DOSE: T+ 0:00	30 mg	insufflated	4-AcO-DPT	(powder / crystals)
T+ 0:00	12 mg	insufflated	3-HO-PCP	(powder / crystals)
T+ 0:30	1 hit	smoked	Cannabis	(plant material)
T+ 0:00	repeated	oral	Flualprazolam	(liquid)

BODY WEIGHT:

130 lb

At T0:00 Both substances, 30 mg 4-AcO-DPT, 12 mg 3-HO-PCP, were insufflated in a single line after waking up from a nap. It was nighttime. I am in my room, comfortable, adorned, and familiar, awash in incense, dimly lit.

At T0:30, the gravity of what I have done has already become apparent. I am a mountain in a shower of light, erupting from the earth with the energy incurred by the first great accretion. I am a dam holding back many furious writhing rivers.
I take 1 hit of cannabis. The single burnt spot in the bowl looks back at me. I am flapping in the breeze, I am cold and wobbly, I feel like the inside of a subway tunnel at night in the winter.

Things begin to rot. The next timestamp in my notes takes place at 20 minutes again for some reason. I ramble about being unanchored before failing to type the word “broken” several times. The next timestamp, at one hour, is completely incoherent, aborted words and thoughts that couldn’t make it past my fingers. After that, silence.

The color drained from the room. It felt like a candle had suddenly been snuffed, leaving nothing but lingering smoke in the air. My visual inputs began to collapse and the world became an indeterminate jumble of forms that I couldn’t feel assed to process. I opted to just lie in total darkness and managed to unplug my lights. Sound became a completely incomprehensible force in my world, filling the coagulating air. All senses were stricken, chased from my mind with whips and scattered into the countryside. What sat in their place was a primal metallic corruption, every input blended and distorted into one sickly nerve that slithered down my spine. So without my sensory faculties, how was I to supposed to process

Chaos; it appears that my roommates had several people come to the house for an impromptu jam session, the incomprehensible silence of the night now gave way to a distressingly less comprehensible cacophony. There are voices outside my door. There are drums. There is a deep bass. All sorts of sounds begin to hammer at the walls, the fervor of life and electricity beyond my dark chamber- I am its captive, at the mercy of a broadening darkness with electric tendrils at its fringe, each one meticulously picking and prying at every thread of my being, the fabric of my reality fraying and collapsing into a tangle on the floor. It is a storm of infinite intricacy, a trillion forms each combined in trillions more ways, it is disorder that is physically impossible for my neurons to process. It seems like more and more people are coming into the house, more than could possibly physically fit, the voices and sounds and presences are multiplying exponentially outside my door, building the pressure, ripe to crack into my dark chamber at any moment. The presences coalesce, morphing together to form one sickening grand circus that sets the walls on fire, a million harlequins marching in a collapsing parade that radiates incandescent energy into the night sky, all of it perpetually stumbling and self-transforming. A vision so complex, so deeply varied and unintelligible that I am left listing aimlessly through its lopsided processions as they dance and tear the fabric of space apart in exultant hysteria. I begin to teleport around this world where nothing makes sense- suddenly I am at work again. Suddenly I am in class. Suddenly I am a stack of books on a table. Suddenly I am back at my parent’s house. My mind is projecting me randomly through my memories, thoughts and spaces that distinctly aren’t mine, dizzying and disorienting as I can find nowhere to truly return to. I genuinely have no idea of where I “really” am existing, I am paralyzed with fear. I cannot think. I cannot comprehend, all I can do is be at its mercy, everything is broken,

Debasement; More than mere alterations in perception, this is more than a feeling in me, it is a fundamental breakdown in the fabric of reality. I have done it, I have triggered the collapse and disintegration of the world , the madness that surrounds me outside of my room will soon be subject to the walls and the air and the sights and sounds of the world turning to grey and homogenous static and buckling inwards into a great void. I have doomed this world, transformed it into a solipsistic nightmare that is shattered from inception. I am completely alone, and the illusions which granted my solace and purpose before this have died and now decay around me. It is a virtual world, where anything is possible, but I am doomed to plumb the depths of its unreality as it comes crashing into what I thought was reality, infecting and necrotizing every bit of it that it touches and glitches out. What can I do but lie here in the dark, entirely still, and let the creeping absence consume me? Curiously, it rolls in asymptotically, always approaching but never arriving. It is a mindless tantalus, a hungering maw without eyes, and I seem to be perpetually out of its reach, I wish it would just come and take me rather than facing the anticipation of gazing down its toothy pitch gray throat. It cannot catch me, but I cannot escape,

