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Kamikaze dose!!

An account of a harrowing experience

This is my first post here and it's going to be about the remarkable nightmare trip I had last week.
I'm a newbie to mushroom cultivation and I've learned everything I know so far thanks to the Shroomery.
This website and all the people behind it are incredible. I'm forever grateful!

Important notes:

- I've deemed necessary to include in this trip report a few paragraphs of background information, otherwise it would be impossible for the reader to understand why I took such a monstrous dose.

- I learned the hard way not to underestimate the power of seemingly weak mushrooms by irresponsibly taking a huge dose of them.
It didn't even cross my mind for a moment that those mushrooms came from a multi-spore syringe, thus making genetics unpredictable, so it's highly probable that a few potent fuckers might have been hidden in the lot (don't worry now, you will understand all this later on).

- I let my enthusiasm for mushroom cultivation blind me to the point of making the irresponsible decision of growing at my parents' home and I deeply regret that.
I would never encourage anyone to grow at their parents' home and I hope my story will serve as a warning to deter young people from doing that.

- It was brought home to me the importance of being accompanied by a sober sitter, especially when you are going to take a "kamikaze" dose.

- The fact that my experience with psychedelics is almost nonexistent coupled with the high dose I took, made me panic and seek help from medical professionals.
That is not to say that I really think that being hospitalized under the influence of shrooms is a good idea.
As a matter of fact, it is the worst thing one can do, because it can potentially make worse an already bad trip and you will most likely be given tranquilizers which will fuck with your trip big time and send you straight to Limbo.
No doctor can do anything to make you stop tripping and most members of the medical profession don't know jack about psychedelics.
As far as I know, there aren't reported cases yet of psilocybin overdose, but next time I will leave the heroic doses for heroic people, thank you very much.

- I know I did everything wrong from start to finish so I don't need to be reminded of that... I did learn my lesson. I invite you to take my report with a pinch of humor, there's plenty of negativity in the world already!

- English is not my mother tongue, so I apologize in advance for any grammatical errors or awkward constructions.

Before we get started, I think it is important to first put things into context and explain how I started to dabble in this hobby.
Ten years ago I did mushrooms twice and it was an incredible experience.
I've always been a truth-seeker and those two experiences opened me up to the power and potential that psychedelic mushrooms have to make us see ourselves and the world around us in a whole new light.

But it was only recently (4 months back) that I started to read up on how to actually cultivate them, nothing really serious, just out of curiosity.
I gradually became more and more interested until eventually I just fell in love with the beguiling beauty of mushroom cultivation.
There came a point when I just couldn't resist the desire to grow them myself.
I was so excited about it that I just wouldn't heed that little voice of reason in my head telling me how stupid it would be to grow at my parents' home.
Instead, I took it as a challenging adventure. It never crossed my mind to just start things nice and small... I was going to grow like a pro!

So I spent quite some time and energy devising what was to become the stealthiest mushroom cultivation project ever contrived by a dumbfuck like me!

I was to grow in my basement inside a wardrobe with a lock. This being by far my best option, since my basement is a kind of out-of-bounds area for everyone at home and we only use it to store all things that we no longer need but can't bring ourselves to get rid of.
It goes without saying that the basement is a real pigpen! It is the only place at home that we never clean or tidy up. Thank god that I have the Shroomery to teach me proper sterile technique!

After a lot of reading on mushroom cultivation, I mistakenly thought that I was already prepared to buy all the materials and equipment required to start growing.
And so, on impulse, I ordered in one fell swoop all the materials I thought I would need from an online grow shop and in local stores. I shelled out roughly 700 euros only to discover days later that I could have spent half that money on an even better setup!
Most things I bought were just useless and I felt like I'd just thrown that hard-earned money down the toilet... it was depressing indeed. Not to mention the bad quality items that I got from that online grow shop, a downright rip-off!

Please let me add here a word of advice for all impulsive and overly eager newbies like me (if there are any) out there: Never do like I did! And beware of buying things that you can't see in person! Read more! The more time you devote to expanding your knowledge about the different techniques (not only the ones that you may think suit you best) the more money and time you will save in the future.
I've learned that simplicity is the way to go about this hobby and that is just beautiful.
If I could go back in time I would do things the right way and I'd be less broke!

