| DOSE : | 1.6 g (1/16 oz) | Psilocybin Mushrooms |
My cousin and I decided to trip for the first time the night before a Phish concert. We assumed we would find more drugs, when we'd get there. He and I WERE good friends prior to the trip...
He and I had picked up an eigth of shrooms. We had been told by the person who sold us the shrooms, that you shouldn't take a person who flips out to the hospital unless they are comatose or violent, because the hospital can't speed the drugs out of your system. You must wait it out.
We began the evening with a good start. We didn't drive and we didn't get into any hostile situations, until he 'came down early'. I was fucking nuts and had been all evening. It hadn't been a problem, but I was acting very oddly. I didn't know who my parents were. I was making no sense. I lost touch with the greater part of reality. No real visual halucinations ('cept tracers), just raw confusion. However, my cousin was the one to panic. He was afraid I was O.D.ing or I was permanently nuts, and he drove me to the hospital.
I was chewing on a Road Atlas in the back of his car, when one of the hospital staff adressed me with the question: "What did you take?" I replied in terms that made perfect 'sense' to me, "17 hits of acid in 17 days," and I repeated myself until I had felt I had made myself completey clear. Things pretty much went downhill from there, and as you can probbaly guess, I missed the Phish concert.
My cousin kindly informed the hospital that I was overdosing on shrooms. They led me to the Emergency Room where they tried make me lie down on a table; they were planning to pump my stomach, unbeknownst to me. I resisted. They insisted. A struggle involving swearing, biting, much thrashing 'bout, and a good half dozen people including doctors, security guards, and nurses who forced me down on the table.
They injected me with something, which I am guessing is Thorazyne, which stopped almost all of my muscle movements. I couldn't blink, or breath. I was on a lung machine to keep me breathing. All I could do for nine hours was piss and weap. I WAS CONSCIOUS THE ENTIRE TIME! [Stilling tripping balls, too.] I experienced getting my stomach pumped, which may I add, is quite painful and disorienting. I could not force myself into sleep, and any attempt escape the reality before me failed. Only darkness and pain existed.
It took me a few hours to realize that I was actually in a hospital, because I could only hear what was going on around me and see when my mother or a nurse wiped the tears from my eyes. I freaked out periodically, because I strained to move my limbs (or anything at all), which were totally unresponsive. At one point I came to the frightening conclusion, that I had broken my spine in some horrible accident and would have to suffer the rest of my life trapped within a black hell.
Eventually (the end of the 9 hour ordeal) I could twitch my arms, which they strapped down, and I fell asleep and woke up in a hospital room. The first questions I asked were, "Did anything come up from the pump?" "No." "Do I have brain damage?" "No." "Did the mushrooms I took paralyze me?" "No." It was off hospital record. I spent 3 days there for an irregular heart beat they noticed while they were monitoring me. The bill totalled $6000, fortunately somehow covered by my 'rents insurence. I was grounded for two weeks! : ] But, forever, there is a gap between my parents and I. My cousin never said he was sorry.
I tripped again, under more supervised circumstances (with experienced trippers and steady rolling friends) to prove to myself that I would have been fine without the hospital's help. I went nuts again, but all went well, I meerly learned I have a great susceptability to shrooms, and I have experimented with many other hallucinogens (LSD, anti-histamines (Benadryll/Dramamine), DXM, Estacy, and Morning Glory seeeds.) since then, and had a damn fine time, too. I still trip off shrooms; I have learned to survive the confusion that ensues, plus it is cheaper because I require less. I also learned very strong coping skills. Oh, well. What doesn't kill you only makes you stranger...
Er, I mean stronger.
1999
