Citation: Daytripnightstriper. "Life-Destroying Peyote Trip: An Experience with Peyote, MDMA & Mushrooms (ID 88547)". Erowid.org. Jan 2, 2014. erowid.org/exp/88547
This is a true account of a life-destroying peyote trip. I have given as much detail as I am comfortable with and retold the story with the best accuracy possible.
I had been going to Native American Peyote ceremonies for a few years. At first I only went once or twice a year, but last year, I became very active in the Native American church.
I do not write this to condemn participants of the Native American church, but to forewarn others that their belief that Peyote is 100% safe is completely untrue.
I have used many drugs over the years and never had a bad trip before this.
Before I continue with the story of the peyote trip that ruined my life, I must mention that 2 or 3 days before I took the peyote I had candy flipped (shrooms and mdma) which I have done plenty of times without any adverse reaction. This may or may not have contributed to the peyote trip, but regardless, after the candy flipping I was fine until the Peyote.
So I go to a Native American Church Ceremony. These are all night events that end some time in the morning the next day. Eat lots of peyote and have my usual peyote experience. Colors seem more vibrant, my senses are heightened, I feel very connected to the people around me. So far so good. We complete the ceremony in the morning, and I am invited to another ceremony at a different location the next night.
If only I had stopped there.
I went to the peyote ceremony the next night and everything seems fine. I drank a little peyote tea before we start. Then, during the ceremony, when the peyote comes around my intuition told me only to take a little bit. So I eat one small fresh peyote button and one or two dried ones. The ceremony continues and the peyote begins to take effect.
I did not realize it until after the fact but I was hallucinating delusional scenarios and having visions.
When the ceremony ends I make a few strange phone calls. Then I drive home thinking nothing is unusual. I was feeling the peyote but still functioning. Time passes and it is night time. I realize I need to go to the store.
While in the local grocery, I begin to hear things. The store intercom seems to keep announcing my location. 'Isle 7,' 'Isle 3,' and other weird shit I cant remember. I get my items and as I'm walking up to the cash register to pay, I hear a voice that says, 'Go ahead, you can just take it.' Still not realizing I was delusional, I obey and walk out the door.
I almost make it to my car when a store employee comes out after me. 'Stop! You didn't pay for that!'
I stop and give the items to the man. I say something to the effect of 'oh my god I'm so sorry, I don't know what happened, I forgot to pay.'
The cops pull up as I'm giving the man back the items. By the grace of God, the man leaves and the cops just take off.
I still don't know what the heck is going on but my friend who drove me to the store freaks out. She knows I'm fucked up and I tell her, 'I'm sorry, I don't know what happened, I was hearing voices.'
We get back to her place and she calls the cops. The cops come and I begin having visions. The head of an Egyptian sarcophagus is stuck above my vision. I see a little black man walking around out of the corner of my eye and I turn my head. The little man begins to grow and walks up to one of the cop. The cop turns into the grim reaper, complete with a scythe and everything.
The cops can't get me for any thing except that I was talking to myself, so they take me home. When I get home I go straight to my room, without saying high to my roommate. This is when I really lost control.
I put some music on. I basically black out, the next thing I know there is stuff written all over my walls. 'SATAN,' 'SKITZO', 'HITLER', names of god, pentagrams, upside down crucifixes, a depiction of the 911 massacre. I wrote all of it but don't know why. I don't know what got me started. It was like a dream.
The next thing I know the cops are at my house. Apparently my roommate had called them because of my erratic behavior. They get there and I'm just standing at the door of my destroyed room, smoking a cigarette like its no big deal.
They look around a bit but don't search the room. Thank god, because there was a bag of peyote in there that I took from the ceremony, which would have been bad. They bring me downstairs and have me sit down for a little while. I say some crazy things about the earth being a self reflecting planet and they tell me to just be quiet.
Though I'm clearly talking crazy, all they really had on me was writing on my walls with permanent marker and I am not violent or making threats so they don't take me in.
They give my roommate their card and leave.
Days go by and I am stuck in psychosis. I have complete visuals, auditory hallucinations, experience alternate realities. I begin destroying things. First I destroy my phone. Then the heaters in my room and my guitar. I walk around the city, completely delusional. My roommate basically just avoids me. He never once tries to convince me to go to the hospital or seek help. A friend of mine comes to visit. He tells me later that he thought he had completely lost me. But still, he doesn't offer to take me to the hospital or tell me I need to get some help or make any serious effort to actually address the issue.
I am psychotic for about 8 days before my roommate contacts my mom. She comes three days later. Her and my friend and my roommate take me out to dinner then take me home. I am still psychotic.
The next night, my roommate and my mom offer to take me out to dinner again, so we go. After dinner, they take me to a hospital without telling me where we're going. When I see it's a hospital I almost jump out of the car and run but with fear that they would send the cops after me I reluctantly go with them.
They quickly bring me into a waiting room and try to draw my blood. I refuse. After I refuse multiple times, they grab me and bring me into a room with just table with straps on it. There is a big window looking into the room so the nurses can see you. Then they strap me down.
