Citation: nervewing. "Storm Clouds Strangled by Vines: An Experience with 4-HO-MiPT & 2'-Oxo-PCE (exp109496)". Erowid.org. Dec 1, 2016. erowid.org/exp/109496
T0:00-I dose the cap of 4-HO-MiPT first and decide that because itís a nice day, Iím going to visit a place where immense Datura inoxia grows and harvest some seeds and leaves for the novelty of having them. My friend drives me out there and drops me off.
T0:30-I already feel like Iím coming up. While collecting seeds an elderly man comes up next to me and begins to do the same. I wonder if he knows the same things about this plant that I do. We make conversation, all while I am still coming up. I feel a bit nauseous and uncomfortable, and colors look brighter as we talk. Conversation is slightly awkward and I find myself getting fixated on certain words or phrases he says, though I feel like I did not come across as suspect. As I start walking home, I am feeling very smiley, the sky is rippling and pulsing with rainbows and colors above me and the air is swirling in great rainbow sweeps around me. I am feeling pretty nauseous and uncomfortable, moreso than I usually do from this drug. The walk home is at once both pleasant and anxious, as I want to get home and flop on my bed and provide myself brief alleviation from the nausea and muscular discomfort and sweating.
T1:10-I arrive home. I am still feeling a bit sick and Iím kind of apprehensive about snorting the O-PCE that I laid out for myself before I left. I dawdle around for a bit trying to postpone the action before finally biting the bullet and doing it.
T1:20-I snort the line, it feels like nothing. I am queasy as hell and trying to hold myself together as the 4-HO-MiPT ravages me like a thunderstorm. My innards are being tossed about in the shearing wind and storm surges, my muscles are clenching and it feels like my head is sinking in on itself. I have done higher doses than this with less body load. I wonder whatís up with this. I smoke a little bit of cannabis to try and ease the nausea.
T1:25-Per usual, the O-PCE wastes no time making itself known. I already feel very gummy, like I am soft and gelatinous, like my solid bones and flesh have suddenly decided to become more amorphous and resilient. The drip is salty and not as unpleasant as many other drugs can be. When I lie down it feels like something is being pulled out of me or pulled out from under me, but I cannot really focus on it or bring it entirely to my attention. It is as if I am helpless to stop this reeling of my existence away. Itís like that trick when someone pulls the table cloth off of a fully set table, and if they do it right, everything remains on the table. Some part of me remains here, but something in my foundation is being stealthily, swiftly, and efficiently removed.
T1:30-The O-PCE pummels me like great nimbus clouds being blown by a gale. I am incredibly dizzy and floppy and dissociated, walking is extremely difficult. It feels like everything around me has become soft wet plants, soggy from torrential rain or soaking in puddles, it feels like the vulnerable softness of fresh leaves, leaves that will dent and scratch and tear. It feels like the soft waxiness of young datura leaves. Those plants I harvested earlier are on my mind, and I am getting visions of their great green leaves and trumpeting flowers. It is at once fresh and stagnant. The bodyload is still incredible, I figured a dissociative would pull me away from the physical discomfort, but to no avail, my entire body has disappeared save for my unfortunate digestive tract, which feels like its festering and rotting, like it is composed of decaying leaves that are crawling with worms and centipedes. And yet, despite the fount of life that typically inhabits decaying material, it still feels so sterile, so chemical, so empty and dead. There are barely any visuals. With my eyes open, the world honestly looks normal, save for some warping and drifting and faint color shifts. The headspace however, is an alien realm of tangled vegetation sinking into an infinite muddy pit, I am altered beyond altered, and though can see and perceive this world clearly, it makes absolutely zero sense to me.
