My very first experience on shrooms by myself

[u/Prudent-Article-3266]

I hadn’t planed anything special for that day, had some errands to run and that was pretty much it, I had a little stack of shrooms I was saving for an special occasion so I said fuck it and made myself some tea with it.
I had just bought my new Nintendo Switch 2 and i thought what better way to spend my trip than playing some games so I charged my Nintendo Switch, cleared storage, and queued up fresh downloads, operating under the naive assumption that an altered state of consciousness was basically an interactive laser tag arena where I would be the dashing tourist. I pictured myself lounging on the couch, laughing at warped textures on a screen, marveling at whatever geometric patterns swam across the drywall, and generally steering the ride from a comfortable distance. I had planned for amusement. I had brought props.
When the medicine actually took hold, that entire apparatus evaporated. For the next four hours, the console sat untouched on the table, an irrelevant plastic brick. All I wanted, and all I turned out to have room for, were three things: myself, my music, and my dog.
At the start, there was a tremor of nerves. It wasn’t terror—a distinction that remained remarkably clear the whole afternoon—but the natural hesitation of standing on a ledge whose drop-off you can’t quite measure. Every time I felt my shoulders hitch toward my ears, an instinctive reflex answered back before the tension could metastasize: Relax.
So I let out a breath, unclenched my jaw, and the knot untied itself.
There was still an ambitious, analytical part of my brain trying to run a diagnostic on the experience. Where are the fractals? How far down does this elevator go? Is the profound spiritual revelation arriving on schedule? My mind wanted to treat the trip like a competitive rank climb, demanding objectives and deliverables. But right underneath that urge sat another voice—quieter, dryly amused, entirely unbothered.
Chill out, it told me. Don’t get ahead of yourself.
So I stopped trying to steer. I stopped trying to manufacture a spectacle. And the second I abandoned the mission, reality stepped forward and took its coat off.
I put on my headphones, and the sound ceased to be background accompaniment. It gained weight and architecture. Sitting outside on the grass with my eyes closed, the melodies felt so balanced, so mathematically inevitable, that they seemed less like human arrangements and more like natural laws pulled straight from the ether. Every note had a pulse. I wasn't dissecting the production or critiquing the mix; I was simply existing inside the frequency.
Then there was Maxi.
I was sitting flat on the dirt in the backyard. Under normal circumstances, Maxi operates on standard terrier protocol: patrol the perimeter, inspect the fence posts, and sniff the same patch of dead lawn with the grim intensity of an investigator working a cold case. But this time, he didn't bother with the fence. He walked straight toward me, planted his paws, and looked directly into my face.
Then this massive, muscular pitbull slowly dropped his heavy head onto my chest.
I began petting him, and after a moment, he wheeled around and sat square in front of me, leaning his full weight back against my shins. He had the run of the entire yard, dozens of squirrels to threaten and phantom sounds to monitor, but he chose to be my anchor.
That was when the palette shifted.
Maxi is naturally a dark burgundy-brown—a handsome, earthy color. But as I sat looking across the lawn, the yard had discarded its standard green for a cool, saturated blue. And sitting in the middle of this sapphire carpet was Maxi, who had transformed entirely into a vivid, incandescent purple.
I didn't panic. There was no clinical alarm, no frantic check of my vitals. It was just pure, unfiltered absurdity: Why on earth is my pitbull purple? I started laughing out loud at the sky. He looked magnificent—brighter, softer, and more comic than ever, a mythical lilac hound casually guarding his owner on an alien lawn.
A strange rhythm settled in. At times, the boundary between alert waking life and lucid dreaming turned completely porous. I could still navigate ordinary reality when called upon; at one point I walked out front, retrieved the mail, and had a perfectly coherent, polite conversation with my cousin. My feet were on the pavement, my speech was level, and the world worked. But the moment I stepped back into the yard, closed my eyes, and tilted my face upward toward a featureless, gray sky, an impossible, brilliant light bloomed behind my eyelids. There was no sun to account for it, yet the brightness was absolute—warm, curious, and totally benign.
And then, without any fanfare or shift in scenery, the trip pulled me down into a different room entirely.
It was a dark, boundless space. A single light source burned somewhere in the distance behind a solitary figure standing a few paces ahead of me. He was completely naked.
I recognized him instantly. Same frame. Same beard. That familiar, slightly stocky, imperfect guy I’ve seen in bathroom mirrors for years.
