r/TripReportsTFTT

In my personal opinion, although I've been in a multitude of county jails, rehabs and AA meetings, I am the worst drug addict I know. Whether it's been cocaine, crack or opiates, when I'm using it's beyond a full-time job. It's an around the clock nightmare that consumes every particle of my being. I started getting high like most people do. Smoking weed and occasionally tripping on acid or shrooms as a teenager.

I was rebellious, I cut School, I hung out with the weird kids but I wasn't entirely one dimensional. I had interests. I always liked to read, write, see live music and so on. It took me until about my mid twenties until drugs really got their fangs into me. By 21 I lied, cheated and stole in order to get money for coke. By 25 Coke wasn't cutting it anymore so I progressed to crack By 30 I stumbled upon opiates and they became more important than anything else.

I had periods of sobriety where I would embark upon a very successful venture with extraordinary determination. Sometimes I think it's a type of determination that only an addict is capable of. When I was working in entertainment I chased each achievement like it was my next line of coke or hit off the foil. I performed publicly six or seven nights a week, often two shows a night. Unfortunately, I use the word working very loosely because being a live entertainer in Hollywood doesn't pay very well unless you're a household name which I definitely wasn't. When I was on stage I typically wouldn't use anything more than a little bit of alcohol or maybe a Klonopin or two. Of course towards the end that changed.

After 3 or 4 years I managed to find some regular connections that would bring strong painkillers to the shows that I hosted and performed at. Unbeknownst to me, opiates, at least for the type of opiate user that I am, demolish all creativity and motivation. Of course, unless it's the motivation to get more opiates or the creativity it takes to convince a drug dealer to give you pills when you don't have a dime to your name.

I spent about 7 years in and out of opiate and benzo withdrawal. My limited finances acted as a bit of a governor when it came to how dangerous my addiction could get... I was almost always completely broke so outside of getting a doctor or two to prescribe me some pills, I rarely had money to spend on A fistful of street drugs. If I had money at that time I'm sure that I would be in a coffin right now rather than writing this.

In 2018, I encountered some real consequences. My girlfriend left me, I lost my apartment and I wound up on the street. This was a tremendous wake up call. I could deal with being a strung out, dirty, dope sick drug addict but I couldn't deal with the existential terror of wandering the streets of Los Angeles riddled with solitude and despair void of any hope or companionship.

Being that I had run out of options I made an attempt to pull it together. I borrowed a few hundred bucks from someone and got into the cheapest sober living I could find in the San Fernando valley. It had bed bugs and bunk beds but it was better than the street. I eventually got a part-time job, saved $1000 or so and got myself into a slightly better sober living.

In a moment of clarity it occurred to me that a few of the dropouts and burnouts that I used to get high with managed to get decent jobs in the financial sector where you could earn six figures without any degree or licensing. This is what I would do. I would exaggerate or outright lie on my resume, get a decent suit at the thrift shop and set up dozens of interviews until I could hoodwink some hiring manager into thinking that I knew what the fuck I was talking about.

It turns out that most of these investment firms don't pay a salary, they only pay commission so if you can form a coherent sentence in the English language, odds are is that they'll hire you because what do they have to lose? If you make money great, if you don't they didn't lose anything because they were paying you $0 an hour to be there. I took a chance with a smaller company because my office had a panoramic view of the Pacific Ocean. I immediately made it a point to start hanging out with the top broker in the room. I committed to memory everything he said to potential clients on the phone. This was not a face-to-face sales job, all of the business was done over the phone and I liked that. The prospect had no idea that they were considering investing a million dollars with some inexperienced drug addict wearing jeans and a $7 Target shirt.

Since I had some experience in entertainment I approached it like I was studying a character that I wanted to become. I took the things that I learned from the top couple of guys at the company, put my own slant on it and turned it into a boisterous, flamboyant but articulate and well rehearsed sales pitch. Because so much communication is physical, I compensated for that by creating colorful metaphors and visual explanations that would impress upon my prospect a sort of theater of the mind where he or she could feel like something exciting was going to happen. It wasn't a logical process.

