Tripping. And falling...
I always said I'd never try hallucinogens, because I didn't trust my grasp on reality to be strong enough to keep my tethered to the earth with something trying to pull me away.
Well. I didn't really think of mushrooms as hallucinogens. I did them once, long ago. Had some mushroom tea with a group of people I really should not have been taking any sort of illegal substance with. Bunch of stupid guys. Fortunately for me, the tea didn't affect me in any way, shape or form. I didn't even feel buzzed. So, a couple months ago, I did them again. Just me and Stoph, who's done them plenty of times. And again, it barely affected me. I felt buzzed, and happy. Super giggly. But not high. Same with the next time I did them. It was honestly just a truly pleasant, mellow buzz.
The last time I did them, though... yeah. Not so much. I know why they call it tripping now. Because you truly do trip and fall down a rabbit hole.
Looking back on the experience now, it's fascinating. Truly fascinating. It was one of the most incredibly visually beautiful things I've ever experienced in my life. I had dragged the futon mattress outside, and all four of us were lying on it (D, Stoph, Jake, and I). I had only taken one little shroom, cap and stem. We lay out there for a good half an hour before I started to feel anything. The trip started slow, like the very beginning of a rollercoaster ride. At first I just felt a little drunk. I was giggly and happy. A little more touchy feely than I normally would be, but that was ok. I was around a group of people I trusted implicitly.
And then the stars started to dance. Just a little, at first. The opening set to a rumba. They quickly took on the rhythm of my heart, which was still nice and slow. Then the branches above me began to sway in the same rhythm. I reached my hand up in wonder, and waved it in front of my face. Trails of color followed it, and I giggled. I just lay there for a while, sighing peacefully every now and then, watching the tree branches start to form into fractals. Then the fractals started to morph into little gods, young Aztec creations, headdresses waiving in the wind, marching up and down the branches. I couldn't stop giggling.
And that's where it started to go bad. My neighbor let her dog out of the house, and he immediately came running up to us, tail waving and desperately happy that humans were lying on a mattress in his yard. I sat up, still giggling, and tried to coherently talk to my neighbor. I didn't want her to know we were high. There was a part of me that knew exactly what to say. But that part of me couldn't articulate. It could just giggle, and apologize for giggling. My neighbor was fine, she laughed and called her dog off, and they went away. I lay back down, but I'd started to realize that I no longer had control over my actions. And I started to get a little nervous. I lay there for a while, trying to enjoy the flow again, but I was still trying to control it, under the surface. And I was getting more and more overwhelmed and nervous, realizing I simply could NOT control what I was feeling.
I very quickly became overwhelmed with terror. Everybody else was so happy, so mellow. I was lying in amongst them, trying to not express every stupid thought that was coming to me, and having a hard time not doing so. The harder I tried to control it, though, the sharper my fear became. I jumped up, I don't know how much later, and started walking around the yard a bit. I let them know I was going inside, that I wasn't feeling so well, and I walked away. Stoph followed me, into the kitchen. And I found myself pacing, and unable to stop myself. My inability to control even my physical reactions was feeding into the fear, and it was quickly getting incredibly bad. Remembering it now, I'm still getting that clutching sense of fear in my belly. That was not a fun feeling.
Stoph tried to calm me down, but he was giggling and happy, and I didn't want to be around that. So I told him I was fine, and that he should go back outside. He left, and I paced a bit more. Then Jake came into the kitchen, and asked me how I was. I don't remember much from this point till a little later. I had gone to the bathroom, and somehow the toilet got broken. Let me tell you, something small and easily fixable while not tripping becomes MONUMENTALLY OVERWHELMING while high. I started freaking out that the toilet wasn't working, because I knew that D would come inside and need to use it. No reason other than that, just the knowledge that something in my house was inhospitable to a guest. And I suddenly couldn't take it anymore. I got it into my head that Trevor was the only person who could save me now. Except I hadn't told Trevor what we were doing. Trevor is a good ol' Southern boy who is convinced that smoking "Mary Jane" turns you into a hippy. I did not want him to be all judgey about me taking mushrooms. So I worked out what I was going to say to him to get him to fix reality for me.
I tromped downstairs, came up behind him while he was sitting in his chair playing games, and tapped him on the shoulder. When he turned around, I put my hands on my hips (probably in an effort to display how in charge I was), and said "I'm tripping on mushrooms, but I think they're laced with LSD, and it's a bad trip. I'm freaking out right now. I need you to go upstairs and fix the toilet (which, for full disclosure of how cruel I was to Trevor, had poop in it), and then I want you to IMMEDIATELY come downstairs and cuddle with me. I need you to reconnect me to reality right now."
