Third Trip Report, Aug. 2021

Third Trip Report

Strain: Nec D, Jalisco

Method: capsules

I can’t tell you how tempted I am to leave this trip report at ‘Jake and I tripped, it didn’t go to plan, and I eventually slept’. However, since I’m under the assumption that I’m not a coward, we’ll give this a go.

It had been a hellish week; insecurities flourished, arguments bloomed, and strife took root. Just everyday life occurrences which had piled up and turned into the perfect storm.  We decided tripping would be a great way to reconnect, to bring ourselves clarity, and to move forward together.

Well.

We were lucky enough to have an excess of Nec D and Jalisco, and we were going to be kid-free that evening. Perfect, right? Right. So we took them home, dehydrated them, and started packing up the caps.

I was a little nervous while we were packing caps. It hadn’t been a great few days for me; I was an emotional exposed nerve, and was feeling the lowest I’ve felt in a while. I was tense from having my first bulimic episode in 11 years (a response to a great many things), and had had every emotional button pressed - repeatedly! -  in the previous 36 hours.

I was a little raw, to say the least.

However, we had 3g at the ready, and while a little nervous, I was happy at the thought of going on another trip. I was excited to learn more, and hopefully see, more than what I had experienced on previous trips.

Just as I was taking off, a third party phone call came through with an extremely negative energy. One for the money, two for the show, three to get ready…oh, fuck, no.

Shouting, screaming, more words on a topic which sent me into my head and with all the wrong settings turned on. I could feel myself taking off and I was instantly in a puddle of tears.

As expected, yep, nothing good came from that. I spent the next three hours a mess in every way - fighting with myself, fighting with Jake, fighting the urge to just get the fuck out of there. Full blown panic and PTSD attacks, and no tools to pull myself out of it.

I felt like I was a ship cut loose in the middle of a hurricane. I was drowning, and had no safe place to harbor.

We tried to change the settings - first the movies were too alarming, and I couldn’t handle it. Then it was sensory overload. Then it was fighting again, which put me right back into another panic attack.

I spent most of the time wondering if the third party was going to show up at 3am, raging and screaming, as that was an entirely in-character response for them.

Worse, Jake was having a fantastic trip, and I felt like I was alone. Utterly, completely alone, and adrift in dangerous waters.

Eventually I managed to bring myself down enough to function. AKA, go pee by the tall grass… which, sorry fellas, is never a graceful moment for a woman. Let alone one tripping balls, and in the dark of the hills.

I’m still convinced there was a goddamn coyote right there while I was peeing. I heard the rustling, I heard the yipping, and I felt some sort of presence with its eyes on me.

I could hear my grandmother warning me with old stories - for a brief moment, I felt like every hair was standing on the back of my neck. All I could remember was her words about our bloodlines, and holy shit, it was like ice water in my spine and no room for oxygen in my lungs.

It was a primal, fundamentally ancient fear, and one I hadn’t felt since I took off the uniform and boots for good. Where I had managed to calm myself down after crying, I was thrown right back into a fight-or-flight response.

Now, imagine trying to get your shorts and flip flops back on (in the pitch black!) at this point with any sort of cohesion and grace! Gentlemen, you have no idea how lucky you are.

I know I’m prevaricating; bear with me.

Despite all that, I still didn’t really experience the visuals of mushrooms. I saw the pattern on the rug move once - a split second of intrigue - before my vision returned to normal. Things were a bit more saturated, but not enough for me to pick up my paints.

Jake tells me my pupils were blown the whole time, and I have no doubt I was tripping; I just still thing the SSRIs are having an effect. I was on them for years, and I wouldn’t be surprised if the calcification is extensive.

So, this is why I’m convinced the bloody coyote got an eyeful - I haven’t had any other audio or visual hallucinations. Our ‘yotes are bigger than they are out in the west, and I’ve never seen a Belgian Malinois on this property.

Eventually, things calmed down enough that Jake and I were able to talk coherently. He was still having a grand time, and I felt like I was sitting in a bomb crater.

I don’t feel that this trip was productive, honestly. There were no poignant moments of introspection; no grand moment of clarity. Just an unfailing deluge of despair, panic, blindly fierce anger, and memories I’d really hoped to never visit again.

I realize that’s a personal failing, but I felt like I couldn’t catch my breath. There was an utter absence of hope, and I was left on my own for it. I felt delicate and insecure for a few days after. We didn’t settle our issues for at least three more days, and it was more productive talking sober.

I know we pay our dues with psychedelics, but I truly hope to never experience that entirely lost feeling again. I felt like I had disappointed my ancestors, that I had no hope of regaining any honor, that I was a burden and useless, and all the awful, negative things we tell ourselves in the darkest hours. It left a taste in my mouth, and I was scared I would let that turn my tongue bitter.

Mental illness is selfish, and I had persuaded myself that I was doing worlds better; that I was recovering just fine without medication, had been putting off getting a new therapist (seriously, it’s worse than dating), and that my relationships were solid.

I knew that it was all in my head, but I felt like I had no ladder out of the oubliette.

Writing about it makes it feel like it’s all immediate, again. I can’t remember the full scope of what happened during the trip - I never do after PTSD moments - but I can remember the full force of my emotions.

I’m not super comfortable carrying this with me. While we’ve resolved our interpersonal issues, I feel like I still have a weight around my neck. I’m still figuring out how to process that, and where to go from here.

But most of all, I take away this: kindness costs nothing, and the decisive choice to be good is one I will continuously make. I have chosen to leave a life of violence in the past, and I do not believe I am weak for it.

I do not believe that choosing helping others over helping myself is the incorrect decision. I do not believe I am the problem with society for being utterly sick to my core of anger, and violence, and pain that humans cause each other.

We are imperfect creations, and constant works in progress. The best I’ve felt is putting good into the world, and I feel like paying it forward is the only way to remove this trip from my blood.

I can only hope to honor Tenskwatawa’s words: ‘I have been shown how to open the door that has shut us out from joy.’ With any luck, I have the according courage.