DOSE:	1 hit	oral	LSD	(blotter / tab)
	1/2 cig.	smoked	Cannabis
	1 cig.	smoked	Cannabis
	repeated	oral	Caffeine	(liquid)
			Estradiol
			Pharms - Fluoxetine

BODY WEIGHT:

150 lb

This experience includes and covers the effects of a single blotter of LSD, a joint and a half of cannabis, and roughly 10-15 mg of Delta-9 in edible form.

Context: I was 25 at the time of this trip. Medications being taken during this time include fluoxetine, estradiol, and spironolactone. Prior to this trip, I had tripped three or four times on LSD, including mixing cannabis and Delta-9 edibles in with the experience as well, and had had nothing but positive experiences. I had grown fond of the healing factor psychedelics had on me in helping me understand and overcome the limitations brought on by my neurodivergence (I am diagnosed with both autism and ADHD). Suffice to say, however, I had grown cocky, and this experience has come to represent a personal blueprint of mine for everything a person should not do when preparing for a trip, and the dangers of poor impulse control. It really can be the tiniest of mistakes that add up and bite you in the tail, even in a controlled environment.

Set: not clear or well-defined beyond stress relief. In the past, I had gone into tripping with a spiritual sense of reverence, but I was working a job that I hated at the time, and this had lowered my consciousness due to excess burnout. I was treating it as simple escapism. This was mistake number one.

Setting: Also not great. Same house as my previous couple of trips - weekend at my parents' house, with said parents absent. Very cold, wintry conditions outside. Learned through this trip never to do psychedelics like this when the weather is foul and frigid, as it dampens my mood and physical experience. There was also a new pet kitten in the house, and this will actually have consequences for the story.

I began by taking a single blotter of roughly 100ug of LSD. Right away, in hindsight, there were errors. I usually drank a cup of calming ginger tea as a pre-trip ritual, which I did not do this time. I also do not remember if I took my usual L-Arginine supplement, which I normally take to combat vasoconstriction, which can bring discomfort. If I also skipped that, then I truly do not know what I was thinking in not doing these things. The only explanation is hubris.

At first, things were going very well, despite the cold. I spent the day as I often would when tripping - watching shows and listening to music, reading comics, eating good food, generally enjoying the feeling of being in my body and spending time with the pets – a fluffy orange kitten with entirely too much energy, and a big, dopey dog. I tend to meditate on spiritual topics when I trip, engaging deeply with art of all kinds and compare the messages of various pieces of media to my own life and try to use them as a means of listening to the universe sending me messages by way of different characters' arcs and whatnot.

Everything was going fine, until I started to make even more mistakes. First I inexplicably decided that my experience was far too weak and not carrying me to the depths of consciousness as much as I’d wanted, so to intensify the trip I smoked half a leftover joint. I then somehow decided this too wasn't enough, and decided to smoke yet another entire joint of cannabis directly thereafter. In the past, while cannabis often amplified the LSD effects for me, I also found that the sensation of being high could act as a sort of safety tether to reality, almost like a spiritual pool floatie, or like I was an astronaut out on a spacewalk with a cable strapped to my waist, enjoying the feeling of drifting freely in zero gravity. Cannabis also often mitigated the negative physical side effects of LSD. Anytime I felt like the experience was getting to be physically irritating in a way that was spoiling the trip, I would smoke, or even take an edible to make the body load more tolerable. The familiar sensation of the cannabis high would be a recognizable touchpoint to reality for me – until eventually it wasn’t.

Following this, I made by far my biggest mistake - I started pounding back can after can of soda. Dr. Pepper Strawberries and Cream flavor, if I recall. I don't usually drink this stuff, but to my inebriated mind, this shit tasted like the nectar of the gods. I lost count of how many cans I drank, but it could've been up to five. Absolutely ridiculous, enough to make a normal person feel horrible even while completely sober. This was where I truly lost control.

As the trip wore on, I began to grow increasingly physically uncomfortable. I began to feel an all-encompassing sensation of frigid cold creeping through my veins, crawling all the way into my bones themselves. This was no doubt exacerbated by all the sugar and caffeine I'd stupidly ingested. I tried to distract myself by curling up in a warm blanket and reading, but not only was I still cold, I had a hyperactive kitten climbing all over me as I tried to cut down on physical distractions and sensations. Kittens are cute, but they make bad tripping partners for situations like this. I decided to evacuate the living room, feeling like the entire open space of the house had now become unsafe, and forsaken to me now. I put on a hot bath to try to shake off this horrid coldness, and made it piping hot. I began to get a splitting headache at this time. I sank into the hot bath, and put on some music - some stoner metal, if memory serves - and tried to relax. Much to my mounting dread, I found I still felt so fucking cold. Even immersed in a hot bath, I still couldn't feel the warmth whatsoever. This was when I began to freak out, as my headache was getting worse and worse, going from an irritant to actively agonizing. Every bit of stimulation was aggravating.

