I've been tripping on shrooms 2-3 times a week.

Hello there,

So, picture this: me, your friendly neighborhood shroom whisperer, stepping into the limelight to spill the beans on my wild escapades with the psychedelic crew. Now, why am I not narrating this blockbuster to the outside world? Well, the outside world tends to raise an eyebrow at someone partaking in such frequent mushroom meanderings. Who, in their right mind, dedicates so much time to tripping, you might wonder? Now, I'm not your typical thrill-seeker, but here's the twist—I'm a young, medically retired female vet, dealing with the PTSD rollercoaster. Enter stage left: the magical world of psilocybin mushrooms. These little fellas didn't just save my sanity; they gave it a glow-up in record time. Let's set the scene: me, battling the anxiety monsters for a good few rounds. Cut to two months ago, and I'm on the brink of despair, contemplating life's greatest mysteries (and not in a fun way). Enter the shrooms, my unexpected knights in shining caps. So, fasten your seatbelts, folks. I'm about to spill the tea on one my favorite stories—the debutante ball in the land of psychedelics.

Post-Military I thought, "Why not shake things up?" So, I hit confirm on a ticket to visit my partner-in-crime, the one and only B! 🚀✈️ Booking the plane ticket was like hitting 'confirm' on a life-changing Spotify playlist – the vibes were off the charts. Landing in the cannabis utopia, the first night unfolded like a chapter from a wild memoir. Picture this: a scary edible saga where I'm suddenly gasping for air, starring in my very own hurling extravaganza, and contemplating a cosmic meet-and-greet with god.

Back to the shroom saga. Without a clue on where to find what we were looking for, we decided to take a stroll through Craigslist. I mean, it's the place where you can find everything from pets and furniture to, well, let's just say a wide variety of services. Seemed like a practical choice at the time. Picture this: Two fabulous girls in dresses, one in dazzling blue, the other rocking some Barbie-approved pink (because, of course, we were heading to see the Barbie movie, haha), stationed at a CVS parking lot. Classy, I know. Our mission? To rendezvous with our friendly neighborhood Craigslist drug dealer. So, there we are, the dynamic duo, rolling up to meet our Craigslist magic mushroom connection after that fateful "I'm outside" text. Picture this: two innocent-looking girls, and this poor dealer looks like he's seen a ghost – or worse, an unexpected pop quiz. As we walked up, you could practically see the thought bubble over his head screaming, "Did I just get caught?" I mean, even though magic mushrooms are chilling in the decriminalized zone, this poor guy was clearly on the verge of a mushroom dealer-induced paranoia trip. In a lightning-speed transaction, I hand over the cash, he passes us the shrooms in a zip lock bag, and in a moment of genius, I compliment his pit-bull chilling in the passenger seat. The dude shifts gears quicker than a race car driver at the Indy 500.

Fast forward a few hours, post-Sephora splurge, it's showtime! We decide the beach is the perfect stage, considering B's conveniently walkable neighborhood. Properly dressed and armed with an extra charger (because, priorities), we settle on acai bowls, thinking, "Shrooms taste like earth, so let's go for something that doesn't quite exactly." Finally, beach-bound, we

down 3.5 grams each of these abominable mushrooms. They're dry and mushy. As we wait for the cosmic symphony to begin, we're questioning if we just got bamboozled. Forty minutes in, and we're in a debate: Did we just experience the placebo Olympics, or is this the real deal? B's complaining about nausea, but somehow, I've miraculously dodged that particular shroom bullet.

So, there we were, swimming in the sea of boredom, contemplating the meaning of life with our eyes closed. But, as someone with ADHD, I got bored of that real quick. So, I decided to open my eyes, and BAM! The seagulls – they were like the supermodels of the avian world, strutting their stuff. Being the telepathic genius I am, I somehow summoned one to fly by us. "Hey B, look, I just Jedi-mind-tricked a seagull!" 50 minutes in and we're delusional maestros or these shrooms are doing their cosmic cha-cha. I have no clue why we kept second-guessing it, but who cares when seagulls become the stars of the show?

B, in her newfound seagull diplomacy, decides to buy some random chips from a beach vendor, turning us into seagull empresses. Life's good until this pint-sized menace, probably fueled by pixie sticks or something, decides to scare away our feathered subjects. Annoying child: 1, Seagull Empire: 0. 🦅✨😂 So, the seagulls had bid us farewell, and the cosmic tunes from Cigarettes After Sex became our shroom symphony. B, like a beach oracle, decides to stroll to the shore while I'm still cruising on the focused train, no full-blown visuals yet. I spot her, standing there like a serene skeleton statue, so naturally, I immortalize the moment with a picture (which, in hindsight, is a hilarious time capsule). Curiosity gets the better of me, so I mosey on over. Lo and behold, the water transforms into this mesmerizing tapestry of figures and faces, like an abstract painting in motion.

B, the telepathic maestro, communicates something to me, and I, in my mushroom-induced clarity, give a nod. Just a few moments later she hits me with the question, "You see it?" In my head, I'm like, "Wait, didn't she just ask me that?" But instead, I go with a profound "wow." It's like every blink unlocks a new level of trippy magic. The music? Oh, it's not just playing; it's a live concert where the artist is pouring their soul out, and I'm there front row, feeling every note like a cosmic beat.

