Citation: Sean. "Wake Up Call: An Experience with Cocaine & Cannabis (exp52467)". Erowid.org. Sep 20, 2008. erowid.org/exp/52467
The dose described in this report is very high, potentially beyond Erowid's 'heavy' range, and could pose serious health risks or result in unwanted, extreme effects. Sometimes extremely high doses reported are errors rather than actual doses used.]
||(powder / crystals)
It was a typical Saturday night. Me and a good friend were doing our typical weekend ritual of splitting an 8 ball of cocaine over the course of the evening. At that point I was spending over a thousand dollars a week, and pretty much had a full-blown problem. However, aside from the nightmarish come downs, coke was still fairly consistantly still alot of fun. We were just listening to music in the truck, and consuming lines like there was no tomorrow. It wasn't long before we had polished off the whole 8. We decided to get another one, by the time we got into that one, I was becoming very hyperactive and excited, and speaking of filling the tank with gas, and driving all night to Mexico completely yacked out.
I decided to smoke some pot to calm down. BIG MISTAKE. I started rambling on to my friend uncontrollably, it was becoming apparant to me that I didn't even know what was coming out of my mouth. I was struggling to get out the words 'Dude I fucked myself up'. My friend said he wanted to finish up that last remnants of the blow, and I had no problem with that. He left me alone in the driveway in his truck for what he says was 20 minutes, but it felt like a fucking eternity. I just sat there completely fixated on that idea that I had done perminant serious damage to my brain. I got out of the truck, walked into the house, and crept upstairs to his room, it was probably close to 5 in the morning, and my lucky star kept me from bumping into his stepdad on the way to work. I knocked on the door but got no answer, I quickly jumped to the conclusion that I not only fucked myself up forever, but everyone in this house knew it, and wanted me to go away. I went down stairs.
I RAN home, BARE FOOT, chanting things like 'Oh fuck, oh fuck', and 'You're not going to die'. I can't explain the things going through my head, but they were terrifying: I must have gone through a hundred different possibilities to what was actually happening to me. By the time I got around the corner from my house, I was so exhausted that I keeled over and hit my head on the curb. I got into another uncontrollable mental lock, and thought I was slipping into death. I was trying so hard to hold on. I kept fighting it. My will to survive had completely kicked in. I sprung up. I think I might have urinated myself a bit. I jogged over to my house.
Once in my bed, I felt slightly more relaxed, but was still trying very hard to focus on reality, and stay grounded. I found that I had to deliberately try not to slip into myself, and the harder I tryed the further away I slipped. It was a seemingly endless cycle of reality, and forgetting to breath and thing I'm going to die. I'm pretty sure I shouted a couple things at the top of my lungs during the night, convincing myself it was the only way to hold on to reality. I know it makes no or little sense now, but it did at the time. Everything and nothing made sense.
I woke up with deep dirty cuts on my feet, and generally feeling like an asshole.
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