn't take. Far from being alarmed though, I welcomed micropsia back warmly, fascinated by the dysmorphic effect, and knowing that this time, it wouldn't hurt me. Previously as a child, the sensation had come with all sorts of horrible feelings, but this time it didn't so I merely observed, smiling.
Micropsia only came up while I was writing. Wherever it appeared, I wrote MICROPSIA along the page border and pointed to the part I'd been writing.
By this hour I was finishing the album 'Out of Myself' by Riverside, which worked perfectly. In a dissociative state, the music surrounds you, everywhere and nowhere at once, fusing seamlessly with the mood and ambience of the experience.
I kept thinking about what would happen when this ended. Time passed slowly and I didn't want it to end. The thought that I'd be back in my unhappy analytical mind soon almost disheartened me. But meanwhile I was content to live in the moment. I did however wonder how much I'd remember, and what I'd call my trip recount when I wrote it in a few hours. At this, I wrote another entry for myself, knowing I'd find it very funny when I was sober.
3:45a.m.: "I'm like a creepy comic book character. THIS IS HOW WE ALL SHOULD BE. Feel like I'm writing this for my best friend / cousin who is watching me right now. Mental faculties are switched off. Discombobulate the rhymes - I leave this here for you to laugh at when you're sober, me!
Can't get anything out. Already forgetting. Just - ecstasy. Every moment can be ecstasy and that is a fact."
So true. I'd been drinking from my water bottle, noticing the way the water flooowed down my throat. The organic process was so amazing and beautiful. Everything I touched or looked at evoked awe, and all the while, wondrous music serenaded me. I switched at some point to Porcupine Tree's Voyage 34, nodding emphatically as I did, and the first track was great but I quickly switched to solo artist Lunatic Soul after. Herein my frazzled mind, now with an IQ of 68 at my estimate, contemplated life after death.
I decided there was definitely a life after death. I just KNEW it. I couldn't justify it, really, and was aware that in my state of inebriation, my thoughts wouldn't be particularly reliable. But I decided to enjoy my newfound faith while it lasted. The warmth of it was nice. Trying to articulate my thoughts, I wrote, "I believe we survive death, yes. The observer, the spirit, Steiner was right about some things." (Rudolf Steiner founded the spiritual movement anthroposophy, which I briefly explored as I trained to be a Steiner teacher, but I've since disavowed it and returned to atheism.)
4:07a.m.: "THE ANALYTICAL MIND! It is your present enemy."
4:10a.m.: "I just disconnected the headphones could've woken everyone up... didn't. Fortunate. I thought I might be trapped in this mindset forever. Realised I was mistaken. Needed to write it down."
Accidentally disconnecting the headphones was interesting. Percussion-based afterlife music resounded across the room and I thought, "Oh no," though in blissful apathy. My mature mind, which had until this point watched from the background, stepped in and directed my hand to the pause button. I don't think I woke anyone. Up to this point, though, I'd gone to the toilet three times, and had laid in bed having paranoid thoughts that I might be making more noise than I realised - would I be able to fake sobriety if someone checked on me? Fortunately, it never came to that, though next time I'll be sure to try this when my flatmates are away and I have a tripsitter.
I was so easy-going about everything, though. When the thought came that I might be stuck like this forever, I thought, "Oh well, at least this is nice!" There was awareness of consequence, but little stress about it.
Around 4:30, like a node flicking in my brain, my adult mind took over again. Just like that. I looked around, still dizzy, but my sense of self was back. It seemed I had decided to return, just as I'd had the option of ending the trip whenever I wanted - I simply hadn't wanted to yet. But suddenly my usual thoughts were back, if still a bit foggy. I realised it was more or less over, but that was okay, I'd had heaps of fun and learnt a lot. I wrote one last entry before I went to sleep.
"The happy feeling handicapped ecstasy sprite is leaving.
I think I will remember most of the experience. I must write it all down before I forget."
I can't describe all the sensations that struck me on this trip, as it would take too long, but there was some amazing stuff. I just felt so much more comfortable being myself, while at the same time I felt distanced, out of my own skin. At one point I punched myself in the face to see how I registered pain; like morphine, I felt it, but didn't care. The music was truly special. At times, I'd close my eyes, keeping surprisingly balanced, and carve lemniscates in the air with my head and hands to the rhythm. All these philosophies I knew but couldn't embrace while sober - living in the moment, true joy, egolessness - they became my reality and I loved it. The ego softening was particularly interesting. I felt I'd become someone else, a drastically different mode of thinking, and I frequently wondered "Well who am I, really?" No one, in particular. Was there anyone I needed to be? I was just some guy drifting, ejoying himself.
This was my first trip ever, on anything, and it was amazing. And surprisingly similar to what I expected. There were no hallucinations, but the sense of altered reality was practically permeable. It's now 11:30a.m. and I'm still shaking off the hangover. But it was great. The wonder of spending a night in my darkhouse is something I won't forget for a long time. Hope you all enjoyed reading it, and indeed if you've made it this far despite the length, good on you.
