[I know this should go into another sub-forum here, but well, I don't have access to it]
I've been thinking about this for quite some time now. To be more exact, it's been about ten years, but only every now and then do I really think about it. I used to robo-trip a lot. For a period of about 3 months I got to the point that when sober I couldn't remember what I was doing anymore. I was young, I wanted to destroy the structures that society and my parents had forced upon me. I rebelled, like a normal teenager does, against norms, rules, thought patterns etc. For a while DXM was my drug of choice. I can't say why. Perhaps because of the sheer amounts that one could come across, a never ending supply of caughing medicin.
What it felt like for me was complete and utter liberation, at first. It pushed me to a point where I felt like I was ready to die. Not like a near death experience, but a mindset that was so detached from everything that in my mind I was standing at the edge of a un-ending cliff. It reminds me of the Tarot card 'the fool'. Standing on that abyss I felt that I would surely die if I stepped over, but at the same time, there was nothing to lose; everything was possible.
It was an incredible time. Incredibly powerful, liberating, teaching... constructing by deconstruction. At the same time, every time I entered that dark, familiar place I felt like I was paying an enterance fee. I was giving a piece of myself to it. A memory, a feeling, a sliver or my reality that made it its own. I began envisioning the DXM as an entity, a being of demonic nature, that hungered for my soul, my energy. And while I was using its power, it was using mine.
There is a similar analogy in the Never Ending Story by Michael Ende, where Bastian can rebuilt Phantasia with wishes. But every wish he loses a part of himself.
Well, at some point I was tripping on it, I saw the grim reaper himself. I was sitting, completely wasted, in a driveway and I saw death, a dark cloak, a scythe, only shadows for a face, come out of a tree. He stood there in my company for a while and I asked him: are you here for me?
He answered: Not yet.
He lingered, then left again without another word.
I wasn't really freaked out by this, well, not in any unusual way, being on DXM - which was a state of perpetual freaking out for me. A few weeks or days later I wasn't feeling very well thanks to another high dose of DXM and some alcohol I had also consumed. I basically stormed out of my friends house because I needed fresh air. Out on the front poarch I lost all touch with reality. I was in a hallway with a messy and slightly evil looking version of myself telling me in a cold, childish voice to let go. To stop fighting it. The voice sounded hollow, an empty promise that I could get back up later again. Was it coaxing me into dying? It certainly felt that way.
This took place in less than a minute I suspect, because my friends found me lying on the front porch only half conscious. Once I was back in their company I got better again, but I can never forget that voice in my head telling me to lay down, to give up. Telling me it's ok, when obviously it isn't. It sounded so wrong.
So I quit doin DXM after that. I was too scared of it. And I felt it had sucked enough life out of me. Needless to say by then I was psychologically quite addicted to the stuff and it annoyed the hell out of me to stop. Still, clarity eventually returned, and I remembered how to remember things.
A year later I decided to try it again and I had probably the worst reaction in my life. I took a regular dosage and all I felt was nausea. My body and mind revolted against the idea of going back there, and possibly the DXM-demon didn't want me back. I lost my coordination and ballance as well as the ability to speak clearly for about a week. I felt nauseated whenever I stood upright. I had to fake going to school for the entire week and crashed at a friends place during the day, told my parents I was getting a cold but even after 4 days they could still tell my eyes were shifting and trembling... I thought it would never pass. It was the most horrible feeling, because it just didn't wear off.
After about 5 or 6 days it finally did leave my system and I swore never to touch this stuff again. So far I haven't. Don't intend to either. But being older now, the pain that I experienced during the entire period of DXM usage seems distant. It was painful. It was like putting my head through a meet grinder. Every time. Deliberately. I wouldn't want that now. But I don't think I would want to take it back either. It served its purpose.
I wonder has anyone else experienced a DXM entity in that sense? Can anyone relate?
I've been thinking about this for quite some time now. To be more exact, it's been about ten years, but only every now and then do I really think about it. I used to robo-trip a lot. For a period of about 3 months I got to the point that when sober I couldn't remember what I was doing anymore. I was young, I wanted to destroy the structures that society and my parents had forced upon me. I rebelled, like a normal teenager does, against norms, rules, thought patterns etc. For a while DXM was my drug of choice. I can't say why. Perhaps because of the sheer amounts that one could come across, a never ending supply of caughing medicin.
What it felt like for me was complete and utter liberation, at first. It pushed me to a point where I felt like I was ready to die. Not like a near death experience, but a mindset that was so detached from everything that in my mind I was standing at the edge of a un-ending cliff. It reminds me of the Tarot card 'the fool'. Standing on that abyss I felt that I would surely die if I stepped over, but at the same time, there was nothing to lose; everything was possible.
It was an incredible time. Incredibly powerful, liberating, teaching... constructing by deconstruction. At the same time, every time I entered that dark, familiar place I felt like I was paying an enterance fee. I was giving a piece of myself to it. A memory, a feeling, a sliver or my reality that made it its own. I began envisioning the DXM as an entity, a being of demonic nature, that hungered for my soul, my energy. And while I was using its power, it was using mine.
There is a similar analogy in the Never Ending Story by Michael Ende, where Bastian can rebuilt Phantasia with wishes. But every wish he loses a part of himself.
Well, at some point I was tripping on it, I saw the grim reaper himself. I was sitting, completely wasted, in a driveway and I saw death, a dark cloak, a scythe, only shadows for a face, come out of a tree. He stood there in my company for a while and I asked him: are you here for me?
He answered: Not yet.
He lingered, then left again without another word.
I wasn't really freaked out by this, well, not in any unusual way, being on DXM - which was a state of perpetual freaking out for me. A few weeks or days later I wasn't feeling very well thanks to another high dose of DXM and some alcohol I had also consumed. I basically stormed out of my friends house because I needed fresh air. Out on the front poarch I lost all touch with reality. I was in a hallway with a messy and slightly evil looking version of myself telling me in a cold, childish voice to let go. To stop fighting it. The voice sounded hollow, an empty promise that I could get back up later again. Was it coaxing me into dying? It certainly felt that way.
This took place in less than a minute I suspect, because my friends found me lying on the front porch only half conscious. Once I was back in their company I got better again, but I can never forget that voice in my head telling me to lay down, to give up. Telling me it's ok, when obviously it isn't. It sounded so wrong.
So I quit doin DXM after that. I was too scared of it. And I felt it had sucked enough life out of me. Needless to say by then I was psychologically quite addicted to the stuff and it annoyed the hell out of me to stop. Still, clarity eventually returned, and I remembered how to remember things.
A year later I decided to try it again and I had probably the worst reaction in my life. I took a regular dosage and all I felt was nausea. My body and mind revolted against the idea of going back there, and possibly the DXM-demon didn't want me back. I lost my coordination and ballance as well as the ability to speak clearly for about a week. I felt nauseated whenever I stood upright. I had to fake going to school for the entire week and crashed at a friends place during the day, told my parents I was getting a cold but even after 4 days they could still tell my eyes were shifting and trembling... I thought it would never pass. It was the most horrible feeling, because it just didn't wear off.
After about 5 or 6 days it finally did leave my system and I swore never to touch this stuff again. So far I haven't. Don't intend to either. But being older now, the pain that I experienced during the entire period of DXM usage seems distant. It was painful. It was like putting my head through a meet grinder. Every time. Deliberately. I wouldn't want that now. But I don't think I would want to take it back either. It served its purpose.
I wonder has anyone else experienced a DXM entity in that sense? Can anyone relate?
