Greetings, gracious members of DMT-Nexus, thank you for having me. To introduce myself, I'll start off by saying that I have never really experienced DMT yet. I smoked leftover scrapes from a friend's batch once, which was hardly a noteworthy or eventful experience, I saw the carpet swirl a little. Then again, thinking back, I was most likely on Adderall also, at that time, as I have been taking Adderall steadily (more or less daily) for some years now. Anybody who is familiar with Adderall (I luckily am covered for brand, XR) should know that it almost completely dulls out the effects of any other drug.
Presently, actually for a few years now, I am and have been basically a total recluse, on the brink of committing myself. I was ostracized in elementary school on account of being a bookworm. That's all good and dandy; there was hope for me past that point, when I transferred to a different school during 8th grade, and began making friends -- a first glimpse of normalcy in terms of social integration. However, when my overbearing beast of a mother found an empty cocaine baggie in my purse at age 15, it was all downhill from there. That was when she first informed me that my alcoholic father had also been a cokehead, and got her started on the Program Path: wilderness therapy programs, rehab, boarding school, etc. In my own objective defense, nobody thought this made any fair sense for me -- except, of course, those who profited from it. My mom likes to claim she is alternative and out-of-the-box; she's a health fanatic. Really she is a very superficial person, ultimately too highly concerned with things like the law and appearances. She likes to buy things and buy into things, so it wasn't difficult for the troubled teen INDUSTRY to get a hold on her either.
Behind the scenes of that story, insanity actually found me at age 14, and completely sober (and always had been). It was actually an acute onset, brought on by logical thought process that concluded in a psychotic break. Later (in college) (which I've quit) I learned about Depersonalization/Derealization (DPDR), and thought I had found a suitable label for my problem, for it had never really left me. Before learning about DPDR, I only could think of what I was suffering from as simply an "existential dilemma", which hardly sounds worthy of even mentioning, being so vague and cliche of a description; but to me it was too real, as in nothing is real enough, it was a distinct and irreparable severance from the rest of the world. (Please excuse my nonsense.)
I was on a bus returning from a school field trip when this "break" transpired -- with my *friends*, mind you... although I was still rather reserved, and I still read books, and I was still generally opposed to or uninterested in the personal use of drugs (nor had I ever been on any prescription psychiatric drugs); I was a virgin. I also had been undergoing this phase of positive, "enlightened"- or spiritual-type feelings, such as those of love and peace. I only use the term "enlightened" because they felt more like phenomena, more all-encompassing and whole, but I guess that's supposed to come with the territory.
Anyway, that lovely, peaceful, perhaps "enlightened" period was short-lived. The "break" was abrupt. I remember coming home and trying to write down what I had realized. To me, that's what it was: a realization of epic, ineffable, and paradoxical proportions. Needless to say, I could not put it into words; in fact, from that point on I found myself unable to write anything, really, and felt compelled to destroy anything that I attempted to produce. Everything just seemed so fleeting and irrelevant. Words just seemed artificial and contrived. I stopped reading. I started smoking cigarettes the next time I was exposed to them, without a doubt or motive in my mind. (I'd always liked the smell, anyway -- but previously I had always been opposed to cigarette smoking, like any sensible person/nonsmoker.) I felt like my mind had gone blank, pretty much, wiped out, in a sense. I remember thinking about cigarettes at that time that there was no reason for me to dislike anything, and therefore I needed to smoke cigarettes and do everything else that I previously had any negative convictions about. Essentially I was attempting to contradict my own beliefs, which I found to have no merit, any way, in any form. That is to say that if I re-formed different beliefs, they too would be ungrounded and insubstantial. This is really an unsettling and unstable way of thinking, leading me to become a dysfunctional human being and member of society.
It was that same year when I first tried cocaine: At the time, I found it to be my wonder-drug. Cocaine enabled me to better bullshit, and have more enthusiasm in school work.
For years past the last time I was sent away, I still had nightmares about it, every night. The industry is fucked up. Both times I was sent to wilderness, my mom had employed what are called "escorts": ex-cops who come wake you in the middle of the night, unexpectedly, as complete strangers to you, while your parents or whoever you do know are disappeared, out of reach or contact, and these strangers basically kidnap you, watch you dress and brush your teeth and whatever, handcuff you, take you on a plane, without divulging where you're going or what is happening. Next thing you know, you're delivered to a wilderness program, and stuck there for however many months. Believe me, I tried everything, I mean everything. I got sent to wilderness a second time, after my mom promised to never send me there again, to keep me safe from a stalker. I tried getting myself sent to jail so that I could at least speak to a fucking lawyer or anybody. No dice. The law apparently does not apply in wilderness. I only managed to win a trip to the hospital once for fluids, and a visit in wilderness from a cop, who was confused as shit. In both instances I was there over the holidays too. Oh, and I'm still fighting completely illegitimate and illegal assault charges from the state of Utah, four years later.