T1:45-My innards are twisting and tangling, they are fighting with eachother and their sinews have become furiously intertwined, flexing and bulging to the point where it seems they might rupture. This is entirely and ravenously unpleasant. Comfort has become a myth. It feels like I am coming to pieces from within, that I am dissolving into the medium around me, my shattered and traumatized guts disintegrating into flocculant. My mind feels like a big block of putty or cheese, my physical brain literally feels like some soft object that I could dent or mold or shape or squeeze. It feels as though the psychedelic fury of the 4-HO-MiPT is fighting with the overwhelming curtain of dissociative gumminess
the psychedelic fury of the 4-HO-MiPT is fighting with the overwhelming curtain of dissociative gumminess
. Imagine a tornado tearing through an ocean of gelatin. A blender full of play doh. A man chest deep in quicksand wildly swinging two swords around. It is furious violence being suppressed by a more subtle oppressive violence, they meet and smother one another, two beasts locked in an eternal struggle, with me bearing the collateral damage. It feels like my thoughts are coagulating like drops of oil on the surface of a gently flowing stream might. They stick together and blend into one another and render each other entirely meaningless. I am disabled, my thoughts do not function, I cannot process anything, I feel like I am short circuiting. The little bits of thought swirl together to form great big foreboding stratus clouds that hang over me and cast me in gloomy shadow.
My mind has been deeply unsettled, and I am not aware of how much space my body takes up. My sense of proprioception has been entirely and mercilessly eliminated, and I find myself unable to do basic tasks of any capacity. I am violently shaking and very very cold, I feel like I am dying, that I have been poisoned and my muscles are wearing themselves out in ritual suicide. It feels like there is a cold wind blowing on me, sapping my heat, and I am unaware of most stimuli around me. I donít even notice I have music on. I feel like I have been tangled in vines, my body restricted and eliminated in a tangled net of dense vegetation. This entire trip is like dying vines wrapping around great gelatinous storm clouds on a gloomy day, the vines strangling whatever light remains out of the clouds and casting furious gales and twisting, swirling, churning winds onto the hapless ground below.
T2:00- I have become a dying spider, my black spindly twitchy appendages mangling out of the form and cavity of my body, the limbs rasping and writhing on my bed, clutching the sheets for some degree of mercy from this meteor shower of discomfort. This is pure raw discomfort energy, I realize that I should savor this, understand it, let it be scarred into my mind so that when I am sober I can be grateful that I am not feeling it. My body is still shaking like the death throes of a dying insect. My guts are still churning and twisting and polluting my thoughts. And it is only building, only getting stronger.
One of my parents contacts me and I begin to panic. This is probably the worst state possible for me to try and interact with people who are extremely against my drug use. Even texting would be a dead giveaway to my heavily impaired state. I am freaking out, if they decide to call because I did not respond urgently enough, I am screwed, just 100% screwed. There is no way I could talk to them and sound sane or normal. I think of an alibi and when I come upon a satisfactory one, I am washed with waves of relief. But that soon gives way to yet more panic as the experience grows stronger still. I am no longer seeing, the world around me is just blank dead input, pure sensory information without any mental processing or perception or interpretation. I am seeing with the eyes of a corpse.
I realize just how much time I am going to have to spend with this substance, every second is excruciating, every minute feels so long, and I am just going to have to sit here and wait this out. I am just too impaired to engage in any activity other than lying on my bed and writing about. My heart sinks and my body goes cold as I am stabbed with anxiety. I have to just hope that my parents will not try to contact me again for the next 3 or 4 hours. I am sitting in silence, and it sounds like there is rushing steam or hot water somewhere around me. Itís a violent virulent hiss that is like sandpaper on my mind and on my ears, itís the sound of my thoughts turning to vapor and fleeing as fast as they can from this hideous infected mind. I still feel very sick, and attempt to vomit several times, but to no avail. I am thinking so much about datura and at one point have convinced myself that I accidentally ate some seeds, that I am going to be nonfunctional for several days now, that I am entirely and mercilessly poisoned and that there will be no respite from this. That I am now trapped in a raw unfettered world of bone dry discomfort and stark withering anxiety, and that this is my new normal, the withered paradigm of existence that I have trapped myself in. I watch the clock and itís distressing how little time has passed.
