DOSE:

3 hits

smoked

Products - Spice-Like Smoking Blends

BODY WEIGHT:

150 lb

I had gone down to a headshop close by my house, interested in buying 20x Salvia for I wanted to try it now instead of later because the next week I would be put onto a new medication, accutane, and I had no idea the effects of mixing the two.

I entered the shop and asked for it, being asked for my ID in return. Thus I exited the shop with $30 Blonde K2 in hand, hoping to simply later get high and go for a walk. I waited till my parents were in bed, and then I slipped outside with my bong and a full bowl of the K2. I sat down on my patio, and lighted up. A first hit. Not much occurred right away, but then very quickly I began to feel light. A second hit. Ahh I could feel the high. Now this was my mistake; I don’t know what possessed me, but I took a third hit. The feelings became much more intense and pleasant. But then: instantly the mosquito bite on my back became intensely uncomfortable, I felt horrible. I felt like I was going to die. I couldn’t take this. I felt, or I thought I felt, my heart rushing, pumping. I had to get inside. I stumbled up the stoop to my door, got into the kitchen and turned the lights off. I walked over to the sunroom where the TV was still on; I had expected to watch some TV afterwards. I turned the lights off; instant relief. I turned the TV off.

I remembered I still had my bong in my hand. “Shit. Where the fuck could I put this?”, I thought to myself. Well I crawled on the ground and managed to stash it next to the back of my couch on the edge, generally where no one would go. All was dark, so I figured it would be alright there while I got better.

Here’s where it gets weird. Now, I can’t remember if this happens now, or after I get onto the couch, and then maybe I wander back to the floor. But it happens earlier on. I’m apparently still on the floor, feeling like dying. I don’t exactly remember the course of events, but I had some incredibly uncomfortable mental visuals and experiences. I was being transported through different realities, experiencing what the world could be like, fucking different dimensions. It was horrible. I went progressively into worse realities, at one point in a reality that I had originally thought was where people went when they died; a reality of complete peace and no feeling. This was different, in this I couldn’t relax. It was constant struggle, constant discomfort. No haven in sight. Constant swishing and rushing of terror and sadness. I tried to understand what I was feeling, and it was the simultaneous rush of uncomfortable emotions from people all over the world. I just kept feeling one constant, unsettling emotion over and over again. When I tried to relax it forced me back, and there was no release, no bringing down of intensity. There were false relaxations, which would only bring me back to worse emotional feelings.

I couldn’t take this; this couldn’t be existence. “How can this be reality, how can this be existence?” I bitterly questioned my mind. “Will this end? Is this how life is?” I needed an escape! “Bring me back to the real world, please! Just for an instant!” I ascended. A rush, and I am back on a floor. At the same time, I had some short visual of going with some other boys into some unknown house. Now here we are. I look around, see the shadows and lights on the wall, the windows large and expanding. The room stretching, I believed I must have been somewhere else. Now we were all lying down on the floor in some unknown house. “Hey guys?” I exclaimed. “Guys?” “Guys!” No one responded. I saw the shadows of boys laying on the floor next to me. I felt some kind of furniture leg. “Guys?” It began to seep into me that there was no one there. It began to feel eerily familiar. The furniture leg felt incredibly similar to what I had in my own sunroom, in the TV room. In all actuality, I hadn’t gone anywhere. I then realized this, and began to get up.

I decided to lay down and make it seem like I had simply fallen asleep in front of the TV. But then I vomited on my couch. “Shit.” I used my blanket to hold my vomit as more came out. “Shit, shit, shit.” It was a constant struggle to stay with reality. I would often go in and out, feeling as though this room was a dream, nothing real, nothing that I knew. “Is that my TV? What is that...?” Often, very often I would vomit. I kept trying to name what was in the room to keep me with reality, to keep me from slipping into the world of bright and spinning visuals. “That’s my TV, and that’s my VCR and DVD player, and that’s a plant stand. There’s that plant on it from my old house. And a fern I got from my 3rd grade art teacher, she named him Elvis.” Repeatedly I would do this. And I would keep slipping. At one point it seemed like someone was judging me, and the quality of my descriptions of real-world things would keep me in this world. More vomiting. I had another hallucination; I thought I was maybe in the hospital or something. Regardless there were people there, I was somewhere else, laying down. I was conversing, hearing them. But I can’t remember about what. Then I had a lapse of sanity: “Oh wait I’m here. There’s...there’s no one there.” And I was back in my room.

