lbrtn
Greenlighter
- Joined
- Jan 6, 2013
- Messages
- 3
This trip will be fairly difficult to explain but I will give it my best shot. I have never experienced something so nebulous and unreal on drugs by a long shot and didn’t even know that such perception was achievable to the human psyche. Atleast when we exclude mind-bending drugs like shrooms, acid and DMT. I consider myself fairly well read when it comes to drugs and know what effects to expect from using different substances but theoretical comprehension of these matters would prove to be painfully insufficient in the wake of such a sinister ordeal.
The events started to unravel at noon of a beautiful summer day. I had just acquired 1 gram of a sort of synthesized cannabis-like substance that probably doesn’t even exist in most other countries or might just hold a different name, I’m not sure. I called up my best friend (we’ll call him K) and he was up for getting high. I made my way to his house which stands, conveniently enough, just about a hundred meters of mine. He had just got out of bed and I think we decided to have a cigarette. The weather was delightful and we were in a good mood, looking forward to lighting up our poison of choice (which is incidentally the name we have given to this particular breed of weed). As we were looking to kick things off with a beast of a high, we opted to smoke from a simple self-made gravity bong which we fashioned from a 2L plastic bottle. I stacked up a decent bowl and K went first, absorbing 2 big hits. I was up next. As I was blazing up the grass and watching the water flow out of the bong, I noticed that K had bagged me a goliath grasp of gear but I don’t really remember thinking much of it. It seemed a bit much for 'wake and bake' but there’s no such thing as too high, right? Wrong. I ended up hitting the bong 4 or 5 times, each new rip as fat as the former. Within 30 seconds of finishing the bowl, I knew I was in trouble.
I let K know that I couldn’t handle the way I was feeling and that I needed to go outside and take a walk. He said that he needed to walk his dog anyway and would there for join me. But I couldn’t even wait until he got dressed. I had to get some fresh air as soon as possible. Already I could not bare the overwhelming physical discomfort that was bestowed upon me by this demonic herb. I quickly made my way out of his apartment and started walking towards a little store me and K often visited to buy cigs, beer and munchies. K came out with his dog, shouted my name several times and wanted me to wait for him. I yelled that I needed to be alone and would just go to the store and kept walking. I naively hoped, against my better judgement, that I could perhaps just visit the store, buy something and return to smoke the rest of our gear in good time. The store is a a little less than a mile away from K’s house and after I had walked just 200 meters I understood that my only option was to turn around and go home. At this point the actual intensity of the trip just fell upon me like a merciless tsunami crashing into a fucking village of small children. No mercy. I knew I had to get back home, and home being about 400m away, it was a challenge. The cars, trees and houses I passed on my way started to come, in a word - alive, as they were no longer visually transparent. But the sensation wasn’t congenial, instead it brought with it something that can probably be best described as evil. In addition to feeling like crap physically, I started to sort of dwell on darker philosophical concepts that I was in no condition to examine. [Something along the lines of understanding that life, as I felt it, under the influence of this devilish drug, in this exact moment, was my own on-going manifestation of darkness piercing through the light provided by life. What are the chances, that I am walking here, now, as I am. The person that I have grown up to be. Against all odds, I have emerged from the void for a timespan of years only to be devoured by space and infinity once more. And it will happen in a blink of an eye. No, actually it has already happened. Am I here? I know I am, but am I really? Can I trust my senses? Yes, I can feel, but an illusion can be felt as well. But by whom? By the illusion itself, otherwise it could not exist. There is no darkness. It doesn’t exist. Darkness is just the absence of light. Light is rare, there for darkness is not. And I was willingly bringing darkness into the light, bringing drugs into my life. This story has been written a thousand times, all I’d have to do is read it. And I have read it. Why would I grow up to be and feel nihilistic when life is so beautiful? Why would I ruin my friendships, relationships and my very being with different manifestations of darkness?]
And now there was darkness everywhere, despite the sunny weather. I was infected by the drug I had smoked, I could feel it in my bones. I cursed my decision to get high that day and the fact that I was in this situation at the moment made me furious with myself. But my fury had no power, no potency. I couldn’t even think in the third person without feeling more physically sick because of it. I felt trapped and it made no sense. About 200 meters to go before I’d reach my house and my body felt like it was going to crumble. I thought about calling the ambulance but knew that there would be a really slim chance that they would actually be able to do something to help and that I would just get into unneccessary trouble. Also, actually calling anyone at that time would have been quite a lot of work in itself. I could still think quite rationally about my situation, though. Somehow the musings of my mind had kept me occupied enough not to think about the obvious physical agony I was experiencing. But that was over now. I made it to my house and started climbing the stairs to my apartment. It almost felt like there were malevolent entities holding the curtains of reality straight above me and could let the bonds of time slip from their boney fingers every second of every minute. I thought about how I respected the power they hold over me, the power this plant I smoked holds over me, hoping that this would result in more kindness being bestowed upon me. But I felt worse by the second. Somehow I got my door opened and headed straight for my bed. It did not deliver on the comfort I was seeking. I knew that my bed was where I needed to be, to survive this, but I knew all along it would be an enormous struggle back to sobriety. Unfortuneatly, I could not have been more right.
