One time during my college days I was asked to hold a 1 lb bag of shrooms for a friend, which was indeed an entire garbage bag packed to the brim. My reward was 1 oz from said bag, and for a while I indeed became overly irresponsible with my usage. At one point we even tried to make shroom beer using a beer making kit I got for my birthday. It was awful as the shrooms rot in a particularly foul way, contaminating the beer with stink and making the whole concoction undrinkable.

After a month or so of microdosing before going to work at a psychiatric ward every day, I decided to blend up 7 gs with some orange juice in a blender, as I heard OJ helps to deliver the psilocybin past your blood brain barrier faster. I started painting as was my hobby at the time and for some reason became increasingly agitated, choosing a deep, dark red as my color of choice. My roommate started to freak out at my painting, which made me freak out, and soon after I started having a panic attack.

I called a friend who I knew had been prescribed antipsychotics and insisted he drive 20 miles or so to bring me one so I could get out of my state of panic. Dread closed in around me, my heart was beating super fast, and then I convinced myself I was having a heart attack. Then the strangest thing happened: I died, and everything got better.

It was the second time I had experienced ego death; this time around was massively more unpleasant than the first. Then my friend showed up, delighted that I hadn't done anything (else) incredibly stupid. I asked him if he brought his pills, and he said, "Well that's the whole reason for me coming out here right?" I ended up not taking it as everything turned out to be alright. Still to this day I never tried an antipsychotic, one of the few categories of drugs I've just never touched (along with mood stabilizers).