DOSE:

20 mg

smoked

5-MeO-DMT

(powder / crystals)

BODY WEIGHT:

155 lb

I love how I'm hailed as both a litteral genius and one of the most retarded guys alive at the same time. I find irony of that type to be pretty funny, to be honest. The consequences that the phenomena bring, however, are far from humorous.

I'll throw in some background information really quickly. I am seventeen years old, am very intelligent and well informed. I believe in the responsible use of psychoactives, and I have a total prejudice against drug abusers, although I believe that constructive drug use is both possible and admirable.

On Sunday, September 14th 2003, I was planning on going to bed early. I was thinking about going to sleep at eight so that I could be fully rested for the new week. The last thing I needed was to start the week on a down-point. Theresa, my girlfriend, signed online around seven thirty, so I started talking to her. Eight came and went. Nine did the same, as did ten. Around a quarter after, I finally got her to leave to do her homework (I want no slacking on account of me). I got my bed all ready to go to sleep, but my sleep-window had passed while I was on the computer with Theresa, and I couldn't bring myself to leave her. So it was about twenty after ten, and I had a whole night of sweaty tossing and turning ahead of me. Joy. Normally at this point in time, I'd be presented with a few choices. I could just bear it and hope to fall asleep eventually (usually around one or two).

Normally, I'd be able to either gulp down some NyQuil or smoke a bowl, but I had taken NyQuil earlier in the week and I limit myself to one large dose of that per week. I'd also usually have a bit of weed around to smoke, but I had decided the night before that I would stop inducing lesser states of consciousness. Because weed is an easy and tempting way to induce such states, I had flushed the rest of what I had down the toilet. The options seemed pretty dismal at that point; either deal with it or break a promise to myself. However, a new option presented itself just in time to fix my little problem. I had quite a bit of that 5-MeO-DMT left (at least 350mg of the 500mg that I purchased, most of which was lost when I knocked the vial off of my desk one night), and that stuff makes me feel energetic but allows me to sleep at the same time. Taking into consideration the fact that I had woken up feeling good after doing it during the few times that I had used it, I thought it sounded like an acceptable choice. That, combined with my amazing experience the previous night, convinced me; I'd do a little 5-MeO-DMT, and then go to sleep.

I got out my hollowed-out CD folder that I held everything in, opened it up, and withdrew my little foil freebase 'pipe' (the method described in the experience report entitled 'Inner Explorers Only, Please!' was certainly the best, by the way), my lighter, my straw, and the tiny amber vial of 5-MeO-DMT powder. I poured in a small amount, just enough to get me in the sleep state that I was aiming for. The anxiety that I experience before any of these things kicked in pretty quickly, but I pushed it aside so that I could get this over and done with; no matter how unpleasant the low-level dose was, it'll be over within thirty minutes. A restless night stretches on for an eternity.

The thought that got me, though, was a relatively straightfoward one: 'If low-doses are so unpleasant, and high-doses are as amazing as they are, then why bother going for a low dose?' It made enough sense to me; I'll have another perception-altering trip that'll leave me satisfied and feeling totally accomplished, and sleep in total comfort. So I opened up the tiny glass bottle again, and poured out a little more. Not enough. Just a little more. Okay, that looks almost like last night's dose.

I closed the bottle and did a quick medidation to get my anxiety down a bit. It didn't work, but what the hell; that's to be expected. I put the straw in my mouth, flicked the lighter, waited for the characteristic crackle, and began to inhale the acrid smoke. I slid back in comfort as 'The Tone' sounded (listen to Shpongle's 'A New Way to Say Hooray' for a perfect example of it) knowing that creation was about to be laid out before my very eyes.

The darkness set in, and I was ready to embrace it, lying back against my pillows. The only conscious thought in my mind was that my inhalation didn't go as smoothly as I had hoped; I actually swallowed the smoke twice. Oh well, I'll just burp it out. It certainly was hard, but I got the bubbles out. Kind of loud, but if my sister, Shannon, slept through me coughing from my previous marijuana use, there's no way she'd wake up for that. The mental trip was extremely pleasant; very intense, but very comfortable and reassuring at the same time.

All of a sudden, my room seemed especially bright. I sat up and looked to the source of the light and saw my mother standing in my doorway, tears in her eyes.

'Eddie, what did you take??'
'Mom, it's okay, I'm fine, just leave me alone and I'll be okay in an hour.' (This was true, by the way.)
'No, it's not okay. Tell me what you took!'
'Mom, seriously, I'm okay. Just let me go to bed.'
'What did you take??'

It was about then that I noticed the phone in her hands. My father rushed around the corner and the sight of him quite effectively conveyed the message that things were not okay and even if I was currently fine, I wouldn't be in the morning when they got through with me. I tried to reassure them that I was okay and that I hadn't taken anything, and they informed me that poison control and 911 had been called several times. I begged for them to call them back and tell them that it was a false alarm or something, but that was obviously not going to happen. We walked out into the family room, and talked while we waited for the ambulance and police to show up. If they would have waited an hour, everything would have been fine, but telling them that was the last thing I should have done at that point.

