Citation: Azathoth. "Absolute Hell: An Experience with Cannabinoid Receptor Agonists - A-834735 (exp99129)". Erowid.org. Aug 5, 2015. erowid.org/exp/99129
Me and my friend C are connoiseurs of synthetic cannabinoids. Having gotten pretty heavily addicted to JWH-018, I had already given them up, but my friend C, who is a little better than myself at self control, continued to smoke. His drug of choice was JWH-210, but since he couldn't find any more after he ran out, he decided to purchase some of the newer chemicals, UR-144 and A-834,735. UR-144, he told me, had very little effect. A-834,735, on the other hand, had something of a fine line between an effective dose and a hellish bad trip. He used that word, 'hellish,' but I didn't really appreciate what he meant by that until I tried it. I had overdosed on JWH-018 before. That was more like a panic attack; this was absolute hell.
One week I drove down to Virginia to visit, and being the good friend he is, he let me get as high as I wanted on his new stuff. He had discovered that much of the powder he was smoking was just melting into the pipe, leaving a gigantic gob of residue and unsmoked chemicals inside. He had warned me about hitting the pipe for too long, but my attitude was basically 'Bitch please, I smoked piles of JWH-018 and 210. I've got tolerance.' Given the majestic cloud of thick, billowing smoke I exhaled, I immediately knew I was going to get very, very high, but holy FUCK!
The head rush came quickly and was very, very strong, though not entirely unpleasant. But what came next was hell, literally. My own personal hell, as if some kind of cosmic justice were being meted out for the particular sins I had committed during my life. Before long, I had no idea where I was, what was going on, or who C was. To make matters worse, a daytime talk show was on TV with people yelling at each other (let me make it clear hear that I don't like the sound of people arguing, even sober). This is when I was overcome by what C calls 'the fear.' From this point on, I was no longer aware of my body or the fact that I was beginning to lose control over it. Only my torment existed now.
C's room was a little messy (compared to my room, anyway), which was apparently just enough disorder to convince myself that I was actually in hell. I remember the TV would at times become my whole world. I never could tell what the people were talking about, but I knew it wasn't anything good. The arguing consumed me, and on top of it all, there was a madman giggling in the room, bringing my fear and confusion to a whole new level (having experienced what I was going through several times already, C was amused by my reactions and my general loss of self control, which actually doesn't happen to me too much on drugs). The red walls and crazy zebra stripe pattern on his sheets didn't help much, either.
After a couple minutes, I acclimated to my situation, terrifying and confusing as it was. I think this is where I started sobering up and regaining control of my mind, and also where C could tell that 'something died in me'. I was completely resigned to my fate at this point, and even if I didn't believe that I had done enough to deserve this hell, obviously I must have been wrong. Here I was in hell, and it would never, ever stop, and I knew that for the rest of eternity I would be trapped in this room with the lunatic and the people yelling. I stared at the floor in utter, soul-crushing despair.
Since escape obviously wasn't an option, I began to consider hiding places. It was messy, so there were plenty of them; I could just become microscopic and keep my torment to a minimum. My attention then went back to the TV, and I was overcome with paranoia. Though I couldn't tell what the people were saying, I suspected they could tell what I was thinking about. I imagine they could have been saying something along the lines of 'He thinks he can hide! If we're all in hell, then we're not going to let you forget it, you little shit.'
There really is no way to accurately communicate the full impact of the experience. I was literally freaking out over nothing, as if someone bumped into my anxiety knob and turned it up to 11. This shit is no good. Sure, the headrush is intense, and when really fiending, it's better than nothing. But the high only lasts like 20 minutes, it's addictive (according to C), and you don't really know exactly what's going to happen each time you use it. Just smoke weed or go without.
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