Dipherent Strokes For Dipherent Folks DXM and Diphenhydramine is a cocktail tailor-made for the masochistic drug user.
How do I know this? Because I'm precisely that masochistic drug user. Indeed, despite periodically indulging in the combo, I don't ever enjoy the experience. I combine the two because a) I'm a glutton for most forms of mindfuck, and b) because I'm fascinated to see just how nightmarish the experience can get.
Essentially, I read too many Stephen King novels as a kid, and never fully recovered from being tormented by a ginger-haired kid (Richard Simmons) when I was in kindergarten.
(Well... these events probably had something to do with 'it', anyway)
On its own, DXM is awesome -- I've been doing it for nearly 3 years, mastered the state and find the experience the perfect intermission from, or augmentation of, normality. Diph lies at the other end of the scale -- though that's more to do with the physical discomfort (the bodyload) than its brainbending dreamery.
Certainly, I've never encountered the degree of psychosis I typically experience when I put the two together (in case you're wondering, my dose tends to be 550mg diph, and 200mg of DXM). But it's precisely that sensation of being so extraordinarily helpless and exposed -- as the membranes of sanity are systematically stripped away -- that makes the experience so enduringly tantalizing.
I gave up being determined to have an enjoyable time on diph and DXM -- or for that matter, diph -- after the umpteenth time of arriving at the point of "Oh, now I remember why I hate this", and subsequently watching my reservoirs of willpower ebb away into the ether.
These days I wave good bye to my resolve as it sails off into the distance. I'm usually granted access in some inordinate manner to the deeper echelons of my psyche as the experience kicks into gear, like feeling like I felt 5 years previous, or having flashbacks to my childhood. Sometimes I see the most ordinary objects in my mind's eye -- yet they emanate the most disconcerting of atmospheres; so much so that I can only open my eyes and attempt to find some solace elsewhere.
I ponder that maybe, just maybe, there's some value in the experience. That somehow through the struggle of my resisting the abyss of total insanity that threatens to swallow me in every moment, that I'm somehow growing more mentally strong as a result. But, y'know, there's no way I can tell if that's the case or not. I just do this because it calls to me -- intellectualizing it doesn't make much of a dent of something so innate, though it can be an interesting exercise, nonetheless.
Anyway, I've had this on my mind the past month or so, thought I'd get out there. Hopefully some of you can relate, lol.
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привет.. это я.. un-anonimous
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stolen from http://community.livejournal.com/chemicalwhores/
DXM and Diphenhydramine is a cocktail tailor-made for the masochistic drug user.
How do I know this? Because I'm precisely that masochistic drug user. Indeed, despite periodically indulging in the combo, I don't ever enjoy the experience. I combine the two because a) I'm a glutton for most forms of mindfuck, and b) because I'm fascinated to see just how nightmarish the experience can get.
Essentially, I read too many Stephen King novels as a kid, and never fully recovered from being tormented by a ginger-haired kid (Richard Simmons) when I was in kindergarten.
(Well... these events probably had something to do with 'it', anyway)
On its own, DXM is awesome -- I've been doing it for nearly 3 years, mastered the state and find the experience the perfect intermission from, or augmentation of, normality. Diph lies at the other end of the scale -- though that's more to do with the physical discomfort (the bodyload) than its brainbending dreamery.
Certainly, I've never encountered the degree of psychosis I typically experience when I put the two together (in case you're wondering, my dose tends to be 550mg diph, and 200mg of DXM). But it's precisely that sensation of being so extraordinarily helpless and exposed -- as the membranes of sanity are systematically stripped away -- that makes the experience so enduringly tantalizing.
I gave up being determined to have an enjoyable time on diph and DXM -- or for that matter, diph -- after the umpteenth time of arriving at the point of "Oh, now I remember why I hate this", and subsequently watching my reservoirs of willpower ebb away into the ether.
These days I wave good bye to my resolve as it sails off into the distance. I'm usually granted access in some inordinate manner to the deeper echelons of my psyche as the experience kicks into gear, like feeling like I felt 5 years previous, or having flashbacks to my childhood. Sometimes I see the most ordinary objects in my mind's eye -- yet they emanate the most disconcerting of atmospheres; so much so that I can only open my eyes and attempt to find some solace elsewhere.
I ponder that maybe, just maybe, there's some value in the experience. That somehow through the struggle of my resisting the abyss of total insanity that threatens to swallow me in every moment, that I'm somehow growing more mentally strong as a result. But, y'know, there's no way I can tell if that's the case or not. I just do this because it calls to me -- intellectualizing it doesn't make much of a dent of something so innate, though it can be an interesting exercise, nonetheless.
Anyway, I've had this on my mind the past month or so, thought I'd get out there. Hopefully some of you can relate, lol.
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а просто твои блоги буду смотреть ))) редкие
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