After a month of setting all up I was ready to grow.
For the record, I used a SGFC (I had to build it after sadly discovering that the PMP setup I had ordered online was just crap, and my poor shrooms would inevitably suffocate for lack of FAE and grow room).
I work out in my basement, so in order for me to safely mist and fan my shrooms several times a day without arousing anyone's suspicion I had to fabricate an excuse, so I told my parents in passing that I had changed my workout routine and that instead of doing one long workout session a day I was going to do several shorter ones throughout the day from then on. They swallowed it.

I inoculated my rye grains with the B syringe I ordered online, mixed the colonized jars into two different trays with a hpoo/verm/gypsum substrate and finally cased (
50/50 casing) hoping with trepidation for the best.
All the mushroom cultivation process, sterile technique and sterilization with pc (I use a camping gas stove) were done in my basement taking advantage of those moments when I was alone at home and at night when everybody was asleep. For good or bad, I currently have an awful lot of free time and could do this (not anymore as you shall see...)

The first flush gave me a fairly good yield to my heart's content. So I made some spore prints using my glove box (gosh I enjoyed it!)  and took some live tissue for cloning from the nicest looking shrooms, and then, with a pang of something akin to sadness, I put all these fresh beauties in the food dehydrator to dry and shrivel.

When the shroomies were cracker dry I proceeded to ingest 3 grams with no noticeable effects apart from a light buzz and some almost imperceptible visual distortions which lasted less than one hour.

I know from my experience with shrooms in the past that I don't have a natural tolerance to psilocybin at all. I remember that I had been tripping balls after only ingesting one average-sized dried mushroom. So I assumed that my first harvest had turned out to be a dud, as it tends to happen with the B strain.

The next day (yes, I know I should have waited longer) I decided to try 6 grams but I didn't trip at all! I was terribly disappointed after all the hard work and money I had invested in the project.

The next week I was already resigned to the fact that the 65 grams of dried mushrooms I had stashed in my room were useless. I was angry and frustrated but I couldn't bring myself to dump them, so instead I decided to make a brew with the 65 grams.
I did two extractions adding a generous dash of white vinegar both times (as I understand, this helps with the alkaloid extraction).
First I brought the acidic water to a boil, turned off the stove and then added the mushrooms which I had previously ground into a powder. I let it steep and stirred almost constantly for 20 minutes (40 minutes in total). Finally, I strained and disposed of the mushroom material and I was left with 0,7 liters of foul-smelling, disgusting-looking concoction.
I didn't want to reduce the brew because I was afraid of destroying the alkaloids by doing so.

Friday, December 4th, 2015.

2:50 A.M.

So I'm in my room, my folks fast asleep, staring with a sense of impending doom at the disgusting and humongous brew I have in front of me. I brace myself and proceed to take a big gulp immediately chased by water and a teaspoon of honey to mask the horrible taste. Repeat two more times. It was done! and I ain't expecting no trip, poor lil' me how very wrong I am...

3:10 A.M.

I'm playing chess online while I'm waiting for something to happen. The fisrt thing I notice is that I begin to play chess in a reckless way and strange tactical ideas come to my mind which funnily enough turn out to be sound.

3:13 A.M.

The chess pieces come alive! They start to bend and morph into strange shapes and I can't keep playing because my mind is not thinking straight.
I go to Youtube and find a podcast video where a young woman and a hippie-looking guy are talking on Skype about psilocybin mushrooms.
At this point I know for sure that I'm in for a hell of a trip, because the come-up is seriously strong and only 5 minutes have passed since the shrooms started to kick in.
When the woman talks, I see incredible geometrical figures all around her in a kind of floral motif. She looks "geometrically" beautiful if you catch my drift.
After 5 minutes, it is the guy's turn to talk. By this time all the visuals are still very geometrical in nature but a hell of a lot stronger.
All of a sudden, I notice that the guy's speech starts to dramatically slow down,  as though he is just slurring his words, but eventually he seems to revert to normal speed again.
Then, something happens that freaks the hell out of me. The guy seems to be repeating three times every sentence he says! I make a mental note to check the same video the next day because I can't quite believe that I'm having this incredible auditory hallucination.
By the way, I did check the video the next day, and all was perfectly normal.