This is the scariest thing I have ever experienced. I fear they're going to kill me. An angel of a nurse named Paige holds my hand for a while, which is the only thing comforting me through the whole experience. I yell at them to let me out for a while but eventually give up. After a very long time, someone finally comes in and begins to remove the restraints. Slowly. Finally they let me get up and walk out of the room.
But I was fucking pissed. When I get out of the room I yell at all the fucking doctors and nurses staring at me (probably like 30 of them) and my mom 'HOW MUCH DO YOU MAKE IN THAT DEATH FACTORY!!!!' (mars volta lyrics). So, to my horror, they grab my ass and strap me to the table again.
I lay on the table, expecting death, and I just close my eyes and give up. Try to meditate. From that point on I have no memory for the next week and a half. Except being very mad at my mom because she keeps visiting me in the hospital and angering me. I ask the hospital not to allow her to visit me any more but they refuse.
My mom calls a court investigator and gets legal guardianship of me while I am in the mental hospital.
I forgot what it was like to be out of the hospital. It was so horrific to be locked up in a mental hospital and you don't know why. And the asshole doctors just keep telling you you're not ready to leave yet but wont explain why.
They tell me that the only way they will release me from the hospital is if I go back and live with my mom, 3000 miles across the country, and away from my nine month old daughter, who was with her mom while all this happened. They give me no other options.
There is a rehabilitation facility for people with mental problems in the city I was living in, where you live in a locked facility and slowly earn your rights back by not acting crazy. But the doctors do not give me this option. They say the only way I will be released is if I fly across the country away from my daughter and away from my whole world and everything I care about.
They tell me that if I am released with my mom and I try to run away, they will call the sheriff on me. So basically, I have to go live somewhere I hate with my mom (who I hate) and if I don't stay at her house and follow all of her rules, they call the cops.
So after over three weeks in the hospital, I am released on the condition that I have to move away and do everything my mom says or they'll put me in jail. Knowing I'm going to end up hating every second of it and ready to die because I miss my daughter so much after three weeks of being away from her, I'm released.
The next day I go to my old apartment. Everything has been moved out of my room. We put it all in a storage unit and paint the room.
My insurance will no longer cover me, so my mom makes me get rid of my car. And because she has been granted legal guardianship, I can't do anything about it.
I fly back to my mom's house with her.
My mom doesn't let me leave the house. She does not let me contact my old friends. She doesn't let me sign on the computer or chat with friends online or any thing. She will not let me look for a job. She won't let me go to the bar or have a drink. She tells me she intends to search any friends that come visit me for drugs and says if
they are allowed to come over, she will be present at all times.
Taking a parent from their child is cruel and unusual punishment.
After about a month of increasingly deepening depression, I begin to talk about wanting to kill myself a lot. My mom takes me to doctor, ER, they give me Prozac, under the condition that I go to their psychiatrist next week.
I go the psyche, admit that I had had thoughts of suicide, he has my mom take me to the ER, and they ask me, 'are you OK spending a couple days on the psychiatric unit so that we can adjust your medication?' I agree only because they promise me it will only be a couple days. I really thought maybe they would help me. Like I'd get counseling while I was there, consolation, intelligent help.
I end up locked in a state facility, where they don't do shit for you just feed you and give you meds. They don't do shit to help you when you need it.
After being in the looney pen for a couple days, I'm allowed to speak to someone working at the hospital that's not a doctor. She tells me I can sign a waver so they have to release me in 5 days, so I sign it.
Being in the hospital didn't help me at all, they prescribed me lithium and said I was bipolar (which I totally am not) and I leave, pretending not to be suicidal any more.
I am still as suicidal as ever and being in the hospital didn't help me at all. But I got out in a relatively short period of time so I guess that's not all bad.
I go to psychiatrists, get on a bunch of antidepressants, and it doesn't do shit to me. For months.
The whole time, the reason I'm depressed is because I can't be with my little daughter, who is everything in the world to me.
For months, all I do is search for a job and try to kill myself.
It's much harder to kill yourself that in would seem. I guess I'm just a pussy for pain.
Eventually I found work and was able to save up enough to move back to my daughter, but I still missed about 7 months of her life. Time I can never get back.
God it was torture. It was traumatizing.
So any way, all this shit all because of a little Peyote.
Don't let them tell you that Peyote is good for you or safe. I am living proof that it can destroy you mentally, ruin your life, make you want to kill yourself.
The Native American Church is based on the belief that Peyote is divine and completely good for you, will cure any disease, and cannot possibly do any harm to you.
This isn't true. It's fucked up. It's a miracle I didn't kill myself or go to jail or hurt somebody or crash my car or who knows what else.
The Native American Church isn't evil. It is just misinformed. Peyote has very negative potential, and has been the most detrimental drug I have ever taken.
Fuck, if you need to trip, fucking take shrooms or something. They feel a lot better than peyote any way.
I hope this story helps any one interested in Peyote to see that it's not a good idea. And if you ever do take it, never take it multiple days in a row! I think that's what fucked me over.
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