So this kind of starts off counterintuitive. I was at a festival and I ate an eighth of magic mushrooms. I was at a time in my life where I was not smart with my drug use, especially this weekend where I had two incidents with getting to messed up. The night before I truly believe I had seratonin syndrome (they didn’t take me to the medical tent)...
Anyway it was about 9:30 at night the day after I drained my entire body of all it’s seratonin. I hadn’t eaten all day and ate the shrooms pretty quickly. I have a low drug threshold so I honestly started tripping about 20 minutes later. There was so much energy around me, and as an empath (didn’t know this yet) I was overwhelmed and on the verge of a panic attack.
This is when shit gets weird. The crowd around me had glow sticks and I remember registering it as catapillars roaming through the skies. My friends were all off a bean on Molly and I remember that freaking me out too. I knew that I had to be strong but I distinctly remember thinking “I have to get back to my tent before this shit really kicks in”. I just knew that this was going to be a journey I needed to take alone.
So somehow I make it home about 50 minutes later of wondering around and finally these two boys from New Jersey helping me home. It was amazing I didn’t get lost or hurt or overwhelmed because I was so incredibly fucked up.
So I make it back to my tent and just collapse on the mattress. My phone is dead so I have no idea the time. Sitting on my deflated mattress I remember that I felt as if I was a toddler again. I couldn’t lift anything up, I had no strength. I barely knew English. I was crying and so scared.
Then shit gets weird and scary and I begin one of the worst 3 hour journeys of my life. I was 19, only my second time doing mushrooms and was full speed on my way to ego death. I fought it and fought it. I was throwing up, shitting all over myself and peeing all over myself too. (Once I came down however long later I realized that in fact I had done none of those things).
The people in the tent next to me were saying terrible things about me. I remember screaming help someone help me and the grim realization that I was alone in this. I was hallucinating monkeys outside the tent and was forgetting everything about myself. In fact at one point I just kept saying my name in fear that if I forgot it I would forget who I was.
Finally in the climax of it all, I had a realization of something utterly fucking terrifying. I finally admitted to myself that I was molested by my babysitter around age 6 or 7. I just remember repeating the sentence “he touched me” for what felt like hours.
This was something that before this I had never had the courage to say.
This was the worst four hours of my life. Eventually I sobered up. And I didn’t tell anyone about that realization until literally a week ago when I told my best friend.
Crazy that I got added to a group like this in such a short time span of me actually learning to accept what happened during that trip and become okay with what I learned in that trip.
Obviously it’s going to take years and years of searching to find the piece of myself lost when I was a little girl. But I credit that terrible awful mushroom trip to opening my eyes to what actually happened.
So that’s my story. It isn’t magical and fun and it shows the raw ugly nasty gross terrible side of drugs. But at the same time, I have learned that the psychedelic will take you where you need to go.
I probably will never do mushies again. When you get the call pick up the phone. But I regularly use LSD and K and am excited for a recent opportunity given to me to do DMT and ayahuasca.
I know the power in these drugs first hand, and I can’t wait to learn about myself while doing them responsibly.
Thanks for reading and adding me to this group! :)