Smurfkiller93
Bluelighter
On six ounces of Robitussin....
It was much harder to swallow the Robitussin Maximum Strength Cough this second time (the first time I'd done only four ounces), which I’ve been told is normal. I can only imagine that this is what cat puke tastes like. I had to punch my pillow repeatedly to force myself to choke it down, and for a moment I was nearly certain I would vomit it back up again. After that I talked to friends via Instant Messaging (IM).
Only a half hour later I started feeling light and airy, which was pleasant, but also dizzy and queasy, which was very unpleasant. I asked one of my friends if the drug was supposed to kick in this early and he said it all depended on how much food was in my stomach.
My computer screen now looked a little farther away than usual. Motion was funny, but not as much so as it was last time. My short term memory was again weakened. Because of the music enhancement factor, I got the idea to grab my CD folder and Discman before doing anything else, while I could still walk around fairly comfortably. Soon afterwards I felt all philanthropic and sympathetic and had a very sickeningly moralizing IM conversation with someone in which I basically sounded like Robin Williams in that abomination of a movie Patch Adams. Although nothing could really have ruined my mood, I lamented how I want so much to be a better person, but the first time I really succeeded in truly wanting nothing more than to help others, it was because my brain was fizzing with dxm.
Soon the music on my computer’s jukebox started to take on that familiar jump-out-at-you-like-a-fifth-dimensional-jack-in-the-box-while-sounding-all-echoey-and-planting-itself-brutally-in-your-brain quality. Once again, it was hard to walk. And once again, I wanted to lie down and turn off the lights. But before I did, I noticed that some of my IM’s took on a strange quality that I would describe as seeming to be sort of alive. Almost magical, somehow. It was like it popped up in a cloud of fairy dust sent from Oz. A mere message on a computer screen, but it had something very definite about it which almost gave it a personality.
My mouth had been feeling dry for a while, so after lying lazily on the bed for some unknown but probably relatively brief period (even in my trips I’m lazy!), I got up to go to the kitchen. My sister was on the couch in the den, watching TV. I asked if the baby was asleep (the icemaker always wakes her up), and Sis said that yes, she was, but in their bedroom. I got myself the icewater and started drinking it immediately, and it tasted like metal, not at all refreshing. I don’t know how much of this was sensory changes and how much the natural taste I’d expect from so much cough syrup passing over my tongue.
After I lay on my bed and turned off the lamp. (Something seemed odd every time I turned it on or off, like the darkness and light were collecting around my hand, or something that could sort of be compared to that.) Once again my room took on a fun-house mirror look, and once again the dim light in my smoke alarm started moving around the room in random patterns. My window seemed impossibly large, and that lasted all night, but I think that may have been due either to it somehow looking more imposing without really looking bigger, or looking the same size when the wall seemed farther away. The latter sounds more likely, because once again my room grew in size. This time, though, it didn’t completely disappear—instead, a bunch of vortexes of lavender afterimage-like things in somewhat triangular shapes swooped down from the ceiling. This was fun but didn’t last very long.
The exact order of events becomes a little confusing after this point. I’m not certain whether certain things actually happened before or after certain other things, but I shall try my best to get the chronology right.
As far as I know what came next was the only really good part of the high, a part that (son of a bitch!) I can’t remember very well. This is where the drug hit hard and time and space seemed either to disappear, or at least to become irrelevant. The world was now a series of images, some of which moved, some of which (I think) didn’t. I wasn’t in myself, so to speak, but outside, watching me from different angles like I would watch TV or a movie. The only really clear memory from this space of about an hour (not that I could keep track of time—to me, it could just as easily have been a minute as a century), was that of observing myself from behind in a sort of dark tunnel as I followed my sister’s request to let her bulldog into my parents’ room. I was worried that she might have found it odd how I wasn’t walking straight and even supported myself by sliding the left half of my bodyweight along the kitchen counter. But later on, after sobering up, I remembered that she didn’t have (and wouldn’t have had) her glasses on.
Next thing I knew it was about an hour later and I was suddenly back in bed, trying to remember what all had just transpired, and then looking at the warped numbers on the clock and trying to focus on them. This is about when the next phase of my high began, and hallucinations began which were less transcendental than the ones I had just been experiencing, but less tame than the ones which had started off. A group of mischeivous, living, multicolored lights on my ceiling (I don’t know if these were distorted moonbeams or just conjured up by my brain) started to communicate with me telepathically, and as I seem to recall, said something about joining them for their ride, how I would like it—but something told me they were up to no good.