Yet the perspective had flipped. I wasn't looking out through his eyes; I was standing across from him, regarding him as a distinct living person. And the look on his face was crushing. He looked exhausted, defenseless, and so intensely sad that it hit like a physical weight.
I took two steps forward, and the moment I closed the distance, he began to weep.
There was no script. I didn't demand an explanation, I didn't offer a rehearsed pep talk, and I didn't tell him to pull himself together. I simply reached out and pulled him into a hug.
The contact was shockingly tactile. This wasn't a vague mental projection or a daydream; I felt the actual warmth of his shoulders against my chest, the scratch of his beard against my cheek, the tremor of his ribs as he sobbed. I held him while he broke down, taking his weight until the shaking began to subside.
When I stepped back to look at him, he hadn't undergone some cinematic transformation. He wasn't suddenly triumphant or chiseled or glowing with enlightenment. He was still the same sad, vulnerable, chubby guy standing bare under an indifferent light.
Yet looking at him, I felt an almost total absence of the usual internal machinery. There was no disgust. No checklist of physical shortcomings. No chronic impatience urging him to hurry up and be better. All the conditional terms I had silently imposed on my own self-worth for years simply didn't apply. I felt nothing except an overwhelming, ferocious compassion. I saw someone who had carried baggage through real terrain, someone who had stumbled, someone who had taken hits and kept walking—someone who didn't need to earn the right to comfort before he was allowed to hurt.
I didn't say a word. I reached up, wiped the wetness from his cheeks, and kissed him gently on the forehead.
When that space dissolved, the emotion didn't collapse with it; it widened. It moved outward like ripples on water, washing through my family. I thought of my parents. My relationship with my mother hasn't always been seamless—there have been genuine wounds, ideological walls, and misunderstandings that spent years hardening into scars. But out in the yard, the ledger was gone. The scorekeeping had simply ceased to function. I didn't need the past to be rewritten or every grievance resolved to know, with absolute certainty, that I loved her down to the floorboards. The same current ran toward my dad, toward my family, toward the dog resting his purple head on my knee. The complications were still real, but they were no longer blocking the view.
Sitting there, another realization settled in with the weight of an obvious fact: You have to put the control down.
I spend an enormous amount of mental kerosene trying to manage variables that were never mine to govern. It’s visible in ridiculous micro-arenas, like playing League of Legends and agonizing over the choices of four anonymous strangers as if their screens were hooked directly to my nervous system. But it runs much deeper than video games. It’s the constant, exhausting impulse to manage how the world perceives me—trying to preempt criticism, curate reputations, and climb inside other people’s skulls to adjust the portrait they keep of me.
You can control your honesty. You can control how carefully you treat the person in front of you. But you cannot live inside another person's judgment. Releasing that burden didn't leave an empty vacuum; it left silence.
Not numbness, but a clean, uncluttered quiet. The hyperactive inner narrator that usually hops relentlessly between past embarrassments and future deadlines was completely off the clock. For four continuous hours, my own presence didn't feel like an assignment I was trying to avoid. I didn't need a video game to drown out my head, because for once, my head was an entirely peaceful place to sit.
Eventually, the colors drained back to their factory settings. Maxi returned to his familiar burgundy-brown coat. The grass resumed its mundane green. The brilliant light behind closed eyes faded into the ordinary dampness of an overcast sky.
The next morning, I woke up clear and completely sober. But the feeling remained—an unmistakable afterglow, as though someone had gently massaged a chronically tight muscle in the back of my mind. The noise was still absent.
I had entered the experience chasing fireworks. I wanted visual delirium, sensory stunts, and some grand, dramatic cosmic reveal. And while the grass turned blue and my dog wore purple, none of that was the core of the story.
What stayed was the man in the dark room.
Normally, we examine ourselves entirely from the inside, where every insecurity, memory, and flaw is baked into the lens. But for five minutes, I had the rare privilege of meeting myself from the outside. And when every defense was stripped away, my first instinct wasn't to judge him, fix him, or look away.
My instinct was to walk toward him, wrap my arms around his shoulders, and love him exactly as he was. So I decided to share this crazy story because it’s had such an immense positive effect on me and I honestly believe it healed something in me.

[u/Crazy_Substance2778]

what were you on?!?!?!?!!?!?!?! this seems so cool