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A Journey Into My Own Psychosomatic Hell
Mushrooms & Sleep Deprivation
by Julinfinity
Citation:   Julinfinity. "A Journey Into My Own Psychosomatic Hell: An Experience with Mushrooms & Sleep Deprivation (exp68977)". Aug 17, 2016.

3.5 g oral Mushrooms (dried)


It would be my first psychedelic experience of any kind and this is the story of my childish mistakes leading me into the depths of my own hell.

Before even considering mushrooms, the night before I had taken some 'beat bombs' or ecstasy which was at least a year old and had the effects of a minor muscle relaxer but it had still kept me up for the entire night. So when I ate the mushrooms, I had been up for more than twenty-four hours which was a horrible mistake.

I bought an eighth for myself, and there would be about fifteen people tripping in one house on the first snowy night of the season. We ate them around seven/eight PM and BAM almost immediately, about fifteen minutes, I began to feel euphoric and the colors of the room began to brighten and dim and brighten and dim and I looked into the mirror to find my pupils RIDICULOUSLY dilated. It scared me a little bit but I was so amazed with the colorful contents of my work makeup box I didn't mind at all.

When I came downstairs the lights were on and I sat down in a chair near a friend to smoke a cigarette. That's when I became fascinated with how the the space between the floor and the ceiling seemed to shrink by five feet. The wood floor was rippling like choppy waves but when I focused in on each floorboard I could see the magnificent wood designs growing like plants. I couldn't stop looking at faces. Random spots of color so vivid were constant through each person. One face looked like it was clown makeup, as if he had permanent bruises.

Every face warped and changed, stretched out, and I was mezmerized by this, as I sat on the couch and just was overwhelmed by everything in the room....I felt all of my senses being taken over by the psilocybin...the room was constantly shifting and changing. Never did it look the same.

Perception: You think about how a room looks the first time you walk in it...and gradually your perception changes as the room becomes more familiar. Well, there was absolutely no constant perception of the room I was in. Every piece of matter was fascinating and even something like a blank wall was so beautiful, I spent an unusually long time staring at my hand watching the detailed complexity of my skin. Beautiful.

I believe these hit me very hard because of my lack of sleep, and because it was my first real time doing them. After a while the entire scene turned into utter confusion. I would believe that I was Hunter s. Thompson and my arms flailed wildly like him. I spun in circles in my boyfriend's room, all alone, in a synchronized dance with my TV screen's reflection. The drawings and skateboards on the walls were coming straight at me. At a point I believed I was a giving-fairy, handing out bubble gum to the warped faces of people that I had known in my past life of sobriety.

Soon I entered a time paradox. Hyperactivity. I cannot explain how every social interaction was. It was as if I knew what was going to happen next. The millisecond after. Like a constant state of deja vu. Very uncomfortable. I spent so much time trying to analyze it, I was so unbelievably lost.

Confusion, confusion, confusion. Every minute is an hour. I close my eyes, wanting to sleep.
Confusion, confusion, confusion. Every minute is an hour. I close my eyes, wanting to sleep.
The visuals would then envelop me in hell. Psychedelic cliches, like posters you'd find at gag gift stores, come to life and all I can hear is a beast through a microphone. I open my eyes and nothing around me makes any sense. I'm sweating. I can grasp reality for a mere second and then it falls away from me. People kept telling me to go with it, and that I was okay, but I WAS NOT OKAY.

I enter another stage where I am seeking comfort so badly, I'm seeking understanding so harshly, possibly because of my horrible sleep deprivation and my foreign knowledge of human needs. An endless loop of going upstairs to the bed, and off of it, and downstairs, and upstairs again traps me for an eternity. These loops occur. Words repeat in my head. 'BED, BED, BED, BED'

I feel cold. Every cell on my epidermis is hallucinating. I feel wetness.

I cannot achieve anything I desire. Warmth, sleep, or sense. I attempt to figure out putting on a sweatshirt but to my dismay I cannot. I try to stuff my hands into my sweater pockets but they just go right through the pockets, as if they have no end. My brain is not perceiving objects as it should, as if it is leaving out vital parts of the object I'm trying to utilize. I try to open my phone and it breaks apart in my hands. I feel things and they are not whole. A crumpled up used tissue feels much heavier and is dissolving in my hands, things are falling away from me, so soon I come to the only realization my confused senses will allow; that I have died.

But before that I enter a realm that I don't know how much of was real, or was a ridiculous charade that my brain has replaced with sounds of my internal insecurities.

As I stand on the top of the stairs, everything the other kids are saying are direct insults to my intelligence, ridiculous things they could say that would have upset me as a child but it's all that was around me. I turn my eyes to the television and Jon Stewart and some woman are doing the same thing.