I stumbled to the bathroom to get a bowl to throw up in, and crawled back to bed. This simple 20-meter journey was actually very difficult and felt more like a fucking apocalyptic quest of some sort. My body had all but broken down, I could no longer feel my room, feel reality. The evil entities that had followed me, had dropped the curtains. I couldn’t throw up or even sit up. I think I resorted to the fetal position for a while, then stretched my legs out again. I was looking for a way, any way, to feel even a slight wave of positive energy. I even tried to go along with the negative energy, once again trying to show my respect for the drug’s might, its aptitude. I wanted to feel solace in the embrace of the darkness by becoming one with it. I felt like I was on a spiritual journey of some sort but was too physically fucked to think anymore. It was hell. It was purgatory. Just pain and discomfort – forever. I pleaded in my mind for this feeling to stop, needless to say it didn’t help. I had no understanding of time in this state and as far as sensory awareness and receptive conciousness go, I was floating in the land of the dead – alive only in thought. Then, at some point, I noticed that my heart was beating way too fast, faster than it ever has before. That is when I reconnected with my surroundings, I could actually see that I was lying on a bed, physically experience my room. I thought to myself that perhaps the worst is over. But the speed of my beating heart only increased, the more I thought about it, the more I dwelled on the idea that this was a potentially life-threatening situation. The thought of suicide due to the horrible physical discomfort had already crossed my mind before but was quickly brushed aside for several reasons. But now I could actually die, whether I wanted to or not, I thought. The thought frightened me and I tried desperately to fall asleep. I kept thinking about my family, friends, life etc. The usual stuff in an extreme situation, I guess. And boom – the next thing I remember is waking up at about 8 PM, feeling physically broken and exhausted but happy to be alive and very glad and actually proud of myself that I had managed to fall asleep and end that nightmare. I had went to K’s house at about 1 PM btw to put things into context and the events into pespective. I got out of bed, still feeling a bit dizzy, and went for a glass of water. That must have tasted awesome. I was actually quite certain that I had thrown up at some point but there was only a couple of splashes of saliva in the bowl so I must have just gagged and spat. Quite disturbing. I checked my phone and K had called a couple of times, I had no energy to speak about the trip or anything really, so I sent him a text message, something along the lines of „im fine, talk to you tomorrow”. The next day I gave the rest of my weed to him and deleted the dealer’s number from my phone as I vowed not to touch that particular stuff ever again. In reality, I relapsed after something like 6-8 months. I can no longer smoke a quarter of an amount of this substance I smoked before without being exiled to the outsprings of reality again. I can get overwhelmed, anxious and uncomfortable very easily, even on small doses. Stick to authentic weed gentlemen.
The events started to unravel at noon of a beautiful summer day. I had just acquired 1 gram of a sort of synthesized cannabis-like substance that probably doesn’t even exist in most other countries or might just hold a different name, I’m not sure. I called up my best friend (we’ll call him K) and he was up for getting high. I made my way to his house which stands, conveniently enough, just about a hundred meters of mine. He had just got out of bed and I think we decided to have a cigarette. The weather was delightful and we were in a good mood, looking forward to lighting up our poison of choice (which is incidentally the name we have given to this particular breed of weed). As we were looking to kick things off with a beast of a high, we opted to smoke from a simple self-made gravity bong which we fashioned from a 2L plastic bottle. I stacked up a decent bowl and K went first, absorbing 2 big hits. I was up next. As I was blazing up the grass and watching the water flow out of the bong, I noticed that K had bagged me a goliath grasp of gear but I don’t really remember thinking much of it. It seemed a bit much for 'wake and bake' but there’s no such thing as too high, right? Wrong. I ended up hitting the bong 4 or 5 times, each new rip as fat as the former. Within 30 seconds of finishing the bowl, I knew I was in trouble.
I let K know that I couldn’t handle the way I was feeling and that I needed to go outside and take a walk. He said that he needed to walk his dog anyway and would there for join me. But I couldn’t even wait until he got dressed. I had to get some fresh air as soon as possible. Already I could not bare the overwhelming physical discomfort that was bestowed upon me by this demonic herb. I quickly made my way out of his apartment and started walking towards a little store me and K often visited to buy cigs, beer and munchies. K came out with his dog, shouted my name several times and wanted me to wait for him. I yelled that I needed to be alone and would just go to the store and kept walking. I naively hoped, against my better judgement, that I could perhaps just visit the store, buy something and return to smoke the rest of our gear in good time. The store is a a little less than a mile away from K’s house and after I had walked just 200 meters I understood that my only option was to turn around and go home. At this point the actual intensity of the trip just fell upon me like a merciless tsunami crashing into a fucking village of small children. No mercy. I knew I had to get back home, and home being about 400m away, it was a challenge. The cars, trees and houses I passed on my way started to come, in a word - alive, as they were no longer visually transparent. But the sensation wasn’t congenial, instead it brought with it something that can probably be best described as evil. In addition to feeling like crap physically, I started to sort of dwell on darker philosophical concepts that I was in no condition to examine. [Something along the lines of understanding that life, as I felt it, under the influence of this devilish drug, in this exact moment, was my own on-going manifestation of darkness piercing through the light provided by life. What are the chances, that I am walking here, now, as I am. The person that I have grown up to be. Against all odds, I have emerged from the void for a timespan of years only to be devoured by space and infinity once more. And it will happen in a blink of an eye. No, actually it has already happened. Am I here? I know I am, but am I really? Can I trust my senses? Yes, I can feel, but an illusion can be felt as well. But by whom? By the illusion itself, otherwise it could not exist. There is no darkness. It doesn’t exist. Darkness is just the absence of light. Light is rare, there for darkness is not. And I was willingly bringing darkness into the light, bringing drugs into my life. This story has been written a thousand times, all I’d have to do is read it. And I have read it. Why would I grow up to be and feel nihilistic when life is so beautiful? Why would I ruin my friendships, relationships and my very being with different manifestations of darkness?]