I was cultivating an emotional experience that could make a person temporarily suspend all reason and commit to turning over large sums of money by the end of a 15 minute conversation. At the end of my first month I made $20,000 After my second month I made closer to $50,000. I continued to rise through the ranks, outperforming brokers with years and years of experience month in month out. At about the 6th month mark, since I was still living in a relatively gross sober living an hour and a half away from the office, the number one broker that I learned so much from early on suggested that we get a two-bedroom apartment down the block from the office to make both of our commutes a little bit easier. It was a beautiful $8,000 a month furnished condo close to the beach in Santa Monica .

I've never made this kind of money and I never lived in a place this nice. Everything was nearly perfect except for a rapidly progressing oxycodone dependency coupled with the occasional Xanax for sleep. Although we weren't ripping people off the way Jordan Belfort was in The Wolf of Wall Street, the lifestyle: the drugs, the women,the adrenaline-fueled mania of our chosen vocation, was definitely similar.

The size of my commission checks was increasing but so was the cost of my habits. My mentor/roommate, who had struggled with addiction years ago himself, would frequently attempt to get me back on track by sharing a cautionary tale from his past. He was always vague and cryptic when he talked about his drug history but he assured me that it got very dark and that with the kind of money that we were making my downward spiral would not be pretty. He said that he had seen it happen to wildly successful brokers over and over again and that if I didn't watch out it was going to happen to me.

Needless to say, I never perceived any of these cautionary tales as coming from a friend who just wanted me to be okay. It usually just felt like some salesman vomiting his ego all over me, telling me about the celebrities he partied with while making a brief mention about wanting me to get my shit together because it was getting embarrassing. So I ignored it. In retrospect I realize I was so caught up in the way that the message was delivered and who was delivering it that I missed the point entirely.

During covid, the drugs seemed to get stronger and far more addictive. The withdrawal was hell. The oxys had fentanyl in them. The Xanax had fentanyl in them. It got so bad that one day I reached out to a contact with some very pure heroin and it didn't even get me out of withdrawal. I had a several hundred dollar a day habit. It took me a dozen or so pills just to get out of the house in the morning to go to the office.

I blacked out constantly and people at work started to notice that I had changed. I would fall asleep for a few seconds at a time while at my desk. I would go out for a smoke break and be gone for an hour. Clients would call in all day and reach my voicemail. I would almost never miss work but there were days that I was sent home because I was in such rough shape. This can be a forgiving field if you're talented and making money for the company. If you were caught getting high on hard drugs in your car or in the bathroom there weren't really any consequences as long as you had deals on the board.

There was almost an old school pre-rehab culture at the company when it came to addiction. Just wake up, go to work, be a man and handle your shit. No one wants to hear your problems so just deal with them. I appreciated that because I certainly didn't want to hear anyone's problems and I didn't want anyone asking me about mine. I just wanted to work and be left alone. I would eventually take some time off and go to some rehab in Malibu with equine therapy and juice cleanses. I would be fine. I had good insurance and money in the Bank and I would deal with my shit eventually. I would just take an Adderall, wake up a little bit, close this next deal and everything would be cool for the time being.

But things were not cool for very long. This lifestyle was not sustainable for me. If I had a never-ending supply of opiates and benzos when I needed them perhaps I might have been able to sustain things a bit better or for a bit longer but that was not the case. Eventually, I crossed the threshold of spending more than I was making. Deals were falling through, management was giving preferential treatment to the brokers who were not strung out (imagine that) and there were many times that I was in full-blown and nightmarish withdrawal in work. One of the more repulsive and pressing issues was the condition of my bathroom at the apartment.

As many people know, opiates constipate you. But not forever. After 4 or 5 days without relief, it is entirely capable of desecrating the toilet with a massive elephant sized shit that is guaranteed to clog even the most efficient plumbing system. Over the course of a 2-month period I spent the majority of my free time, which was minimal in the first place due to constantly seeking out my next fix, tending to the worsening disaster that was my toilet bowl. It was in a complete state of disrepair. Past the point of plunging, I purchased multiple plumbing devices.. manual and electric snakes for example to unclog the drain. If by chance one of these devices did the trick, it was always temporary. Three or four days later the toilet was completely backed up again. After enough times of this happening the only feasible option was to use hefty bags to discard my waste out of the toilet and into buckets, then disposing of them in the dumpster behind our building. A putrid odor wafted from the restroom and unrecognizable insect species were becoming attracted to this accumulation of vile bodily functions; vomit, urine and feces.