I lost what few friends I had after my first few disappearances; we lost touch, they lost track, and also they were afraid for themselves of my mom and her extreme measures. I didn't graduate high school either, because I never got to go to high school, didn't even have a chance -- but I can bowdrill a fire. Now I have this unrelenting anxiety and PTSD and no friends, no fun, no support, no outlet, no hobbies, no interests, no job, I quit school last year, a few days past the deadline, so I have to appeal, and I'll probably miss the deadline for that, on account of my own inability to fucking do anything in my sorry, pathetic, shameful and anxiety-ridden daily existence. I want to surpass this somehow. I do have one skill, intermediate-level web development; that I taught myself at 8 years old, and haven't progressed very much since. But even that doesn't help me at all in my state; I'm still trying to put together a portfolio, all this time, that I've been doing... what... nothing. I'm too disorganized and scatterbrained. My only respite is in music, and all I do is take it in. Unfortunately, that alone is not enough to sustain life. I know I have rather exquisite taste (ha), but even that doesn't help me integrate with the world around me. I never learned how to. I was still afraid I would meet more "escorts" in the night up until I was 18, and even that my mom would go as far as to somehow extend custody over me. (Apparently that's a possibility. Thank you world.) Thankfully that did not in fact end up happening... but if that sounds crazy, believe me, it's a totally reasonable paranoia. She had a keylogger on my computer, and I would find my chats printed out in her office. She kept notes and records on me, of random fucking insignificant things I'd say, everything. It's made me very paranoid. I have never experienced the feeling of having control over my own life. I've never since been able to even get a life. Now I've moved back to my mom's, because as I said, I'm fucking dysfunctional. I have nothing to live for. But I shouldn't be here, that's for sure; this is exactly where I should not be at. But I don't know what I want to do or where to go anyway.
I've come to these forums because I am going to now try making my own batch of DMT and try my luck with truly tripping outside of myself, hopefully in a positive light. Trauma and terror may pose a problem, I suspect... not only from these treatment program-related experiences, other things too. I just don't really see what could go any more wrong with me at this point.
Presently, actually for a few years now, I am and have been basically a total recluse, on the brink of committing myself. I was ostracized in elementary school on account of being a bookworm. That's all good and dandy; there was hope for me past that point, when I transferred to a different school during 8th grade, and began making friends -- a first glimpse of normalcy in terms of social integration. However, when my overbearing beast of a mother found an empty cocaine baggie in my purse at age 15, it was all downhill from there. That was when she first informed me that my alcoholic father had also been a cokehead, and got her started on the Program Path: wilderness therapy programs, rehab, boarding school, etc. In my own objective defense, nobody thought this made any fair sense for me -- except, of course, those who profited from it. My mom likes to claim she is alternative and out-of-the-box; she's a health fanatic. Really she is a very superficial person, ultimately too highly concerned with things like the law and appearances. She likes to buy things and buy into things, so it wasn't difficult for the troubled teen INDUSTRY to get a hold on her either.
Behind the scenes of that story, insanity actually found me at age 14, and completely sober (and always had been). It was actually an acute onset, brought on by logical thought process that concluded in a psychotic break. Later (in college) (which I've quit) I learned about Depersonalization/Derealization (DPDR), and thought I had found a suitable label for my problem, for it had never really left me. Before learning about DPDR, I only could think of what I was suffering from as simply an "existential dilemma", which hardly sounds worthy of even mentioning, being so vague and cliche of a description; but to me it was too real, as in nothing is real enough, it was a distinct and irreparable severance from the rest of the world. (Please excuse my nonsense.)
I was on a bus returning from a school field trip when this "break" transpired -- with my *friends*, mind you... although I was still rather reserved, and I still read books, and I was still generally opposed to or uninterested in the personal use of drugs (nor had I ever been on any prescription psychiatric drugs); I was a virgin. I also had been undergoing this phase of positive, "enlightened"- or spiritual-type feelings, such as those of love and peace. I only use the term "enlightened" because they felt more like phenomena, more all-encompassing and whole, but I guess that's supposed to come with the territory.