Family Guy and the Boondocks continue to do the same thing. I'm still stuck in the deja vu time paradox, slowly exiting, I believe that I am doomed in limbo to watch TV programs insulting the passions of my previous life. The entire scene rapidly changes. We're in darkness now. My boyfriend is holding me, breathing into me, sucking on his lips, terrifying me because I believe he is only a representation of the person I loved when I was alive, only there to torment me with what I cannot have dead.

This is how everything and everyone became.

I am upstairs, trying to be warm under the blanket, watching the mocking clock, the mocking walls, the mocking vhs, and not making any real connection with with anything that I touch. My senses still wack, I feel my entire head wet again...and go into the bathroom.

When I look in the mirror I am horrified to pull out chunks of wet hair that disappear immediately in my hands. The skin in my face is cascading veins and cracks like dry soil. My pupils are so dilated it looks inhuman. I believe that this is the state of ugliness and despair I will forever be. The contents of my makeup box are spread out all over the floor, money and possessions worthless and despair washes over me. The voice that comes out of me makes no sense. I'm screaming and crying. I pick up a glass and hurl it against the wall. Pink liquid drips down the walls. My boyfriend is suddenly on the bed. Terrifies me.

'That wasn't cool.'

The way he said it was too calm. I am tortured. 'Lay down with me.'

Even though I know he is an imposter I do so. But soon the loving way he is holding me becomes restraining and I know he is just trying to keep me in this limbo. I break away from him and run downstairs. I try to run outside and somebody pulls me back in. The snow and ice are laughing at me. In fear I run to the kitchen and try to drink water but it doesn't connect, of course. I am sure everything in my world is limbo. I am forever to haunt this house. I vaguely remember a night of terror and hallucinations, but it seems unreal.

I come to the conclusion that I have taken it too far and am forever imprisoned in the terrible crevices of insanity that have always existed in my mind. My boyfriend is holding me tightly and I look up at his warping face and see Satan himself.

I try to access my cell phone. Was I supposed to be at work? I call a friend who is an experienced tripper, but he offers no consolation. His voice sounds like a recording...another imposter. He texts me the most 'ridiculous bullshit' about how all around us is peace and love but all I could feel was fear.

The digital clock mocks me. I try to call my mother. She also sounds like a recording. Her voice sounds terrified. I tell her I need help. I can't see her anymore. I'm gonna die. (imagine how scared she really was.)

I try to remember when I ate the shrooms, and the entire night just seems unreal.

She sends my dad I think. I glance at the wall at the bows and arrows. Then I am watching a television that doesn't exist. Cartoon characters are saying the most ridiculous things to piss me off. They speak of anything that's ever trifled me growing up, no matter how meager it is, but it's so vivid, and so real I couldn't distinguish that the television didn't exist. I see my dad's headlights pull up in full rainbow spectrum, but I close my eyes tightly, because I know it is just another antic of my limbo torturing me. In reality, I'll never leave this house. This is my hell. I have to haunt this place forever.

I knew it was an antic, because it kept happening over and over, I kept seeing his van pull up on repeat, in a loop.

Finally I hear his voice, I look out the window. He's standing there, a caricature. 'Well! Come on!' Imposter. I retreat into my boyfriend's room, leaving him outside.

Imposter boyfriend comes upstairs, emotionless. 'Well your dad's here, come on'

I ignore him, and just sit there trembling, and finally my dad comes in. He looks so unfamiliar and horrible. The way he is talking is a mockery to the one in real life. He's giving me all this 'dad' bullshit that I received as a thirteen year old, and I know that the evil designer of this horrible limbo set it up this way so that I would never really be able to believe that it was my real life. It would always be 'off' in a nightmarish similiarity to the child horrors I would have.

I laid in my unfamiliar room, and every fifteen minutes or so the walls would begin to close in on me from all four sides. Then retreat. Then close in. As if it was a womb contracting to birth me from some beast. A crack on my wall spread throughout the length of the room. Morrison looms over me from the fuzz poster eyeing me like meat. Ralph Steadman's interpretations were watching with gaping mouths, as if my entire scene was their acid trip.

Two hours after laying there trying to concoct a plan to escape my hell in between hells, I began to come to terms with reality. I ran into my mom's room and bawled uncontrollably. I cannot remember the last time I have felt such fear and despair. My mind cannot handle psilocybin or any psychedelic for that matter. I am too sensitive and have far too many logs in my river.

Exp Year: 2008ExpID: 68977
Gender: Female 
Age at time of experience: Not Given 
Published: Aug 17, 2016Views: 3,668
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Mushrooms (39) : Bad Trips (6), Small Group (2-9) (17)

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