The visuals seemed like brightly colored pixels and molecules, spinning around and flashing. At one point the room spun out of control. I couldn’t take it. “Stop this! Stop now!” I always had the ability to talk to the real world, and I always had the ability to move. More vomiting. I quickly realized that my hands were always there. They could always take me back. And my feet. I always had ten fingers and two feet. They kept me grounded. I would stare at my hands as they, synchronized, made different shapes and moved their fingers. “Here are my hands. They have 10 fingers...total. And they have 5....separate.” They appeared perfect, almost cartoonish or some sort of CGI creation. My hands and feet were the only reminder that I still existed in space and I was there. I slid my glasses onto the floor so as not to get them dirty. Vomiting kept me in reality as well, those powerful surges that I could now more easily control by clenching my fists. As it left me, that’s when I felt most real, the most alive.

It is all difficult to remember, but I do know that now I heard footsteps and creaks from above me. My parents room is just above and to the front of where I was sitting, and this is where the noise was coming from. I couldn’t let them find me here in this space, not like this. There was too much vomit. There was a pool between my knees in the blanket.

After some waiting, lights began to flip on, and my mom came into the sunroom. She asked what was going on; I said I felt sick. “Yea me too,” she said. “Not like this...” I thought. She watched and stood there as I vomited. It seemed like time was frozen, she wouldn’t move. She asked what I thought it could be. “Food poisoning?” “No, I don’t think so mom.” I vomited again. And again. And it refused to hold back. Nothing much came out, but it hurt. She decided to bring me upstairs. It was difficult to walk, and so I held onto her as we journeyed out of the room. Tight spaces were like canyons, and the steps were like a mountain. I made it to my room and fell onto the bed. She gave me a bowl to barf in, and a towel. My shirt was already off from when I took it off downstairs when my mom found me.

Soon I threw up into the bowl. I don’t know how long I was there, but my face wouldn’t leave the bowl. It just stayed in there. I threw up some more. My mom eventually took the bowl and washed it out. I laid there, my desklamp on. My mom had turned my computer off. I just laid there, an ice pack on my head. My mom must have given it to me. I pushed it onto the floor later on.

Some hours later, I went downstairs to try to get my bong. But my mom was on her laptop in the sunroom. I told her, “I’m better now.” She asked how I was and told me it would be better if I went back to bed. So I did. I had a tremendous headache. I went back to bed and then some hours later I saw that the hallways were dark. I went down to finally reclaim my bong. It was where it had been. Had my mom seen it? I wasn’t sure. I brought it upstairs, put it into my closet. Then I went to bed.

No dreams.

______________________________________________________________________________

What can I say about this? It was the worst experience of my life. Never again will I attempt that many bong hits from K2. I honestly felt like I was going to die that night. I had always wanted to test the possibilities of my body’s psyche, to see where it could bring me. To see if I could experience another world.

I experienced another world.

This is not at all what I ever could have wanted. I was brought to different realities, places that fucked up my complete view of the world. A disconnection filled with feelings that could never be felt in the real world. A total disorientation and confusion. And the vomiting. And the spinning. I couldn’t escape. The whole experience lasted several hours. I may have cried for brief moments of time. It was horror. My friend had previously told me that when he smoked too much of this stuff it fucked with his mind. Well my mind was surely fucked. It was ravaged and raped, torn out and spewed all over my blanket.

I am relieved to now be back in reality, and be alive. This world is much better than what I had previously experienced. Always I knew deep down the “real world” was the one with furniture. I always knew to come back here. And that’s why now I deeply hold onto it. What changed me were the transportation into other realities and the clash between them and the visceral feelings of vomiting and touch. I learned that what keeps us grounded are those inner bodily feelings within the chest and letting go means going away. That if I'm not prepared for something I gotta suffer and learn. I only learn when I go down the hard path.

I am by no means denouncing K2; I've used it countless times since my horror show. I find it a very stimulating product that is many more times potent than weed. I can do many hits of weed from my bong without any feelings of death. It produces no feelings of relaxation for the most part; it's mainly a means to get high.

My friend tried 2 hits from my bong even after I told him about my experience; he overdosed but to a much lesser degree. His heart was beating out of control and he was very uncomfortable for some time.

Exp Year: 2010	ExpID: 88073
Gender: Male
Age at time of experience: 17
Published: Nov 11, 2010	Views: 28,274
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