3:25 A.M. (approximately)

I can't help but freak out at the thought of what this trip holds in store for me. This is only the onset!
The body load is almost unbearable so I decide to shut down the pc, lie down in bed with my eyes closed and try to have an introspective trip, but I feel like I'm duct-taped to a rocket ship and it soon becomes clear that I can't possibly steer the trip away from its increasingly scarier course.
I am trying to breathe deeply and evenly but it is very difficult to do so as the very fabric of reality and consciousness is shifting, warping and tearing all around me.
The CEV's are really intense and I feel that I am in another dimension, peeking through the matrix from the other side.
I open my eyes and take a look at my room. The best way to describe how I feel is using the analogy of a ghost, condemned to eternally wander among the living, seeing the world from a place where time does not exist. All things appear ethereal and I start to think that I've really died and become a ghost.

?:?? A.M. (from now on, I just lose track of time)

I go to the bathroom, kneel in front of the toilet bowl and start to force vomit. After this I feel a tiny bit more grounded. Can ghosts puke their guts out? Maybe I'm not a ghost after all, what a reassuring thought!
I stand up to take a look at myself in the mirror.  In the reflection I still see everything as if I was wearing "ghost's goggles". The only thing I can see clearly and in "high definition" are my eyes.
As I'm looking in the mirror, everything starts spinning and swirling, but the reflection of my eyes remains sharp and clear. Try as I may, I can't break eye contact with the reflection of my own eyes.
I feel an ancient presence, still and eternal,  that is looking at me through my own eyes and I can't dispel the feeling that I'm just about to be possessed by a demonic entity (even though I'm not a religious person at all).
I start to panic because I can't move a muscle. I'm glued to the spot under that piercing, unfathomable stare. I'm losing all touch with reality, my sanity shatters to smithereens.
It seems as if I've been in front of the mirror for an eternity. I want to scream for help but I can't even open my mouth. I try to concentrate all my energy into this task. With a huge effort my lips start to part very slowly and finally I am able to produce a barely audible grunt in the depths of my throat.
I keep trying to scream for what seems an eternity, until at long last I manage to scream at the top of my lungs. Hopefully my father will hear me and come to my rescue.
It is a measure of the gravity of my ordeal that I actually want my father to come and help me, never mind exposing my secret.

I think I hear the door of my father's bedroom open violently as I am still screaming. My father opens the bathroom door and he is just terrified (imagine being woken up in the middle of the night by your son screaming).
He starts asking me what is going on but I'm still glued to the spot looking in the mirror, unable to utter a single word.
He grabs my arm and keeps frantically trying to elicit a response from me, to no avail.
Eventually he gaves my arm a good yank and I'm forced to turn on my heels, finally breaking eye contact with the mirror, finally breaking the spell.

A huge weight seems to have lifted from my shoulders and now that I am able to move again I look at my father straight in the eye.
Since I am unable to speak, I just stand there looking at my father, trying to convey with my eyes what is happening.
I sense my father's soul through his eyes, everything else is warping but not his eyes. I feel how worried he is and I also perceive the huge love that he has for me. I am overwhelmed and profoundly moved by this and I am more relaxed now.

My father keeps asking and asking, until with a huge effort I manage to speak the words "Hospital... Hongos..." which means hospital and fungi in Spanish, although with hindsight, I should have said "setas" which means mushrooms.

Seeing that my father is in a state of paralyzing confusion and doesn't understand, I decide to grab his arm and walk him downstairs to the basement while he constantly asks me where I am taking him and what I want.

So now we are in the basement, in front of the wardrobe that I've converted into what must look like a small lab for the inexperienced eye. But the door is closed and in my state I cannot remember where I left the keys.

As I am thinking of just hacking the door down I suddenly remember where the keys are. I give my father the keys and signal him to open the door.
What he finds there leaves him utterly dumbstruck and I can see in his face that understanding is finally dawning on him.
"Hospital... Hongos" I keep saying.
Without a word my father rushes upstairs to his bedroom (I didn't know why he did that at that moment but the next day he told me that he was taking off his pajamas and putting on some clothes to rush me to the hospital).

I wait in the front door for him but I don't know what he's doing or why it's taking him so long.
While I'm waiting I'm reminded of the first movie of "The Lord of the Rings" series, after Frodo is stabbed by a Morgul-blade, threatening to turn Frodo into a wraith as he enters the "Wraith-world". So I think; "I relate to you, Frodo. Now I understand your plight, be strong mate!".
Unfortunately, I wasn't going to be helped by elves but by a hospital staff who doesn't even know what a psilocybin mushroom is, as we shall see later on.