Although we each had our own restroom the pungent stench of mine was too much for my roommate, not to mention being thoroughly fed up with the other byproducts of my worsening condition coupled with a recent reemergence of his own substance use, so he decided to move out.

Having the place to myself led to the obvious outcome: it became a dirty, cluttered drug den. The money was quickly running out as was the patience of my managers at the office. They cut me a check for about 15,000 and sent me packing. As costly as my habit had become, it didn't take very long for me to blow through the 15K.

I stayed in a couple of hotels and airbnbs over the course of a few weeks as my habit spiraled even more out of control than it had previously been. I was more of a mess than ever. Copping drugs on skid row, stopped and questioned by the cops multiple times. Losing wads of cash that I stashed here and there. It became a living nightmare. But one morning the nightmare hit a fever pitch. My weekly rent was due at the Airbnb I had moved into and I didn't have the money to pay for another week. With all the moving that I had done in the past couple of years, I knew enough to know to travel light. I packed two suitcases and left. I had no plan in place and I was becoming increasingly dope sick. The stiflingly hot California Sun was blinding me and scorching my skin while my bones and blood became increasingly frigid. My physical withdrawals always start in the knees with radiating pain that slowly intensifies into full body bone crunching agony.

Everything was gone. Again. I guess my saving Grace was to know that I've come back from this predicament before. I didn't know how I would get myself out of it but I knew that eventually I would figure something out. A voice in my head told me that I needed the consequence of a couple of nights out on the street in order to achieve the appropriate rock bottom that I was long overdue for. What I was not prepared for was the delusional, delirious and psychotic break from reality that would ensue as I quit a $3-400 a day opiate/benzo habit cold turkey. Obviously, I should have seen this coming but I was not exactly playing with a full deck at this point.

Soon after finding a shaded and somewhat isolated street corner what ensued was an agonizing physical and psychological terror that words could never do justice. I lost touch with reality. Every square inch of my body ached then burned then ached again. I would fall in and out of consciousness as my mind and body was repeatedly transported from one morbid scenario to the next. No part of me knew that I was delusional. I believed with every ounce of my being that the hellish world I was trapped in was real. I was convinced that the local homeless population had organized to stalk and ultimately kill me. In one dream state my body was made of ice and as I died my skin and blood melted into ice cube trays in order to recycle the remaining narcotic residue in my system to be dispensed to others in need of a cheap fix.

I saw a catastrophic explosions in the sky that were beyond terrifying. Junkies on every corner were overdosing as I attempted to revive them with my imaginary supply of narcan. I produced and starred in my own big budget drug themed conspiracy movie that was clearly influenced by my favorite directors, namely Kubrick, Scorsese and Oliver Stone. For what felt like a week Joe pesci, Robert de Niro and I attempted to unearth the connection between the CIA and the massive influx of fentanyl that was flooding the streets of every American city. That part was actually pretty awesome. I should write it out someday.

This was the only time in my life that the line between reality and fantasy had ever been blurred. I've taken hallucinogens before but I always knew I was tripping. This time I believed that what was happening was entirely real. In fact, it felt more real than anything I've ever experienced. Through a confluence of miracles I was found on the streets of Santa Monica and checked into rehab by a concerned acquaintance. He was a guy who has helped out many of my former coworkers to get sober.

The rehab was absolute garbage. No scenic views, smoothies or equine therapy. It was basically county jail with a few mandatory groups a day. But it was the bottom that I needed and it had provided the time away from my drug connections necessary to achieve some clarity and decide that it was time to choose life or death. After completing my drug program, I heard that my former mentor and roommate had overdosed and died. After we went our separate ways he started hanging out with some hardcore opiate addicts at the new company he was working for and it didn't take long for him to get his hands on some shit that I assume was way too much for his minimal tolerance since he was in the early days of his relapse.

This was 5 years ago. With the exception of a relatively brief relapse I have remained sober, in therapy, housed, healthy and in AA. I now speak to residents in various rehabs about what I've achieved in my sobriety and offer my assistance if they are willing to pursue recovery once they complete their time at the program. I often find sobriety and being an upstanding member of society incredibly boring but I've determined that it's the lesser of two evils. Not knowing if I'll live through the next 24 hours is no longer something I am okay with.

