Eye
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Dec 19, 2010
- Messages
- 94
My phenazepam ordeal
I’ll never have the complete story on what happened that led to me getting myself 5150′d twice, convinced everyone I was practically brain dead, and resulted in being called profoundly damaged and incompetent by two different doctors, but here’s the story as I now know it. The pieces are coming together.
I have been experimenting with psychedelic drugs as therapeutic tools and as creativity enhancers. Some I really liked, like dextromethorphan and methoxetamine; others I didn’t care for and wouldn’t try again. We have been cautious and even bought a scale to confirm dosages.
I had just ordered some ayahuasca, a powerful psychedelic from the South America, and I was nervous about it, so I also ordered a Russian benzodiazepine called phenazepam (supposed to be a tranquilizer like Valium) that is not controlled here in the US. For the most part, the few things I tried were legal. The benzodiazepine was ordered in case the ayahuasca trip got out of control. When the benzodiazepine arrived, we tried to weigh it, but the scale was giving us a hard time, so we took a tiny bit each.
We think we must have used it all over the next two weeks, and neither of us has much of a memory of the events that took place.
The last thing I remember is trying to run a bus down to get him to stop for a transfer passenger, who, it turns out, didn’t want that particular bus line. I am told my feet were badly torn up from it.
I got a DUI but don’t remember it. I got taken in for psych evaluation (5150) and that apparently happened twice. I was put in two consecutive programs and spent most of the first one strapped to a gurney. Being in a hospital strapped to a gurney is the next thing I remember.
I know that at some point, an ambulance was summoned by neighbors; that was probably the first temporary evaluation commitment
During one of the take-down’s, they managed to break a collarbone and ignored me about it. I was discharged without treatment for it. They put me on an antibiotic that gave me a yeast infection and failed to provide treatment despite my requests. They put me on morphine for pain during most of the ordeal, and it turns out I have a curious reaction to that drug. It makes me delusional and makes my dreams so rich and detailed that they seemed real. I often didn’t know which world was real and which was delusional.
In one dream, my spouse told me she was going to undergo species reassignment surgery and become a bird of prey. She broke off our relationship, and I spent the day crying at nurses about it when I was awake. Georgie herself had to tell me it wasn’t true before I believed.
Clarity did not return to me until they discontinued the morphine. Georgie figured out the morphine connection. Who knows how long they’d have kept me if she hadn’t figured it out.
I had to return to the hospital to have them diagnose the broken collarbone which is still healing. They thought they saw a mass in the bone but later decided it was blood and released me with pain relievers, this time Vicodin.
I have a world of a mess to clean up, and it will take some time to get it done. I often feel scared and hopeless. The ayahuasca never arrived, and I’m not going to pursue it. I didn’t know how much of my brain I really injured, but I can do everything I could do before. My phone, a computer, and sudoku puzzles were the hardest to master again.
That’s the outline of the story and probably all I’ll ever know because I’m afraid to find out the rest from neighbor witnesses.
I had to write this out to let it go and move forward. I hope I can do that now.
I’ll never have the complete story on what happened that led to me getting myself 5150′d twice, convinced everyone I was practically brain dead, and resulted in being called profoundly damaged and incompetent by two different doctors, but here’s the story as I now know it. The pieces are coming together.
I have been experimenting with psychedelic drugs as therapeutic tools and as creativity enhancers. Some I really liked, like dextromethorphan and methoxetamine; others I didn’t care for and wouldn’t try again. We have been cautious and even bought a scale to confirm dosages.
I had just ordered some ayahuasca, a powerful psychedelic from the South America, and I was nervous about it, so I also ordered a Russian benzodiazepine called phenazepam (supposed to be a tranquilizer like Valium) that is not controlled here in the US. For the most part, the few things I tried were legal. The benzodiazepine was ordered in case the ayahuasca trip got out of control. When the benzodiazepine arrived, we tried to weigh it, but the scale was giving us a hard time, so we took a tiny bit each.
We think we must have used it all over the next two weeks, and neither of us has much of a memory of the events that took place.
The last thing I remember is trying to run a bus down to get him to stop for a transfer passenger, who, it turns out, didn’t want that particular bus line. I am told my feet were badly torn up from it.
I got a DUI but don’t remember it. I got taken in for psych evaluation (5150) and that apparently happened twice. I was put in two consecutive programs and spent most of the first one strapped to a gurney. Being in a hospital strapped to a gurney is the next thing I remember.
I know that at some point, an ambulance was summoned by neighbors; that was probably the first temporary evaluation commitment
During one of the take-down’s, they managed to break a collarbone and ignored me about it. I was discharged without treatment for it. They put me on an antibiotic that gave me a yeast infection and failed to provide treatment despite my requests. They put me on morphine for pain during most of the ordeal, and it turns out I have a curious reaction to that drug. It makes me delusional and makes my dreams so rich and detailed that they seemed real. I often didn’t know which world was real and which was delusional.
In one dream, my spouse told me she was going to undergo species reassignment surgery and become a bird of prey. She broke off our relationship, and I spent the day crying at nurses about it when I was awake. Georgie herself had to tell me it wasn’t true before I believed.
Clarity did not return to me until they discontinued the morphine. Georgie figured out the morphine connection. Who knows how long they’d have kept me if she hadn’t figured it out.
I had to return to the hospital to have them diagnose the broken collarbone which is still healing. They thought they saw a mass in the bone but later decided it was blood and released me with pain relievers, this time Vicodin.
I have a world of a mess to clean up, and it will take some time to get it done. I often feel scared and hopeless. The ayahuasca never arrived, and I’m not going to pursue it. I didn’t know how much of my brain I really injured, but I can do everything I could do before. My phone, a computer, and sudoku puzzles were the hardest to master again.
That’s the outline of the story and probably all I’ll ever know because I’m afraid to find out the rest from neighbor witnesses.
I had to write this out to let it go and move forward. I hope I can do that now.
