Citation: Unknown. "A Psychotic Trip to Hell Itself: An Experience with Cocaine, Amphetamines, Ketamine & LSD (exp110692)". Erowid.org. Jun 6, 2018. erowid.org/exp/110692
I'm someone who will take pretty much any drug or combination thereof. I don't buy into the kind of propaganda that follows the lines of 'substance X will ruin your life in this specific way regardless of anything else.' Some drugs are worse than others, sure, but I've done the 'big three' - heroin, crack, meth - and although I've gotten into some terrible situations I've never become a stereotypical down and out addict staggering around with a can of special brew and asking strangers for 28p for the bus at all hours of the day. Nor do I entirely buy into the idea that drugs can act as a catalyst to mental illness. These things certainly happen, but they aren't set in stone.
What I have had are some awful acute experiences. Blowing nearly £700 on cocaine in a couple of weeks. Necking handfuls of xanax and coming to a few days later with no recollection of the interim. These things are horrible, and they make me reconsider my drug use, but they didn't profoundly alter my life like in the dubious stories you hear about - 'my uncle's friend tripped on acid 20 years ago and he still thinks he's a glass of orange juice!'. Well, I haven't lost all functionality after this experience a few weeks ago, but it has left me with profound psychological damage.
The night started at home. Snorting line after line of quality coke on my own. In retrospect, that in itself is indicative of huge problems. For whatever reason, I was not feeling high. I felt like I was on speed, not coke. So I did more and more and more, until finally I ate my last .3 grams. Note that this was over the course of 6 or 7 hours, so although I was in a pretty bad state I was not close to death.
Even though I was still lacking euphoria, I was incredibly high to the point of psychosis. I convinced myself that the police were aware of what I was doing, that they were outside ready to arrest me. I tested this theory by throwing a few legal substances out of my window. Nothing happened. Obviously they were just trying to put me at ease. So I tentatively step outside. I see a black SUV parked up the street that I could not remember seeing before. I looked up the registration plate. Wow, it's done a lot of miles ... it's an undercover cop car! I'm going to prison! So I dash back inside. I have a stash of drugs. The only thing I want to do is get rid of them. But how? I can't burn them because the police would surely burst in and arrest me. So I decide to wrap them up into paper and walk down to the river and throw them. I walk out of the door with tons of ketamine, speed, LSD in my mouth and an eighth of trainwreck in my pocket. Shit! I can hear a police helicopter. FUCK! That's a police van in that alley! (I later realised it was a delivery truck; note that it was around 4AM at this time).
I would have looked so high and sketchy at this point that I would have been arrested on the spot if a police officer passed me (I reasoned). And why waste drugs? So I suck out everything from the paper in my mouth then chew and swallow the paper. I take the 3.5 grams of weed out of my pocket and eat it. Then I wonder around disposing of drug-related paraphernalia.
After 10 minutes, I start feeling it. I can't remember exactly how it felt, but mainly a stimulant effect. My heart was getting faster and faster and faster. I genuinely thought I would die. I ran over to a taxi and paid him generously to take me to A&E. I get in and start shouting at them about everything I've taken, convinced I was dying. The staff and patients look at me like the pathetic human being that I am. I refuse to give them my name for a while. Eventually I do, they take me to a bed and hook me up to some sort of monitor.
This is where my journey to hell began. Everything kicked in fully. I was completely psychotic, entering a nightmare hell that I would not leave for 10 hours. I could feel my heart going faster and faster and faster, faster than a hummingbird. I heard what I assumed was a heart rate monitor beeping erratically. I knew I was dying. I started shouting at everyone in the room (doctor, nurses, some other patients) to please look at me and if I was going to die just give me a sign. This went on for what seemed like an eternity. I then thought I was dying at that very moment. I somehow convinced myself that depending on my last words I would go to heaven or hell (note that I am not normally a religious person). Eventually, a security guard came over. He waved at me, and I took this as a sign that I had really and truly just died. I thought I was dead. I thought I was in hell. Some more nurses came and moved me to another ward. They talked to me, and I was expecting some horrendous torture to start at any point. I was looking out of the window at my hometown which I knew well and I thought it was all some hellish copy. My mother came to visit me and I thought she was simply a copy of my real mother, a citizen of Hell.
I wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. I tried to get up and leave and was forcefully carried back to the bed. I couldn't sleep, but I just lied down completely hopeless and preparing myself for the real hell to start.
This carried on for a few hours. There was no real resolution, no sudden moment of sober clarity. Eventually they told me I could leave, and I walked back home. I laid down and slept for about 12 hours. I woke up and still thought I was in hell. The belief slowly dissipated over the next few days, but it comes back every single time I do LSD. I am not the same person I was before then.
As to how much danger I was in of physical death or other problems, I don't know. But mentally, that was the worst experience of my life. And it's not a particularly uncommon one.
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