(2C-CPihkal dose range: 20 - 40mg
If you have made it this far you might be wondering if a bomb is ever going to drop. Promise, it is coming.
With the iodo and ethyl there was no desire to push up the dosage. The body-load of the `I' was dissuading, and the potency of the `E' was plentiful. The mistake I resisted with `I' and `E' lurked around a nearby corner, waiting for me to `C' it.
The effects of 2C-C were nicely summarized in an online post as being akin to a psychedelic valium. Indeed, as indicated at the 40mg level in Pihkal, the drug is both relaxing and quite active. Experiences at 34, 40 and 45mg fit this description. Other than the down-tempo narcotic push of the chloro there was no detectable body-load.
Looking back it seems at least a little strange that doses lower than 34mg were not explored. I suppose my impression from reports had been (whether rightfully or wrongly) that the effects of dosages lower than that could be somewhat ambiguous. Perhaps when a visitor decided to take 35mg and pissed their pants, completely faced, it might have tipped me off to the potential potency of this compound given the right circumstances (i.e. someone else's body) or stupidities (my own).
It can be hard to see the thing you are looking for when it is directly in front of your face...
At 34mg the visuals presented casually. Swaying oriental patterns flowed in and out of surfaces, off of tress and light. Another six up to 40mg brought out definition in the textures, and the bump to 45mg was real for me, but by no means a jump.
Moving higher still I seemed to be far from my ceiling. With 50mg the room was dripping rainbows. The mid-fifties range appeared very docile and chill. A dose of 60mg produced Newton fractals and transformed the outdoors into alien-esque landscapes \textit(a la) 2C-E. Still there was an absence of body-load, the mellow push of the chloro lessening with the higher doses. I recall telling a close friend that there seemed to be great potential for the 2C-C. Concernedly expressing their disapproval, the fitting response I got was, ``potential for WHAT?'' They did not understand why there inherently had to be this thirst for... more. What was I really seeking under the guise of this claim to be ``probing deeper.'' Deeper into what? More is never enough. Unable to recognize the dualism...
There was nothing rational about what I did next. So much care had been exhibited with the other explorations, the decision that followed seems like an anomaly in reflection. But we all know what curiosity does to kitties. The 25% dosage increase that scared the shit out of me with 2C-E didn't even elicit a flinch when 75mg of 2C-C went down the hatch. By no means did the reports of doses this high serve to dissuade me. I mean, dripping rainbows, Newton fractals, let's go! W-R-O-N-G. Wrong wrong wrong. So fucking wrong.
Casually inhaling some of the dentist's delight, less than twenty minutes after eating the dose, the visuals hit me over the back of the head. From the periphery of my field of vision the colors crashed in towards the center of my gaze. I could tell I was in for a ride, but had not even considered that the super-fast come-up might be an indication of anything horribly atypical. We were just sitting around hanging out... when things began to get out of hand.
First with the profuse sweating. Then the shivering and chills. Then both simultaneously. Clearly the chemical was not agreeing with me physically; but the possibility that I might disagree with it mentally had not yet entered my mind. And then...
Sitting on the couch staring blankly down towards my knees my vision began to magnify, transforming the corduroy on my pants from medium width to super-jumbo sized. Glancing up at my hands they appeared like blown-up latex gloves, ballooning. Everything was magnified by a factor of three or four. The absurdity of the effect was a kick to the face. As colors swirled, prismatic mosaics engulfing the room, the painting on my retina seemed to be layering new insanities on top of the old ones, dancing further and further away from the recognizably analog. The visual world had been transformed purely into a digitized comic book, inhabited by pixilated cartoon creatures with massive bulging tumors protruding out of their necks and heads, all of which I was seeing as if through an optical microscope.
That was my first full blown encounter with the fear.
There had been prior flirtations; a handful of respectable interactions. But when the fear decides that the line has been crossed, there is nothing respectable about the intra-personal apocalypse that ensues.
Were it not for the presence of three incredible people who provided the single fraying thread of reality-yarn at which to grasp, I can only imagine. Friends are pretty amazing. Thank you so much guys. I can't thank them enough.
Curled in the fetal position on a friend's bed, another cuddling me from behind, battling what seemed like the imminent disaster of urinating all over myself, my friend and the bed... The intensity of the mirage and the bodily discomfort increased in tandem. Even the closed eye visuals were somehow markedly magnified; it was too much to handle. What had I done to myself? This state did not feel solely hallucinogenic; the fear screamed in my ears, berating me for having done something that felt so wrong as to seem irreversible. Piles of meaningless visual drivel rapidly fell from the sky, but never constructively cohered.
Already well over the edge, approximately three and a half hours in total were spent suspended in mid air. The extended duration curled up in a ball provided the priming for the climax of the trip---if you can call it that. Around hour three I found myself in an egg of sorts. Simultaneously I was seeing the view from inside the egg, as well as the view outside. Both worlds were still wildly metamorphosing when it occurred to me that it was very much like I had somehow become trapped inside of Dali's ``Geopoliticus Child Watching the Birth of a New Man,'' and was viewing myself struggling to get out of the egg. The realization that what I was experiencing could be connected to something outside of myself must have been what started to bring me down. Half an hour later, I was back to being communicable. After a full night's sleep I awoke to the cherished sobriety that had been exiled the previous eve. My psyche was deeply shaken but nothing had
physically been stirred beyond repair.
It was of great relief, though not a total surprise, when my vision began progressing back towards the preferred state of not being magnified. The relief of course cannot be overstated. For whatever reason, the magnification effect scared the living shit out of me. The feeling it kindled was entirely unnatural, mechanizing me to the point of artificiality. I was trapped in just three dimensions, no way to see outside of the box. There was nothing tangible or worthwhile to view in the hallucinogenic construct that surrounded me. Not to say it wasn't beautiful. Magnificent. But empty. Certainly the magnification of emptiness yields little new insight. Maybe the fear prevented me from finding value in the effect; it is debatable.
2C-C overview:
34 - 45mg: ++
50 - 60mg: ++.5
75mg: an immensely displeasurable +++