Anyway, that lovely, peaceful, perhaps "enlightened" period was short-lived. The "break" was abrupt. I remember coming home and trying to write down what I had realized. To me, that's what it was: a realization of epic, ineffable, and paradoxical proportions. Needless to say, I could not put it into words; in fact, from that point on I found myself unable to write anything, really, and felt compelled to destroy anything that I attempted to produce. Everything just seemed so fleeting and irrelevant. Words just seemed artificial and contrived. I stopped reading. I started smoking cigarettes the next time I was exposed to them, without a doubt or motive in my mind. (I'd always liked the smell, anyway -- but previously I had always been opposed to cigarette smoking, like any sensible person/nonsmoker.) I felt like my mind had gone blank, pretty much, wiped out, in a sense. I remember thinking about cigarettes at that time that there was no reason for me to dislike anything, and therefore I needed to smoke cigarettes and do everything else that I previously had any negative convictions about. Essentially I was attempting to contradict my own beliefs, which I found to have no merit, any way, in any form. That is to say that if I re-formed different beliefs, they too would be ungrounded and insubstantial. This is really an unsettling and unstable way of thinking, leading me to become a dysfunctional human being and member of society.
It was that same year when I first tried cocaine: At the time, I found it to be my wonder-drug. Cocaine enabled me to better bullshit, and have more enthusiasm in school work.
For years past the last time I was sent away, I still had nightmares about it, every night. The industry is fucked up. Both times I was sent to wilderness, my mom had employed what are called "escorts": ex-cops who come wake you in the middle of the night, unexpectedly, as complete strangers to you, while your parents or whoever you do know are disappeared, out of reach or contact, and these strangers basically kidnap you, watch you dress and brush your teeth and whatever, handcuff you, take you on a plane, without divulging where you're going or what is happening. Next thing you know, you're delivered to a wilderness program, and stuck there for however many months. Believe me, I tried everything, I mean everything. I got sent to wilderness a second time, after my mom promised to never send me there again, to keep me safe from a stalker. I tried getting myself sent to jail so that I could at least speak to a fucking lawyer or anybody. No dice. The law apparently does not apply in wilderness. I only managed to win a trip to the hospital once for fluids, and a visit in wilderness from a cop, who was confused as shit. In both instances I was there over the holidays too. Oh, and I'm still fighting completely illegitimate and illegal assault charges from the state of Utah, four years later.
I lost what few friends I had after my first few disappearances; we lost touch, they lost track, and also they were afraid for themselves of my mom and her extreme measures. I didn't graduate high school either, because I never got to go to high school, didn't even have a chance -- but I can bowdrill a fire. Now I have this unrelenting anxiety and PTSD and no friends, no fun, no support, no outlet, no hobbies, no interests, no job, I quit school last year, a few days past the deadline, so I have to appeal, and I'll probably miss the deadline for that, on account of my own inability to fucking do anything in my sorry, pathetic, shameful and anxiety-ridden daily existence. I want to surpass this somehow. I do have one skill, intermediate-level web development; that I taught myself at 8 years old, and haven't progressed very much since. But even that doesn't help me at all in my state; I'm still trying to put together a portfolio, all this time, that I've been doing... what... nothing. I'm too disorganized and scatterbrained. My only respite is in music, and all I do is take it in. Unfortunately, that alone is not enough to sustain life. I know I have rather exquisite taste (ha), but even that doesn't help me integrate with the world around me. I never learned how to. I was still afraid I would meet more "escorts" in the night up until I was 18, and even that my mom would go as far as to somehow extend custody over me. (Apparently that's a possibility. Thank you world.) Thankfully that did not in fact end up happening... but if that sounds crazy, believe me, it's a totally reasonable paranoia. She had a keylogger on my computer, and I would find my chats printed out in her office. She kept notes and records on me, of random fucking insignificant things I'd say, everything. It's made me very paranoid. I have never experienced the feeling of having control over my own life. I've never since been able to even get a life. Now I've moved back to my mom's, because as I said, I'm fucking dysfunctional. I have nothing to live for. But I shouldn't be here, that's for sure; this is exactly where I should not be at. But I don't know what I want to do or where to go anyway.
I've come to these forums because I am going to now try making my own batch of DMT and try my luck with truly tripping outside of myself, hopefully in a positive light. Trauma and terror may pose a problem, I suspect... not only from these treatment program-related experiences, other things too. I just don't really see what could go any more wrong with me at this point.