EDIT: My apologies, I was still a bit out of it when I wrote this, and the title is not formatted properly. Should read (DXM 300mg) First time: Darkhouse. Worth copying and pasting into a new thread?
But it was worth it. I spent the next hour chatting with friends on MSN, and rather more quickly than I thought, the clock ticked over from my starting time of 11:43p.m. to 12:43a.m., at which point I started noting effects. "One hour in and this is a lot like last time. I should be in Plateau 2 but so far, only nausea and dizziness." The first time I tried DXM, I staggered around my bedroom for a few hours and nearly threw up, and my head felt groggy. That was it. I was getting worried this 'trip' would turn out the same way, only worse.
By 1:10a.m., I was convinced this was the case, except that fortunately, the nausea wasn't strong enough to make me hurl this time. I played music, "The Same River" by Riverside, which is a Pink Floydish track and one of my favourite songs. But I wasn't noticing any psychadelic effects on the music, and was about to write the experience off as a needless sleepless night of vertigo, when...
1:15a.m.: "Things got choppy. My vision keeps shifting right-left right-left right-left rapidly. The world is spinning on a recurring (spacetime?) cycle. Glad I'm not feeling sick this time."
1:25a.m.: "Walked down the corridor to see if my pupils were dilated. They weren't." (In retrospect, they WERE.) The hallway was weird. I felt very out of myself. Saw my blank expression in the mirror, laughed. I looked really stupid."
This was the first instance of an amazing phenomena that lasted the next three hours. Whenever I had a thought, my face would mould like playdough into the appropriate expression and I would be unable to affect the process. A muscle-tearing grin would light up my face at the slightest stimulation. My mouth formed a perfect 'O' or simply dropped wide open whenever I had a staggering idea. The strangest thing was that by now, I didn't feel like this was happening to me at all, or that the guy in the bathroom mirror was me. That face was so comical and so clearly not me that I had to look away to not burst out laughing. I focused reeeaaally hard on taking a piss, washed my hands and left the bathroom with eyes slammed open wide in awe at everything.
A little background: I'm in shared accommodation with six other people, and I really didn't want to creep any of them out by lurching down the hall with an involuntarily twisted expression like I was ready to eat them. As such, I vowed not to venture outside my room if I could help it, and also to not make any noise. Which was a given from the start, but now I knew it was especially important.
Back in my room, things started getting interesting. I played 'Let Down' by Radiohead through my headphones, and noticed that though the music wasn't any different, it now sounded really good. The dizziness had subsided somewhat, so I closed my eyes, held the chair and swayed to the beat. As I swayed to one side, my mind's eye projected a shadow image of myself in the dark space ahead of me. I really loved this song... it was about the best song I'd ever heard... then I had the most brilliant idea I've ever had: why not listen to the album "Missa Atropos" by Gazpacho?
Oh, man. Bliss.
Let me set the scene. I dimmed all the lights in the room except the lava lamp, which went on pulsating blue globules of wax and glowing wonderfully. Turned the fan on low, so a slight breeze brushed my cheeks as I stood there air-guitaring, not giving a damn if anyone saw me. The album's melodies and lyrics lured me into a world where my bedroom was more than just my bedroom, it was my own special place, alike the lighthouse in Missa Atropos except, I realised, this was my darkhouse. This beautiful room with this all-encompassing music and blue seeping onto the walls, this would be my space for the rest of this trip... for I realised by now, this was getting trippy, and I knew it was only beginning.
My next journal entry wasn't until 3:22a.m.:
"Trippin' HARD. I keep thinking about the mentally disabled people I take care of." (That's my job, looking after handicapped adults in a day service. I've often been struck by the sadness of their incapacities.) "I was wrong. Their lives are pure bliss! I know because I'm behaving exactly like they do. SO open. Facial expressions exaggerated." (I realised I was imitating the gestures of several of the handicapped clients - and I finally understood why they did it. At this point, I kept guessing what my IQ was right now - about 73, I decided.)
"Someone else seems to be writing this. I know that won't convey this sense of dissociation. MICROPSIA! It's been a while."
The process of writing, from now on, would seem to work purely by automatic muscle memory, and I was never 100% sure what I was going to write. At this point, something special happened. The pen in my hand and the writing appeared far, far away even as I wrote it. I recognised this sensation instantly, though I haven't experienced it in almost seven years, as Alice in Wonderland Syndrome, or micropsia. The reason it took me so long to try drugs is because I have had this ugly condition since I was a child, and it's known to mix badly with certain substances, such as acid, so I had to research the matter via scientific journals to decide what I should and shouldn't take. Far from being alarmed though, I welcomed micropsia back warmly, fascinated by the dysmorphic effect, and knowing that this time, it wouldn't hurt me. Previously as a child, the sensation had come with all sorts of horrible feelings, but this time it didn't so I merely observed, smiling.