They took me on a ride, all right, and it was—well, it was through the room, light years through it at breakneck speed, but I don’t know exactly how I would describe this. They warped space or something. At some points I would get particularly disturbed by sudden, vertical movements among the forward, horizontal ones. Eventually the lights stopped and sort of disappeared, yet it was not long after that I got a ride of a different sort, one that felt like my bed was spinning around the room while it, or I, or both, shook constantly. A moment later I decided to go to the bathroom, and there I made the mistake of looking at my face in the mirror, and I got freaked out at how white the whites in my eyes looked.
When I went back to my room, I found that it was much darker than it should have been, and that there were now lights again on my ceiling (maybe they never really disappeared and I just didn’t notice), but these were still and peaceful. It looked like I was somehow outdoors, underneath a night sky with oversized stars. My bed looked smaller than it was before, but after I felt my way through the room and climbed onto it, I found that it felt about the right size. There was a bizarre, airy WHOOSH! effect (not the sound, just the feeling) to pulling the covers up over me. The cord of my Discman moved on its own, like a snake coiling around my leg. Whenever I would reach for my glass of water, my arm would seem a little bit longer than it should have. Looking at my hand in the dark was also odd, but I can’t figure out why.
Next came the aggravating final stretch of my high, in which I had another two or three hours, which seemed like two or three days. I tried watching TV, but the people on it looked warped and creepy, and even familiar programming had an alien atmosphere. So I took to listening to my Discman. The music was still “enchanced,” yet also bizarrely disturbing. I was especially disturbed by the Beatles song “The Fool on the Hill.” It’s not that the songs weren’t obviously the same songs, but they had that odd quality that made them somehow different in terms of significance. I was listening to them in another universe. And at times the music seemed to be playing right in my head, and at times it seemed like someone had muted certain instruments or turned the volume down.
I seemed to be shaking a lot, but whether I was really shaking I may never know. There was a constant ringing in my ears (not the natural kind, more electronic or laser-like or something) for the remainder of the high, even if I seldom noticed it. My body often felt like it was being electrocuted without any pain. At least five times I kind of time warped a couple of minutes and thought that I had fallen asleep and that the high was over, but I would try to sit up and then notice that motion was still funny and the room was still warped. This was when I decided I probably wouldn’t do DXM again, because it was just not worth doing more than once. This was the part where I waited for long expanses of four minutes or so, which I felt certain was at least an hour, just so the trip and its foul aftertaste, which was like my thoughts crashing into each other in big jumbles of color, would go away. After one, final time warp, which took me past 4:00 A.M., I was my old self again, even if I was still dizzy and motion was still odd.
[NTCedit: Added some paragraph breaks and changed title to conform with the forum guidelines]
It was much harder to swallow the Robitussin Maximum Strength Cough this second time (the first time I'd done only four ounces), which I’ve been told is normal. I can only imagine that this is what cat puke tastes like. I had to punch my pillow repeatedly to force myself to choke it down, and for a moment I was nearly certain I would vomit it back up again. After that I talked to friends via Instant Messaging (IM).
Only a half hour later I started feeling light and airy, which was pleasant, but also dizzy and queasy, which was very unpleasant. I asked one of my friends if the drug was supposed to kick in this early and he said it all depended on how much food was in my stomach.
My computer screen now looked a little farther away than usual. Motion was funny, but not as much so as it was last time. My short term memory was again weakened. Because of the music enhancement factor, I got the idea to grab my CD folder and Discman before doing anything else, while I could still walk around fairly comfortably. Soon afterwards I felt all philanthropic and sympathetic and had a very sickeningly moralizing IM conversation with someone in which I basically sounded like Robin Williams in that abomination of a movie Patch Adams. Although nothing could really have ruined my mood, I lamented how I want so much to be a better person, but the first time I really succeeded in truly wanting nothing more than to help others, it was because my brain was fizzing with dxm.
Soon the music on my computer’s jukebox started to take on that familiar jump-out-at-you-like-a-fifth-dimensional-jack-in-the-box-while-sounding-all-echoey-and-planting-itself-brutally-in-your-brain quality. Once again, it was hard to walk. And once again, I wanted to lie down and turn off the lights. But before I did, I noticed that some of my IM’s took on a strange quality that I would describe as seeming to be sort of alive. Almost magical, somehow. It was like it popped up in a cloud of fairy dust sent from Oz. A mere message on a computer screen, but it had something very definite about it which almost gave it a personality.
My mouth had been feeling dry for a while, so after lying lazily on the bed for some unknown but probably relatively brief period (even in my trips I’m lazy!), I got up to go to the kitchen. My sister was on the couch in the den, watching TV. I asked if the baby was asleep (the icemaker always wakes her up), and Sis said that yes, she was, but in their bedroom. I got myself the icewater and started drinking it immediately, and it tasted like metal, not at all refreshing. I don’t know how much of this was sensory changes and how much the natural taste I’d expect from so much cough syrup passing over my tongue.
