DOSE:

2 hits

smoked

DMT

DMT Fucked Me

To start off with I’m pretty confident in the mushroom headspace, and this was my second psychedelic I’d ever tried, although I’ve taken my fair share of trips. To be honest I privately thought a bad trip would never happen to me because I was always so level headed under the influence. My first DMT trip I took four hits, and was on the verge of a panic attack, but managed to ‘think’ myself down, and actually enjoy myself. After my first DMT trip I would always back out of the third hit, because I was always a tiny bit nervous of letting go.

About three days before the bad trip I had a freakout on Xanax, and realized I needed to stop using it (as infrequently as I did). I started threatening suicide, and slashed myself up pretty badly. I bandaged myself, but wasn’t really shaken up. My girlfriend was worse off than me, because she had cutting issues, and she saw the dried blood caked on my arms. She left for a few days to get her head together, and talk to her therapist. About an hour before she was to come back I started preparing for my fifth or sixth DMT trip.

This was the first time I ever had DMT that wasn’t enhanced leaf, and I was more than ready to give it a try; I measured out 56 milligrams on my scale. I sandwiched it between basil in a glass pipe, and added a matchhead -sized dab of yellow NMT oil (That’s what it was given to me as. It was definitely a tryptamine, but who knows as to its actual composition) to the side of the bowl. The DMT was lightly orange, and could probably be considered jungle spice.

I lit up a small portion of the basil, but mostly inhaled the vapor from the hot air of the lighter being sucked into the bowl. I took one huge hit, and held it in for a good fifteen to twenty seconds, then exhaled. I was already feeling the energy from the hit, and I nervously took a second, which turned out to be much bigger than I expected. I exhaled far quicker than I meant to, and realized I wasn’t going to be taking another hit.

The rest of this is an excerpt of my journal, edited for readability, written a few days after this:

“I was in-between here and another world when I exhaled. As I set down the pipe, visions of faeries and geometrics, and a second vision of enhanced colors and vivid worldly sensations, formed a double vision of tryptamine and altered reality. Life seemed to be sped up and slowed down all at once, and my movements were like watching a television screen; I was an entity who had knowledge of Earth life, but not experience.

The next few moments were the most vivid of my life. Visions of torrents and the darkweb passed, of mushroom sites and chemical symbols. Life was made up of chemicals, and that was one thing I’d never truly believed. Chemicals were absorbed and produced, and reduced. I had inhaled a compound, and who knew what was going to happen to me.

I felt spit welling up in the bottom of my throat directly from my lungs, black phlegm. Images of acidic bubbling eating away at my esophagus filled my vision as I stumbled across my room tripping on things, staggering for the bathroom. Black, tainted spit filled my mouth, bubbled out of my sinuses; I was frothing compounds like a dog with rabies.

Predictions of internet history, drug scandals, shock media, and a crackdown on a peaceful culture flashed past. I was the martyr for the prohibitionists’ cause, and I hated it. I didn’t even know who I was, but I understood that bad things would happen to good people because of the choices I had made in my lifetime.

I was a statistic, a human example of the evils of drugs, a myth I’d fought to destroy my whole adult life. I was just another dead kid. All of that flashed through my mind, and across my sight, in eternities between steps. I moved my arm up as I staggered, and saw the giant bandage on my arm, the dried blood on my fingertips from miscellaneous injuries, and the cuts on my fingers from rough, apathetic activities. I was falling apart, no wonder I managed to kill myself with ‘drugs’, the entity inside (that I was) said.

I had managed the five feet to the door in a panic-filled exterior instant, but an eternity inside. I knew what death would be like: Terrifying and lonely. I was not afraid of dying, of being stabbed and slowly bleeding out, but of what I’d face on the other side. I stumbled gasping and spluttering stomach bile and poison, towards a rarely used kitchenette. I jammed fingers down my throat violently. I couldn’t puke, it was over. The basic solution in my throat would eat away at me too quickly to stop now. I stumbled back to my room and collapsed; At least I would be comfortable on my bed when I died.
Did I go back to try and puke again? I can’t remember.

I felt the comedown, and realized I just might live. I was under the influence of drugs, not dangerous chemical compositions. I went into the bathroom and jumped into the shower, to try and some clean chemicals off of me. I felt the water flow off of me and viciously scrubbed myself with blood soap. I looked to the tile wall and saw a stain I’d seen frequently. A stain handprint in the wall a color that closely resembled blood, but is in actuality a soap stain. It filled the rest of the tile bloody handprints and smears. I was a murder site."

My journal entry stops here, because after that I gained rationality.

Shortly after seeing the bloody handprints I realized it was just a visual, and then my girlfriend showed up. I quickly hopped out, and dressed, and was done with the experience, but shaken up. The only way I could describe it until this entry was ‘I know what it’s like to die.’ I haven’t tried DMT since, but I know I will once the memory fades.

There’s a lot to be learned from this substance, but I will make sure my set and setting are ideal in the future. I now believe the unconscious mind plays a larger part in the experience than I did before, and will make sure nothing disturbing has happened in my life before I decide to trip. This chemical has my respect, and I’ll only use pure white crystal from now on.

Exp Year: 2013	ExpID: 102473
Gender: Not Specified
Age at time of experience: Not Given
Published: Jun 8, 2018	Views: 1,521
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DMT (18) : Difficult Experiences (5), Alone (16)