Citation: Mushroomagic. "Delerium in Perdition: An Experience with Datura (ID 78740)". Erowid.org. May 17, 2010. erowid.org/exp/78740
I do not condone the recreational use of Datura at all. Itís horrible. So kids, there is no need to eat Datura. Stay the fuck away from it. And if you do decide to try it, even after reading this report, and or countless other train wreck experiences.. Then you are as fucking dumb as I am.
My friend C, a long time tripper, gets right into all this kind of stuff, only because he knows how to control Datura, and keep himself pretty composed on the drug. He gave me a briefing on it, and it seemed pretty wild, so I thought fuck it, why not give it a go. 'You only live once,' I told myself before I drank that awful stuff. But that quote can also imply that; say jumping off a bridge, or forcing yourself inside a meat grinder; is a good idea. And it's not.
But anyways, one Saturday afternoon we missioned off to the bottom of Mt. Nelson in Tasmania and collected at least 30 or so giant sized trumpets. We took them home later that day to our sharehouse. Before we got on it, we were confronted by 'I', one of the wisest Indian trippers you'll ever come across. He told us we were dumbfucks in a bid to deter us from the use of Datura, however I did not give heed to his words of wisdom.
Next thing I know we put all 30 of the flowers in a giant pot and simmered it in boiling water over the stove for about half an hour until all the flowers were looked like soggy spinach. The smell was pretty awkward. I sat in the kitchen watching the stuff boil, and I could have sworn I was actually getting dosed up on the fumes. I was stoned at the time meaning my senses were most probably tweaked. My mates C, R, B and myself poured the tea into giant cups once it finished brewing. We moved to B's room cause it was the warmest and sat around the sacred tea. I was too afraid to drink it at first, but B, R and C got right into it. About twenty minutes later I was eventually pressured into skulling my share. Immediately after I skulled the shit, B began to talk about how uneasy he was feeling.
By +30 B had already come all the way up. The Datura had taken away his ability to speak. He stood up and looked around the room with great concern. He was wobbling all around the place, unable to center his gravity, and speaking absolute gibberish, but gesturing as if he were expecting us to understand what he was saying. He pounced off his bed and ran around the room knocking over bottles of piss all, and then eventually slipping in his own puddle of piss. We thought it was hilarious, though we were slightly worried about his and our own wellbeing. Soon this shit was going to take us by surprise and we wouldn't be laughing for sure. But for the time being, it was quite humorous.
+40 minutes: I left B's room and went downstairs to the kitchen. I felt slightly euphoric and noticed that the natural lighting of the kitchen was unusually beautiful almost as if I were in a warmly lit rainforest in dusk. I peaced out in the kitchen amongst the remaining fumes from the stew for a little bit, and then I decided to go back up the stairs and see how the other fellas were going. As far as I was concerned, things were going well.
Just about as I was heading up the stairs, bang! It hit me like a freight train. Motor receptors down! Climbing up those set of stairs was a fucking hard mission. I felt drunk and extremely uncoordinated. However I didnít get that same headspin I get when you are drunk. It seemed like each premeditated step I took was certainly going to fail to move to move me to the spot I originally intended, and I was completely aware of it, however there was no two ways of going about it. Pre-destined footsteps? Iím sure others who have experience datura, may have the same feeling.
I made it up the stairs eventually and carefully paced myself as I entered the room trying my hardest not to fall in a puddle of piss myself. I really donít recall what happened for the next three hours; a bit like an amnesiac. I didnít quite black out. Time just disappeared, and next thing I knew; I was sitting on the couch of the living room beside two mates of mine. I felt cold and itchy all over. There was a burning sensation deep inside my body. I couldnít figure out what was causing it or where exactly the pain was coming from. It was almost as if my anxiety levels had risen so fucking high that it had taken form of a burning fire. It was agonizing and extremely discomforting.
All of a sudden I realize that I am actually stark naked on the couch. ďIĒ and ďAĒ are looking at me like Iíve gone fucking crazy. And for the time being I had. Kim was on the other side of the room watching TV. She seemed to not notice what the fuck was going on. ďCĒ walks into the living room later, with his eyes fixated at a random point in space. It was hell random.
