DOSE:	repeated		MDMA
	repeated		Ketamine

BODY WEIGHT:

172 lb

This experience follows ‘World Of Funk’, where I describe questioning the fabric of reality, having been in a state of « Persistent psychotic perception » for a few months.

I was in Berlin, with my closest friends. The report is a bit piecey as it contains events that from an external eye may be difficult to understand. In sum, I was questioning the very events that had formed the past months, and I was dealing with depression, which through the lens of psychedelics made me realize I was doubting a lot of my qualities as a human, friend, and doctor.

I had recently helped a friend out of a medical situation of life or death, as he had been wrongly diagnosed, but couldn’t accept that I had a positive impact because of self-doubt.

The names in this report are all changed, to protect anonymity.

I am describing a trip on Ketamine and MDMA, which eerily brought back at their peak the experiences of DMT, LSD and THC in which my mind had persisted. I think it accurately depicts my feelings and intuitions on MDMA and Ketamine, which led to somewhat of a Truman Show. They may also reflect the undertones of depression, feelings of inadequacy, and a need for self-compassion.

Setting: Some club, Berlin, Germany
January 2019

Here I was, standing in this elated moment, trying to suppress the sinister intuitions of the past 5 months. Somehow they had managed to take center stage again in the midst of my mind, a rampant psychosis. There was such carelessness and feeling of well-being preceding it, which was then followed by sudden doubt. I felt castigated for feeling happiness in its purest form. We had been dancing in the small cabana in the club’s outside court. I felt like I owned the dancefloor with my three most beloved. I had just had a heartfelt conversation with Alex, that we hadn’t had for the longest time. I remain puzzled by this man’s capacity to doubt of his true nature, when it almost inevitably lights up any room he walks into. I felt a pinch to the heart when he returned the favor, as I realized the suffering I see in the eyes of others is also a reflection of my own shortcomings. Should we call it sympathy rather than empathy, I’m wondering.

We were in our very cozy cocoon, with Stan and Paul dancing to the beat of their pulses, with Abe, Will (damn that hot brat), and a few funked out and beautiful unicorns.

It suddenly hit me as the DJ poured a second row of shots, calling out pop songs and more people swarmed into our Eden. It didn’t make sense to me that we were treated in this generous and deliberate manner by strangers. Suddenly the place was full of eerily familiar strangers.

Strangely familiar faces, I thought. « Funny how these people all look like circus people, » said Stan « it looks like there are paid actors in this club, too. » (he was also high as a kite on Katie). I wasn’t quite sure whether my mind spoke these last few words hissingly or whether it came from Stan or Paul. One by one, the people around me asked me my name and seemed genuinely interested in knowing of me. I answered shyly and retracted from their grasp, as such interest in me seemed unfathomable. The idea that they were paid to talk to me flashed through my mind.

The fuzzy elation of the moment swiftly dissipated. The fog cleared and things started to settle into a very crystalline, but hurtful truth. It became obvious to me that it was all a comedy, played in honor of a wicked theme. I could have bet I had seen James (a former circus friend) pass by, almost, but something had changed in his appearance, and his mannerism, and he puzzled me as he introduced himself as Charles. I was expecting Nathan (a circus hookup from ages ago) to walk in at any moment, and maybe other circus people, especially after having met Mike and Melinda on Saturday at that other club (who surprisingly happened to know Nathan). It all made sense now; coincidences exist, but this was way beyond the realm of possibilities. How would someone from Australia sit right next to me in a club thousands of miles away from home randomly greet me, and know a hookup I had met years ago, in Canada. And how would we have connected the dots within the first two sentences we spoke?! Clearly, they were also payed actors, meant to spice the evolving pace of this « wholesome » week with Alex, Stan and Paul.

I had broken the secret of this contraption, and the bottom line made my skin pale and drenched the palms of my hands.

The medicines I had taken tonight made so much more sense now. And I felt like the Katie (our cute name that week for Ket, so no one would know) and Molly had been curated by the best shamans, to offer me this one last ride, after the week’s build up. I felt alone, as if sheltered from this covert operation by the people I had spent the last week with. Strangely, gratitude settled in as well, as I understood that they made all these efforts to grant my last wish.

All the past five months flashed before my eyes. My suspicions were confirmed. People had been talking, about my psychotic break. People were worried. I hadn’t been myself, and had become dangerous for myself and others. As the familiar feeling of my DMT trip resurfaced , the unicorns that pranced around me (and I felt incredibly alone, now) had turned into these very empathetic creatures, sending me off to the last walk. They weren’t asking me « What’s your name » or « Where do you come from » anymore, but I could feel their energy rustle as they watched Stan take out the last gem out of his sock.

