Citation: Fleming. "A Klondike Kratom Kristmas: An Experience with Kratom (exp98719)". Erowid.org. Feb 4, 2014. erowid.org/exp/98719
As I begin this report, I am lounging by the pool in a mansion in Alaska which used to belong to a crooked, gangster-affiliated strip mall developer. My boss tells me that back in the 1960s, this huge house was painted purple, and the high school kids used to cruise past it for kicks on weekends and after school. It is now a youth hostel, which caters to backpackers in summer and broke locals trying to get back on their feet in winter.
This morning, I took a short swim and ate a small bowl of Raisin Bran. I am waiting about two hours after this mini breakfast before ingestion of Bali Kratom, in order to ensure that I am riding on an empty stomach. My current mind-state is clear, content and optimistic. It is Christmas Day.
In the interest of keeping the long, boring parts short, my drug experience is… Everything (except PCP)… I am 28 years old, 140lbs, 5’ 6”, male, and I work about 60 hours a week. I grew up in New York City, went to high school in Nazi Germany (err… I mean Nazareth, Pennsylvania) and moved to Alaska when I was 23.
As we wind down what has proven to be a long, hard year full of heartbreak and beauty, personal triumph and utter disillusionment, I look forward to my first higher-level Kratom dose.
In my teens and early twenties, I used an awful lot of drugs. Generally going for big doses of whatever I could get at the time. I attribute this tendency partially to the fact that most street-drugs are pitifully weak, partially to the fact that I didn’t really care about my body, and partially to the fact that I’m just a hard-head and have a difficult time ‘breaking through’ with substances. These days, I’ve learned the value of starting small. Keith Richards explains this in his autobiography ‘Life’, basically stating that the reason he’s been able to survive decades of rock n’ roll drug-taking is because he never took more than he felt he needed to, and he almost always knew and trusted his sources and the purity of the substances he was using. There’s something to be said for that elder’s wisdom.
I’ve read that ten grams of premium-grade Kratom is roughly equivalent to a 20mg dose of Hydrocodone. I have been prescribed to Vicodan and Percocet in the past for several months at a time and I have found that 20mg is about the right dose to ease my scoliosis-related pain. It may also be important to note that although I have used opiates, frequently in combination with Valium and various muscle relaxers, daily for extended periods, I have never, ever, ever experienced any sort of withdrawal. I consider myself lucky in this regard, although I am sure part of it is just the simple fact that I viewed these drugs with respect and didn’t overdo it.
I have not had any opiates whatsoever in at least six months leading up to this experience and the only mind-altering substance I’ve used within the past week consists of a few pints of quality India Pale Ale.
My experience with Kratom has so far been in the 4-6 gram range, producing the expected floaty-yet-focused stimulation. The source I use is excellent, has been reviewed in USA Today, and places a lot of emphasis on customer satisfaction.
With that, I will take a break and in about a half hour, I’ll begin what will hopefully be a merry Christmas!
T-0:00 (6:48AM Alaska Time): I pour myself a teacup of warm water and swallow the first ten pills. My source uses Veggie-caps for their powdered Kratom, and takes pride in subtracting the weight of the capsules so that their stated weight is the weight of the Kratom only. These caps contain a little over half-a-gram each, so my final dose will be just below eleven grams.
T+0:15: I return to the kitchen for another cup of water and sit back down by the pool to continue slowly taking the pills. I don’t like swallowing lots of caps, but I’ll manage. The Veggie-caps are smooth, much easier to swallow than standard gel-caps.
This area of the hostel is serene. There are groups of people, mostly men, in the living room watching movies on the big-screen TV and hanging out in the kitchen. I love this little poolside area because it is quiet and I can read books or do paperwork here in peace. There are some foreigners here at the hostel and I intermittently hear conversations in Arabic, Korean and Mandarin Chinese coming from the other rooms.
T+0:20: I flip on YouTube and listen to the studio version of ‘4th of July, Asbury Park (Sandy)’ by my man Bruce Springsteen. I prefer the live version, but the studio version is much chiller, and chill is the vibe for which I am going on this fine morning. I tilt my head back and check out the ceiling fans, with their quasi-Art-Deco style. As I mentioned, this mansion used to be owned by a crooked strip-mall developer in the 60s. Whether any of the crooked businessmen from those olden, golden days actually had mob ties is open for debate, but they were definitely connected to local gangsters, gambling hall operators, prostitutes and dirty politicians. For further reading on this interesting subject, I would recommend the excellent book ‘Johnny’s Girl’ by Kim Rich.
‘Sandy’ is my favorite song, and it reminds me of how important it is to hold on to one’s beliefs. When I first heard it at twelve years old, I realized it basically explained everything I’ve ever wanted out of life – love, freedom and transcendence. After all this time, that really hasn’t changed. When I was nineteen, I ran away from home with the head cheerleader from my high school. We went to Miami, which ties in to the Art-Deco theme. We were smoking a lot of crack at the time and things went downhill quickly. She eventually left me for her AA sponsor (!) Since then we’ve kept in loose contact and I don’t want to talk bad about her, but I’ve taken a lot more strides towards getting my shit together than she has. In the end, I’m glad it didn’t work out because she wasn’t for me, but you don’t get to choose who you fall in love with, and I will always miss her.