I have embraced the concept of delayed gratification rather than the instantaneous pleasure of chemicals with hell to pay after that initial fix.

I've read these types of drug stories on the internet and many people finish them by stating that no one should ever try this substance which the author was horribly addicted to. I think that statement is empty and pointless. Humans have always sought relief in the form of various substances and I'm fairly certain that they will continue to. I honestly believe that only through thorough self-examination and introspection, rather than somebody's cliche " just say no" horseshit will the addict eventually decide that they've had enough and that they just don't hate themselves enough anymore to withstand the awful cost of severe addiction.

I’ve always been fascinated by opioids because I already had experience with a wide variety of other drugs: amphetamines, benzodiazepines, psychedelics, and others. They all had their own distinct kind of euphoria and mental state, but opioids were always the one category I never truly got to experience, which made me intensely curious about how they compared to everything else I’d tried.

Over the last couple of months, that curiosity slowly grew stronger and stronger. I found myself researching oxycodone obsessively: reading trip reports, learning about dosing, onset, nodding, routes of administration, food interactions, and the way people described opioid euphoria online almost like some mythical experience. Eventually I decided to order an Oxydolor 80 mg XR pill from an online source so I could finally understand for myself what opioids actually felt like.

Years ago I had tried codeine and tramadol multiple times, sometimes doses as high as 800 mg without any tolerance, but never combined together. Even at those doses, I never really experienced any mental effects besides nausea and itchiness, which made me suspect I might be a CYP2D6 poor metabolizer. Because of that, I became even more curious whether oxycodone would finally let me understand the “opioid euphoria” people always describe online.

After days of researching and building anticipation, I finally decided to try it.

Drug: Oxydolor 80 mg, in original blister pack
Date: May 15
Route: Intranasal first, later oral
Tolerance: None
Estimated total dose: ~40 mg
Setting: At home, short walk outside, talking to friends online throughout the experience

Before taking anything, I popped the pill out of the blister and weighed it. The entire pill weighed around 300 mg because of all the fillers even though the actual oxycodone content was only 80 mg. Since I wanted to measure the dose somewhat accurately, I used ChatGPT to calculate how much powder I’d need in order to get roughly 16 mg of oxycodone.

I carefully rubbed off the coating from the pill and crushed it down into a very fine white powder. I started by snorting around 16 mg because I kept reading people say it gives a faster, stronger rush. One thing that immediately surprised me was how smooth it felt in my nose. Compared to other substances I’ve snorted before, it didn’t feel caustic at all. I waited around 15 minutes and didn’t feel anything, so I snorted another ~15 mg.

During the first 10–20 minutes after the second line, the effects were still very mild, mostly relaxation and slight sleepiness rather than euphoria. When I lay in bed I felt tired, but when I got up and walked around I actually felt slightly stimulated.

At first I genuinely thought maybe I hadn’t snorted it correctly because I still wasn’t feeling what people described online. I remember repeatedly messaging my friend saying I didn’t really feel much. I kept reading Reddit and forum posts during the experience and eventually found one claiming oxycodone with a high-fat meal can significantly potentiate the effects. So I made myself two poached eggs alongside an avocado mixed with olive oil and a piece of buttered toast, then took a couple fish oil pills afterward before redosing another ~10 mg orally.

Around that point I video called a friend and walked to a gas station to buy a vape because I had also heard nicotine can potentiate opioids. While talking to my friend I noticed myself becoming sillier and more talkative, though still not euphoric in the way I expected. He was teasing me over text by jokingly calling me a junkie while I was video calling him and walking around outside, and for some reason I found it unusually funny and amusing in the moment.

As time went on and I got back home, the sedation slowly became much heavier and I also started feeling some mild nausea building in the background. Eventually I felt so sleepy that I lay down in bed, plugged in my earphones, and started listening to a playlist called Marcy Playground. Within seconds I started nodding off extremely hard.