« Here’s you are, Vincent, take the last one if you want. We took ours a few minutes ago » he said, looking so, so peaceful, and with a demeanor that made so much sense in my mind. His gaze transcended my soul, as it bore the deepest melancholy, but also a hint of resentment for the choice I was about to make. At the same time, he seemed to express peace in that moment, knowing that I was soon to be free of my own existence and of this body.

I took the capsule in my hand, rolled it between my fingers, hesitantly. I could feel that its content was somewhat different from the previous ones. It seemed more translucid and iridescent, more inviting. It glowed a faint light, and was definitely of a different nature. Somehow I knew instantly that it was more inviting for darker reasons as well. It was my chance out of this world, towards the realm I wanted to discover more than anything, not so long ago.

It was freedom in its simplest form. My mind was rushing at that moment - how fast, how painful, how hallucinated would the effects be? Did I have to call my family to let them know that I loved them despite the differences, or were they waiting behind the doors of the bar somewhere, for the moment to have passed before they would come mourn my cold body? I thought about Fran, and the sadness she would feel, but I felt somehow like she had consciously made her goodbyes when I talked to her on the phone last night. I was also reassured that she was much happier lately, and that life had plenty in reserve for her in the near future.

I then understood all the symphony of events and truths that had been orchestrated in the last months. I felt nauseated as I listened the sick puppetmaster tell the shameful tales of the Truth in my mind. Stan never had Leishmaniasis ; his body was ailing with HLH still, and here he was, reassuring me of this false diagnosis I posed. I knew he would always put others before himself, just like Fran. It made sense but saddened me that he would sacrifice his well-being to soothe the end of my time in this plane, for he understood that it was bound to happen much sooner than his own. He had read the despair in my words since I opened up to him, which foreshadowed my spirit’s hurry to leave this body. I instantly knew that the hospital, Carla’s mother and the specialists were in the game too, as my association had made it clear from my calls to their healthlines a few months ago that I could not afford a temporary radiation, as my life was possibly standing on thin ice. Dr Noor also had my back - it had come to my mind, no PCR testing can be done within half a day... or could it? How much of a fool was I to believe so. Then I started to wonder whether Stan had ever been truly sick, or whether that was also a making of my fragile, psychotic ego to convince me I was worthy of something.

Then my mind settled on mom, dad and my sister. I had a feeling family had turned their back to me not because of their traditions, but rather to caringly let me live this folly, and to see me leave this world peacefully, not being attached to my bloodline. I was picturing my sister, drenched in agony as she, out of most, knew about my difficulties and psychedelic trips since last March. I instantly regretted sharing all these wounds with her. How she must have suffered, and now I knew it was in vain.

All of the sudden, I could hear the thumping sounds of the DMT drums again, inviting me to march forward with the plan. It surprised me that it had been three months since I had smoked my first and last dose, but that the familiar, inviting feeling came back flawlessly, in all its splendor. I felt an urgent need to let go of everything, with little to hold me back. Home was beyond, not here. Home is ubiquitous, but one suffers when it seems elsewhere, yet nowhere to be found.

Alex apparently saw my despair, and came into my vicinity. He seemed to have understood what all of this was about. Rather, it felt like he knew about the show, the actors, the lies of the past few months. He had been in contact with my family. He had actually been the master orchestrating all of this. How it made sense, as he of all people knows me the most, and despite a few moments of disbalance between us, cares deeply. It then all made sense to me, his care in learning about psychedelics. He knew for a personal reason, this day would come, and that he would have to deal with my shit. He knew that my darkness could never find light, and that I would end up with this sacred potion between my fingers, having to choose to finally end it. And truly, I then realized I had desired this moment for many, many more years than I would even allow to admit to myself. The unease I felt then slowly turned into gratitude, as I could have thought of no better way to die.

We walked out of the room, as he proposed. Alex suggested that I sat on a small bench nearby. « What’s wrong » he asked, trying to mask his knowledge of all that was going on. He knew this was it, the last stepping stone to my liberation. I tried to explain my thoughts but it was too hard to even fathom. And besides, I knew he was aware. Why explain to someone the fabric of their own doing, to then have to pretend that we don’t know about the act, about their empathy and the desire to help me live a peaceful suicide?

I briefly explained that I had to choose, but it wasn’t an easy decision. I told him I didn’t want to leave all this behind, that there was still joy and perhaps a spark of love left to justify my stay. But damn was I curious to discover the familiar feeling of the other side, and the feeling of this one last trip. I realized I was still frantically rolling the capsule between my fingers. It had become somewhat of a flat thing.

