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It began with a night of binging 3-MeO-PCP. I had been using a large amount of the substance, working my way through about 500mg over the course of a month. During these trips, I had previously begun to experience “the fear” for the first time. My first experience with it being that of sudden onset panic attacks consisting of an intense fear that abruptly awoke me from sleep in a frenzy. These lasted only about 2 minutes each but they foreshadowed the ever escalating madness that ensued.
I had promised myself that I would give up 3-MeO-PCP due to the sheer intensity of these experiences, which were unlike any other I’ve felt on a drug. I am experienced with deliriants, salvia, and various psychedelics, but the deep pitted existential terror perpetrated by this substance was unparalleled.
The only thing that surpassed the intensity of this fear was the extremely strong addictive qualities of the substance. Me being a dissonaut with addictive tendencies, I quickly found myself redosing frequently every single day.
Now when you’re on 3-MeO-PCP, you don’t get psychosis or the fear during the trip itself, when you’re on it you just feel extremely manic. Instead, you typically feel the psychosis and the fear when you are coming down during the tail end of the trip. When you think you’re now sober.
And in one fateful night this perceived sobriety lead to the admittedly poor decision to consume a 20mg dose of 4-HO-MET after a night of long binging where 30-50mg of the substance was consumed. I weighed the powder out with the desire to listen to classical music and experience nice visuals.
I lay in my bed with my tablet as I began to come up hard and I struggled as a deep confoundment overtook me. I attempted to put on a piece of music: York Bowens Symphony no 2. This is a beautiful yet menacing composition that I was only able to get playing through extreme struggle. I remember thinking how difficult it was to navigate reality, my vision was deeply altered and it wasn’t normal visuals. It felt as though I couldn’t focus my eyes and my pupils were dilating in and out. I turned off the lights in an attempt to rectify the situation but it only made it worse.
I felt a great intoxication and impairment overtake me. I could not manage to navigate the tablet. It was as though brain was unable to render the visual stimuli and i was left with a barrage of incomprehensible noise. The music made little sense to me in this state and I felt completely helpless. I stumbled over to my desktop computer after throwing my tablet on the floor and I crawled into the chair. I was completely unable to comprehend what I was perceiving.
As a layer of unmanageable visuals clouded my field of view I managed to bring up the York Bowen symphony no. 2 only through muscle memory. I don’t believe I was able to comprehend how to use the headphones unfortunately but this symphony would have an extremely large impact on my experience nonetheless.
This is when my psyche began to unravel. I was in a trance for a good period of time before the paranoia hit. I remember hearing church bells toll that didnt exist, play a melancholy tone. I perceived these as my funeral bells. I started hearing sirens blare and I could percieve my entire family exchanging exasperated concerns for my well being with deep Diaspointment “He did it again, dissociatives”. I felt my heart race as I began to panic.
I could feel my family was on their way and perceived a phone call take place that I conversed in. “Yes this is the dissociative overdose hotline, beware of DXM abuse”. They instinctually knew I had overdosed on 3-MeO-PCP, I vocally begged to live, I frantically tossed shelves and broke a picture frame looking for an antidote , all the while begging for redemption from God. I felt I was being punished for being a non believer. I screamed in horror as I felt myself talking to a friend while begging for an antidote to my fatal poisoning. A poisoning which was slowly encroaching towards my demise as my hallucinated friend exclaimed in an irritated tone, “really ! Not 3meopcp! hold on I’ll see what I can do Jesus Christ!” I heard sirens blare and the tolls of death grew ever louder.
I was pleading on the imaginary dissociative hotline. As I felt myself slipping away I felt incredible guilt and desolution. I felt that I had become a prime example of the downfalls of drug use. I felt I was the patient zero of a dissociative crisis. I looked at my computer and saw the youtube page with the header. York Bowen Symphony No. 2. I felt I was commiting “York Bowen”, a euphemism for suicide. I screamed begging saying “I didn’t mean too!”. I saw pages of what I had become flash all over the internet and I was known as the person who committed suicide by York Bowen. I felt this deep tragedy as I felt my existence dissapear. Everything ever associated with my identity had become “York Bowen”. I viewed articles of my demise. It was as if my existence had been wiped off the face of the earth, and I had become the first person to die of 3-meo-pcp. I screamed: “FUCK. FUCK NO.”
The worst part about my death was that I would live an identity free life in an eternal purgatory where I lacked identity but roamed in a void of pitiful nothingness that was a copy of this world. A place where nothing I did, said, or interacted with would matter and where I completely lacked the ability to influence or interact with any aspect of existence, and that this was entirely eternal. I could hear sirens blare unbearably loud at this point along with the sounds of screams and church bells which tolled the same melancholy tone
I screamed and ripped more things from the bookcase throwing all its contents to the floor, exposing the mg scale. I screamed an anguished cry heard by no one and slipped into brief unconsciousness.
When I awoke I heard more sirens and a pounding on my door. I was naked when I woke up and the pounding grew ever louder. I had the perception that the police were after me for an imaginary Meth operation and I imagined the entire community mocking me. The pounding wouldn’t cease so I opened up the door and was met with nothing. Nobody was there. The colors outside were incredibly bright and vibrant. After hiding all my drugs in obscure places, I fell out of this state of psychosis and fell into deep mania. I poured soap into my hair and lathered it up and then filled a bathtub with water. I felt on top of the world because I felt my actions had no consequence.
I felt as though nothing I did mattered because I would just die and return into the flow of everything again before starting anew with my form unchanged. I sprayed dish liquid all over the walls and ceiling for reasons I can’t explain. I passed out in the bathtub while the front door of my apartment was wide open. I must of been passed out for at least an hour. When I got out I decided I would just go outside to air dry myself instead of using a towel, despite being completely naked. I felt like I was in San Francisco in the 1960s, a hippy throwing caution to the wind. Luckily my better judgement overtook me. before I went too far, a good thing considering I lived on a main road in downtown. From here I passed out, mentally and physically exhausted.
When I woke up I cleaned up my apartment. I then snorted more 3-MeO-PCP and proceeded to order another batch of it.