T+0:30: First-alerts abound. Here comes the skin flushing, body-warmth, and very slight numbness. I decide to splash some cool pool-water on my face. I walk back to the kitchen for another cup of water and run into a fellow degenerate rock musician. We talk for a few seconds and then I’m back to the vintage gangster-lounge. “Boy, if these walls could talk!” I think to myself.
T+0:45: By now, I’m grooving to tracks off the first two Springsteen albums and lamenting the extremely annoying ads which are all over YouTube these days. They pop up right in the middle of whatever you’re watching / listening to and you have to scroll down and find the little ad box to stop the noise. I think even if I were on a nice shot of heroin, this would still piss me off.
I belch and taste the Kratom. I’ve read reports of people saying that Kratom tea is vile. I don’t know… The Kratom-burps don’t taste as good as some fine Alaskan marijuana… But they don’t taste nearly as bad as a San Pedro slushy, or the rug-burn-on-your-tongue taste of pure 2C-I, or that small chunk of pretzel you pick out of the carpet and smoke when you’re coming down from crack at 6am. These are experiences we’ve all had, right? :-)
T+1:00: The Middle-Eastern dude and the African dude sit down at a table on the far side of the pool and their Arabic conversation bounces off the walls of this cavernous room. The language sounds a bit harsh, but they are giggling and obviously having a good talk. The opiate-esque flushing continues, now accompanied by a lovely tingle / itch on my scalp. I’m so glad I discovered this stuff. I hope those knuckleheads who we allow to run our American government keep their hands off Kratom. It deserves to remain legal.
T+1:30: I go outside to smoke a half a cigarette, and chat a little bit with my friend, who is a degenerate classical pianist. We reflect on the year and our struggles. He had to spend some time in a homeless shelter and was able to get a job and move out of there ten days before his stay would have been up. Like me, he lost a girlfriend, lost all his money and had to make drastic strides to get his life back in order. We’re both frustrated because we aren’t where we need to be yet, but we agree that our hard work will pay off and patience truly is a virtue.
Once back inside, I take a nice, healthy piss and check my look in the mirror. My eyes are pinned. As I sit back down in my chill-spot, I feel that familiar sense of stimulation mixed with a relaxing body buzz. The warmth and itching are increasing and I feel no pain. This is most certainly akin to a moderate dose of prescription opiates. I wonder why anyone messes with poppy-pod tea when Kratom is much easier to swallow, far less nauseating, cheaper, and technically ‘more legal’ to use.
My head is getting slightly fuzzy and my thoughts are coming in shorter, tighter sentences. Somebody once described this condition in reference to DXM, calling it ‘the Hemmingway effect’. I think about Hemmingway and imagine myself on a boat, loaded with limes, booze and guns… somewhere in the Caribbean, sometime in the first half of the 20th century. The sun is shining down; the breeze is divine.
T+2:00: At this point, I must have hit the peak. I doubt it is going to get any stronger than this. But I don’t need it to. I feel great. My motor skills are a little bit off, but not badly at all. I make a cup of green tea and continue relaxing. I think about the ‘reason for the season’. I don’t think I believe in God, but I don’t completely rule out the possibility that one may exist. I’m Jewish, and I don’t believe in Santa Claus. I work as a merchandiser, contracted by several big-box retailers and I always dread the Christmas season because of the crowds and the general anxiety which prevails in the stores while I am trying to concentrate and work. I usually get angry because in the weeks leading up to the birthday of Christ, most Americans are worshiping the almighty dollar… which actually means worshiping Satan. But as I lie here, listening to the Arabic intonations of my fellow hostel mates, I remind myself that anger is simply wasted energy, no matter who or what it is directed towards.
I feel that little head-bob coming on, and it’s like my body wants to catch a nod, but knows it won’t actually get there. I walk around the pool area, stretching and exercising my arms a little bit. I wade in the shallow end for a few minutes. This is good… This is good.
T+5:00: Effects plateau and then gently subside. I spent the rest of the morning reading, listening to music, and reflecting. I wouldn’t say I was meditating per se, but I spent several ten-minute periods just sitting or lying, doing nothing at all aside from thinking and feeling well.
In summary: I think I have found a natural ally for life. I wish I had known about this stuff ten years ago. A couple hits of quality weed (my undisputed drug of choice) would have been heavenly, but I don’t have any today. I have smoked weed on lower doses of Kratom and they synergize famously.
The fact that Kratom is non-addictive is a huge plus. The fact that it is legal in the United States is an enormous plus. The actual painkilling and euphoric effects are not particularly strong, but that is okay. The principle drawback is the minor hassle of having to take ten to twenty Veggie-caps, but I experienced no nausea. Thank you, Mother Nature! Thank you, and merry Christmas!
COPYRIGHTS: All reports are copyright Erowid.
Experience Reports are the writings and opinions of the individual authors who submit them.
Some of the activities described are dangerous and/or illegal and none are recommended by Erowid Center.