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Sep. 29th, 2001 10:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
novapsycheI nearly died tonight.
In a few years, I perhaps may be able to view the circumstances in a comical light. But not tonight.
To be brutally honest, I had decided to dose tonight. Usually, dosing means taking some amount of DXM, but I had none. I didn't even have pot. The only thing I had was some two-months-old packet of AMT. (Find out about AMT at www.erowid.org .)
AMT is a research chemical, and as such has the most God-awful taste (and odor to boot). I couldn't smoke it this time, though all of the times before I had. Not this time. I am at the mercy of K, my boyfriend's mother, as I'm staying in her house by her grace and hospitality. The stench would fill the entire place. So I had to find a way to ingest it.
There are two ways to easily ingest AMT: the first is to dissolve it in a liquid with a high concentration of acidity, such as orange juice or grapefruit juice; the second is to pinch it in some bread and swallow it. I decided to go the bread route.
I went upstairs to get two slices of bread. K was in the kitchen, preparing an interesting-looking fruit dessert. I chatted with her for a little while, then went back downstairs with my slices of cheap white bread. I'd rather have had Wonder bread, as it's easy to pinch and mold, but I had to do with what I had. I took out the little packet of AMT. I could smell it through the plastic. I held it up to the light. The AMT was a dead off-white color, almost yellow. Not appetizing at all. Still, I wanted some sort of dose tonight. I was bound and determined to get something.
I sprinkled the AMT on one slice of bread, in four little piles. Then I went to sit down and watch TV while I ate my dose. Tonight Forrest Gump was playing on ABC (still is, actually), and I do like that movie, so I decided to have that on in the background while I got to business. I tore a corner of the bread, so that I had only one of the little piles on the piece. I balled up the bread. It was puffier, bigger than what it would have been if I'd had some Wonder bread, I just knew it. I smashed it over and over between my thumb and finger, but it was still fairly spongy and puffy; I'd estimate it was a little smaller than a ping pong ball.
When I put it in my mouth to swallow it, I expelled air before it even reached my throat... kind of like a pre-emptive choke. Somehow, though, it got past my uvula and into my esophagus. But it went no farther.
I swallowed and swallowed and swallowed. The bread ball wouldn't budge. The swallowing became reflexive; I couldn't stop it. I had open a can of Sam's Choice grape soda; I took a swig of that, thinking--hoping--it would help the bread ease its way down. The soda went down a ways, but instantaneously I knew it would be coming up soon enough. I couldn't swallow, and at the same time I couldn't breathe. Something, I don't know what, something inside me knew I had very limited time to make a decision.
I jumped up from the couch. All of perhaps ten seconds had elapsed since swallowing the bread ball; maybe even less time than that. By the time I had gotten on my feet and took three urgent steps, the soda was forced out of my throat by my body's attempts to breathe. The violet liquid flew from my lips; I didn't care. I stomped my way to the stairwell, up the stairs that led to the kitchen. I hammered on the wooden wall with my fist as I tried to run up the stairs. All the while, my body felt like it was in the midst of one huge hiccup, a hiccup for simple air.
"What's wrong?" K said, her voice clearly alarmed.
"Help me!" I yelled in the loudest whisper I could. I turned around, and instinctively she put her arms around my abdomen.
One, two, three hard squeezes with her entwined hands. Still, my body hiccupped.
"Is there something stuck?" I nodded. "Can you breathe?" "Only a little," my voice sounded like a whine.
Again, one, two, three lunges against my abdomen. I coughed. Four, five. I coughed so hard I felt I was about to vomit. But I could breathe.
I could breathe.
It's been almost two hours since then. Two hours ago, I could have died. My death would have been due to a big ball of bread, and all because I wanted to have some sort of pharmaceutical fun. What a way to go.
As it was, the bread ball went down my esophagus, not back out of my mouth. I kept expecting it to. The image in my mind the entire time K was doing the Heimlich maneuver was of some movie--what movie?--of a woman choking, and the obstruction flying out of her mouth after some kind gentleman performed the same maneuver on her. I kept waiting for that moment, but for me it did not come. Instead, I had about fifteen minutes of alternately feeling relieved and feeling like I could succumb again, at any time.
In the end, I finished dosing. Amazing, eh? Obsessively, I balled the remaining balls into smaller balls, dividing each up, balling them again, dividing again, balling again. I swallowed them very forcefully, though they were considerably smaller than, say, a horsepill. Since the original ball went down, I would be damned if I weren't going to get a full dose. After all that trouble, I at least wanted the reward.
It happened so fast, I didn't have time for fear. And right after it happened, when K asked me what really had happened and if I was alright, I was shaky, but not afraid. And now, two hours past that moment, I am still not stricken with fear. But for some reason, I feel very sad, very much like crying. I feel like mourning, but I don't know for what.
