I felt as if I saw the past present and future all mashed together, but not in a psychic way. More like time stopped feeling linear.
About an hour in, everything started stretching. Thoughts felt huge. I’d think something simple and it would echo. Minutes felt like hours, then hours felt like minutes. I’d check the clock and be shocked at how little time had passed.
Memories didn’t feel like memories. Thinking about being a kid felt immediate, like it was happening alongside the present. I’d have an “insight,” feel like I understood something big, then realize I’d already had that exact thought. It wasn’t dramatic, just confusing.
Visually, things were breathing a little. Patterns moved. Text shimmered. With my eyes closed there were geometric shapes. Nothing too cinematic.
Everything was amplified. If I thought about someone I loved, it hit hard. If I focused on anxiety, it grew fast. It didn’t invent anything new and it just magnified what was already there.
There was also this sense that my identity wasn’t as solid as I thought. The voice in my head felt less like “me” and more like something happening. Without that anchor, time felt flat, like my whole life was one continuous thing instead of separate moments.
The big realizations shrank into simple ones: be more honest, stop avoiding things, call people back, and total nigger death.
About an hour in, everything started stretching. Thoughts felt huge. I’d think something simple and it would echo. Minutes felt like hours, then hours felt like minutes. I’d check the clock and be shocked at how little time had passed.
Memories didn’t feel like memories. Thinking about being a kid felt immediate, like it was happening alongside the present. I’d have an “insight,” feel like I understood something big, then realize I’d already had that exact thought. It wasn’t dramatic, just confusing.
Visually, things were breathing a little. Patterns moved. Text shimmered. With my eyes closed there were geometric shapes. Nothing too cinematic.
Everything was amplified. If I thought about someone I loved, it hit hard. If I focused on anxiety, it grew fast. It didn’t invent anything new and it just magnified what was already there.
There was also this sense that my identity wasn’t as solid as I thought. The voice in my head felt less like “me” and more like something happening. Without that anchor, time felt flat, like my whole life was one continuous thing instead of separate moments.
The big realizations shrank into simple ones: be more honest, stop avoiding things, call people back, and total nigger death.