The whole experience became very strange and dream-like. It felt like the music itself was shaping the imagery and dreams I was slipping into. The best way I can describe it is that I was simultaneously aware of my physical body lying in bed while also feeling mentally immersed inside these vivid dream sequences. It almost felt like I existed in both places at once. Sometimes I would feel like something happening inside the dream was physically touching me in real life, which made the whole experience feel surreal and difficult to explain.

Honestly, it sounds like a classic opioid nod when I describe it like that, but I still can’t say I was feeling overwhelming euphoria or pleasure. It was mildly pleasant in a strange way, but more weird and surreal than truly euphoric.

Typing became genuinely difficult and later almost incoherent. My speech started doing the same thing. I could barely keep my eyes open for more than a few seconds before drifting back into those dream-like states again.

The dreams themselves were honestly one of the weirdest parts of the experience. They felt vivid and random, almost like my brain was generating images or short dream sequences in real time. It reminded me of lucid dreaming because I was partially aware and could interact with the thoughts and imagery while still technically awake. I could snap out of it whenever I wanted, but if I relaxed again I’d immediately drift right back into it.

Before trying oxycodone I had heard people describe nodding as feeling like “an orgasm times ten” or like “being wrapped in a warm blanket by an angel.” Some people online made it sound like the most euphoric feeling imaginable, something so overwhelmingly pleasurable that nothing else compares.

But honestly, I didn’t really feel that at all.

I wouldn’t describe the experience as euphoric so much as intensely sedating and mentally numbing. It definitely made all my problems feel temporarily irrelevant, but benzodiazepines and alcohol can honestly do that too for me. Alcohol actually feels far more euphoric and emotionally pleasant in my experience, and I’m not even a huge alcohol person.

The physical sedation became intense enough that I started feeling cold and shaky, so I turned on my radiator. I was also mildly nauseous throughout the experience. At one point I tried hitting my vape again and it immediately made the nausea noticeably worse, so I stopped using it entirely after that.

Another weird part was that I became hyperaware of my breathing. I kept consciously taking deep breaths because I was worried that if I relaxed too much my breathing would slow down. At one point I ended up puking because of the nausea and overall body sensation. I don’t know if the breathing thing is a common opioid experience or if I was just overthinking it.

I nodded for around two hours total and the entire experience lasted maybe 5.5 hours. After I started coming down, I puked two more times before finally trying to sleep.

Even while trying to fall asleep, I kept having visual imagery similar to the nodding state. Even though most of the actual effects had worn off, every time I closed my eyes it almost felt like a very mild version of the nod was still happening in the background. I would start drifting into random visual scenes and dream-like imagery almost immediately after closing my eyes.

My sleep that night was also surprisingly bad. I woke up around 15 times throughout the night even though I still slept around 7.5 hours total. Normally, without drugs, I sleep pretty well and rarely wake up much during the night. Weirdly enough, almost every drug seems to negatively affect my sleep quality, even benzodiazepines or hypnotics. For some reason I consistently sleep worse on substances than I do naturally.

Overall, the experience was honestly disappointing compared to the massive hype surrounding oxycodone online. No overwhelming euphoria, no heavenly warmth, nothing life-changing, mostly just heavy sedation, weird lucid-dream-like nodding, nausea, and mental numbing. I’d rate it maybe a 5.5/10.

By the end of the night I had honestly lost most of my interest in oxycodone entirely. It felt nothing like the euphoric fantasy I expected after reading so many stories online. I still have 40 mg left, and I figure I’ll probably use a few smaller oral doses eventually because it oddly felt a little stimulating while moving around, and I feel like it could potentially help me stay productive during some day-to-day tasks. But overall, the experience itself didn’t leave me wanting more nearly as much as I expected.

Im 18 years old and pretty experienced with psychedelics but not as much with stimulants. I ended up having the worst trip of my life an absolute nightmare experience that I absolutely regret. If anyone would read this upvote it or let me know and I'll post my full trip report I just don't want to leave an entree nobody would be interested in.

Please, for the sake of God, don’t experiment with nitrous. And if you do, never do it while driving. Im the most stupid example of why this is such a horrible idea.

Im a 20 year old male living in germany. Right now im in my exam phase. My life has been quite good for a while now. I‘ve been making good money and looking forwards to studying computer science at a college.

Since a few months, a few friends and I have started experimenting with different substances.

