My friends and I were in a beutiful state park, near the ocean, surrounded by the redwoods.
My friends and I were in a beutiful state park, near the ocean, surrounded by the redwoods. I had eaten around 3 grams of psilocybin mushrooms-my friends ate about the same amount. This was to be my tenth and last shroom trip.
My previous trip experiences always went bad. I would be having a good time and then everything would dissolve into a deeply depressing and often terrifying mindfuck. Even though I kept having bad trips, I still continued to trip.
This last trip was insane. At noon we ate the shrooms inside peanut butter sandwiches before drivng about 20 minutes to the woods. After 15 minutes I felt sick. Very sick. I thought that I had eaten the wrong kind of mushrooms this time and that I would be dead. I started having strange audio hallucinations from the stereo.
When we got to the forest everything was so lush and majestic. The trees were huge. Normaly I would find peace in this but it just looked menacing. My friends knew things were going bad for me because I stoped talking.
We got out to the edge of a cliff. It was so windy that I thought I was going to be sucked right off the mountain. At this point I didn't want to be there and I didn't want to be tripping. I came to the realization that I can't handle psycadelic drugs. Even if they are exciting and mysterious and have theraputic value, for me they had become torture. Unfortunatly I was only about an hour into my trip, there was no turning back. It was like I was on a rollercoaster and I had just been strapped in.
We traveled into the forest. The visuals were not all that crazy. Everything was very bright and pastel. It all looked pretty damned cool... If only my mind hadn't venture into hell...
At about the two hour mark is where I lost track of things. My friends tell me that I kept repeating "I'm fine...I'm fine" either trying to fool them or reasure myself. As my peak hit it seemed as if the days events morphed into an infinite time loop inside my head. I forgot that I was triping. I forgot my name. I thought I was in the after life and being punished by God. The punishment was that my friends and I were stuck in the forest and each day we would try to find a way out. The trick was, there was no way out. Every day my friends forgot that we were stuck in purgatory and they would try their best to find a way out. I was the only one that knew what God was doing to us, but for some reason I could not tell my friends. So I was in the ultimate hell, knowing that I was stuck in eternity, in a loop, in this ugly labrynth and I was the only one who knew. (Today I belive that this trip could have been associated with the movie Groundhog Day where Bill Murie experiences the day over and over. The day I tripped was April Fools day).
Eventually I came out of the loop and realized who I was and what I was doing. I knew I had experienced ego-death. This seemed to make things worse because I thought I was now completly insane. I was having horrifying visions of my parents finding out and me being a vegatable. I couldn't calm down, I couldn't talk, and I felt completly and utterly alone.
When I finally came down I made a promise to myself that I would stop with all psycadelic drugs. After much experience I have found that the negatives outway the positive. I know this isn't true for a lot of people, they can handle them just fine. I belive that because I suffer from depression and anxiety while I'm sober, that these facets of myself become magnifyed under the influence. I hope people out there who read this might benifit from my story and recognize their own limitations.