Citation: Almond. "A Cautionary Tale: An Experience with bk-MBDB, Methylone & MDPV (exp84400)". Erowid.org. Mar 24, 2010. erowid.org/exp/84400
Today is the 26th of February, or in other words my 57th consecutive day of using stimulants. Until 1Ĺ years ago, I entertained a habit of smoking hash, the form of cannabis that is by far the most common in Sweden, although that might be changing due to an explosive increase in the number of home growers over the last couple of years. Today, and in retrospect, I can conclude that I spent at least 12 years of my life, from -98 onwards until early 2009, as a stoner.
Most of the time, I was abusing rather intensely, usually starting my day off with a bong hit, more often than not before I even had any breakfast. To begin with, cannabis gave me insights, new perspectives, creativity. But as time passed, and since my lack of moderation persisted, the creativity and insightfulness were replaced by bland, grayish nothingness and boredom.
I very rarely found smoking hashish enjoyable the last four years or soÖ It was pure addiction, and eventually I admitted this to myself. Still, in comparison with my later addiction to stimulants, smoking hash on an everyday from-morning-until-evening basis was a walk in the park. I was fully capable of performing adequately at the university, so too at the various jobs Iíve held. Never once was I fired, and my grades were generally good, oftentimes top-notch (especially when something sparked my interest, as intellectual endeavors still could).
Thinking back, I realize that being a receiver of information, in written or other form, was really the only thing I really enjoyed. Things that challenged my intellect and didnít require social interaction were what kept me afloat and moderately sane. Without interests like that, I donít know how I would have passed the time.
Anyways. The gray sheet of boredom and seclusion finally became too much, and though hesitant, I arranged a doctors appointment.
When there, I told my doctor the more superficial side of the story -- that I was depressed, asocial and found no joy in life. My goal was to get something else to 'wean me off' cannabis, so to speak. I was given Atarax (hydroxyzine), provided I agreed to go see a cognitive/behavioral therapist. Without hesitance, I agreed.
I spent 6 months in therapy, made some minor progress, and when I got too bored with it, I cancelled the therapy but kept using Atarax. Placebo or not, I found that it removed my urges for cannabis without having too much of an effect on my mental faculties.
After almost a year, I was cut off the Atarax and fell back slightly into my old habit of smoking again, though this time it never really got out of control, though that was mostly due to circumstances. I was tired of spending hours every week calling and meeting with dealers whom I didn't care for as individuals anyway, and didn't want to rebuild a network of contacts. The only one I knew was a neighbor, the stuff I got from him was expensive but average quality. He wasn't actually a pusher and had some weird ideas about it being legally ok to sell smaller amounts than the street-standard 5 gram piece, thus making it a hassle for me since I'd need to go over to his place at least 3 times a week if I were to get into my old habit again. On reflection, I found that I liked neither hash, nor my neighbor enough to make it worthwhile.
A year or so later, an extremely traumatic experience left me passively staring at the ceiling for close to two months, thus teaching me the difference between not enjoying life, as had been the case when I was prescribed Atarax, and being depressed for real, as I was now. To be depressed is to be unable to function, having neither strength nor will to even kill yourself.
After close to two months, I took the easy way out and ordered home some hard drugs, albeit unregulated ones. They worked like a charm, I felt much better, and started studying intensely so I knew what I was doing. My previous experiences with the health care system brought me to the conclusion that I'd be better off self-medicating than spending weeks of time and loads of money to get them to prescribe me something useful.
Initially, it seemed as though I had found a treatment. I was using bk-MBDB, or sometimes bk-MDMA, favoring bk-MBDB for its pharmacological profile, while appreciating the subjective effects of bk-MDMA far more. These drugs, and especially bk-MBDB, were chosen because of a Japanese study that had shown that bk-MBDB was very selective towards serotonin, though unlike SSRI it was a releaser instead of a re-uptake inhibitor.
I'd use once or twice every week, and then the other 5 or 6 days, I'd prep myself with 5-HTP. For two or three months while I kept to this routine, I felt better than I could remember ever feeling before. Life was beautiful.
But of course, the reason why people in general go to the doctor and not the web shop with RC's on sale is because RC's are untested, and above all, because when your doctor gives you a prescription, you feel obliged to behave responsibly. Eventually, I started bending the rules I had set up for myself, and went down a slippery slope. Despite this, and bearing in mind that stimulants are oftentimes regarded as 'hard drugs' while cannabis is considered 'soft', it's still interesting to note that I was able to control my use to a much larger extent with bk-MBDB than I ever could with hash, which I started abusing the same day I tried it the first time.
