Citation: The Juuse. "Brats: An Experience with Mushrooms (exp86695)". Erowid.org. Feb 10, 2016. erowid.org/exp/86695
My boyfriend and I came across the shrooms at a party. We got lucky, considering everyone we asked had no idea how to get ahold of them. Being first-timers, we bought only one gram. They were two soft little mushrooms kept in a ziploc bag. The party ended up having an ugly turn, so we decided to wait a few days to take them, to clear our minds and have a peaceful trip.
A few days later, my boyfriend and I locked ourselves into his room, which is trustingly undisturbed at all times. We each made a selection of the type of music we wanted to listen to. I chose soft, simple, and upbeat music like Grizzly Bear, Of Montreal, and Starfucker. I figured the happier the music, the less likely our chances of a bad trip. Being a Pink Floyd devotee, The Dark Side of the Moon was my boyfriend's only request.
It was about 9:00am when we decided it was time for 'breakfast'. We managed to a few bites of a burrito, and devoured our one mushroom each. Considering its bad reputation, the mushrooms were pretty tasty. They tasted almost like Campbell's mushroom soup. We had barely managed to put on Planet Earth when at about 9:15, I started to feel nauseous. My motor functions were floppy, I felt drunk and sick, I found myself slouching onto the bedroom floor unable to get myself up. I struggled with my dead weight to get myself onto the bed. We watched Planet Earth for about half an hour, feeling nothing but nausea, dizziness, and regret. I crawled into the bathroom and tried to force myself to throw up. Somehow I had convinced myself that as soon as I threw up, I would feel better. It never happened, but within about half an hour of staring blankly at the ceiling the bad feelings in my stomach had disappeared. I turned the music off. The quietness was much more impactful than the music, which we had been ignoring for the most part.
This is when I finally started tripping. The ceiling fan above me seemed to be moving at an unbelievable speed, warping the patterns in the ceiling into what looked like a slow-moving living creature. At this moment I realized that everything around me was alive, breathing, watching on in curiosity. These objects had never been acknowledged as living things before, and they were happy to be known. I looked back at the ceiling fan. The wind was making my eyes tear up, I pointed upwards at it, exclaiming “Fuck that!”.
My boyfriend burst into a fit of hysteria, inciting an endless stream of laughter from me. “fuck that!” “Fuck that!” we repeated, pointing at the fan as if it mocked us. The concept of clothing suddenly became bizarre to me - “I am an animal”, I thought. “I am a beast. Why do beasts wear clothing?”.
“Fuck this!”, again, as I tried to crawl out of my pajamas – somehow I became completely entangled in them, I had forgotten the purpose of armholes and my upper body was a knot of striped pajamas and complete panic. My boyfriend guided me out of them, and followed suit, removing his.
There was nothing sexual about it. Sex was a foreign idea, it was undesirable, vain, and ugly. We were two innocent animals, bursting with energy. I felt my knees bursting with excitement, I wanted to run, jump, climb, scream and make a beast of myself. “You are a BRAT!” declared my boyfriend, “You're just a bratty little kid!”. I couldn't stop laughing at the accusation, I was sobbing from how hilarious it all was. “We are brats! We're just children pretending to be human!”. This was the epitome we had reached, this was the plateau. We were 20 and 22 years old, and felt like newborn little children.
We were 20 and 22 years old, and felt like newborn little children.
I found myself staring in wonderment at an ugly, orange stuffed animal in the room. It had a large K stitched into its stomach. “K!!!” I grabbed it and embraced it like a long-lost friend. I threw it in the air, delighted to catch it. I threw it at the ceiling fan, screaming in glee when it ricocheted to the other side of the room. K was my new friend, I decided. My ability to form complete sentences was gone, I expressed myself through delightful squeals and fits of uncontrollable laughter. This went on for a good 8 hours.
I knew I was coming down when I felt the ominous sickness in my stomach return. I hadn't eaten or drank, but my stomach wouldn't allow it. My face was stained from tears, my boyfriend's hair was a complete mess. It was about 5:00pm when we were finally able to emerge from the bedroom.
The timing of our comedown was both fortunate and a nightmare. Our neighbors began to fight and shout loudly, we heard plates being thrown, slapping, screaming, and crying. This shook us both terribly, we were frozen stiff, sick to our stomachs, and deathly worried about what was happening outside. It took us a VERY long time to emerge. We were frightened by the ruckus and left very quickly.
It was hard to eat the rest of the day, and my emotions were easily manipulated. In fact, it was hard to do ANYTHING the rest of the day. I spent the evening napping, and woke up the next morning with no lingering side effects.
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