Citation: J_bomb. "A New Dimension of Fear: An Experience with Cannabis (exp30693)". Erowid.org. Jun 19, 2006. erowid.org/exp/30693
I've only recently begun to have an interest in psychoactives; most of my life I've been into computers and writing (even though I think I suck at it). Now, whenever company comes over, I impress (bore) them with my extensive knowledge of generic pharmaceutical names and their respective categories and indications and uses etc.
Sometime in July (my memory's not so great after smoking so much weed) I got home and found a note left by my mother that I had a dentist appointment. Of course I hated this, because I have a history of shitty oral upkeep, and going to the dentist almost always means major work or fillings. Anyway, on the way there, she reminded me that I could have 'gas' if they had it (I was sure they would), and I was somewhat happy at that because of my newfound knowledge of anesthetics. I asked them to give me the gas for the procedure (bonding), and they knew just what to do (I was hoping anyway).
They gave me the standard mask and began pumping the correct ratio of O2 and N2O to me. After a few minutes, I began to feel lightheaded and apathetic about what they were doing (like injecting me with Novocaine). The certain dentist that I am going to now has lots of old photographs of old mid-century film stars. I began to notice after awhile that I could not make out what the photos were of! Everyone looked like they had their hands on their head. I found this pretty funny, but decided to contain my laughter since delicate dental operations were being performed, and I didn't want to make things hard for them. So after the non-painful and almost pleasant 'trip' to the dentist, I felt elated that I had had N2O and that I would be able to get home and smoke what's left of my weed (~750mg), because it was actually to be my last trip for awhile (I was quitting due to thought and memory problems).
When I got home, my mom's harp friend (she plays the harp) was waiting for her, so I knew I would just have to wait until they left for me to break out the pipe. They went in her room and played the harp or folded laundry or talked about the new Yanni CD or did whatever women do together. They finally left, my mom going to a massage session (she's a massage therapist), and her friend going... wherever. So I started my smoking routine: I opened one of my blinds to see if her car was back, retrieved the baggie and pipe from my small treasure chest, took my yellow disposable smoking lighter and went to the back door. I set the equipment down on the speaker near the door, and went outside on the mid-size porch (I live in a fairly nice, middle-class apartment) and did my thorough check-out of the surrounding area: the porches to my left and right and diagonally, the one above me and those across the little dog-walking field, as well as anyone in the field at the moment. No one seemed to be out, so I knew it was time for fun (or so I thought).
Since I'm not one to be wasteful, I decided to use up all of what I had left, because I was only allowing myself one last good time, instead of two lesser buzzes. So, I loaded up the makeshift bowl with shaky hands and a racing heart (I always got like this when I was going to smoke), and fired up after hyperventilating to allow me to hold the smoke in longer. The familiar, smooth and wholly enjoyable flavor filled my mouth and then my lungs, as I held the first hit in for around 15 seconds, before aiming my head up and away from the direction of myself and the apartments, and blew out. I continued this 'catch and release' for 3 more consecutive hits, before setting the kit under the chair cushion and going back inside to check the window for a newly arrived white Toyota Corolla station wagon. 'Twas not there, so I went back to my dastardly deeds. I had 4 more hits, the same as before.
I knew it was time to chill when I looked at the parallel apartments and they were all glowing blue. I get like that often when I have a high concentration of delta-9-tetrahydrocannabinol in my system; everything has a bit of a glow and enhanced familiarity and comfort, paradoxically combined with a bit of paranoia and tension. An easy drug to classify, it is not.
So I sat back for about 10 minutes, thinking on a whole slew of things that invaded my stoned mind, and 'concentrated' on none for more than about 30 seconds before forgetting about them and going on to the next random thing. I sat up for a bit, all of a sudden recognizing my horrible cotton mouth, and took a few gulps of my limeade I had brought out. I had also on the table a pencil and sketchpad with which to record any seemingly amazing revelations I might have, and the cordless home phone in case my mother called (which I had hoped that she did, because I wanted a big mac). Then it happened.