Most of the summer was spent using with moderation and according to the rules I had set for myself. However, by autumn, my discipline was degrading, and I was becoming curious to try other substances, which I did.
Despite having done my research and knowing full well what MDPV was, I still found myself with a small 500mg bag by mid-autumn, and giving in to ingrown habits, I was foolish enough to smoke it. A day or two later, I threw away most while in a complete state of panic. I had been smoking frequently for two days, abusing it with an intensity hitherto unknown to me, without even enjoying it or finding it rewarding in some other way. It took my first experience of vasoconstriction to admit it to myself, and I hadn't had the time to smoke even 200mg yet.
Part II: Today is the 16th of march
After this, I went back to using mostly bk-MBDB and bk-MDMA, had some nice experiences, wrote some nice pieces of music, and experienced a continued social awakening, where my earlier inhibitions disappeared to large degree. It felt good, I enjoyed expanding my network of friends.
However, despite my negative experience with MDPV, I returned to it within no more than two months. This time, it took a little longer before I threw away the remaining 500mgs or so of the initial gram, and upon doing so, I found myself abusing other stimulants as ferociously as I would have done, had I kept the MDPV.
By early December, I bought my two grams of MDPV and this time I stuck with it, smoking excessively for more than two weeks before Christmas holidays put an abrupt end to my abuse. I couldnít, I wouldnít, I sure as hell didnít want to use while visiting my family. So I left the remaining MDPV in my apartment.
For those two weeks while I was smoking, I experienced a presence of ďsomething elseĒ while I was alone. When I was working on my music, I often had a feeling of someone looking over my shoulder, heard sounds of someone else in the room. I started seeing connections between everything that happened to me, everything was causal, everything was related. Since the people around me refused to admit to being in on a grand scheme whose purpose (good or bad) was unknown only to me, I finally concluded that I finally had been touched by divinity, and that the presence I was constantly feeling was indeed a deity of some sort, that was weaving a tapestry of events to lead and guide me. It was an intense, but rather pleasant experience.
These feelings didnít have time to dissolve over the holidays, during which I slept and slept and slept. Despite my excessive consumption, I was rather surprised that my temporary pause in using MDPV didnít cause more of a withdrawal. Except for an incident triggered by an emotional confrontation with my mom, during which I experienced dizziness, tingling and numbness in feet and hands and what I presume was rather high pulse and collapsed on our kitchen floor, though without losing consciousness, my discontinuation of MDPV use really had little adverse effects, or so I thought.
Upon returning home I resumed my daily morning-to-evening use, and used MDPV daily for several weeks, until a friend of mine, himself with habits of abuse, had enough with me and bought a train ticket and came over.
He basically put the dots together for me, forcing me to see everything at once, as I had so vigorously avoided. Howís your head? Howís your stomach? How do your throat and lungs feel? What about your hands and feet? What about your heart? One after another, he asked me these questions. And finally I saw it all at once.
I had frequent shots of pain running through my head. My intestines was screaming for mercy, I frequently had blood in my stool, I was spending hours on end trying to expel mucus that was clogging up my airways, I experienced pain in my chest from time to time. The veins on feet sometimes became so swollen from vasoconstriction that I couldnít walk on them. He explained as he had once before, that if I didnít quit, I would soon be dead.
Before addiction had me change my mind, I emptied close to two grams of MDPV down the sink, only to regret it with all my heart 30 minutes later. I didnít tell him though. And I didnít buy any more MDPV after that. Now itís been over two months, and I often think of MDPV but I havenít bought any. I know he was right.
One thing saving me from going back to MDPV again was the fact that I had a good 20 grams of bk-MBDB that I had acquired for 1/4th the normal price. I started using that again, and though bk-MBDB isnít a healthy thing to abuse either, it still was preferable. However. The result of all of this was that I screwed up my education miserably this semester. I havenít been able to focus at all, Iíve neglected almost every responsibility I have, and Iíve developed a bad habit of doing whatever comes through my mind, which is usually not what I ought to do.
Last week, I told my sister about my abuse and signed myself up for rehab and cognitive behavioral therapy. This weekend was the first time this year (march 12 through 14) that I was sober. It wasnít fun, but it was not as bad as I had expected. I slept mostly. The brief periods I was awake, I had no appetite, I felt extremely weak and mentally distant. However, by Sunday evening, I had already regained some of my strength.
I still didnít get an appointment at rehab, but I hope that they will call me in soon.
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