How long does it take a person to take off their pajamas and put on some clothes? A couple of minutes? Well, in my state it seems an eternity and I can't wait for my father any longer. So I make the "wise" decision to run to the hospital with my slippers on.
I leave the house without my father knowing and start to run as fast as I can. The hospital is very near my house, no more than 400 meters away.
My slippers are preventing me from running as fast as I can so I ditch them and start running to the hospital with only my socks on.
I run for dear life, much faster than never before in my life, as though I'm being fuelled not only by fear but also by the uncanny power that so often mushrooms seem to bestow upon the user, making us capable of feats we wouldn't even dream of in our everyday lives.

When I enter the hospital the only person I see is a middle-aged nurse receptionist who's dozing in her chair behind the counter... I kid you not.
"Hongos, hongos!" I yell. She wakes up with a start.
As she asks me what is the problem the only thing I can say is "hongos".
Another nurse comes in carrying a wheelchair for me to sit on and she too starts asking me questions that I can't answer. The only thing I do is stare at her, feeling impotent and helpless at not being able to communicate.

Luckily, my father enters the hospital at that moment and he's holding in his hands one of my trays which is full of little second-flush shrooms sprouting everywhere (it melts my heart how cute they are).
Incredibly enough, it seems that my father has successfully resisted the temptation to eat them. That's a will of steel right there!

After my father answers all the red-tape stuff and gives the nurse the tray for examination, I'm rushed to another room where a doctor makes me go through a quick battery of medical tests.
From there I am taken to one of the hospital's wards which was to become the final destination where later on I will experience death, purgatory, loops of insanity, moments of eternity, rebirth, epiphanies about the paradox of existence and that we are all one. Everything was so painful, horrifying and beautiful at the same time.

At home, the trip was just taking off and it was in the hospital when things started to get seriously messed up.
I know it will sound trite, but what I experienced was beyond the kingdom of words and many important details are going to be left out. I will try and do my best.

They leave me in a ward where there are a lot of patients lying down quietly in their beds and it seems that I've become the main attraction for the staff members in that area on an otherwise quiet night.
I am surrounded by a lot of doctors and nurses, most of them seem to just be mere spectators.

They connect me to machines to keep track of my vital signs.
A nurse approaches me with an intravenous needle to put me on a drip but I refuse point-blank.
After a few minutes, two doctors aproach me surreptitiously from both sides and taking advantage that I have my eyes closed, they tie me up to my bed, first my arms and then my ankles.
I shout a couple of nasty things in English at them and after that they finally put me on a drip.

The next day I learned that they administered me with "Benzodiazepine" which is a class of psychoactive drug similar to Valium. This drug and being tied to my bed, noticeably increased the negative aspects of my trip, rendering me helpless both physically and mentally.


I will try to describe the indescribable. I lack the experience to say whether it was ego-death, although I don't think it was. All I know is that I died, but contrary to real death, I hadn't severed all contact with this reality and that was really painful because it lacks the liberation that real death is supposed to provide.
I was trapped between two worlds and I could clearly see through the illusion of the self and this reality. It was a mind-shattering experience I wasn't yet prepared to endure.
I felt that I was no longer human and I wasn't thinking as such. I was just a beacon of consciousness in the vast ocean of vibrant awareness this universe is engulfed by.


For lack of a better word, I will use this term to describe this harrowing experience.
I was subjected to excruciating pain; mentally, phsysically, emotionally and spiritually.
A doctor told my father that my heart rate had reached 165 bpm at some point and I am positive that that happened during this experience.
The concept of time was meaningless and there was only suffering.
I became convinced that by a mysterious quirk of the laws of the universe I had been trapped for eternity in a sort of existential singularity, a paradoxical realm of pure horror.
The pain was constantly changing from one form to another and there was no escaping it.
It wasn't a physical, mental, emotional or spiritual pain; it felt like a fusion of them all.
I remember trying to focus or hold on to anything: memories, places, people, sensations, feelings, names...
I longed for my everyday existence, being mundane again and leave this hellish place, but even these thoughts and desires slipped away.  Everything slipped away.
I felt exiled from all that I knew.
I felt homeless, timeless, nameless, bodyless.
There was no point of reference.

It was certainly the worst experience of my life.


