An Arrow to the Face
|Setting:||The subway, my apartment|
|Name||Dosage||Route of Administration|
Did 20 mg 2C-B orally and abt 3 g of GHB many hours earlier in the day. It was ok, the trip was pretty light but definitely there, I had some friends over and I really was itching to go on an adventure. I got to drive around the city before being dropped off at my friend’s house on the other side. I was mostly down to baseline and wanted to kick things back up.
Insufflate 20 mg. The searing pain hits instantly, along with the bodyload. I am stricken with nasty nausea and discomfort, along with intense sweating. The pain is shocking and profound- as if I have an arrow lodged halfway in my face, or as if I have snorted hot pepper. My body feels like it’s been thrown into a hot greasy storm as tears stream out of my eyes. I immediately question if this is worth it. Holy shit this is uncomfortable. My friend gets me a sweet drink as a chaser but it doesn’t help much at all. They hasveto go to bed so I gotta be out of their hair in a bit, but I feel like I’m going to throw up and I feel like I need to curl into a ball. Once the pain subsides, the drip comes, it stings my palate as it goes down and makes me feel like I have a sore throat, only with a nauseatingly bitter flavor in my mouth too. I have to refrain from vomiting as each drop travels down my throat and hits my stomach. Why why why why why why did I do this.
They say they’ll walk me to the subway station, so we leave together. I am fighting the urge to vomit my guts out, I feel so sick, sick is the only way I can describe it, it is a chilling and crippling toxic malaise, from the bitterness in my mouth, to the electric nausea, to the serotonin blasts zapping my muscles, to the sore throat and the residual pain in my face, I am mentally in a fog and definitely do not feel as if this was worth it. Visuals begin to pick up on this walk as my only real consolation. It is about 3 AM when I reach the subway station and they bid me farewell.
I am sitting in the station. At this hour the trains only come once every 30 minutes. Fine by me. I rock back and forth on a bench. All of the awful symptoms are subsiding. The general discomfort in my limbs and face lingers, but the nausea and pain fades. The visuals are beginning to really pick up as patterns of various interlocking parallel lines begin to form on every surface, flashing in lime green and magenta. Oddly enough there are fewer visuals when I close my eyes. The patterns dance and morph on every surface, structured to fit the forms of everything as defined by shifts in value. Its as though the contrast of the world was raised, casting every form into zones of gradation, and the patterns molded to the shape of each zone. People join me on the platform, the odd late night crew of people who ride the subway at 3 AM. They seem so strange, I feel like I deconstruct their existence by staring at them, I wonder what story has brought them to this place in this moment. I wonder how I look, rocking back and forth on the bench and staring aimlessly at blank surfaces.
The subway comes. I climb into a seat and curl up into a ball with my head tucked between my knees. Anyone who rides it this late is probably not perturbed by someone being obviously and heavily intoxicated. And not like I wasn’t in control, but I felt safe enough to close my eyes and sink into the trip as well as I could. Closed eye visuals ended up not being interesting though, so I simply zoned out and took in the world with a thousand-yard stare. Patterns resembling the organized scribbling of graffiti (especially the ‘wicked’ style originating from and prominent in this city) appeared on every surface, giving the subway the appearance of one of those subway cars from New York in the late 70’s, the insides completely saturated with scrawlings. It felt like I had unlocked a hidden world, that the encoded messages of the spirits etched on every surface, normally beyond or below our perception, had been illuminated. It was as if they were basic notes and commentary guiding every object, or the source code underlying existence. I entertained this idea for a bit, letting it chew on my mind and enter the territory of full delusion that normally only arises from dissociatives. The sounds of the train shooting through the tunnels are spectacular and entertaining, further adding to the cyberpunk surreality I have subjected myself to. It definitely feels worth it now.
I arrive at a station where I transfer trains. By sheer chance I encounter one of my friends here. I haven’t talked to him in a long time but we used to be pretty close. He hangs out on the platform with me for a while, his company is warm and reassuring and the sheer randomness of our encounter feels like an embrace from entropy. After he leaves I find myself staring at the walls and floors, watching them like TV screens, the patterns the characters in some absurd geometric sitcom or documentary or something. I look and feel really out of it, though I am also feeling a strong sense of euphoria. The next train comes and I board. The ride was more spacing out and being surrounded by imaginary graffiti.
I get off at the stop closest to my house. I am still tripping pretty hard. I smoke a joint walking home and come into the house with it still hanging from my lips. It’s been a long night. I collapse on the couch of our living room and smoke the rest of the joint down to nothing. It feels immaculately relaxing, I feel so good. It feels so nice to have a house where I can just walk in smoking a joint and throw myself onto a couch without anyone telling me not to. It feels so nice to be on semi-obscure drugs. It feels so nice to be finally back home, warm, familiar, and safe. I go to my room and read stuff on facebook, finding everything more interesting and stimulating and profound than they really are.
I begin reading Jojo’s bizzare adventure. The nuances of each line of script and each individual panel and illustration and each bit of plot development are beautiful and profound. It is immensely entertaining and I feel like I am appreciating it as hard as I possibly could be. Every line seems so perfectly and deliberately placed. I do this for two hours as I come down.
My roommate returns home from a long night of doing acid. We smoke together and talk about some stuff as the sun rises. I shower soon after and smoke some more. I am not really tripping as much anymore, visuals have died down, there is just a really nice relaxing comfortable and euphoric afterglow. I go to sleep at about T4:30
Conclusion / Aftermath
This stuff is a blast, insufflated is the fast and furious way to take it, it hits like a fucking brick. It doesn’t feel worth it at all for about 10-15 minutes but after that it definitely feels worth it for the next 5 or so hours. The pain is wicked and the discomfort that follows even worse. Everything the powder touches inside my face burned and stung, I felt sniffly and teary and extremely uncomfortable for a good bit. 2C-B is super colorful and visual, and it can be deep and profound if I let it. If I so desire, I can also just feel euphoric and interact with people, as social skills are not really degraded in any way.