And now there was darkness everywhere, despite the sunny weather. I was infected by the drug I had smoked, I could feel it in my bones. I cursed my decision to get high that day and the fact that I was in this situation at the moment made me furious with myself. But my fury had no power, no potency. I couldn’t even think in the third person without feeling more physically sick because of it. I felt trapped and it made no sense. About 200 meters to go before I’d reach my house and my body felt like it was going to crumble. I thought about calling the ambulance but knew that there would be a really slim chance that they would actually be able to do something to help and that I would just get into unneccessary trouble. Also, actually calling anyone at that time would have been quite a lot of work in itself. I could still think quite rationally about my situation, though. Somehow the musings of my mind had kept me occupied enough not to think about the obvious physical agony I was experiencing. But that was over now. I made it to my house and started climbing the stairs to my apartment. It almost felt like there were malevolent entities holding the curtains of reality straight above me and could let the bonds of time slip from their boney fingers every second of every minute. I thought about how I respected the power they hold over me, the power this plant I smoked holds over me, hoping that this would result in more kindness being bestowed upon me. But I felt worse by the second. Somehow I got my door opened and headed straight for my bed. It did not deliver on the comfort I was seeking. I knew that my bed was where I needed to be, to survive this, but I knew all along it would be an enormous struggle back to sobriety. Unfortuneatly, I could not have been more right.
I stumbled to the bathroom to get a bowl to throw up in, and crawled back to bed. This simple 20-meter journey was actually very difficult and felt more like a fucking apocalyptic quest of some sort. My body had all but broken down, I could no longer feel my room, feel reality. The evil entities that had followed me, had dropped the curtains. I couldn’t throw up or even sit up. I think I resorted to the fetal position for a while, then stretched my legs out again. I was looking for a way, any way, to feel even a slight wave of positive energy. I even tried to go along with the negative energy, once again trying to show my respect for the drug’s might, its aptitude. I wanted to feel solace in the embrace of the darkness by becoming one with it. I felt like I was on a spiritual journey of some sort but was too physically fucked to think anymore. It was hell. It was purgatory. Just pain and discomfort – forever. I pleaded in my mind for this feeling to stop, needless to say it didn’t help. I had no understanding of time in this state and as far as sensory awareness and receptive conciousness go, I was floating in the land of the dead – alive only in thought. Then, at some point, I noticed that my heart was beating way too fast, faster than it ever has before. That is when I reconnected with my surroundings, I could actually see that I was lying on a bed, physically experience my room. I thought to myself that perhaps the worst is over. But the speed of my beating heart only increased, the more I thought about it, the more I dwelled on the idea that this was a potentially life-threatening situation. The thought of suicide due to the horrible physical discomfort had already crossed my mind before but was quickly brushed aside for several reasons. But now I could actually die, whether I wanted to or not, I thought. The thought frightened me and I tried desperately to fall asleep. I kept thinking about my family, friends, life etc. The usual stuff in an extreme situation, I guess. And boom – the next thing I remember is waking up at about 8 PM, feeling physically broken and exhausted but happy to be alive and very glad and actually proud of myself that I had managed to fall asleep and end that nightmare. I had went to K’s house at about 1 PM btw to put things into context and the events into pespective. I got out of bed, still feeling a bit dizzy, and went for a glass of water. That must have tasted awesome. I was actually quite certain that I had thrown up at some point but there was only a couple of splashes of saliva in the bowl so I must have just gagged and spat. Quite disturbing. I checked my phone and K had called a couple of times, I had no energy to speak about the trip or anything really, so I sent him a text message, something along the lines of „im fine, talk to you tomorrow”. The next day I gave the rest of my weed to him and deleted the dealer’s number from my phone as I vowed not to touch that particular stuff ever again. In reality, I relapsed after something like 6-8 months. I can no longer smoke a quarter of an amount of this substance I smoked before without being exiled to the outsprings of reality again. I can get overwhelmed, anxious and uncomfortable very easily, even on small doses. Stick to authentic weed gentlemen.
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