Ever so slowly the experience I've called "purgatory" began to recede into a distressing but less taxing experience.
I was yet again trapped, but this time in a seemingly endless loop of insanity.
I was experiencing the paradox of existence and why I cannot cease to exist.
It was very circular in nature, starting at one point and ending with an "eureka moment" followed by me saying out loud a long "aahhhhh!" and then everything would start all over again.
I remember that I could hear some nurses imitating me in a good-natured way right after each and every of my "ahhhhh!'s". They were having a blast! lol


My "loops of insanity" started to gather speed.  It was really frightening.
My human mind is not designed to grasp the truth about the paradox of existence and it was too much to bear.
I felt as if every atom in my body was imploding. Actually, I felt that I was the universe imploding until I became a minuscule speck of infinite energy.
I was really expecting a Big-Bang, but instead I felt as if I was coming out into the world from my mother's womb again. It was painful, horribly painful.
I regained consciousness after this and I found myself bawling like a little baby.
Several nurses were at my side. My torso and arms were completely covered in a black substance and one of the nurses was cleaning me with a gauze.
Hours later I learned that a doctor, seeing that I had lost consciousness and was convulsing a little, had introduced plastic tubing in my nasal passage in order to admister me with "activated carbon" (a substance that is used to treat poisonings and overdoses following oral ingestion) and that the black substance was the carbon that I had vomited.


I felt very sedated at this point and sufficiently aware of my surroundings to notice that I was still tied to my bed, hooked up to machines and under my sheets I could see that I was only wearing a huge hospital diaper that was soaked through with my own urine.
I was fine with that, not ashamed in the least.
The visuals had stopped but I was still tripping in a introspective way.
I saw as clear as day that most humans in this planet are living a charade.
We are trapped in the ego and we fail to realize that we are all part of same thing and come from the same source.
It's easy to understand and conceptualize this, but to actually experience it is another thing altogether.
I also saw that this is totally necessary for the future betterment of humanity. There can't be spiritual awakening without first coming from a place of "unconsciousness".
I understood that all the suffering and evil in the world are also a necessary part of human spiritual evolution. I think that a good way to explain it would be by using the analogy of a diamond as a metaphor; in order for a beautiful diamond to form, carbon must be subjected to extreme pressures and high tempetures.
I wish I could have kept seeing the world in this way, but I'm afraid that I quickly reverted to my normal self and my old thinking patterns.


It was already daytime and I wasn't tripping anymore.
A new doctor came and sat down in front of a computer that was a few feet from my bed.
I was super-sensitive to the energies and vibes from all the people around me and I could easily sense that this guy was a nasty piece of work.
I was feeling increasingly uncomfortable in my pee-drenched bed and I desperately wanted to be untied from the bed and go home, but I somehow knew that it was going to be a challenge to convince this guy and there was nobody else with authority around.

"Sir, would you be so kind to untie me? I remember that I had to be tied because in my state I refused to be put on a drip but there's no need of that now. I'm lucid now and feel rather uncomfortable." I said, using a very polite tone.
The guy looked at me as if I had stolen money from him and said: "You're going to be tied until it is certain that you are not going to relapse."
"But sir, I've been through a hell of a time this night and all I want is to go home and sleep it off. The effects of the substance have already passed and there's no relapsing. This is not a mental illness" I said. "You must abide by the rules and show some respect" he said. "Are you implying that I'm being disrespectful?" I said. "Yes, I do." he said. "Sir, I refuse to be kept tied up like an animal. I'm an adult and I have the right to walk away from here if I so choose to." I said.
After this and without a word, the little prick grabbed the phone and called in the hospital's security guards. When the guards arrived, it was very easy for me to explain that they had been called for nothing and they left as quickly as they came.
"It's no wonder your coworkers can't stand you" I said, using an affirmation, because I just knew it. They guy pretended not to hear this and at the same moment a young nurse that was overhearing the argument looked at me, smiled and nodded, confirming that I was right.
Fortunately, I was saved by the timely arrival of my parents.
It was funny to hear the guy's feeble attempts at trying to convince my parents that I had been disrespectful. I just kept silent because I knew that my parents would not believe him--they know me very well.
It was easy for my parents to deal with the little prick and get me out of there.

9:30 AM

My parents and I walked from the hospital to my house.
I was horribly ashamed and felt so guilty for having let them go through all this (above all my father, because my mother didn't wake up after the commotion in the bathroom--she sleeps like a log).
I felt I owed my parents more than a word of explanation and an apology, so I explained to them how and why I started this mushroom cultivation spree of mine and that I was never going to do it again. But that was just a white lie because there's no doubt in my mind that I'm gonna grow 'em fuckers once I live alone, which is going to be very soon!!
My father even felt like joking around a little and called me "The New Walter White" (Breaking Bad series).

And that's it guys! Hope you enjoyed my report. Peace out!

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