Citation: Sguy. "Wrapped in Pain: An Experience with 5-MeO-DiPT (exp17958)". Erowid.org. Oct 6, 2002. erowid.org/exp/17958
Last night was the worst night of my life. I learned what the bottom feels like. It all started by attending a local house party on a friday night with my friend M. We drank a couple beers, the cops showed up, and everyone left. M's parents were gone for the weekend, and we had money for more beer, so we gathered up a few (5) people to return to her house. There was a bit more beer drinking, though I quit after my third at the party and was losing the buzz quite quickly. M decided to eat some of the remnants of our dried 5-MeO-DiPT (Foxy) solution that was left in the vial, and she quickly realized the dose was larger than expected, so she asked me to take care of her.
Now, M is, or was last night, my best friend in the world. She and I were as close as you can be without, well, dating I suppose. I care about her more than anyone else, and of course I was more than willing to help her through what might be a difficult trip. M and I are experienced drug users, with many previous foxy trips under our belts, several of them with each other. I knew, to an extent, what to expect from it. Though it may not have been the best thing to do, I usually think that in this type of situation taking a small amount of whatever substance the tripper I'm sitting for is in order, just so I can understand their headspace better. Henceforth, down went what I assumed to be a small dose of foxy methoxy.
After a few minutes I realized I was actually going to have a regulation-strength trip. No matter, as I am almost always good about retaining my wits, not to mention the presence of a few other experienced hallucinogen users. Things went from bad to worse, and it turns out that somehow M never really tripped that hard. I somehow got a much larger dose than her, and embarked on the most horrific trip of my life.
I've had scary trips before. I've been paranoid, I've been sad, I've been restless, etc. etc. etc. I can deal with these things, and typically view even those kinds of trips as 'good'. This was different, though. I simply lost my sanity. I was shaking, twitching, and vomiting intermittently in the back yard. My reality had hit a brick wall at 60mph, and I wasn't wearing my seatbelt.
For background's sake, when M and I first started hanging out about a year ago, I was quite in love with her. She seemed interested at first, but it waned. Of course, my feelings didn't. After about 8 months of pursuing her, I realized that my feelings for her were interfering with me being a good friend, so I spent several weeks literally talking myself out of having a romantic attraction to her. Effectively, it worked, because I no longer chase after her, but when a person loves someone as much as I loved M, there will always be some residual feelings. I have a bit of an inferiority complex going, I think, because every time M shows interest in someone, the thought runs through my head: 'I'm not as good as him.'
M knows all this. And she has been in the hole I was in, that bottomless pit of insanity that a truly bad trip can be. I expected her to do the same thing I would have done for her, just be there. Alas, I was sitting on M's bed with her and an aquaintance of mine named J. J had decided to come on a whim, and had never met M before. One thing led to another, and while I was sitting on the bed, M and J started kissing rather intimiately. After a few seconds, I had the sense enough to leave the room. I soon realized that they would not be following me. I spent the rest of the night alone in M's living room, desperately clutching the furniture around me, alternating between trying to convince myself I wasn't going to die and praying with all my soul that I would. I was shaking uncontrollalby, breathing like I was having an asthma attack, and crying. M knew all this, and I believe she must have known that I needed her more than anything then, more than I've ever needed anyone. But she had to get laid. So, as I was far too gone to drive myself anywhere (as if I had somewhere to go), I sat in M's living room for 6 hours listening to the noises in the next room, feeling far lower than I knew you could feel. I think the combination of foxy and alcohol is somewhat toxic, as I was having severe muscle spasms, tachychardia, etc.
I've never actually wanted to die before. No matter how low I got, I always clung to some thread of hope. But the abandonment and rejection I felt was unrivaled even in the most sadistic corners of my imagination. Now, when the best friend I've ever had can stab me so deeply, I question whether there are really people out there that love others as much as I love.
I apologize for the lack of an extensive biography in this report, but it was intended to be a lesson in set, setting, and responsible dosing.
All is love; love all,
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