Hello everyone. Sorry for the scary/clickbait title. I wish it could be something more positive, but unfortunately, at least for me, the night I took these was one of the worst of my life.
I want to preface by saying that I’m not trying to fearmonger or scare anyone off from mushrooms, I still think they can be an amazing teacher, and I’m not totally opposed to doing them again. It just won’t be anytime soon.
And if you had asked me if I would do them again at the height of this bad trip? I would’ve said I’d rather you cut my brainstem out.
So take this as a cautionary tale. Especially to those who have never done psychadelics.
Which was me.
(Also, I hope my formatting isn’t too bad, as this is my first time using the site. Condolences if it is!)
So, this was my first time. Yep, first time ever doing any sort of psychadelics. I had only done weed before this, which I don’t think counts.
So, I wanted to learn more about myself, and I wanted to learn more about what my purpose in life was. I’ve been drifting lately, and really needed a new perspective on things. And I’m in college so yk, it feels like something people do.
I took 2 grams, used lemon juice, added it to tea, and drank at around 11:30 pm.
I thought: “This won’t be so bad, right? I’m not taking too much, and I’m a tough person. I’ve survived really bad weed trips no problem, even when the paranoia was horrible.”
Oh boy, how wrong I was.
I thought I was doing mushrooms. No, they were doing me. And they did me hard.
I guess I should have researched more. But in all honesty, my ego was so arrogant it probably would not have helped. I was under the (very stupid, mind you) impression that if you were “strong enough”, or “had enough of a grip on yourself” beforehand, you could get through any potential negative effects, including effects on mood, reality, etc. I was aware of the concept of ego death, but I thought I was safe from it because I took a “low” dose.
Nope.
People often say this is the point- and you’re confronted with things you need to be taught, and this is what will ultimately help you grow. And maybe that’s true. I am definitely changed, and I have definitely learned to be grateful for peace, love, and a sound mind.
But during the trip? During that peak hour of absolute, mind-rending torture?
It didn’t fucking matter one bit. It didn’t matter at all, hell, I *knew* this was supposed to happen, during the peak, I kept telling myself “This is the point. This is the point. You’re learning. You’re learning.”
But it wasn’t a positive thing at all at the time. It just felt like a mocking voice. It felt like a delusion. A pathetic, desperate shield against the horrible break in reality I was experiencing.
So, the trip started out good. Mind you, I was alone, but I’m a loner by nature. Being around other people, especially on substances, can cause hard anxiety for me.
I was nervous but excited. I couldn’t wait. I got a music playlist, a movie setup, and snacks and water.
What a joke. None of this shit mattered at all when the trip went bad. It was all just artifcial, naive shit, a reminder to not treat mind altering substances like a fun cookie you can eat. Yum! Cookie = fun meditation! knowledge of the universe! unlocking yourself! expanding your mind! and cool colors! Yay!
Man… what a fool I was.
I do have depression, but it hasn’t been too bad recently. I’ve honestly been in a pretty good headspace these last couple months. So I thought it wouldn’t be an issue.
Anyway, so the first half of the trip was actually good. At around 12:00 it kicked in, and I was feeling good. Definitely vibing. The edges of my bed looked cool, the walls looked amazing, and music was awesome. I could really feel the rhythm of the beat, and I couldn’t stop laughing when I was playing with a hair band. It was bizarre but cool.
Then at like… 2:40 ish, things took a turn for the worst. I had so much nausea, wow, but I’m grateful for it now, because if I hadn’t thrown up I probably would have been even more convinced the mushrooms had poisoned my brain forever.
What went wrong? I don’t know. Maybe it was the loss of control, or that I simply wasn’t ready for it to hit in full intensity. But I ran to the toilet and things just started spiraling.
It’s hard to describe, but it was this repeating chain of confusing insights where I couldn’t tell what was true and what was fake. It was like, I *knew* time was real, I knew my previous, sane self was real, but the paranoia of it being *gone forever* just hit me hard. I could remember things like “It’s just a drug. It will pass.” But i was convinced this wasn’t true anymore. I was convinced I was forever untethered to reality, because I realized the brain dictates reality. If it’s broken, you’re fucked, and who cares if reality is real? This warped perception is your new reality. Your brain doesn’t care about what’s real, it can take it all away from you whenever it wants. Because it did. I realized how easily it could. I thought: “This is all you have, and people will forever mourn the person you used to be, looking down at you from outside the psychosis zone.”
