JoetheChro
Well-Known Member
Up until a month ago I’d never laid eyes upon a magic mushroom before. I’d seen and read about the ubiquitous red, white spotted toadstool mascot that most of us know from films, books and folklore since my early teens and that was as far as my knowledge went.
From a young age we are taught not to pick random Funghi and to especially not eat them. I dutifully followed my parents advice. In my teens when a few friends started experimenting I was happy to stay in with my other pal who wouldn’t do them. We’d smoke weed, play FIFA and piously converse with each other on the terrible states the others must be in.
No sirree. No mushrooms for me. They were legal here until 2005 so it wasn’t a question of legality, more the not-wanting-to-try-to-fly-and-jumping-off-a-building paradigm.
But got to 18 and started “going out out” (it’s a big thing in the UK to go out out. Google it) Hypocritical old me was happy eating some disco biscuits and party powder then dancing for 9 hours straight. My parents met in Ibiza. I’ve always thought it’s in my DNA to rave and here it is culturally acceptable to get right spangled every now and then.
But shrooms? Noooooo.
“You’ll take a trip and never come out of it” My Mum
“There was a bloke I worked with dropped acid in his eyes. Went blind in the end” My Dad
“I watched the first Holyfield vs Tyson fight on LSD. A man landed in the ring on a parachute. Thought I was tripping out my nut. Found out the next day it actually happened. Couldn’t work out what was real for a week or so after” My Neighbour at a Previous House
So with all of those stories and unchecked facts about psychedelics I just thought it really cannot be worth it. Weed is fun. Beer is fun. Occasionally going out with Molly her best mate Charlie and Ketrina was also fun. I didn’t need the aggro of shrooms.
So fast forward through my life skipping out all the raving and dancing. I’m now (then in the story I’m telling you) 30.
My father got terminal cancer late 2018. He had been ill for 10 years but had been given the all clear in July only to get very ill very quickly and by October was told he had 2 weeks to live.
I’d been making and taking RSO oil for fun more than medicinal purposes but now gave it to my father as a regimen and ended up getting another 3 months with him.
Sadly he passed away. My father lived with me and my partner for the last 3 years of his life and we were his carers til the end. He held our hands as he died.
I wasn’t prepared for what I’d see. Death is fucked up. There’s no passing away peacefully.
I stopped what I was doing and changed career. Got myself a really boring 9-5 where I was my own boss, my partner and I slowly started to get back to being happy. 3 months after my father passed we found out we were having a baby, our first.
But the image of my dad dying stuck with me. I’d be seeing it 60 times a day and that’s not an exaggeration.
I’ve studied psychology to Masters level and understood I was going through the processes of grief but also that I was traumatised. I studied for my first degree in jail so had seen nasty things before but my dad dying was different.
I held off for a while in talking to anyone about it. Mainly as I hated the thought of being on medication. I’m diagnosed as being on the Autistic Spectrum and having ADHD and I’ve never wanted to be numbed by it. My character is my character, I’m not diluting myself for a place in society.
But after 8 months of my fathers passing I called the doctor and told him the situation. I was prescribed with anti-depressants in 2 minutes or so.
I hated them. Especially the stigma of being on them. I felt like I was letting my partner down. We had a baby on the way, I should have been happy. And the fact I kept shitting myself on them didn’t help either.
So. This takes us up to about March 2020. Lol.
I’d passed the tests needed to officially start my job without supervision in the first couple of weeks of March. I used my savings to start my business with a view to start in late March and looked forward to my son arriving (was due 23rd March)
I won’t bore you with the details but long story short my son arrived (best event ever in my life) but lost everything in the pandemic. My landlord saw the spike in house prices once lockdown eased and illegally evicted me and my partner along with our then 6 month old son.
Had to apply for social housing. There was none where I lived so the council moved me 80 miles away to a place I’d never been.
To say I got a bit depressed was an under statement.
My life drastically changed. I stopped going out. I started drinking. Not blind passed out drunk but steady boozing over the evening. I’d never really drank indoors before, was always a rule of mine I’d followed. I didn’t really care by then. ‘Twas a shit rule anyway I told myself.