Micropsia only came up while I was writing. Wherever it appeared, I wrote MICROPSIA along the page border and pointed to the part I'd been writing.
By this hour I was finishing the album 'Out of Myself' by Riverside, which worked perfectly. In a dissociative state, the music surrounds you, everywhere and nowhere at once, fusing seamlessly with the mood and ambience of the experience.
I kept thinking about what would happen when this ended. Time passed slowly and I didn't want it to end. The thought that I'd be back in my unhappy analytical mind soon almost disheartened me. But meanwhile I was content to live in the moment. I did however wonder how much I'd remember, and what I'd call my trip recount when I wrote it in a few hours. At this, I wrote another entry for myself, knowing I'd find it very funny when I was sober.
3:45a.m.: "I'm like a creepy comic book character. THIS IS HOW WE ALL SHOULD BE. Feel like I'm writing this for my best friend / cousin who is watching me right now. Mental faculties are switched off. Discombobulate the rhymes - I leave this here for you to laugh at when you're sober, me!
Can't get anything out. Already forgetting. Just - ecstasy. Every moment can be ecstasy and that is a fact."
So true. I'd been drinking from my water bottle, noticing the way the water flooowed down my throat. The organic process was so amazing and beautiful. Everything I touched or looked at evoked awe, and all the while, wondrous music serenaded me. I switched at some point to Porcupine Tree's Voyage 34, nodding emphatically as I did, and the first track was great but I quickly switched to solo artist Lunatic Soul after. Herein my frazzled mind, now with an IQ of 68 at my estimate, contemplated life after death.
I decided there was definitely a life after death. I just KNEW it. I couldn't justify it, really, and was aware that in my state of inebriation, my thoughts wouldn't be particularly reliable. But I decided to enjoy my newfound faith while it lasted. The warmth of it was nice. Trying to articulate my thoughts, I wrote, "I believe we survive death, yes. The observer, the spirit, Steiner was right about some things." (Rudolf Steiner founded the spiritual movement anthroposophy, which I briefly explored as I trained to be a Steiner teacher, but I've since disavowed it and returned to atheism.)
4:07a.m.: "THE ANALYTICAL MIND! It is your present enemy."
4:10a.m.: "I just disconnected the headphones could've woken everyone up... didn't. Fortunate. I thought I might be trapped in this mindset forever. Realised I was mistaken. Needed to write it down."
Accidentally disconnecting the headphones was interesting. Percussion-based afterlife music resounded across the room and I thought, "Oh no," though in blissful apathy. My mature mind, which had until this point watched from the background, stepped in and directed my hand to the pause button. I don't think I woke anyone. Up to this point, though, I'd gone to the toilet three times, and had laid in bed having paranoid thoughts that I might be making more noise than I realised - would I be able to fake sobriety if someone checked on me? Fortunately, it never came to that, though next time I'll be sure to try this when my flatmates are away and I have a tripsitter.
I was so easy-going about everything, though. When the thought came that I might be stuck like this forever, I thought, "Oh well, at least this is nice!" There was awareness of consequence, but little stress about it.
Around 4:30, like a node flicking in my brain, my adult mind took over again. Just like that. I looked around, still dizzy, but my sense of self was back. It seemed I had decided to return, just as I'd had the option of ending the trip whenever I wanted - I simply hadn't wanted to yet. But suddenly my usual thoughts were back, if still a bit foggy. I realised it was more or less over, but that was okay, I'd had heaps of fun and learnt a lot. I wrote one last entry before I went to sleep.
"The happy feeling handicapped ecstasy sprite is leaving.
I think I will remember most of the experience. I must write it all down before I forget."
I can't describe all the sensations that struck me on this trip, as it would take too long, but there was some amazing stuff. I just felt so much more comfortable being myself, while at the same time I felt distanced, out of my own skin. At one point I punched myself in the face to see how I registered pain; like morphine, I felt it, but didn't care. The music was truly special. At times, I'd close my eyes, keeping surprisingly balanced, and carve lemniscates in the air with my head and hands to the rhythm. All these philosophies I knew but couldn't embrace while sober - living in the moment, true joy, egolessness - they became my reality and I loved it. The ego softening was particularly interesting. I felt I'd become someone else, a drastically different mode of thinking, and I frequently wondered "Well who am I, really?" No one, in particular. Was there anyone I needed to be? I was just some guy drifting, ejoying himself.
This was my first trip ever, on anything, and it was amazing. And surprisingly similar to what I expected. There were no hallucinations, but the sense of altered reality was practically permeable. It's now 11:30a.m. and I'm still shaking off the hangover. But it was great. The wonder of spending a night in my darkhouse is something I won't forget for a long time. Hope you all enjoyed reading it, and indeed if you've made it this far despite the length, good on you.
EDIT: My apologies, I was still a bit out of it when I wrote this, and the title is not formatted properly. Should read (DXM 300mg) First time: Darkhouse. Worth copying and pasting into a new thread?
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