Everything began with weed. We’ve had our fun going through the city at night with a joint, a few weeks later we even bought our first bong. We were really having fun, doing multiple hits at random places. I even felt like the amount of weed we consumed was still manageable for me to keep my life in order.

As time passed, the weed was getting boring. We wanted to experience new things.
A friend of mine told me that his plug got some micro lsd left, and he wanted to sell them.
We watched multiple videos about acid and how wild you could trip on it. So we bought 250ug of these pills.
A friend of mine, lets just call him L, was the one tripping with me. On a sunny day, we swallowed all of them. I did 90ug and he did 160.
We didn’t seem to notice and effects even after multiple hours, so we just assumed we got scammed.

A few weeks later, a friend of mine told me you could buy nitrous oxide at some small place in the City. I was instantly fascinated by this. I always wanted to try nitrous, so i went ahead and bought a 700g tank and some ballons.
We emptied the whole bottle that day within a few hours.

My friend L was getting tired of all those substances, he wanted to do a break. I agreed, until i found out you could buy these little whipped cream canisters in almost every supermarket. I bought the canister made for spraying whipped cream, and a box of 10 small 8g whippets. As soon as i went back into my car, i assembled everything. I took a first hit and instantly recognised the feeling. The little sweetness of the nitrous, and the effects that started to kick in. The strongest effect i had when consuming nitrous was the echo. Literally everything, every little sound had a super loud echo. My friend L didn’t like it, he said it was overstimulating for him.
I liked all the effects, it was like a different world to me, it even calmed me a bit.

It was my dad‘s birthday, so i decided to come over and drink a few glasses of wine. We had fun talking about everything going on right now.
On that evening, i also had a date planned with a girl i was meeting for a while now.
As i was driving, i thought maybe the nitrous and alcohol would calm me down a little bit, make me a little less nervous. I decided to take a few hits of the nitrous… bad idea. I can’t remember how many hits i did. I can only remember the last one.

When you inhale nitrous, youre supposed to hold your breath for ten seconds. When i took my last hit, i did exactly that. Then i blacked out, to this day i still can’t remember what happend during those few seconds. When i woke up again, i was extremely confused, my car was rotated sideways on the track. For whatever reason, i grabbed my lighter and got out of m car to see what happened.
There where 3-4 people there telling me to sit down immediately. I sat down and looked at my car, then I realised what had actually happened.

The whole front of my car was completely fucked up, the left tire seemed to have exploded or something, the wheel joints had been completely bended. After that my thoughts started rushing in my mind. „Fuck, they’re going to call the police“. I got back into my car, in a poorly attempt to hide the tank of nitrous, i pushed it under the front right seat. I cant imagine what the other people on the outside where thinking. When I got back outside, they handed me a bottle of water, telling me to sit still and not move my neck. This was the point where I saw what I crashed into, it was another parked car (thank god).
The other car was also completely fucked up.
It felt like a few seconds until the ambulance and police arrived.
The medics instantly rushed to me, one of them was holding my head tightly and the other one was pressing at different spots on my body asking me questions „Do you feel any pain here?“.
I didn’t seem to have any injuries. They still proceeded to put me into the ambulance truck, putting on a full ECG on my body.

A few minutes later, a police lady entered the truck. She began asking me questions about the whole accident, „What do you remember?“ „Why didn’t you see the other car?“.
I answered all of her questions, of course not telling her I inhaled nitrous. I told her „I really don’t know, i just blacked out for some reason“.
Of course, she proceeded to do an alcohol test. I had 0.36 per mille in my system.
In germany, we have a trial rule. When you complete your drivers license, you get a 2 year trial time. If you fuck up during that time, you’re gonna get punished more than a normal driver.
The truck drove to the nearest hospital, they proceeded to do some checks and a few hours later the police showed up again. They wanted to collect a blood sample for a more precise alcohol test.
After everything was done, I was let out of the Hospital.

Im still waiting for the next steps. If im lucky, im going to get my license back next week, if not, im gonna get it revoked for a few months.

Im disgusted by drugs when I think about them now. Im even more disgusted by my own behaviour. I was completely retarded. It could have ended worse, I could have killed somebody or myself.
Please take me as an example.