I knew I didn’t like what I was doing to myself. Then the anger and resentment started.
I felt cheated, cursed. I’d tried to live a normal life and look at what had happened. It was pointless, was my reasoning. I would have been better off still living the pirate lifestyle.
Although the pandemic wasn’t out to specifically target me it bloody felt like it and o just retreated even more into myself.
Again. Trip to the doctors. Told him i was sick of the constant washing of pants and now the anger. I got given different pills that would gladly stop both effects.
And so I entered a year of hibernation. These pills were the nuts. Straight away that mongy feeling of “nothing matters when you’re asleep” took over me and I loved it.
My family didn’t. My friends noticed it. Always sounding like id just got up whenever they called. I had. And only because they had in fact called and interrupted my sleep.
My weight ballooned. I was running 5k a day and only drank water or tea before my son was born. Now I was sleeping all day and drinking all evening with only exercise going to the fridge for more beer.
I done something about it. Cut down on boozing (didn’t give up, I’m not a quitter) started to make myself get up at the same time every morning no matter how tired I was. Started smoking more weed. I’d ignored it, smoking a couple of joints a day but loads of cigarettes. Got out and exercised. Helped around the house. Normal stuff I’d neglected for a year.
I felt better and tried stopping the anti-depressants. Big no no. Have a big fat head fizz and a neck spasm for thinking about it. The physical sides of withdrawal from a “safe and legal” drug were terrible.
So back on the tablets. With a review every 3 months where inevitably my dosage was upped.
I felt like I was stuck in a rut. I held a lot of anger and was starting to see where it came from but couldn’t stop it. I felt hard done by and felt it was normal to get angry, who wouldn’t?
In all the hype of being evicted I’d missed a blood test result which came back a bit dodgy. This was before all of the drinking so was a bit concerning considering the amount of drinking that was to come. It had been nearly 16 months. Plus the tablets. Definite liver fucker combo.
Anyhoo. Another blood test and a rant at the doctors and I was raring to go. Absolutely fine.
But, after my dad, cancer scares the absolute shit out of me. I aimed to give the tablets up. Beer in moderation, weed via a vape, cut tobacco out.
Then one day I came across an article online about the healing power of psilocybin aka magic mushrooms.
Surely not the same spotted devil spawn I’d been warned about all those years?
Well after some trepidatious reading I found out it was indeed. And that maybe I’d been misled about the effects of them?
There were numerous professors and neurologists claiming that psilocybin was the gateway to potentially curing mental health conditions, addictions and other myriad of psychological problems we may face.
Well. If I wanted to sell something I’d tell people that too.
I just couldn’t get my head around it. So I read some more, checked the sources. I started to take on learning about magic mushrooms in a methodical and planned way looking at the history, science and culture surrounding it, what were the counter arguments?
What did a trip feel like? How long would it last? What drugs could I compare it to? What was a microdose?
So after sifting through loads of information over a few months I was completely none the wiser lol. I thought only way to find out is to try them for myself.
I can walk down my local high street and be offered cannabis, coke, meth and/or heroin numerous times in a 200 yard stretch. But never heard of a shroom guy or gal.
Then the botanist in me saw a challenge and potential new hobby so thought why not grow them myself? I’m not likely to try and sell myself some dud mushrooms.
Had a look at the laws after a pal said it’s technically worse than growing bud. Like I said perfectly legal up until 2005 and then BANG class A drug right up there with Heroin, Crystal Meth, Cocaine.
But, gets a bit weird here. Grey area doesn’t even cut it.
.Allowed to have magic mushroom spores, spore prints
.Allowed to prepare mycelium cakes and have pre-made kits containing spores in use
.Allowed to find them by accident (but not allowed to forage with intent) and then eat them fresh
.Not allowed to prepare fresh mushrooms in any way shape or form. This includes putting them in a cupboard for later
.Not allowed to give away, sell or trade dried or fresh mushrooms
With those really confusing rules in my head I was a bit miffed when my parcel sat in customs at the border for a week. Turns out it wasn’t anything to worry about. Just Brexit, the gift that keeps on giving lol.
