I figured it had been long enough to start at square one. I had no idea how DXM would effect my present self, since I've changed considerably in the past decade. I started with a bottle of generic, DXM hbr containing syrup, but my stomach refused to accept it. It seems my body remembers my cough syrup use from a decade ago and is still a little mad at me. So I decided to try something new to me: Delsym. This went down smoothly and I absolutely loved the long, marijuana-like high. I then decided to try a bottle of Zicam, but I could only manage to down some of it. This experience was sharper, sure, and more visual. I spent the night smoking DMT and was introduced to the obsessive/addictive side of my personality as I kept striving to return to that mixed DXM/DMT space. The details of that experiment will have to wait for another post.
Finally we come to my last DXM trip. I had learned that Zicam tastes absolutely disgusting, and my dose was going to be two and a half bottles this time. I didn't think I could manage it, so I mixed it in a big pan of jello. After work one day, I ate up the entire pan while watching a movie. Each bite had a faint Zicam taste, but if I just swallowed the pieces without chewing the taste was minimal.
About halfway into the movie, my brain felt heavy, warm, and a strange sort of dizzy. I decide to go lay down and listen to music. As I lay there, I could sense a far-off front of intoxication coming my way. I could feel the energy slowly creeping my way. As it got closer, the pitch of the music slowed down considerably. Suddenly, a vision of a drop of water crashing into a crystal clear pond appeared behind closed eyelids, and as it struck the surface, a loud splashing sound was heard. The energy immediately surged within me, taking me from mildly buzzed to a conflagration of strange internal sensation. The music slowed down to an unintelligible static, which was completely disorienting. I couldn't believe how intense this had gotten, and so dissimilar to any previous DXM trip.
I thought of a few calming words and repeated them to myself, something on the lines of, "Just ride this out." It wasn't a negative experience, but it also wasn't positive. It was just so overwhelmingly physical. The body load kept on increasing, pushing me past my previously-held limits of sensory experience. I couldn't believe how strong the buzz kept getting. It was as if the drug was asking me to do something physically impossible, to conform to some shape that was far too narrow for me to fit through. I felt squeeze into this irregular shape, which was very discomforting. I repeated my calming words over and over again, and soon found my mind oddly transformed.
My mind had become a basic computer of sorts. I was only capable of this one thought: "Just ride this out." The phrase wasn't repeated, but burned in to the computer. Great torrents of data flooded into this computer, which were then routed outwards, much of it leaving my head into some psychic field, but some of it looping back on itself and shorting out. It seemed as though this shorting out was preventing me from accessing the higher reasoning portions of my brain. I was stuck as this basic little computer that was transmitting randomly on a psychic frequency.
I have no idea how long this lasted, but it felt like forever. My higher functioning eventually returned, and I was convinced I had reached out and telepathically communicated to everyone I knew. This delusion was completely convincing for the better part of the trip, but eventually I realized this never really happened.
I had strange closed-eye visuals of a stucco wall and a patch of grass. This was an image from my day at work, where I patched up walls at an apartment complex. The place I was in now was dark and ghostly, devoid of any life. I could only stare at this wall or patch of grass, for there was nothing else. This was quite boring. Eventually I discovered I could teleport to other parts of the ghostly apartment complex, which was accomplished by merging with the floor and then re-emerging elsewhere. Unfortunately, all locations were the same, so I was stuck looking at a stucco wall for what felt like hours.
I opened my eyes to discover myself back in my living room. I had wondered from my bedroom into my living room, which I guess was part of the teleportation experience. The world was strongly distorted, with the edges of every object covered in blurry, pink and red fleshy, quivering masses. The digits on my alarm clock were dancing about and changing so as to be unreadable. I concentrated long enough to make out the time. It had only been an hour and a half sense I first lay down! This was some serious time dilation, which was unfortunate considering how boring the trip had become.
I lay down again and returned to the weird ghost world. This lasted for another hour or so, when the trip abruptly changed. I could feel my mind returning to normal, which felt like coming up on a drug. A sobriety drug. Each step along the way amazed me at how distorted the previous stage was. Slowly the boredom slipped away, and I could manage some interesting thoughts.
I'm not sure if the chemical had metabolized into something more interesting or what, but the experience began to feel like a familiar DXM trip. Very detailed and densely-cluttered visuals filled my mind's eye, and I explored this far more living DXM-space. I was in someone's shop, and he seemed to collect and sell just one type of item: these weird little blue knick-knacks. They were animated and flowing all throughout the store, and eventually spread out into the street outside. I flew out into the street and discovered a ghost town. This shop was the only occupied structure here. It occurred to me that this person was the spirit of a deceased, materialistic person. This was his afterlife. He was surrounded by an ocean of worthless junk, and he was all alone. I stayed here for a long time, unable to escape. It was a lonely, dreary place. I was reminded of this place a month later while shopping for some crap at a local Target. It's interesting how similar the two places were. I now think of Target as the Hell for Materialistic Souls.
Slowly the trip faded into a dull buzz and I was able to get some sleep. Looking back, the trip was just intense. It was neither positive or negative, and in many ways boring. I came away with a few interesting ideas, but nothing too profound. I guess the most profound concept was that DXM was death. It was a gateway to the world of the dead, and sometimes you found yourself in the lesser-traveled avenues, where loneliness, boredom, and pointless obsessions ruled the day. It was not a place I wanted to return to.
This trip was so much different than my earlier experiences on DXM. It felt like a completely different drug, which I am almost certain is partly because I took Zicam instead of cough gels or regular syrup. Also I've changed, which may have an equal or greater share in the responsibility. I won't be returning to DXM. I feel that the strange and majestic realms I once visited are hidden among layers of cold, empty worlds. I don't feel like plodding through them to get to where I want to be.
That was my last DXM trip.
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