Next thing I know I whip out a cigarette that I distinctly remember leaving behind my ear. I begin a quest in search for a lighter. I continuously search over and over the same square feet of carpet in front of me for a lighter but I donít find one. Magically I realize that my cigarette is already lit. ďDuh!Ē I think to myself, and begin smoking it. Moments later it falls on the floor and I start searching for it, but itís gone. Wtf? WHAT THE FUCK? Take a wild guess what I do next? I reach behind the same ear and find another one; however this doesnít seem to strike me as slightest bit unusual. I just go on smoking it. Oh.. of course- without a lighting it first.
Another blackout happens. A fraction of my memory is erased, and I find myself naked in bed, hiding under my cover sheets. ďIĒ is telling me to put on my clothes, but I just tell him to fuck off and began to feel the incessant and irrevocable pain growing inside my body. I still have no idea till this day how to describe the pain, or have I ever recalled feeling the same way on any other substance except for high doses of dimemhydrinate.
Right about that time, Kim (being sober) decided to call the ambulance for we had all become a bit like a bunch of zombies, with slightly worse motor function skills. The whole lot of us were stumbling around and crashing into everything. I do not recall any of this; but apparently there were two ambulances that arrived outside our house. 3 of us were put in one, and B and C hopped in the other one, or rather, were forced. I refused to get into the ambulance apparently, and kept dropping my shorts that were loosely bound to my waste. Note: our house is directly outside a busy street close to the city. My dick was probably shriveled like a worm because it was one fucking cold night. Awkward.
I woke up, or more or less, recollect the next conscious fraction of my memory from inside the ward of the hospital, being forced to drink this black tar like ooze (later informed to be charcoal). Now I kept spilling that shit everywhere mostly because it was fucking disgusting and I thought every drop counted towards another drop less in my mouth; and every stain it left on the hospital bed, made me curious as to what it was. I seriously thought one of the black spots on the bed sheets were my spectacles! I reached down to pick up my tiny spectacles only to realize it was just charcoal ooze. Then I think I see a cigarette on my bed. On closer inspectionÖ It turned out to be another black spot. I repeated this method over and over again until I finally finish the black stuff.
A nurse arrives and takes a pen. She puts the pen on the tip of my index finger, and a sharp needle protrudes and sucks blood out of my finger. I tell her to fuck off! She leaves soon after. I take a close look at my finger, but there were no blood stains, no needle entry visible. I begin to wonder if the nurse was real.
From this point onwards, things get real fucking weird. I get up off my bed and search through all my draws on my study desk in my room at home in search for my glasses. No luck. So I turn around and rummage through my bedside table. I canít find them anywhere. All of a sudden I realize that I am actually standing in front of the wall in the hospital ward while feeling up the plaster with my hands. The doctor comes around and sits me on the bed again and tells me to get some rest. I get up straight away and start running (for no logical reason), but I stumble, and make a scene while lying naked on the floor (after my shorts dropped off in the process). I get aggressive and push past the doctors. Thatís when the security was called and a bunch of them crowd around me and force me back on my bed. I start throwing accusations at the doctors with no actual basis for about what seems to be 20 minutes, and continually resist their arrest with serious lack of co-ordination. I try to punch them all but my arms feels like floppy gelatinous rope. They overcome me with ease and throw me inside solitary and tell me they wonít let me go for as long as it takes for me to settle the fuck down. They said if I donít make a scene for 15 minutes, I will take me out of solitary. The door shuts and then I begin the yell for what seems to be hours and hours. For a reason unknown..
I begin to search for a way out like some sort of heroic escape artist. I look under the gap of the door and try to squeeze under it but it doesnít work. I search under the bed for a secret trap door about a dozen times, but every time I failÖ and repeat the same process immediately afterwards. I try kicking the solid door a few dozen times until my bare feet are sore. Then I think I find the way! I look up and notice the vent between the lights on the ceiling. I climb on top of the bed and jump like a monkey trying to grab hold of the cheese-grater-like vent. When that didnít work, I finally gave up hope and sit myself down on the bed.
It felt like I had been inside there for years. My thoughts begin to race.. I think that I have done some seriously bad crime (eaten the bad fruit) and this was my punishment: solitary confinement for the rest of my existence, which to me at the time- meant eternity. Those thoughts made me angry, so I yelled for a while until I felt tired, and eventually settle in the bed. It was truly uncomfortable; almost like a bed of nails. I'd rest assured on a bed like that any other day; like a sleepy lion.
