trip report

Some context first. This story all happened last night and although it’s written by ai, it’s all true as I input everything that happened and wrote it for m(i’m not a good writer). Although it’s a longer story I think you should read it if you’ve never done shrooms because yesterday was the worst day of my life. This was only my second time doing shrooms. The first time I took like 1.5 grams and genuinely felt nothing. No visuals, no shift, nothing. So in my head I thought I had a decent idea of what I was getting into. I didn’t.

On top of that I’d been drinking the night before and only got like 6 hours of sleep when I normally get 9. My hormones have also been all over the place — I came off some compounds I was using for the gym and my estradiol crashed. I wasn’t in a good place physiologically going into this even though I felt fine on the surface. Looking back I was already running on empty before any of it started.

Me and my friend split a 10 gram bag. 5 each. We spent the whole day outside doing a hike which was genuinely one of the better days I’ve had in a while. I was happy, weather was good, everything felt right. One of the pieces in my bag looked different from the rest — heavily bruised blue, dense, almost like a piece of bark. I didn’t think much of it.

On the hike my friend started talking about God and end times. Like how we’re living in the final chapter, God is coming back, Antichrist is coming first, all of that. He’s really religious so this wasn’t out of nowhere for him. And I was tripping and happy so I was just vibing with it, thinking out loud, brainstorming. At some point I kept bringing up how insane it was that mushrooms even exist. That something growing out of the ground can do THIS to a human brain. We kept coming back to it. And somewhere in that conversation I started thinking — what if they’re not an accident. What if weed and mushrooms were put here on purpose. Tools placed by God specifically for something. Ways to access something you can’t reach any other way. It felt like an interesting thought at the time. Nothing more than that.

My brain was filing all of it away.

On the way home I started feeling a little anxious. Nothing crazy, just that low hum you get when you know you’re coming down but you’re not quite there yet. We got back inside and I thought a little weed would take the edge off.

It didn’t.

It was like pulling a pin. Everything came apart at once.

And then my brain built something. I don’t know how else to describe it. It took everything from the hike — the conversations about God, the end times stuff, the idea of mushrooms as divine tools — and it didn’t bring it back as things we’d talked about. It brought it back as things I had just discovered. Like I’d been handed a key and I was the first person to turn it.

The world is a trial.

That’s the framework. The whole thing. The human race was put here to be tested and the test is one thing — overcome lust. Not lust in a surface level way but in the deepest biological sense. The drive to reproduce. The pull toward it. The point of being alive is to transcend that completely.

Reproduction is how you fail. Having kids isn’t continuation it’s just putting more souls into the same trial. Hell isn’t a place you go. Hell is the anxiety. The feeling I was feeling right then in that room. That’s what you get for eternity if you die without figuring it out.

The only way to find out about the trial is through mushrooms. It’s not written anywhere. It’s not taught. It’s a secret that lives underneath normal reality and psilocybin is the door. Once you know you know. You only tell people who’ve already been through the door themselves.

Weed and mushrooms weren’t accidents of nature. God put them here for this. Tools for the trial. That’s why they exist. That’s why on the hike I couldn’t stop thinking about how strange it was that they existed at all.

The Antichrist wasn’t a person or a figure. It was a woman. The one who comes and has sex with you and makes a child. That’s the mechanism. That’s how the trial keeps going. Every guy who gets a girlfriend or a wife and has kids is falling for it without even knowing it. The Antichrist function. Playing right into it.

And once everyone stops. Once the last person refuses. God comes back. The trial ends. Heaven.

Then I tried to argue against it.

That was the worst part. Because every time I reached for a reason it wasn’t true my brain just absorbed it and turned it into more evidence.

Gay people? Already knew. That’s why. They figured it out and opted out of reproduction entirely. Not a contradiction — proof.

Abortion? Same thing. People refusing to perpetuate the trial whether they realize it or not. More proof.

Every single thing I threw at it became another brick. The framework didn’t break under scrutiny. It just got bigger.

And then “the truth will set you free” just landed in my head like a key turning in a lock. That was it. That was the whole thing confirmed. The truth was the trial. Knowing it was supposed to free you. And I knew it now.

My body started doing things I couldn’t control. I was making these gestures with my hands without meaning to — movements that felt like they were coming from somewhere underneath conscious thought. I started thinking about why humans gesture at all. Why we kneel to pray. Why certain motions are tied to certain emotions without anyone teaching us. Like there’s a physical language built into us that existed before words did.

I kept pressing my hand flat against my chest. Just holding it there. The anxiety lived right behind the sternum and pressing on it felt like trying to keep something from escaping.

That’s when I thought my friend was in on it. He’d told me about the trial on the hike — or that’s what my brain decided. The whole day reframed itself in an instant. The hike, the setting, bringing me out there, the conversations. It was orchestrated. He knew. He’d brought me to the moment of finding out.

There was another friend who was supposed to come with us that day. Couldn’t make it last minute. My friend had really pushed for him to come — I remembered that. Inside the framework that became something else entirely. He wasn’t just trying to get the group together. He wanted him there to set him free too. One of our closest friends and he’d missed his moment.