In a few years, I perhaps may be able to view the circumstances in a comical light. But not tonight.
To be brutally honest, I had decided to dose tonight. Usually, dosing means taking some amount of DXM, but I had none. I didn't even have pot. The only thing I had was some two-months-old packet of AMT. (Find out about AMT at www.erowid.org .)
AMT is a research chemical, and as such has the most God-awful taste (and odor to boot). I couldn't smoke it this time, though all of the times before I had. Not this time. I am at the mercy of K, my boyfriend's mother, as I'm staying in her house by her grace and hospitality. The stench would fill the entire place. So I had to find a way to ingest it.
There are two ways to easily ingest AMT: the first is to dissolve it in a liquid with a high concentration of acidity, such as orange juice or grapefruit juice; the second is to pinch it in some bread and swallow it. I decided to go the bread route.
I went upstairs to get two slices of bread. K was in the kitchen, preparing an interesting-looking fruit dessert. I chatted with her for a little while, then went back downstairs with my slices of cheap white bread. I'd rather have had Wonder bread, as it's easy to pinch and mold, but I had to do with what I had. I took out the little packet of AMT. I could smell it through the plastic. I held it up to the light. The AMT was a dead off-white color, almost yellow. Not appetizing at all. Still, I wanted some sort of dose tonight. I was bound and determined to get something.
I sprinkled the AMT on one slice of bread, in four little piles. Then I went to sit down and watch TV while I ate my dose. Tonight Forrest Gump was playing on ABC (still is, actually), and I do like that movie, so I decided to have that on in the background while I got to business. I tore a corner of the bread, so that I had only one of the little piles on the piece. I balled up the bread. It was puffier, bigger than what it would have been if I'd had some Wonder bread, I just knew it. I smashed it over and over between my thumb and finger, but it was still fairly spongy and puffy; I'd estimate it was a little smaller than a ping pong ball.
When I put it in my mouth to swallow it, I expelled air before it even reached my throat... kind of like a pre-emptive choke. Somehow, though, it got past my uvula and into my esophagus. But it went no farther.
I swallowed and swallowed and swallowed. The bread ball wouldn't budge. The swallowing became reflexive; I couldn't stop it. I had open a can of Sam's Choice grape soda; I took a swig of that, thinking--hoping--it would help the bread ease its way down. The soda went down a ways, but instantaneously I knew it would be coming up soon enough. I couldn't swallow, and at the same time I couldn't breathe. Something, I don't know what, something inside me knew I had very limited time to make a decision.
I jumped up from the couch. All of perhaps ten seconds had elapsed since swallowing the bread ball; maybe even less time than that. By the time I had gotten on my feet and took three urgent steps, the soda was forced out of my throat by my body's attempts to breathe. The violet liquid flew from my lips; I didn't care. I stomped my way to the stairwell, up the stairs that led to the kitchen. I hammered on the wooden wall with my fist as I tried to run up the stairs. All the while, my body felt like it was in the midst of one huge hiccup, a hiccup for simple air.
"What's wrong?" K said, her voice clearly alarmed.
"Help me!" I yelled in the loudest whisper I could. I turned around, and instinctively she put her arms around my abdomen.
One, two, three hard squeezes with her entwined hands. Still, my body hiccupped.
"Is there something stuck?" I nodded. "Can you breathe?" "Only a little," my voice sounded like a whine.
Again, one, two, three lunges against my abdomen. I coughed. Four, five. I coughed so hard I felt I was about to vomit. But I could breathe.
I could breathe.
It's been almost two hours since then. Two hours ago, I could have died. My death would have been due to a big ball of bread, and all because I wanted to have some sort of pharmaceutical fun. What a way to go.
As it was, the bread ball went down my esophagus, not back out of my mouth. I kept expecting it to. The image in my mind the entire time K was doing the Heimlich maneuver was of some movie--what movie?--of a woman choking, and the obstruction flying out of her mouth after some kind gentleman performed the same maneuver on her. I kept waiting for that moment, but for me it did not come. Instead, I had about fifteen minutes of alternately feeling relieved and feeling like I could succumb again, at any time.
In the end, I finished dosing. Amazing, eh? Obsessively, I balled the remaining balls into smaller balls, dividing each up, balling them again, dividing again, balling again. I swallowed them very forcefully, though they were considerably smaller than, say, a horsepill. Since the original ball went down, I would be damned if I weren't going to get a full dose. After all that trouble, I at least wanted the reward.
It happened so fast, I didn't have time for fear. And right after it happened, when K asked me what really had happened and if I was alright, I was shaky, but not afraid. And now, two hours past that moment, I am still not stricken with fear. But for some reason, I feel very sad, very much like crying. I feel like mourning, but I don't know for what.