T3:30-I made it to 5:00 somehow. Time feels like itís passing so slowly, and the trip hasnít let up at all. Sometimes when tripping I can focus my mind to perform tasks that are extremely necessary, but that is not the case here, I cannot do anything no matter how hard I try, I am completely disabled. The dissociative hammers at my mind relentlessly, it is a hurricane with no eye, it is a stampede that never ends, it is crushing me to a pulp and ferociously eroding me.
I feel a massive sense of doom, like this trip is final, itís going to be the one that screws up the trajectory of my life, ruins me in the eyes of my parents, lands me in prison or a psych ward or rehab, who knows. It feels like an infinite chasm of negative possibilities has yawned open beneath my feet. I am pacing, just awaiting my fate in this grim empty room where it feels like even the air has died. I am happy that I have made it a whole hour, that there isnít too much left. I feel like I need to be distracted, but still lack the capability to perform any task that might distract me. Sometimes I can focus my mind and it seems as though the energy of my thoughts can be harnessed into some tangible form in front of me, but this is just hallucination and it soon disintegrates and falls away to the mad erosion of the storm around me. This trip is green and grey and so miserable. I regret every moment of this, I was having fun just on 4-HO-MiPT, why did I have to throw anything else into the mix? Why did I desire to have novel experiences that could turn out so miserable? Why not just live in comfort and happiness at all times? Drugs are fucking stupid. I am just overwhelmed with shame and regret, I feel like I have wasted a perfectly good day.
The sensory aspects of this trip were oddly enough not very notable at all. The mental distress was extreme, but the visuals appeared simply as everything in higher contrast, with no real hallucinatory effects, or even patterns or colors. Just plain and grey and sterile.
T5:30-I played Yume Nikki for the past few hours, itís a surreal eerie game that involves a lot of wandering. This actually let me pass the time and was exceedingly pleasant as a way to forget my anxieties. Before I knew it, I felt like I had climbed out of the hole. I had fought my way out and I had thrown myself over the ledge, out of breath, exhausted, worn to the vestiges of my bones. In am empty lot behind my house people are projecting a movie on the wall of a house and the audio is on super loud speakers that sound like they are directly in my room. This wouldíve freaked me the fuck out earlier, but now that I have come down a bit I feel a bit of relief, and almost laugh at the absurdity of this situation and how grateful I am for the fact that I can actually perceive and understand that. Whew.
T6:00-Iím going to a show/party to see one of my dearest friends play. I feel fucking awful though. I feel like I am hollow, that my body cavity has been scraped out with an ice cream scoop and I am just an empty vessel that the wind whistles through. I still feel so very nauseous and it feels like I am going to throw up if I move too fast. My limbs are still numb and out of place, feeling like they do when I first wake up. My movements are slow and sluggish, itís the feeling of recovering from a savage stomach virus. Nonetheless I manage to throw on some clothes and head over.
T6:30-Once I am outside I realize how fucked up I still am. I can hardly walk straight, I must look drunk. Everything around me seems so distant and all I can think about is how sick and broken my body still feels. I still feel like there is some critical error in my ability to process my surroundings, that there is still some bug in the system that has not been worked out.
T7:00-I arrive and am immediately overwhelmed. There are people standing around everywhere, itís pretty crowded. I know many of these people and trying to greet and interact with them quickly becomes disorienting. I feel like I need to sit down or Iíll faint, I just feel so weak and my body is in shambles.
T8:00-I am down enough to smoke weed without stirring the dust too much and interact with people in a normal manner. In fact I am having a good bit of fun interacting with people now, I seem to have some of my mental capacity restored.
T12:00-I arrive home. I am mostly down now, but there is still that raw eroding dissociative goopiness drying my mind out, and a bit of that warm psychedelic afterglow. This persists until I sleep, but is gone in the morning.
Conclusion: O-PCE will never enter my bloodstream again. In the days that followed I felt an odd sort of tightness/tenderness/soreness in my thyroid that made it uncomfortable to swallow, but it passed.
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