Going to leave it there for now but will be back. This is honestly the first time I’ve spoke properly since it all happened with my dad and whatnot, getting it out has really helped. I’ve always loved writing and this has been cathartic AF
Thanks for listening
From a young age we are taught not to pick random Funghi and to especially not eat them. I dutifully followed my parents advice. In my teens when a few friends started experimenting I was happy to stay in with my other pal who wouldn’t do them. We’d smoke weed, play FIFA and piously converse with each other on the terrible states the others must be in.
No sirree. No mushrooms for me. They were legal here until 2005 so it wasn’t a question of legality, more the not-wanting-to-try-to-fly-and-jumping-off-a-building paradigm.
But got to 18 and started “going out out” (it’s a big thing in the UK to go out out. Google it) Hypocritical old me was happy eating some disco biscuits and party powder then dancing for 9 hours straight. My parents met in Ibiza. I’ve always thought it’s in my DNA to rave and here it is culturally acceptable to get right spangled every now and then.
But shrooms? Noooooo.
“You’ll take a trip and never come out of it” My Mum
“There was a bloke I worked with dropped acid in his eyes. Went blind in the end” My Dad
“I watched the first Holyfield vs Tyson fight on LSD. A man landed in the ring on a parachute. Thought I was tripping out my nut. Found out the next day it actually happened. Couldn’t work out what was real for a week or so after” My Neighbour at a Previous House
So with all of those stories and unchecked facts about psychedelics I just thought it really cannot be worth it. Weed is fun. Beer is fun. Occasionally going out with Molly her best mate Charlie and Ketrina was also fun. I didn’t need the aggro of shrooms.
So fast forward through my life skipping out all the raving and dancing. I’m now (then in the story I’m telling you) 30.
My father got terminal cancer late 2018. He had been ill for 10 years but had been given the all clear in July only to get very ill very quickly and by October was told he had 2 weeks to live.
I’d been making and taking RSO oil for fun more than medicinal purposes but now gave it to my father as a regimen and ended up getting another 3 months with him.
Sadly he passed away. My father lived with me and my partner for the last 3 years of his life and we were his carers til the end. He held our hands as he died.
I wasn’t prepared for what I’d see. Death is fucked up. There’s no passing away peacefully.
I stopped what I was doing and changed career. Got myself a really boring 9-5 where I was my own boss, my partner and I slowly started to get back to being happy. 3 months after my father passed we found out we were having a baby, our first.
But the image of my dad dying stuck with me. I’d be seeing it 60 times a day and that’s not an exaggeration.
I’ve studied psychology to Masters level and understood I was going through the processes of grief but also that I was traumatised. I studied for my first degree in jail so had seen nasty things before but my dad dying was different.
I held off for a while in talking to anyone about it. Mainly as I hated the thought of being on medication. I’m diagnosed as being on the Autistic Spectrum and having ADHD and I’ve never wanted to be numbed by it. My character is my character, I’m not diluting myself for a place in society.
But after 8 months of my fathers passing I called the doctor and told him the situation. I was prescribed with anti-depressants in 2 minutes or so.
I hated them. Especially the stigma of being on them. I felt like I was letting my partner down. We had a baby on the way, I should have been happy. And the fact I kept shitting myself on them didn’t help either.
So. This takes us up to about March 2020. Lol.
I’d passed the tests needed to officially start my job without supervision in the first couple of weeks of March. I used my savings to start my business with a view to start in late March and looked forward to my son arriving (was due 23rd March)
I won’t bore you with the details but long story short my son arrived (best event ever in my life) but lost everything in the pandemic. My landlord saw the spike in house prices once lockdown eased and illegally evicted me and my partner along with our then 6 month old son.
Had to apply for social housing. There was none where I lived so the council moved me 80 miles away to a place I’d never been.
To say I got a bit depressed was an under statement.
My life drastically changed. I stopped going out. I started drinking. Not blind passed out drunk but steady boozing over the evening. I’d never really drank indoors before, was always a rule of mine I’d followed. I didn’t really care by then. ‘Twas a shit rule anyway I told myself.
I knew I didn’t like what I was doing to myself. Then the anger and resentment started.