To our surprise, instead of the classic pupil dilation, they somehow become even smaller. As the psychedelic panorama unfolds, the point of view minimizes and buildings seem stretched out, almost as if I was playing minecraft. A timeless pinky-purple euphoric filter casts its spell over the atmosphere. I find myself gazing at the clouds, only to discover that the sky is split exactly in half. On my left, a brooding gloominess; on my right, a radiant, shiny brilliance.

As we bask in the ambiance, a whisper of insecurity tiptoes into our thoughts. The full psychedelic symphony hasn't struck its crescendo, and we find ourselves dancing with the echoes of our pasts. Random thoughts start popping up, like "What if I look crazy?" "Am I hot enough?" But then, in a burst of cosmic camaraderie, we become each other's hype goddesses. Compliments flow like the psychedelic nectar we've been sipping. Our conversation takes a turn, weaving through the intricate tapestry of our lives—moments of chaos, shards of sorrow. Amid this ephemeral exchange, we toss around simple yet profound appreciations for the serendipity that wove our cosmic destinies together. It's like a girly, mystical chat, with insecurity demons banished by compliments and the universe giving us a knowing wink. 🌌✨💃In that fleeting exchange, we express a simple yet deep appreciation for the serendipity that united us.

In this quasi-deep exchange lasting a whopping 45 seconds, a decision resonates through the universe: We're ditching the shadows of our sad, shitty childhoods, and damn it, we deserve a trip that's as wild as it is fun. As I attempt to change the music on my phone, I realize that even inputting my password feels like cracking a code. And for some inexplicable reason my phone becomes the hottest gossip hub. Buzz, buzz, buzz—each notification sends a shiver down my spine, like there's some shady unfolding. I summon the courage to navigate my phone, but everything on the screen is breathing, including the lock screen image of my fat cat. I show B, and we burst into uncontrollable laughter because, hey, it seems like she's gained even more fluff. "What's in her belly?" "What do you think she's thinking of eating?"

Anyway, after our fit of giggles, I finally got to the messages. Lo and behold, it's from my eccentric ex-military supervisor. Mind you, this guy and I never had any other kind of relationship, (maybe friends). I share the bizarre messages with B, and she's like, "Girl, you need to leave him in the past," to which I wholeheartedly agree. Because, let's face it, some stereotypes about married military supervisors "going through a divorce" are surprisingly true.

So there we were, neck-deep in the cosmic carnival, and suddenly the sky something even more enchanting – majestic lionesses and ethereal goddesses. These weren't just random images; they were cosmic reflections of us, dancing in the tapestry of the cosmos. The celestial stage had become a mirror, projecting the beauty and strength of lionesses and the divine grace of goddesses. It was as if the universe itself was orchestrating a personalized light show, revealing the majestic essence within. 😎🌌✨ Faces, funny figures—you name it, it was up there. At one point, I was utterly convinced I'd been whisked away to Hawaii. The aurora in the sky painted a canvas of otherworldly colors, and the sounds reverberating in my head transformed into a symphony of beach waves and jungle healing vibes. It was as if I'd stumbled upon a portal to a cosmic luau where the universe decided to throw in a jungle soundtrack for good measure. 🌺🌴🚀

Now, the body high was doing its thing—heavy, but we were stuck in the same spot for what felt like a cosmic eternity, repeating a profound repertoire of "wows" and "you see that?" We attempted full sentences like, "OMG, do you..." with me responding in a fit of giggles, "Yeah, wow, yeah." Speaking telepathically seemed more efficient than the struggle to articulate.

The more we tried, the funnier it got. We were essentially a broken record, stuck in a "wow" loop. The laughter hit an all-time high, and before we knew it, we were in tears—crying over the sheer brilliance of our telepathic stand-up routine. 😂🌌🤯

Experiencing the California beach sunset on shrooms with my best friend, while the melodic notes of "Sunzets" by Cigarettes After Sex played in the background, is an indescribable, positively surreal memory. The profound appreciation I felt for my best friend, who's practically a sister, reached new heights.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, reality gently nudged us to leave the beach. Conveniently, there were trash bins scattered around, but alas, they seemed just out of reach – a cosmic yard away. However, in our shroom-enhanced state, we couldn't stop the incessant chatter and repetitive questions like, "Do you think we'll make it there?" "Should I put my shoes on first?" It felt like we were embarking on a Herculean 1.5-mile run, even though, in my military experience, that distance is a breeze under normal circumstances. Oh, the comical struggle we faced in our altered state turned the simple task into a cosmic odyssey. Strutting our way to what felt like an intergalactic four-step dance, paranoia convinced us the sand was plotting to swallow us whole. As we approached the trash can, the questions flooded in again, but this time, there was a mutual hype squad in play. "I believe in you, girl." "You really think I'm gonna make it?" "Wow, get it!" Trash poised above the bin, the rush of questions continued, and we found ourselves in a telepathic showdown with the group of guys far behind us. With a synchronized freeze-and-glance maneuver, we exchanged a knowing look. Then, the next wave of speculation hit—”do they..we're tripping? "Oh... they know, wow." "Girl, let's show them how it's done and get this in bin." Amid fits of laughter, our hands made a move for the trash bin, a dance move we had never attempted before. It was as if we were pioneering a new form of trash ballet, all while the universe watched in awe. The mundane task transformed into a performance art piece, a cooler-than-cool, cosmic dance-off with the universe applauding our trash-tossing finesse. 😎🚀🗑️

So that's about 65%of the trip story, I'll add more later!

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