He jumped up, looking frantic, and started asking questions. I just said No, go fix the toilet, and then went and lay down on the bed. I started having a full blown panic attack, breathing heavily, tearing up, emotionally out of control... the 10 minutes or so it took for him to fix the toilet were the longest ten minutes of my freaking life. The colors in my bed were bleeding into each other, the red pillow case melting into the white sheet looking disconcertingly like blood. I finally couldn't take it anymore, and called him down. He had just barely fixed the toilet, thank god, and asked me what he could do. I remember looking up at him standing at the side of the bed, and seeing his anger vibrating off of him in these incredibly vivid orange and red colors. I couldn't look at him, it was so scary. I turned my head away and said "I know you're incredibly angry at me right now, and I don't blame you. But I desperately need you to put your anger away. I can't handle it right now. Can you do that?"
And he tried. Not very successfully, since Trevor reacts to fear with anger. But he did try. He laid down next to me, and I told him to rub my back while I lay on my side. I was still having a hard time breathing, so I was constantly sighing heavily. When the back rubbing didn't sooth, I asked him to tell me stories. He asked what kind, and I said I didn't care. Just tell me stories about your life, help me reconnect to mine. I remember bits and pieces of the stories he told me about his life, mostly about his experiences in college. Most of them were funny and lightnhearted, but I attached terrible meaning to all of them. I kept switching positions, trying to find the perfect one that would let me be peaceful. I draped myself all over Trevor, trying to sink into his broad chest for the same reassurance I have felt after wild sex. None of it worked. I was getting frantic. I had been so absolutely convinced that Trevor would be able to drag me back into his concrete reality. I realized, on a very deep level, that this was everything I truly wanted from Trevor, this tether to a reality I didn't understand. And it wasn't working.
Christopher and Jake had both tried to come downstairs to help at different points during this, but Trevor chased them off. He was pretty sure that they were about to turn into face eating bath salt zombies, and his only concern was making sure I was safe and he wasn't going to get his face ripped off and gnawed on.
Finally, though, the third time Stoph called downstairs and told me to come up, I listened. This was after the walls had started to melt into fire, I started to hear the voices in the closet, and I got really, really hot. When my room started to turn into hell, I decided I was going to listen to the one person I knew had done this successfully before.
So, I went upstairs. Christopher took me to his room, had me lie down, brought the laptop in, turned on all the lights, and started some music. Jake had followed him, though D stayed in the living room. Jake sat in a corner, all curled up around himself, and when I finally actually looked at him I realized he was freaking out as bad as I was. This knowledge flipped a switch in my head, and suddenly I became completely fixated on making sure Jake was ok. I made him come lie down next to me, and we started tripping together. My brothers room has bright yellow, textured walls and old ceiling fixtures. It's kind of a perfect place for hallucinogens. We lay there on our backs, listening to mellow music, and I could finally feel the fear starting to slip away.
This is getting WAY too long. To be continued...
Well. I didn't really think of mushrooms as hallucinogens. I did them once, long ago. Had some mushroom tea with a group of people I really should not have been taking any sort of illegal substance with. Bunch of stupid guys. Fortunately for me, the tea didn't affect me in any way, shape or form. I didn't even feel buzzed. So, a couple months ago, I did them again. Just me and Stoph, who's done them plenty of times. And again, it barely affected me. I felt buzzed, and happy. Super giggly. But not high. Same with the next time I did them. It was honestly just a truly pleasant, mellow buzz.
The last time I did them, though... yeah. Not so much. I know why they call it tripping now. Because you truly do trip and fall down a rabbit hole.
Looking back on the experience now, it's fascinating. Truly fascinating. It was one of the most incredibly visually beautiful things I've ever experienced in my life. I had dragged the futon mattress outside, and all four of us were lying on it (D, Stoph, Jake, and I). I had only taken one little shroom, cap and stem. We lay out there for a good half an hour before I started to feel anything. The trip started slow, like the very beginning of a rollercoaster ride. At first I just felt a little drunk. I was giggly and happy. A little more touchy feely than I normally would be, but that was ok. I was around a group of people I trusted implicitly.
And then the stars started to dance. Just a little, at first. The opening set to a rumba. They quickly took on the rhythm of my heart, which was still nice and slow. Then the branches above me began to sway in the same rhythm. I reached my hand up in wonder, and waved it in front of my face. Trails of color followed it, and I giggled. I just lay there for a while, sighing peacefully every now and then, watching the tree branches start to form into fractals. Then the fractals started to morph into little gods, young Aztec creations, headdresses waiving in the wind, marching up and down the branches. I couldn't stop giggling.
And that's where it started to go bad. My neighbor let her dog out of the house, and he immediately came running up to us, tail waving and desperately happy that humans were lying on a mattress in his yard. I sat up, still giggling, and tried to coherently talk to my neighbor. I didn't want her to know we were high. There was a part of me that knew exactly what to say. But that part of me couldn't articulate. It could just giggle, and apologize for giggling. My neighbor was fine, she laughed and called her dog off, and they went away. I lay back down, but I'd started to realize that I no longer had control over my actions. And I started to get a little nervous. I lay there for a while, trying to enjoy the flow again, but I was still trying to control it, under the surface. And I was getting more and more overwhelmed and nervous, realizing I simply could NOT control what I was feeling.