The delirium begins to kick in hard at this point. My girlfriend at the time suddenly appears next to me. I begin to talk to her, and tell her that I am so glad she is here for me.. quite sadly our conversation is short lastingÖ and her body dissolves and shrivels into the shape of a black furry object. I look closely and inspect it for a moment, then realize it was only my black jumper. The weird thing is, as soon as I convince myself that I am hallucinating, reality slowly evolves, as opposed to the opposite tendency in many ďnormalĒ (dimenhydrinate, nutmeg) delirious states, where reality jumps out at me and then I register that I am hallucinating. Datura seems to grant me the potential to control my hallucinations to whatever I please, however my mind registers information at a slower pace than visual observation, so I have to be super aware that I am under the influence of tropanes alkaloids and that the hallucinations are just mind induced, in order to not be freaked out or more or less- to enjoy the visual and metaphysical interaction.
Soon after, another ghost of my past visits me- a good friend Andy. Andy doesnít say much, because he normally doesnít say anything at all. He sat there on the bed looking at the ground, hardly noticing my presence, like he normally does. He always wears a black jumper. I call out to him as if he is on the other side of the road. He doesnít respond. As soon as I predict that he is just another hallucination, reality hits me like a very slow crawling turtle. This time I predict his body is just going to shrivel up and turn into my furry black jumper again. And voila, I didnít even need to inspect it three times. Learning, all over again. Datura makes me feel a bit like a monkey placed in a scientific observation room undergoing a trial and error test, with Satan as the scientist.
I lay down and stare at the clock on the other side of the room. It says itís 4:30. Iím rather confused as to whether or not it is early morning or late afternoon. Suddenly it occurs to me that it is my motherís birthday, and I must be somewhere at sometime. Her birthday was really a week ago, but I forget. I begin to pound at the door and yell at the passer-byís through the small slit of reinforced glass on the door. A police officer walks by, looks at me then continue in his direction and soon vanishes. Doctors nurses and many other official looking staff pass the hall, like itís rush hour in a busy street. They all vanish eventually, and I constantly fall for it, yelling at each and every one of them to let me out of the prison I was in. I look outside and there is a window. Outside it is bright. Bright and clear daylight and nice bushy trees and flowers line the windows like a garden.
I take a step back and look at the clock on the wall.. But itís not there anymore. I scan my eyes around my four walled world and there is no clock. But now there is a television on the ceiling. The reception is blurry, and it takes moments for my eyes to focus and eventually I realize the football is playing. The television hangs between two fluorescent lights on the roof. No grate there anymore. It vanishes after a bit of logic jumps in my head. Next delusion- my hospital band strapped around my wrist becomes a Falls Festival wrist band (a yearly 3 day underground music festival that everyone in Tasmania goes to). I think I have been hospitalized after taking too many drugs during the concert at one point. I lay on the bed, sick and tired of my constant delusions and disappointment and I watch the television screen. I find I'm unable to achieve a peaceful state of mind, constantly twisting and turning and getting up.
There appears another window in the room that I hadnít discovered yet. Through the window, there are many office workers sitting around computers, like some sort of a telemarketing business office. They all have headphones and speakers strapped to their heads and completely disregard my presence and my constant bashing on the window. It of course does not exist. I give up hope and wait for the end of the days. The datura begins to wear off at this point. And then I suddenly realize, that I am actually under the influence of Datura for the first time this evening.
Time passes, and I feel more stable, although I do smoke a couple more phantom cigarettes, stumble about, and maybe see a few more hallucinations, but finally I regain myself, and the door of the hospital is opens. A lady walks in and tells me I can go in fifteen minutes, and I just sit there crying. Something makes me really sad. But what; I do not know. I rendezvous with the other fools from my sharehouse. They all look exhausted, and majourly fucked. I ask them what time it is. C tells me itís 7:30 in the morning. The whole evening, I was under the concept that it was still daytime and that I would make it to my motherís birthday, until I ask for the date and realize her birthday was a week ago. It gives me a bit of relief.
Funny thing was, all three of us shared some same hallucinations, even though we were put in different wards, and I was confined in a solitary room. C, B and myself, all imagined the wristband was a Falls Festival band, and also saw that same white clock on the wall that said 4:30. Quite scary actually. C also mentioned that he received messages telekinetically, and heard me yell out to him and his friend B, even though there was no possible way of him being able to hear me from that afar. Strange. Strange.
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