After I lay on my bed and turned off the lamp. (Something seemed odd every time I turned it on or off, like the darkness and light were collecting around my hand, or something that could sort of be compared to that.) Once again my room took on a fun-house mirror look, and once again the dim light in my smoke alarm started moving around the room in random patterns. My window seemed impossibly large, and that lasted all night, but I think that may have been due either to it somehow looking more imposing without really looking bigger, or looking the same size when the wall seemed farther away. The latter sounds more likely, because once again my room grew in size. This time, though, it didn’t completely disappear—instead, a bunch of vortexes of lavender afterimage-like things in somewhat triangular shapes swooped down from the ceiling. This was fun but didn’t last very long.
The exact order of events becomes a little confusing after this point. I’m not certain whether certain things actually happened before or after certain other things, but I shall try my best to get the chronology right.
As far as I know what came next was the only really good part of the high, a part that (son of a bitch!) I can’t remember very well. This is where the drug hit hard and time and space seemed either to disappear, or at least to become irrelevant. The world was now a series of images, some of which moved, some of which (I think) didn’t. I wasn’t in myself, so to speak, but outside, watching me from different angles like I would watch TV or a movie. The only really clear memory from this space of about an hour (not that I could keep track of time—to me, it could just as easily have been a minute as a century), was that of observing myself from behind in a sort of dark tunnel as I followed my sister’s request to let her bulldog into my parents’ room. I was worried that she might have found it odd how I wasn’t walking straight and even supported myself by sliding the left half of my bodyweight along the kitchen counter. But later on, after sobering up, I remembered that she didn’t have (and wouldn’t have had) her glasses on.
Next thing I knew it was about an hour later and I was suddenly back in bed, trying to remember what all had just transpired, and then looking at the warped numbers on the clock and trying to focus on them. This is about when the next phase of my high began, and hallucinations began which were less transcendental than the ones I had just been experiencing, but less tame than the ones which had started off. A group of mischeivous, living, multicolored lights on my ceiling (I don’t know if these were distorted moonbeams or just conjured up by my brain) started to communicate with me telepathically, and as I seem to recall, said something about joining them for their ride, how I would like it—but something told me they were up to no good.
They took me on a ride, all right, and it was—well, it was through the room, light years through it at breakneck speed, but I don’t know exactly how I would describe this. They warped space or something. At some points I would get particularly disturbed by sudden, vertical movements among the forward, horizontal ones. Eventually the lights stopped and sort of disappeared, yet it was not long after that I got a ride of a different sort, one that felt like my bed was spinning around the room while it, or I, or both, shook constantly. A moment later I decided to go to the bathroom, and there I made the mistake of looking at my face in the mirror, and I got freaked out at how white the whites in my eyes looked.
When I went back to my room, I found that it was much darker than it should have been, and that there were now lights again on my ceiling (maybe they never really disappeared and I just didn’t notice), but these were still and peaceful. It looked like I was somehow outdoors, underneath a night sky with oversized stars. My bed looked smaller than it was before, but after I felt my way through the room and climbed onto it, I found that it felt about the right size. There was a bizarre, airy WHOOSH! effect (not the sound, just the feeling) to pulling the covers up over me. The cord of my Discman moved on its own, like a snake coiling around my leg. Whenever I would reach for my glass of water, my arm would seem a little bit longer than it should have. Looking at my hand in the dark was also odd, but I can’t figure out why.
Next came the aggravating final stretch of my high, in which I had another two or three hours, which seemed like two or three days. I tried watching TV, but the people on it looked warped and creepy, and even familiar programming had an alien atmosphere. So I took to listening to my Discman. The music was still “enchanced,” yet also bizarrely disturbing. I was especially disturbed by the Beatles song “The Fool on the Hill.” It’s not that the songs weren’t obviously the same songs, but they had that odd quality that made them somehow different in terms of significance. I was listening to them in another universe. And at times the music seemed to be playing right in my head, and at times it seemed like someone had muted certain instruments or turned the volume down.
I seemed to be shaking a lot, but whether I was really shaking I may never know. There was a constant ringing in my ears (not the natural kind, more electronic or laser-like or something) for the remainder of the high, even if I seldom noticed it. My body often felt like it was being electrocuted without any pain. At least five times I kind of time warped a couple of minutes and thought that I had fallen asleep and that the high was over, but I would try to sit up and then notice that motion was still funny and the room was still warped. This was when I decided I probably wouldn’t do DXM again, because it was just not worth doing more than once. This was the part where I waited for long expanses of four minutes or so, which I felt certain was at least an hour, just so the trip and its foul aftertaste, which was like my thoughts crashing into each other in big jumbles of color, would go away. After one, final time warp, which took me past 4:00 A.M., I was my old self again, even if I was still dizzy and motion was still odd.
[NTCedit: Added some paragraph breaks and changed title to conform with the forum guidelines]
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