I very quickly became overwhelmed with terror. Everybody else was so happy, so mellow. I was lying in amongst them, trying to not express every stupid thought that was coming to me, and having a hard time not doing so. The harder I tried to control it, though, the sharper my fear became. I jumped up, I don't know how much later, and started walking around the yard a bit. I let them know I was going inside, that I wasn't feeling so well, and I walked away. Stoph followed me, into the kitchen. And I found myself pacing, and unable to stop myself. My inability to control even my physical reactions was feeding into the fear, and it was quickly getting incredibly bad. Remembering it now, I'm still getting that clutching sense of fear in my belly. That was not a fun feeling.
Stoph tried to calm me down, but he was giggling and happy, and I didn't want to be around that. So I told him I was fine, and that he should go back outside. He left, and I paced a bit more. Then Jake came into the kitchen, and asked me how I was. I don't remember much from this point till a little later. I had gone to the bathroom, and somehow the toilet got broken. Let me tell you, something small and easily fixable while not tripping becomes MONUMENTALLY OVERWHELMING while high. I started freaking out that the toilet wasn't working, because I knew that D would come inside and need to use it. No reason other than that, just the knowledge that something in my house was inhospitable to a guest. And I suddenly couldn't take it anymore. I got it into my head that Trevor was the only person who could save me now. Except I hadn't told Trevor what we were doing. Trevor is a good ol' Southern boy who is convinced that smoking "Mary Jane" turns you into a hippy. I did not want him to be all judgey about me taking mushrooms. So I worked out what I was going to say to him to get him to fix reality for me.
I tromped downstairs, came up behind him while he was sitting in his chair playing games, and tapped him on the shoulder. When he turned around, I put my hands on my hips (probably in an effort to display how in charge I was), and said "I'm tripping on mushrooms, but I think they're laced with LSD, and it's a bad trip. I'm freaking out right now. I need you to go upstairs and fix the toilet (which, for full disclosure of how cruel I was to Trevor, had poop in it), and then I want you to IMMEDIATELY come downstairs and cuddle with me. I need you to reconnect me to reality right now."
He jumped up, looking frantic, and started asking questions. I just said No, go fix the toilet, and then went and lay down on the bed. I started having a full blown panic attack, breathing heavily, tearing up, emotionally out of control... the 10 minutes or so it took for him to fix the toilet were the longest ten minutes of my freaking life. The colors in my bed were bleeding into each other, the red pillow case melting into the white sheet looking disconcertingly like blood. I finally couldn't take it anymore, and called him down. He had just barely fixed the toilet, thank god, and asked me what he could do. I remember looking up at him standing at the side of the bed, and seeing his anger vibrating off of him in these incredibly vivid orange and red colors. I couldn't look at him, it was so scary. I turned my head away and said "I know you're incredibly angry at me right now, and I don't blame you. But I desperately need you to put your anger away. I can't handle it right now. Can you do that?"
And he tried. Not very successfully, since Trevor reacts to fear with anger. But he did try. He laid down next to me, and I told him to rub my back while I lay on my side. I was still having a hard time breathing, so I was constantly sighing heavily. When the back rubbing didn't sooth, I asked him to tell me stories. He asked what kind, and I said I didn't care. Just tell me stories about your life, help me reconnect to mine. I remember bits and pieces of the stories he told me about his life, mostly about his experiences in college. Most of them were funny and lightnhearted, but I attached terrible meaning to all of them. I kept switching positions, trying to find the perfect one that would let me be peaceful. I draped myself all over Trevor, trying to sink into his broad chest for the same reassurance I have felt after wild sex. None of it worked. I was getting frantic. I had been so absolutely convinced that Trevor would be able to drag me back into his concrete reality. I realized, on a very deep level, that this was everything I truly wanted from Trevor, this tether to a reality I didn't understand. And it wasn't working.
Christopher and Jake had both tried to come downstairs to help at different points during this, but Trevor chased them off. He was pretty sure that they were about to turn into face eating bath salt zombies, and his only concern was making sure I was safe and he wasn't going to get his face ripped off and gnawed on.
Finally, though, the third time Stoph called downstairs and told me to come up, I listened. This was after the walls had started to melt into fire, I started to hear the voices in the closet, and I got really, really hot. When my room started to turn into hell, I decided I was going to listen to the one person I knew had done this successfully before.
So, I went upstairs. Christopher took me to his room, had me lie down, brought the laptop in, turned on all the lights, and started some music. Jake had followed him, though D stayed in the living room. Jake sat in a corner, all curled up around himself, and when I finally actually looked at him I realized he was freaking out as bad as I was. This knowledge flipped a switch in my head, and suddenly I became completely fixated on making sure Jake was ok. I made him come lie down next to me, and we started tripping together. My brothers room has bright yellow, textured walls and old ceiling fixtures. It's kind of a perfect place for hallucinogens. We lay there on our backs, listening to mellow music, and I could finally feel the fear starting to slip away.
This is getting WAY too long. To be continued...
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