It was my fourth experience with shrooms and we had almost a quarter of cubies between the two of us. We were at my buddy J’s house, and decided we would trip hard that night. We each took down half of what I had after smoking a couple bowls and passed the time until the trip with playing video games.
About 30-45 minutes later, we both felt the shrooms kicking in and could no longer focus on the television, so we decided it would be a good time to put my bed together. While cleaning off the mattress and putting it back in its place, we both could not stop laughing and tripping over ourselves. We laid down on our beds in silence and allowed the magical mushroom to take over us.
After a short while of nonsense talking and laughing, my friend started telling me that I should kill myself, and he wants to do it with me. At this point I’m tripping hard, but having a great time, and I begin laughing at what he has just said. He says it a few more times and each time I just giggle to myself. “You don’t understand how serious this is, I’m waking my parents up,” he says, and with this I’m jolted back into reality. Up until now I thought we were both having a good time, and then J starts talking of waking his parents? I begin talking to him and listening, attempting to calm him down when he gets up and begins walking to the door. I ask where he’s going and he tells me he’s going to throw up.
He leaves and I walk out of the bedroom after him, walking into the bathroom to find him pale as a ghost on the floor next to the toilet. He apparently doesn’t know me enter because he snaps his head up, as if surprised to see me and says, “What?” He gets up and goes back into his room, with me behind him. He does this a couple more times, and each time the same thing happens. At one point we go into his brother’s room to ask him for help (its about 1 am at this point), but his brother is too shit-faced to care.
We go back into the room, which is pitch black, and decide to lay down and try to go to bed. As each one of us lays there, we start talking to each other about life and why we are alive. Looking back it was mainly a bunch of bull crap that if any sober person heard, would think we were insane. J kept talking about how life was meaningless, and we should just kill ourselves, and I fell into an intense hypnosis while lying there in the dark. I began to go deeper into unconsciousness, and could no longer feel my body, yet I could hear my heartbeat, which seemed to be producing a melody. That’s when the truth finally came to me.
I HAD DIED. I truly believed I was dead, and J was either a figment of my imagination or my spiritual advisor, which one I could not figure out, and this greatly troubled me. I began to think that my entire life was just one large dream of mine and I would never be there again, trapped in an endless void of darkness. I told J that I realized I was dead, and all he said was, “Yes!” I thought I was being punished for my sins, and that I was left to all eternity to suffer the mental torment of my actions. I was at this stage for nearly an hour before I began coming back to reality. I woke up to find J asleep and attempted to go to the bathroom and throw up, in order to rid my body of these disgusting things (about 2:30-3am at this point). I tried but failed and went back to the room.
A heavy feeling of guilt weighed me down, and I felt as if there was something I was suppose to do. It troubled me, but I laid down and attempted to go back to sleep,…big mistake. It felt as if it were happening all over, like I was dying again. My body drifted away from me and I could no longer feel it. I felt intense emotional pain, and cried. I asked to be brought to life again, that I would try harder to do better, and soon I found myself waking up again. I still felt extremely dazed and confused. I tried looking at myself in the mirror, and my facial hair seemed to cover my face. I said to J that we were going to wake his parents, because I didn’t think we were even alive anymore. I thought we were stuck in endless time and that we would be downstairs in his house forever. I felt that to wake his parents is what we had to do, but he merely said, “Its 3 am, shut up and go to bed.” So I did.
I laid down in the darkness and tried to fall asleep. My wrists began to hurt, and the more I thought about it, the more they did. I began to think that I was truly dead, and I had slit my wrists. That if I were to look at my arms, they would be covered in blood. I ran to the bathroom, and they were fine. And so I went back to the room, and laid there until I finally fell to sleep.