And that zone was really, *really* bad.
The mood was horrible. The fear and paranoia were at more high levels than I’ve ever experienced. I couldn’t take it. Everything was confusing. Basic truths about who I was, and what made me happy, just completely vaporized. There was so much fear. So, so much. I was terrified of myself, I couldn’t trust my inner voice and it felt like my brain was trying to spike every notion I had into the toilet. There was no logic left. Logic didn’t *work* anymore. I couldn’t think normally, my stream of consciousness was completely hijacked and destroyed into the dirt, with every passing thought being corrupted and feeling like venom leaking into the deepest crevices of the foundation of my sense of self. Just poison poson poison. It was poison in my head, tearing apart my brain like some fast-acting disease.
Trigger warning, but I did have serious thoughts of self harm (and kms) at the time because I wanted to make it stop. I thought about going outside to the roof. Although at that point, I wasn’t even convinced that any sort of release would work on me because I was so far gone, and death didn’t seem real.
My brain was my enemy. My cage. And I couldn’t escape it. That was the worst part.
It wasn’t a movie you could turn off, it was your actual brain. There was no escape.
I definitely couldn’t sleep. The lights were off, my eyes were closed, and I had some visuals that were almost like really intense thoughts, less explicit visuals but more like imagination of rotating bands of shapes that felt unkillable, ie, I could not turn them off if I tried.
I pissed myself but I didn’t care at all. In fact, that was one of the more positive memories of the experience. I do remember being aware enough at the time to think that if some sort of negative stimulus had happened, literally anything from the fire alarm to a knock at the door, it would’ve been 100,000 times worse. It’s why I had to turn the music off. At the beginning I had some yacht rock, pink floyd, and instrumentals going, but that was quickly too grating. I wanted to change to another playlist I had of marimba instrumentals that I liked but honestly guys I could barely navigate my phone. I even tried ambient music, literally the most low stimulation calming shit ever, thinking it would help, but it still felt like an extra layer of pain so I had to shut it off. I was so sensitive and I knew it too- I knew how fucked I would be if someone tried to harm me at that time. I was so scared of any further pain. At one point it felt like death was calling to me, telling me I had messed up, and that it was my time to go for being so stupid. And now that I was broken I needed to be swept away like trash. Arguing against it felt like further marks against me, tallying how much worse the torture would get if I didn’t stop resisting. And I tried, I tried to let it wash over me, I tried to stop fighting it, but the pain and the fear just kept hitting the same receptor over and over, and it wouldn’t dull too, that was the worst part. I kept thinking maybe I would go numb to it but no, it was just as bad with every passing second.
Eventually I couldn’t take it and called my sister. Mind you this is like 4:00 am so it was a miracle she picked up.
If she didn’t… Idk what would have happened. I know now that I probably would’ve recovered from the actual side effects, but I think I would have develeoped serious trauma.
She really helped me through it. She was really confused at first but thankfully understanding when I told her, and she stayed with me and calmed me down (some). I say some because the fear was still there, extremely so, but she was my grip on reality. I knew her voice was real and somehow it didn’t distort at all, I could hear and understand her clearly.
The next day I slept a lot and still felt lingering mental discomfort for like 14 hours ish, though the day after that I was (mostly) back to normal, trying to reconcile with what just happened to me.
I’m okay now. Maybe that sounds hard to believe from my extreme descriptions, lol, but I seriously am. Just… humbled.
Anyway, thank you for reading. Comments on your thoughts or perspective would be appreciated. Peace and love <3
Edited by zzzhubris (07/09/26 07:52 PM)
|
Threaded
Previous
Index
Next
zzzhubris 
Belome 
Edit 
Reply 
this isn't just a platitude.
Spunkee
1 2 all )
Tonberry
Dogomush