Citation: Samanthe. "Pinned to Floor, Friend Leaps to the Rescue: An Experience with Alcohol & Ketamine (exp9640)". Erowid.org. Sep 25, 2001. erowid.org/exp/9640
Panyin and I had a cocktail or two one evening. Feeling good, we decided to dip into the ketamine stash. At that time in our lives, we were roommates in a large and beautiful house, living in a socially backward town. Ketamine was a lovely respite, a sort of entheophile's candy. We had had some emotional breakthroughs through sharing our ketamine reveries. I felt acute pain each time I tried K IM (one time I flinched so hard the syringe went flying across the coffee table, much to my embarrassment), so I always insufflated. Panyin would either do it IM or join me in the sniffing. We would lounge on opposite sides of the ample couch in the living room, listening nearly each time to Karma (Delirium) and spacing on the cushiness of our k-nest. I was prissy about the bitter-tasting drips, so I would suck on cherry cough lozenges or Altoids to cut the taste. This evening, I picked cherry lozenges.
The alcohol had, unfortunately and understandably, clouded our judgment. Ketamine was not quite the thing to be doing. We sniffed a bit of powder (about 50 mg of K each) and lay back in our respective corners of the couch. After about 10 minutes, I got very woozy and felt especially nauseated. (I usually didn't feel nausea from K except upon coming down, when I would often get ambulatory, usually to change the musical selection). I now did a mortifying thing, I retched, right onto the mostly-white rug, and slid off the couch, with my face in my own cherry-colored vomit. My hair was wet from it, but the cold floor felt good against my face, and the wetness was even a bit nice. I was so high from the questionable combination of ketamine on top of a bigger-than-I-had-thought alcohol buzz, that I felt firmly pinned to the floor and was not too conscious of what was happening. Something in the recesses of my mind told me this was an especially obnoxious position to be in. But I kept vomiting in little dribbles, with spit hanging out the side of my mouth, unable to lift my head. It even felt good to let go so much, but the good feeling was underscored by barely-there horror.
Meanwhile, Panyin emerged from her reverie with alarm and concern for my predicament. Even in her debilitated state, she rallied up her limbs and helped me up off the floor, maneuvering me through the living room furniture, into my bathroom, onto the floor of the largish shower. There she rinsed me off. I continued to feel pinned to the floor, only now it was *wetter* as well as cold. I was completely helpless, and felt a pang of love for my equally-intoxicated friend who was taking care of me as I lay in such a vulnerable and embarrassing position.
The whole episode was like sleepwalking and telepathy at the same time -- our instincts kicked in from under the weight of the ketamine, as we coordinated enough to get our shit together. Panyin continued to clean up the mess, after putting me to bed. The next morning, we revisited the adventure over a cup of coffee. I asked Panyin to swear not to tell anyone. We marveled how -- faced with a small crisis -- she was able to suppress the effects of the ketamine and come to my rescue. We laughed at the scenario. How gauche, doing drugs and squirming in a pool of one's own vomit! It was exactly like the bad antidrug propaganda we liked to make fun of. This was a psychedelic faux pas, one of those things I will not do again: top off an alcohol buzz with ketamine. Thank goodness I had the presence of mind to make this mistake in the privacy of my own home.
Another evening later in that 'season of K on the couch', I in turn performed the 'suppressing the effects of ketamine' feat. Again Panyin and I were on the couch, accompanied by our friend Adonis. It was Adonis' first time trying K. We had just sniffed (about 35-40 mg, which was enough to send us), and lay back to enjoy our reveries, when the doorbell rang. The doorbell never rang at our remote home, but unfortunately it was fairly easy for a visitor on the front stoop to observe people were inside. The doorbell set off one of my conditioned responses, and I leapt off the couch, to the incredulity of Panyin and Adonis. I proceeded to escort the visitor into the kitchen, write down his phone number, talk plaisanteries for a moment (all the while feeling cross-eyed with the surging effects of the ketamine), and walk him back out. Then I collapsed onto the couch and resumed my trip. We don't think he noticed.
Note to self: Remember to not answer the door in such situations.
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