Entrapment; I blink my eyes and suddenly come to from the festering cascade. The room is quiet, pitch black, I cannot read my clock but things have settled down. I have no idea how much time has passed, I have no coherent recollection of what has happened before this, whether or not I interacted with anyone, or any linear sequence of events. One moment ago, or perhaps an eternity of moments ago, I snorted a line of powder. The world is eerily still and silent, it is a deafening silence in fact. I wonder if it is intact beyond my room. I get up to peek outside but find my equilibrium is still highly disturbed. I wonder if I really have broken reality, I wonder if I am really in some purgatory. Then it comes back-a rushing in my ears, a slow crescendo of the noises beyond my space returning. The chaos, the cacophony, the shattering of my word, it all begins to crash back in, like a dam, leaking at first but soon bursting forth with a destructive wall of vivid, devastating hallucination. Was I so foolish to think it was over? Was I so naïve to think I could escape that easily? Just wait it out? No, it is back in force, the world heaves and dies again, and again, and again, sucking me down its gullet, only for me to be recursively devoured again within its icy gizzard, still never quite being completely consumed. There is always still a bit of me left to experience this non-experience, this raging torrent of despair and terror and deep debased discomfort. The recursions begin to alter and split however- tantalus, unable to entirely devour me grows bored, and the great forces or beings or non-beings guiding this experience turn to more creative methods of torment, for me, the Sisyphus being crushed to pulp and static under this great boulder again and again and again, each time getting stranger than the last,

Impersonation; I am seeing myself in the third person this iteration, my eyes are hollow and my body limp. I hardly recognize this person but I know it is me. It is a broken shell of myself , if it walks it stumbles uncontrollably, it struggles to navigate its environment in motion and in sense and in thought, it is helpless like a newborn. I feel its fear, its confusion, its struggle, I feel the numb dissociation at its extremities and I feel the disoriented deranged motion of the extra momentum in its limbs. I have no control over it, I am a ghost, an invisible consciousness separated from its body. But then what inhabits it? What drives it forward as it struggles through its’ environment? This I do not yet know, but it lives nonetheless. I am helpless to control this body, this visibly broken body. It leaves the room. It interacts with people, but it is disturbing, awkward, familiar but corrupted. It makes a scene, it causes problems, it damages things, it damages itself, it draws attention and scorn. I watch helplessly as this thing, this thing that is supposedly me, sullies my name, my body, my existence. It is messy and disgusting, I hate it, I hate that I have done this, I hate that all I can do is watch helplessly, and most of all I hate what has taken my body, I hate whoever is controlling it and driving it to do things other than lie completely still on my bed. And at once, I sympathize with it, seeing myself so awkward, seeing myself struggling to exist, I sympathize with its anesthetized and encumbered limbs, I sympathize with its inability to comprehend anything around it, the childlike confusion in which, from its point of view, it can do no wrong, but it does so wrong,

Pursuit; it has crossed the pale, it has crossed the line, I have crossed the line, this shambling corpse is causing problems and problems need solutions. Whatever inhabits that body has no idea of the consequences of being visibly and distressingly incapacitated, of being a cause for concern. But me, this disembodied mind with a shred of clarity realizes that this is coming to a head- now it pulls out its phone, now its texting people, now it is spreading its sickness far and wide. The world churns and bubbles beyond it, the bitter darkness outside turns its glowering eyes towards it. It was seen now, there was no going back. Immediately its minions began to flood the streets to hunt this body down, doctors in their white coats, EMT’s in their black shirts, police and parents and teachers and bosses and mentors and every authority that could threaten a stable and peaceful existence, every one that would want to persecute me for doing reckless combinations of obscure drugs. It dawned on the body that a disapproving world had noticed it, and panic welled up within it, panic struck whatever sentience was taking it on a joyride, and it fled. It ran, ran outside, bewildering those who were in the house, surrounded by a cacophony of police sirens and vultures descending on its decaying existence as the consciousness lost its grip and withered into the night. The body fled and fled, on autopilot, interfering with traffic, terrifying passerby, all I could do was follow, all I could do was pray it would resolve peacefully. More figures appeared just out of view, formless hulking silhouettes, looming and threatening and stalking, the paranoia of a city of eyes watching from the shadows, none of them with good intentions. They come closer and closer, all at once, all ready to snatch me up and punish me for my misdeeds.

I am in my bed, it is pitch dark and silent. I am still a disembodied consciousness, and my body is still gaunt and pale on the bed before me. Its so quiet. Did none of that happen? How did I get back here? Had I not ruined my life? The body looks directly at me- what form have I taken? Can it see me? Have I manifested physically now? The body is me, it looks like me, it seems like me, but I’m me too, I distinctly remember dosing myself with drugs at some point, I remember the day that came before that. The body lunges towards me, it grips me with its bony hands and stares into my mind with piercing wild eyes, framed with wisps of tangled black hair. Its eyes are filled with fear, madness, confusion, and a deep sadness. “Why did you do this?” it seems to ask. “Why have you done this to yourself? What are you gaining? What will happen now? It’s all over! It’s ruined!” I try to flee, I try to phase through the door, break the rules of reality just to escape this persecution at my own hands. My body tears through the door, into the hallways populated with faceless shadows of people I barely know, shoving them aside to chase me down. I underestimate this creeping uncoordinated body and it quickly runs me down, corners me, traps me in the rules of its reality. “WHY HAVE YOU DONE THIS” it asks. “WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO US? WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO ME?”