I felt cheated, cursed. I’d tried to live a normal life and look at what had happened. It was pointless, was my reasoning. I would have been better off still living the pirate lifestyle.
Although the pandemic wasn’t out to specifically target me it bloody felt like it and o just retreated even more into myself.
Again. Trip to the doctors. Told him i was sick of the constant washing of pants and now the anger. I got given different pills that would gladly stop both effects.
And so I entered a year of hibernation. These pills were the nuts. Straight away that mongy feeling of “nothing matters when you’re asleep” took over me and I loved it.
My family didn’t. My friends noticed it. Always sounding like id just got up whenever they called. I had. And only because they had in fact called and interrupted my sleep.
My weight ballooned. I was running 5k a day and only drank water or tea before my son was born. Now I was sleeping all day and drinking all evening with only exercise going to the fridge for more beer.
I done something about it. Cut down on boozing (didn’t give up, I’m not a quitter) started to make myself get up at the same time every morning no matter how tired I was. Started smoking more weed. I’d ignored it, smoking a couple of joints a day but loads of cigarettes. Got out and exercised. Helped around the house. Normal stuff I’d neglected for a year.
I felt better and tried stopping the anti-depressants. Big no no. Have a big fat head fizz and a neck spasm for thinking about it. The physical sides of withdrawal from a “safe and legal” drug were terrible.
So back on the tablets. With a review every 3 months where inevitably my dosage was upped.
I felt like I was stuck in a rut. I held a lot of anger and was starting to see where it came from but couldn’t stop it. I felt hard done by and felt it was normal to get angry, who wouldn’t?
In all the hype of being evicted I’d missed a blood test result which came back a bit dodgy. This was before all of the drinking so was a bit concerning considering the amount of drinking that was to come. It had been nearly 16 months. Plus the tablets. Definite liver fucker combo.
Anyhoo. Another blood test and a rant at the doctors and I was raring to go. Absolutely fine.
But, after my dad, cancer scares the absolute shit out of me. I aimed to give the tablets up. Beer in moderation, weed via a vape, cut tobacco out.
Then one day I came across an article online about the healing power of psilocybin aka magic mushrooms.
Surely not the same spotted devil spawn I’d been warned about all those years?
Well after some trepidatious reading I found out it was indeed. And that maybe I’d been misled about the effects of them?
There were numerous professors and neurologists claiming that psilocybin was the gateway to potentially curing mental health conditions, addictions and other myriad of psychological problems we may face.
Well. If I wanted to sell something I’d tell people that too.
I just couldn’t get my head around it. So I read some more, checked the sources. I started to take on learning about magic mushrooms in a methodical and planned way looking at the history, science and culture surrounding it, what were the counter arguments?
What did a trip feel like? How long would it last? What drugs could I compare it to? What was a microdose?
So after sifting through loads of information over a few months I was completely none the wiser lol. I thought only way to find out is to try them for myself.
I can walk down my local high street and be offered cannabis, coke, meth and/or heroin numerous times in a 200 yard stretch. But never heard of a shroom guy or gal.
Then the botanist in me saw a challenge and potential new hobby so thought why not grow them myself? I’m not likely to try and sell myself some dud mushrooms.
Had a look at the laws after a pal said it’s technically worse than growing bud. Like I said perfectly legal up until 2005 and then BANG class A drug right up there with Heroin, Crystal Meth, Cocaine.
But, gets a bit weird here. Grey area doesn’t even cut it.
.Allowed to have magic mushroom spores, spore prints
.Allowed to prepare mycelium cakes and have pre-made kits containing spores in use
.Allowed to find them by accident (but not allowed to forage with intent) and then eat them fresh
.Not allowed to prepare fresh mushrooms in any way shape or form. This includes putting them in a cupboard for later
.Not allowed to give away, sell or trade dried or fresh mushrooms
With those really confusing rules in my head I was a bit miffed when my parcel sat in customs at the border for a week. Turns out it wasn’t anything to worry about. Just Brexit, the gift that keeps on giving lol.
Going to leave it there for now but will be back. This is honestly the first time I’ve spoke properly since it all happened with my dad and whatnot, getting it out has really helped. I’ve always loved writing and this has been cathartic AF
Thanks for listening