Enter the final error - Delta-9.

I had taken Delta-9 edibles in particular before, and had found they had positive effects. However, something was different about this batch of gummies. They were heavier, more potent than I was used to, and gave a harsher body load than previous brands of the stuff I’d eaten. I took a bite of half of one of these gummies – which could’ve been anywhere from 10-15 mg, and with that, my fate was sealed.

I holed up in my bedroom under piles of blankets, desperately trying to relax and warm up after the bath did nothing, still aiming to stay calm and not let the spiraling thoughts get to me – effectively trying to give myself the mom treatment. The kitten was still outside, scrabbling at the door, swatting with his paw under the door, still trying to get at me, scratching my feet anytime I got near. In my tripping stupor, I processed this as a sense of being hunted and pursued by some longstanding universal force – like I had always been being tracked by something, and that the gods were taunting me by sending a representative of this pursuant entity in the shape of a harmless, rambunctious little kitten. I settled into bed, attempting to nurse my discombobulated self into a sense of calm. I began to feel incredibly tired – no doubt the crash from the caffeine and sugar. I desperately wanted to close my eyes and go to sleep, but no rest was going to be forthcoming. I only know one person who can fall asleep while tripping, and they’re superhuman in my eyes for that ability specifically.

Then, bam.

The edible hit me.

I shot up in bed, blinking rapidly, rubbing my eyes. I muttered, “whoa,” in a tone equal parts irritated and frightened. I felt as if my entire body was being compressed, forcefully. It was the familiar “gravity well” sensation that one gets when they are far too high and have taken far too strong an edible, and they become immensely aware of their own physical sensations. Like I was being sucked down into a tunnel or vortex of some kind, and my entire body was being squished and compressed from every angle, like some fucked-up hydraulic press type of sensation. I began rapidly pacing around my bedroom, as very real panic began to set in. I tried to talk myself down, focus on my breathing, remind myself that I wasn’t in danger and that no one had ever died by combining edibles and LSD. But my panicked, burnt-out animal brain didn’t want to listen. I became incredibly paranoid that I’d gotten a bad batch of edibles, or that I was experiencing the onset of serotonin syndrome for some reason, even though rationally I knew that’s not what this was. Grasping at straws to justify the terror. I began to release panicked whines as I moved around, and I began to get aggressive with my negative emotions, snarling “It’s not real. It’s not REAL,” at some nonexistent personification of what I understood was now officially a bad trip. I remember grabbing my phone and slamming it down onto my bed, grasping it as though I were choking it, and snarling those words in its nonexistent face. Needless to say, this only stoked the flames of my panic attack. The more you fight your emotions, the more aggressive they become, of course. I rushed to the bathroom, and found my pupils rapidly oscillating in size. My eyes were red, puffy, and watering, and my heartrate was so fucking loud in my ears. I remember the animals pacing around my feet, clearly concerned and worried for my well-being.

I began trying to Google information that would calm me down, trying to look into the place I’d ordered the Delta-9 edibles from, but I was too disoriented to make sense of the numbers and letters before me.

And like that, I caved.

I dialed the emergency line for help.

I told them what I’d done, crying and apologizing, and begged for someone to come to my aid. I didn’t want to die. I knew rationally that I wasn’t going to die, but I was so terrified by how hard my heart was pounding and how much my body was in discomfort nearly to the point of pain that I desperately wanted to be somewhere safe and watched over, or perhaps given a trip-killer of some kind – and be seen to in the event my heart literally exploded, which is the fear I often have when a panic attack hits.

The next few moments were a blur, but I stepped out into the garage as I waited for the ambulance’s arrival, telling the kind lady on the other end of the phone who I was, and a smattering of random details about my person, as if I wanted as much of me to be remembered as possible in case I died that night.

When the medic arrived, he entered the garage with a very friendly demeanor. I could tell he was a little amused by what he was seeing, because I was sitting on the floor in my colorful pajamas wrapped up in a fluffy pink blanket, tears streaked down my face, and I greeted him by sheepishly saying “Hiii, I’m really sorry about this,” feeling so fucking embarrassed that I was wasting his time with my stupid shit. His response was something to the tune of “Hey! What’s going on, buddy? You alright?” He knelt down before me and calmly asked me some questions about what I had taken, told me everything was going to be fine, and asked if I wanted to be taken to the hospital.

I said yes, and told him everything that I’d taken.