I am in my bed. I am in my body this time. It is pitch dark and silent. I am lying there, I can feel the fabric, though it feels coarse and stiff, and I can feel the cold air as it touches my skin. My heart is racing too much to feel any sense of relief, and as the infinite static and fractals and chaos bleeds in at the edges of my vision I know that it’s not over yet. The air begins to sizzle with a metallic twinge, every sound I make through movement flanges and reverberates, everything turns to grey and shadows begin to mob the solid forms in my vision , I have wronged others,

Malice; soon the shadowy blobs begin to form into deep cuts and slashes that gash through my field of vision. They appear on my skin and bleed indistinct black into the world around me, like drops of ink staining a sheet of paper. So much has threatened my reality, so much has made me feel like I had permanently damaged my existence, but nothing I had felt so far had reached the magnitude of this- my heart was beating out of my chest and adrenaline was coursing through my veins. My skin went cold as the shadows begin to form into one great dark spot in the corner of my room. It felt like a bomb went off in my head- I was suddenly stunned and dazed, completely blinded and all of my senses completely washed out. There was a ringing in my ears as my vision began to return, and I saw them. They floated and coalesced from that great pooling shadow, vaguely humanoid with 4 distinct bipedal limbs, coated in a metallic sheen, but otherwise formless and amorphous, exuding an aura of pure malice. There was no doubt in my mind that these beings wished me immaculate, eternal harm. There was no doubt in my mind that I was powerless to stop them. Had I tapped into some forbidden realm of consciousness? What had I done to warrant this punishment? They began to draw my consciousness from my body, sucking out my soul, leaving behind a withered corpse for the judges of our world to deal with. Their intentions were eternity, their actions would go beyond the limits of my consciousness, it would be suffering that I could never begin to comprehend before, it would be a million different sufferings at the same time on the same mind, they hated me, they despised me, they sought their own twisted justice. Was death total? Did death mean anything in their world? Was it an escape?

Death; what would death mean after all of this? I was already without a body, at points, and without a mind, at points, was it when they were both snuffed out? I lie on my bed and it seems even the ambient city light outside grows darker, casting longer and longer shadows until the room is nothing but darkness, stale and heavy. And the darkness sits on my chest, it crushes my lungs and sips the breath from the lips, and my heart wrenches and I cannot feel or move my limbs at all. I feel cold as the residual colors drain from the dark room and the edges fade in to black. I feel tight, withered, desiccated and imperatively still. Have I stopped breathing? Has my Heart stopped beating? Splotches of black appear in my vision. Is this death or the precipice of something even more terrible? I close my eyes and let it take me. The shadows smother my eyes as I sink into the dark like a pebble twisting and swirling to the bottom of an icy black pool.

In the darkness, darker than the darkness, it sits, its breath is heavy like shoulders beleaguered by an iron funeral gown, its form is the cold, the space around it dry and sterile, nothing has lived here, nothing will ever live here.

This is what has happened. This is now my home, among these obsidian cliffs, draped over an infinite nothingness. I am not concerned or stressed, I am not scared, this is what comes next. When the cells stop metabolizing, sending nerve impulses, then, then they can’t find me, they can’t register me as an antagonist, they can leave me alone. I am at peace, death stops all.

I gasp and come to, in my room. It is dead silent. I think I can read the clock. Maybe 3 hours have passed. I feel like I have awoken from sleeping for days and days. There is a weight in the room, my limbs still feel cold and dead and dry, but it is calm and quiet. My heart is racing. I need to end this while I can. Again the eagle comes for my liver in the gathering clouds but for carrying no light or bringing anything worthwhile to mankind, an absurd pity.

Its fingers clutch my face, the cracks begin to form at the corners of my vision. I turn on the light only to be greeted by a field of alien objects which are entirely unrecognizable to me. Forms I thought impossible, mysterious shapes and colors that I cannot even wrap my head around interacting with give the state of sense of body. I hurriedly dig through my drawer to find my out- a small vial of Flualprazolam. I grope around, picking up foreign object after foreign object until one finally registers. I don’t even know how many drops I put on my tongue, I just pray it will smother that which comes for me. The walls are gagged but screaming, great dark hairy vortices sink into the corners and the world turn grey again.

I wake up and come to again, in my bed. Was this all a dream? Am I going to be okay? Its still so quiet. Does the world exist outside my door? What have I gained from this? Did I have fun? Is it over? Is it over? I am a single mind and body now. My perceptions still feel on the precipice of disintegrating all over again. I just want it to be over. Oh god, I can feel my limbs dying again, oh god I’m dying again, the world ripples and crackles again.

I wake up the next afternoon with no alarm wearing different clothes than what I was wearing for the duration of the trip/from what I had last remembered. My phone is hiding under my desk. It seemed I eventually blacked out, though I presumably retired to bed soon after.

I think it is over.

Exp Year: 2020	ExpID: 113984
Gender: Not Specified
Age at time of experience: 24
Published: Jan 11, 2020	Views: 7,302
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4-AcO-DPT (607), 3-HO-PCP (838) : Alone (16), Bad Trips (6), Difficult Experiences (5), Combinations (3)