I looked at the window from the porch chair in which I was sitting, and amidst all the sounds and visions I had in my head, two stood out, both related, which scared me to my very core, in a way unlike any I had ever known. This took effect very quickly and left after about 5 seconds. I'm not sure what my heart rate was at the height of The Fears, but I would estimate it being maybe 130 beats per minute. Even if it was not that, it sure felt like it, because it sounded like a triphammer drum beating against my chest.
Now as for what the images looked like. Note: it isn't exactly important, because they were most likely generated by my subconcious, which would obviously be unique for every person that has the unfortunate run-in with this or a similar state. One was of my dad, whom I liked and have a good relationship with, looking at me from the interior of my old house in Garland. He has brown hair and was wearing a yellow shirt, if I'm not mistaken. The way he was looking at me was with his head tilted slightly forward, and his eyes looking up from under his brow. It sounds weird in recollection, but that's what it was. The other image was a simmetrical, very simple rectangularly-oriented pattern of colors and shapes. I will make, to the best of my ability, a re-creation of it to save me from describing it.
About every 60-120 seconds, another flash of either of those images would appear, along with a sort of sound -- like a very amplified and cerebrally intrusive harp -- which added immensely to the already overwhelming terror I was experiencing. I remember asking God (I am a Christian, although I don't 'practice' very often) to please get me out of this state that I put myself into, and that I had no idea what I was screwing with, and that I would never ever touch marijuana again if he would just get me out of this. I remember for about 30 minutes before I made my first call, that I reflected on the enhanced and interesting, yet wholly scary makeup of shapes around me, the most prominent of which were the yellow-tinted kitchen, cropped by the outline of the bar deal that is on one side of it. I noticed with ease how it was made up from different sized rectangles, and that they were all inside a square of sorts. The other was the reflection of the gate behind me (I was facing the apartment) in the window, and I concentrated on the negative, green space around it. The gate is black, so it appeared that what was actually 'there' were only the reflections of green grass around it. It is a very nice thing to appreciate shapes and colors more like this, and have an enhanced (although fake) sense of artistic beauty.
It is not a nice thing to see this while being scared shitless. After that, I had racing thoughts about who I could call or talk to to get me out of this, and my first thought were my parents, but even though they both knew (without approval) that I smoked, I didn't want to tell them that I did, because in the course of a few seconds I made the connection that telling them about what is going on would possibly result in heightened security about my doings and even other unforseen consequences.
I was thinking very frantically that if I didn't have someone to call or see in real life that some terrible yet unknown thing would happen. I wasn't too worried about going insane or never coming out of the state; I've never been one to let my mental state get too out of hand (but it was probably God that helped me do so during that time). I quickly thought of calling 911, as the professional and seemingly omnipotent aura around them was calming, but then I thought of legal consequences, so I dismissed it. Then my thoughts turned to my two best friends: we'll call them H and T. I first called T, as he had more experience with drugs and could possibly relate more to what I was going through, and dialed up (2 or 3 times with error) his 18 digit number (he lives in another state, and I use a long distance number beforehand).
I was hoping desperately he would be there, but even if he was not I knew I still had others to try before I was left to fend for myself. The phone rang, and rang again, and again before the answering machine came on telling me I had reached the number I dialed and to leave a message. I hung up, and had just a brief bit of hesitation in calling H, since he would probably say 'I told you so' about the scary scary things I encountered whilst under this awful effect. However, he did not, and in retrospect I probably didn't give him enough credit for being a good friend. Anyway, I called him, and when his mom answered the phone I asked her if I could speak to him. I did, for something like 45 minutes (although it might've been longer, time is distorted under the effects of pot), and told him as calmly as I could that I was really scared, and was not sure what to do.