Within a couple minutes, the paramedics came in and checked me out. By this time, I was still clearly under the influence of the drug (a pretty large body load, and a bit of trouble concentrating), but I was certainly coherent enough to answer everything they asked, as well as explaining exactly what the chemical was, what it did, how it was used, and so on. Unfortunately, the Chemical Abstract Service number wasn't registered with poison control. Oh shit.

Luckily, (very, very luckily), they trusted the fact that it was 5-MeO-DMT and verified it as both unscheduled and, as far as their database went, undocumented. That put me at a huge advantage; I knew everything and they knew virtually nothing. After quite a bit of questioning and monitoring, the police and fire department left (everyone is summoned on these kinds of calls), and the paramedics finished up with the on-site work. They were all pretty cool guys as far as I could tell; professional while still extremely friendly about the whole situation. I walked out to the ambulance as the others were leaving (there were two police cars, a fire truck, a mobile poison control unit, and the ambulance in my driveway at the time) and was strapped into the ambulance bed.

On the way there, I spoke with one of the paramedics about teenage drug abuse, my drug use, my beliefs on the 'Use vs. Abuse' argument, and the admitted the folly in my judgement, etc. As I said, he was a very nice guy. We were at the hospital soon, and I was rolled into the emergency room, treated by a very friendly male nurse and handled by a rather unpleasant doctor, and then put in waiting. My mother had followed the ambulance in our family van, while my father stayed home with Shannon. She sat with me and we talked a bit about the whole situation in what was a surprisingly doscile and civilized manner. Eventually they verified that I was currently fine, had no major damage, and could leave. Thirty minutes later, they let us sign our release papers and we left. I was probably at the hospital for between four and five hours.

As it turns out, there was quite a bit of time from when I inhaled to when my mother walked in. In fact, she didn't walk in; she was standing in the door for quite a while. My father was the one in my room, trying to wrestle me into submission (which, by the way, is the worst possible thing to do to someone in a situation such as mine). Apparently, I was screaming, thrashing around, crawling under my bed, swinging my whole body around, and doing what could be likened to seizuring, although it was technically anything but.

My father, who is arguably a human weapon after all of his years with the military and various branches of the FBI, was almost unable to hold me down. As my parents (who are very apt to exaggeration) put it, I was frothing at the mouth, drooling, coughing up bile, and breathing inconsistently, and had gone completely limp on at least two occasions. My face is rugburned from rubbing up against the carpet, and it hurts a bit, but isn't too bad. Other than that and the marks on my arms from all of the monitoring equiptment, I have no real lasting evidence of the whole ordeal. As I said, it would be over in an hour or two. To give you an idea of the time, I first inhaled the 5-MeO-DMT around 10:25 and came to, seeing my mother in the doorway, at 10:45 or so. That's long enough to pass the peak, but certainly not enough to come down completely.

The only thing that I truly regret about this whole part is all of the stress, pain, and general negative sentiments that I have spread to my parents and, infinitely more important, my sister. It really hurts to know that I hurt my sister as badly as I did, she was the one who originally heard me screaming... it's almost as if I betrayed her and my family. Of course, I don't really see it as that at all, but it's how I'm being told to feel.

Normally those things don't make it into my mind, but when it comes to my sister, any pain of hers is one of mine. She doesn't realize how much she means to me, and I doubt that she ever will... regardless, I love her more than life itself, and I'd do anything to take back the pain that I have forced upon her. Likewise, my parents mean a lot more to me than I normally let on to and this has certainly affected them deeply, and for that I am certainly regretful. I suppose that there's not much I can do about any of these things, though, other than to ensure that they don't happen again.

I guess the only thing that I really want to pass on with this is to be responsible with it, and have a great, great respect for this drug. I have had nothing but good results from it as far as my mind goes, but the dose needs to be much more controlled than what I had it. Also, take into consideration the full reprecussions of your use; if you have any company, make sure that they are fully educated about the substance and that no one else is present.

I know that I was completely safe when I used it; all of the involuntary self-defense mechanisms were still at play, even though the 5-MeO-DMT had effectively disconnected my consious mind from the motor lobes of my brain. I am 100% confident that if I hadn't woken my family up, then everything would be perfectly fine right now. Still, I was reckless and I paid the price. Learn from my mistakes, and take everything and (infinitely more importantly) everyone into consideration.

Exp Year: 2003	ExpID: 26924
Gender: Male
Age at time of experience: Not Given
Published: Sep 18, 2003	Views: 30,695
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5-MeO-DMT (58) : Train Wrecks & Trip Disasters (7), Small Group (2-9) (17)