I tried to repress tears, but they didn’t actually really come, as though I wasn’t worthy of them. Most people successfully see psychologists when they hurt - why did narcissistic me need such a contraption to understand the value of life? Why did I need friends, colleagues and family to bend over and backwards to shelter my frail, frail ego? It made more sense for me then to take the pill, and end the weight of their burden as well. It was time. I brought the pill to my lips, but Alex stopped me. « No! Don’t take it, Vince » he cried, « hand it to me. » I hesitated for a moment, holding the Molly, as if startled by this sudden decisive strike from my friend. « You won’t die if you take this pill, but you HAVE to stop trying to numb everything and everyone out! Take the time to understand what these have to teach you. Like Fran said, this constant need for immediacy is truly what’s hurting you. The issue isn’t you. And you aren’t what your family believes of you, either,» he blurted out in one breath. These words instantly snapped me out of the trance which made me believe I would inevitably leave Earth after these few last cathartic moments, that it was the inevitable road. The duality of things seemed restored and I could decide again.

I felt a rush of warmth, love, and perhaps a bit of embarrassment as I handed the pill to Alex, and as I realized the magnitude of my thoughts. I had chosen this one time to commit to life. It was a sudden and faint spark, but I felt the fire was lit and that it would never leave me again. Something had shifted, at the end of this long week. I also realized the automatic state in which I had been running for a long time, and the high, unsurmountable walls I had built between myself others.

As realization seeped into my consciousness, I felt all the previous medicine I had taken that night and in the last week evaporate, as if I had consumed their full message. The slow drumroll of DMT started to dissipate and The Truman Show slowly lifted its veil, bit by bit, actor by actor.

Tension quietly stepped down. And it then came to my mind that I was perhaps not the sad ass fraud I’ve been convincing myself to be for a long time now.

My head spun through the last breezes of paranoia, as they came and went. I could hear Stan’s words from a few months ago, in his hospital bed - « Vincent, don’t think that this will pass by unnoticed; I will remember it and make it up to you. » The party in the cabana came back to my mind, the actors... the last impression that this was all a game became filamentous, then steadily to the limit of nothingness, until it became just a thought. It no longer made sense that this would have been an extraordinary arrangement for my overdue funeral. It no longer made sense that the outcomes of things I do for the people I love are the fruit of a dull, egocentric comedy.

Alex reached out to me again, seeing that I was still in the fractality of thoughts : « Don’t you think this show would be much less kitsch if you were in one? » I thought he pointed towards two particularly dozed chaps that likely were having a conversation about their fourty-seven past weekends at Berghain, and how it was « the shit ». I finally cracked a laughter. He had chosen all the wise and right words, and humor kicked my ass out of the blues.

But these more superficial thoughts about arrogance, narcissism and my egoic self were still lingering. His guidance helped me navigate through them intently, as he was more patient than I’ve ever known him to be. I slowly realized the need for all the experiences I had lived in the past months.

Where first stood feelings of being narcissistic to the point of having the impression I needed my own Truman show, were finally revealed feelings of inadequacy which led me to believe I could not be the master of my own fate, and relevant in others’ lives. Where I perceived arrogance in myself stood now the individuation I was craving direly, having been under the pressure of a controling and maladaptive family, but which despite it all, profoundly loved me. I realized it was nearly impossible for them to change, and that changing them for my own benefit would involve imposing them to go through amounts of introspection that were not mine to impose on them, nor necessary for me to mature. This journey is my own, not theirs. I also realized I had become with time my own slipknot, with its noose tighter and tighter as years have passed. And finally came my self-perceived coldness and incapacity to love, my fear of being a narcissistic psychopath which transformed into an unsurmountable avidity of love, and caring for others, sometimes to a breaking point. These walls were meant to protect, not to harm. I also realized that my mind, under pressure and lack of insight, and in the absence of the vitality it needs, could easily find its way into any gruesome theories to explain its malaise.

I instantly felt relieved, but also guilty for having killed Alex’s high. It wasn’t long before guilt slowly turned into admiration. An admiration for the kindest soul that stood next to me through all this ordeal, in ways of his own, sometimes with a tincture close to judgement, but always with care. I realized his true nature as a Shaman, and that Shamanism doesn’t always involve a single, dogmatic way of operating. But that it does take an open heart and an attentive ear, and sufficient disk space in the mind to afford helping others. In a saturated mind, our own Shadows shortsight our perception of people’s true needs, replacing them with our own.

In hindsight:
I willingly believe that I am slowly embarking on this journey to live again, with its highs and lows, which hopefully can be not too high, nor too low. Sufficiently to ornate this comedy of the actual show I live in, which leads to who knows where, but who is to care, because it shall be the only chapter I’ll know of, in this life.

Exp Year: 2019	ExpID: 114052
Gender: Male
Age at time of experience: 30
Published: May 26, 2020	Views: 775
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MDMA (3), Ketamine (31) : Club / Bar (25), Relationships (44), Depression (15), Combinations (3)