While we were in transit, I began to have flashbacks to my previous episode of riding in an ambulance – the night I’d attempted to take my own life. I felt the same sense of shame and helplessness, and felt overwhelmed with grief for the pain my past self had been through, and despair at how I was reliving that moment now, through my irresponsible behavior. I remember babbling on about why I painted my nails the color I chose, saying “I paint them, because they’re pretty,” and how I desperately didn’t want to die this time, because things had just started to get good. For context, I am transgender. I had begun my medical transition earlier that year, and had truly felt alive and happy to be here for the first time in my life. It was a major turning over of a new leaf for me. I was terrified of having my new lease on life taken from me, after I’d spent so long trapped in the hateful phantasm of gender dysphoria. I told the medic how I just wanted to see my sweetheart of a boyfriend, hear his voice again, hug him, kiss him before I potentially left this mortal coil.

When I arrived at the hospital, I recall a truly embarrassing set of interactions with the attendants that helped me. I asked one young nurse if I was going to die, and she (amusingly for the context) told me that everyone dies at some point, and she couldn’t really say.

Not great for my anxiety, but I was coherent enough to reason she probably had no clue what was happening with me, and that was a standard answer.

I was also coherent enough to find it funny, in a morbid sort of way.

When the next pair of staff came in, I jabbered some incoherent set of panicked words about my drug intoxication. Then, inexplicably, I had this eureka moment where I recalled my family history with appendicitis. I could tell the two men attending to me now were confused, taken aback. They checked me real quick, and of course, there was no issue. They prescribed me a dose of Ativan to stop my panic attack, much to my relief, and from there, I was left to wait for the trip to end and for the drugs to wear off.

Once the panic subsided, my trip was bookended by two specific instances.

For context, I come from a Jewish family background, although I was never raised in the faith – and I had dabbled in pagan circles in the past, and still consider myself a witchcraft practitioner to this day as a means of spiritual self-expression. One of the deities I worked with was Dionysus, and I got the distinct image of what I believe to be him him appearing to me at the time. He sat in a chair next to my bed, eyeing me with amused disappointment. I recall him being comparable in appearance to the Hat Man, or perhaps Alucard from Hellsing (a series I adore), but with none of the terror associated. In a sense, I got the impression he took the form of one of my favorite characters as a means of teasing me. He tutted at me as if he were both amused and disappointed – seeing that I had fucked around and found out, and put his hat back on, shaking his head in disappointment. Rising, he moved to leave the room, leaving me with the message of “Now you understand what you’re messin’ with, kid.” He had a very specific tone of voice – almost like someone making fun of a husky-voiced “Cool Guy” personality type, if that makes any sense whatsoever.

He then exited, phasing through the wall, and was gone.

A sense of calm and guilt-ridden understanding washed over me as I stared at the floor, admiring the way the fluorescent lights reflected off the tiles. I was bequeathed one last striking visual, staring into these lights – an endless vista of glimmering, golden Magen Davids, as far as the eye could see.

After a very apologetic discharge from the hospital, I was able to get a lift home, and went back home with a sense of strong relief and release. I was so grateful to get back into my house and feel its accepting warmth again, no longer seeing it as a hub of stress and danger. I went to sleep after I got home, vowing to take better care of myself in the future, and to integrate this nightmarish experience as a harsh lesson on the importance of impulse control, self-awareness, and self-love. This incident, just as my previous trip to the hospital had been, was a product of lack of regard for my own well-being. I let myself down first and foremost by failing to take proper care of my limits, needs and general mental health.

I look back on this incident with a mixture of shame, embarrassment, but also amusement and even affection, in amazement at my past self’s silliness. In the moment, it was of course absolutely terrifying and was one of the most harrowing emotional experiences of my life that I no doubt have some trauma from.

Having said that, there is also the undeniable fact that the image of a stoned, tripping, overly-caffeinated autistic woman wrapped in a blanket being chased in total terror around the house by a hyperactive kitten is objectively one of the funniest things that has ever happened to me.

I hope this trip report can be a word of warning to anyone dabbling in psychedelics to not become complacent, flippant, or cocky in any regard. This shit will check you on your attitude, and you probably won’t even realize you had one until it’s too late. Always approach the substance with healthy respect and delicacy, and don’t neglect your mental and spiritual health, lest you go through something similar. I was in a controlled environment rather than being at some party full of strangers, which is where many people have bad experiences – and I still managed to fuck myself up, and after this I placed myself on a years-long ban from psychedelics until I had improved myself mentally. If I can have a bad time in these tame surroundings, imagine what could happen if I’d recklessly dosed at, say, a whole fucking strip of blotters in a creepy, unfamiliar neighborhood, surrounded by randos I’d just met a day ago. Take it from my dumb ass – not the move.

Exp Year: 2024	ExpID: 118341
Gender: Female
Age at time of experience: 25
Published: Nov 27, 2025	Views: Not Supported
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Cannabis (1), LSD (2) : Various (28), Personal Preparation (45), Entities / Beings (37), Train Wrecks & Trip Disasters (7), Bad Trips (6), Combinations (3)