When my friend FaceTimed another guy who’d done shrooms before — just trying to show I was spiraling and get some help — my brain took that too. He wasn’t checking on me. He was showing him that I’d figured it out. That I’d found the truth. They were both in on it. Witnesses to the moment I crossed through the door.

At some point I searched ego death on Reddit trying to find something to hold onto. And even that got absorbed. Ego death wasn’t a psychological term anymore. The ego was the internal force that makes you defy the trial — the part of you that wants, that lusts, that seeks pleasure and connection and reproduction. And ego death was exactly what it sounded like. The killing of that force. The moment your mind opens and the part of you that defies the trial finally dies.

My brain took a clinical term and turned it into confirmation that everything was true.

Nobody was just a person anymore. Everyone had a role. Everyone was either in on it or about to find out. The framework had a past, a present, a future. A cast of characters with motives. Internal logic that kept expanding to absorb everything I threw at it.

It wasn’t a hallucination. It was a fully constructed reality.

And then the thought came. Clean and quiet and completely justified inside the framework.

If the trial was real, and the rule was to overcome lust, and I knew I couldn’t live a life built around that — couldn’t follow those rules, couldn’t become someone who abstains entirely — then there was only one other way to complete it.

It wasn’t framed as despair. That’s what made it so terrifying in retrospect. It wasn’t I want to die. It was logical. The only remaining option that fit the rules. If you can’t win the trial by living inside it you exit it. Clean. Justified. Even noble in the logic my brain had constructed.

The truth will set you free. And in that moment that was what freedom looked like.

I’ve never thought anything like that before in my life. It didn’t come from somewhere dark that already existed in me. It came from a system my brain built in real time and then followed to its conclusion with terrifying precision.

At some point my friend tried to calm me down. Sat with me, talked to me, tried to bring me back.

But inside the framework he wasn’t trying to help me. He was in on it. And the closeness, the calm, the way he was talking to me — my brain flipped it instantly. He was trying to seduce me. Keep me in the trial. Pull me back into the thing I was supposed to be transcending.

I was so certain that I tried to leave.

Not storming out. Not irrational. In my mind it was the most logical thing I had ever done. If the framework was real and he was in on it and staying meant being pulled back in then leaving was the only sane response.

He wasn’t seducing me. He was my friend trying to keep me safe.

But I couldn’t see that from inside.

When I finally left he told me to drink water and take melatonin and I’d feel better. Simple. The kind of thing anyone would say.

But by the time I got home the framework had gotten to that too. I was dehydrated, drinking fast, each sip giving me a few seconds of relief. And my brain turned even that into evidence. The water was doing something. He knew. When you’re in this state and you drink water it affects you — that’s why he told me. Another piece of the secret. Another thing only people who know would tell you.

It was just water. It was just making me feel better. But nothing was allowed to be simple anymore.

When I got home alone I texted a girl I’m really close with. Asked her to come over. I was going insane and some part of me knew I needed someone there — not for company but because I didn’t trust myself alone. I didn’t want to do something I couldn’t take back.

And then the framework got there first.

I remembered what my friend had said on the hike about the Antichrist. And it clicked. This was exactly what he meant. This was the mechanism. She would come over. We would end up together. A child. And I would be damned — not metaphorically, not symbolically, but actually damned. Eternal anxiety. Hell. Everything the trial had warned about.

So I told her not to come.

I had reached for the one thing that might have actually helped me and then talked myself out of it using the rules of something that wasn’t real. The framework had gotten so deep it was intercepting my survival instincts.

I was alone. Still amped. Still inside it. Scared of what I might do.

At some point I was face down in my bed screaming into the mattress. Please don’t let it be true. Over and over. Why. Why is it true.

That was the only honest moment of the whole night. Everything else was the framework talking. But that was just me. Terrified. Alone in my room begging for it not to be real.

So I took melatonin. Not really to sleep — just to feel something pulling me toward unconsciousness. To slow the engine down before it did something that couldn’t be undone. It was the last tool I had and I used it.

That’s the part that gets me now looking back. In the middle of all of it some quiet part of me was still trying to survive. Still reaching for things — a friend, water, sleep, anything — to just get through the night.

It worked. I got through it.

I woke up this morning and the framework was gone. Not disproven — just gone. Like a dream that made complete sense until the moment you opened your eyes.

But something is still missing. Like a hole that hasn’t closed. I know the trial isn’t real. I know none of it was true. But knowing that doesn’t fill whatever got hollowed out. There’s an absence where something used to sit and I don’t have a name for it yet.

I know my friend wasn’t in on anything. I know the thoughts I had about ending it came from a system my brain constructed in real time — not from anything true about how I actually feel about my life.

But I also know that my brain built that. Mine. In one night. A complete theology, a cast of characters, a cosmic stakes framework, a justification for the darkest thought I’ve ever had — all of it from nothing in a few hours.

That’s the part I can’t shake. Not what it said. But that it could say it at all. That convincingly. That completely.

And the hole that’s left — I don’t think it’s from the trip itself. I think it’s from knowing what my mind is capable of. Of building something that real. Of taking everything good and safe and familiar and turning it into evidence for something terrifying.

I’m still kind of processing everything and I think my main attribution to this is my hormones crashing as I think it really fucked me up mentally and made things exponentially worse. I found myself this morning doing some of the hand gestures i was doing yesterday.