He calmed me down better than I thought he knew how, even though through the course of the phone call the terror flashes intermittently hit me and then left to prepare for their next strike. They were somewhat subdued by having another human talking to me, and in effect had me feeling not so alone. I don't remember exactly what he said, but it was something along the lines of 'just calm down, you'll be OK' etc etc. He probably did allude to 'I told you so' somewhere in there, but I deserved to hear it, since I was playing with shit I had no idea existed. It was almost as if I was getting a small glimpse of some sort of other sense or dimension, one which contained unimaginable levels of fear. I'm just thankful that it was as small as it was, or else I might not have lived through it. Yes, there have been people that committed suicide (knowingly or not) because of misjudging their response to a hallucinogen of some sort.
So anyway, H finally let me go, and by that time, some of the initial extreme fear and panic had vanished, but the majority was still with me. I sat around, and thought of what to do next, but my option were limited, as I had sort of mental blinders on. Of course, going in the house was not even an option at that time, because even being outside (which is where I prefer to be if I'm scared) was frightful enough; going inside and feeling trapped by walls would be unbearable at least for at the moment. Thankfully, after 10 or 20 minutes, T most likely saw my number on the caller ID and returned my hopeful and frantic call. I basically reiterated what I had told to H in so many minutes, and his response, while I can remember it having the desired calming effect, the details of which I cannot recall. I think it may have been just small talk; really any contact with another human at that time was helpful, regardless of the actual words. I think I talked to him for somewhere around 90-120 minutes as best as I can estimate.
Anyway, I also have the tendency to have 'security objects' in times of distress, and in this time of distress, my object was limeade. I was thinking as I talked to T, that as long as I had limeade left, I would be OK. Limeade was probably the worst thing to pick, but I did it anyway, so screw me for it I suppose. However, because I chose my slowly dwindling supply of green tasty liquid, I knew that to get more I would have to venture in to the unknown depths of the apartment. Thankfully T hadn't to go anywhere, and could stay with me for the duration of the worst of my plight. I told him everything I was doing as I did it, just in case I got eaten up by unseen forces when my back was turned (heh) or some crazy shit like that.
Anyway, in the end I retrieved the large jug of limeade and made it back to my base on the porch unscathed. Note that during all these things I am describing, the flashes of fear were the worst, and kept coming at me every so often, though with slightly less effect each time. After talking to him for awhile, I got enough courage to wait for the subjective effects to diminish on my own, and said my goodbyes and hung up. I drank more limeade, and thought about what I could do or focus on to pass the time.
I eventually decided that I wanted to walk around. Fortunately most of the fear of going inside had passed, so I could venture into it. I put on my big man pants and went inside, taking my lighter and pipe, for which I saw very sparse usage in the future, and put them up. Then a bit of fear came back up, and I thought I _really_ wanted to get outside already.
I started getting anxious to get outside as quickly as possible, so I got my key and frantically opened the front door, got outside and locked it. Then I relaxed a bit, and walked around shakily near the front office and pool, and sort of squatted, as I was physically exhausted from all the scary things that had been kicking my ass for the past few hours. All the while I involuntarily looked behind me, and froze up like a deer in headlights whenever someone walked past me. I felt a bit better since there were still some people in the pool, and I didn't feel so alone.
Thankfully the weed was still with me, as the time passed fairly quickly. Finally my mom drove in the gates, and I got in and rode back to the apartment. She asked why I was outside, so I just said I had been walking around. She didn't suspect anything. After that, I can't really remember if it took me awhile to fall asleep or anything, but I don't recall anything like that other than I took a shower, and was constantly looking outside of the curtain in case my old friend appeared all of a sudden. Other than that momentous occasion, the surrounding weeks are a bit of a blur. Probably due in part to the fact that I was on my computer most of the time, and going to summer school. Not much else happened worth remembering, I suppose. So.
For some, N2O and cannabis is quite a pleasant mix, but obviously it wasn't for me. It was probably due to being on olanzapine (Zyprexa) as well. Anyway, I had no problems smoking weed previously whilst on Zyprexa, so it must've been the nitrous that was the volatile catalyst. I'm just glad it's all over.
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