The End

 I am making the solemn decision to conclude the nervewing project of self-experimentation and documentation of drugs for the indefinite future.

I am more specifically also making a commitment to quitting all use of dissociatives for the foreseeable future. My entire adult life has been defined by the use of drugs, both the use of novel ones and the heavy abuse of dissociatives. It is time to find out who I am beyond that, as that lifestyle simply cannot go on forever.

 

I cannot dedicate the time, energy, or lifestyle to experimenting with novel drugs like I used to. Several classes of drug I used to explore have become completely unmanageable due to side effects that have worsened over my lifetime of heavy abuse. The only ones I felt a drive to explore in depth I developed a challenging addiction to.

The mission truly never ends though. There will never be an end to new drugs hitting the market- new psychedelics have come on the scene like  2C-G-5 or 5F-MET. New benzos like Pynazolam or Clobromazolam. I had long ago established what felt like a sacred obligation to try and document every drug on earth. The fact that I had survived such a battering from so many compounds with such frequency for such a long amount of time just reinforced the feedback loop that this was something I was uniquely suited to do, that I had an obligation to do because others couldn’t. But it feels like the world of novel compounds is starting to leave me behind, and that is okay.

 

When it began, it was a curiosity for what the boundaries of consciousness, and how that related to the structures of these compounds. This soon became a drive to try everything possible, with the aim of finding the most useful or enjoyable ones to use at will to enhance my life. This eventually became a drive to just try everything, to explore every possible altered state of mind available, even ones I knew I probably wouldn’t enjoy or find useful. Trying new drugs felt like I was just running up a high score after a point. I was doing many things once just to add them to the list. I guess I got some sick sort of bragging rights out of it and validation from fellow degenerates. I documented as much as I could, to make it feel useful and productive. At one point in my life nearly all of my drug use was purely novel, experimental, and documented. By now, my primary use and driver was usage was pure recreation.

Things slowed down after a point. I was deeply enmeshed in the ecosystem of online vendors and had pretty much run down each of their inventories to obtain everything possible. Eventually, I felt like there just wasn’t much new left to try.

“And Alexander wept, for there were no more worlds to conquer”

Is a little dramatic. Ultimately there were still worlds to conquer- I never really touched rc opioids, I avoided most empathogens and cathinone-type stimulants, I never touched a single thing in the vast catalogue of synthetic cannabinoids.  But I really wasn’t sure where else to go with it other than wait for people to make new compounds. I wasn’t patient enough for that, and mostly through dumb luck and good connections ended up in the position of being able to design my own drugs and have them materialize in the world. Siring my own compounds into existence seemed like the only direction left to go. I was the first to synthesize, ingest, and document a number of drugs. The conditions of this I will elaborate on later.

It was around this time that I got locked into a daily dissociative addiction, which will also be addressed in detail later. My use was particularly heavy throughout 2023, a year where I notably did not write a single report. I wasn’t exploring novelty in any meaningful way. My notes on new compounds were scarce and useless. I only cared about familiar, recreational comfort. My desire for the novel had mostly waned. I only maybe wanted to explore dissociatives I thought had potential to be added to my regular rotation.

By this point I had also mostly given up on benzos and psychedelics, my other two favorite classes of drug.

My psychedelic experiences nowadays are completely dominated by the bodyload. It becomes the whole and total focus of the experience to the point where I may even fail to notice other effects. While I could report in detail about the immense suffering psychedelics inflict upon my body and that would technically be a data point, I feel like anything  I could report on psychedelics at this point would be more reflective of my personal conditions and not of the drug itself. This bodyload primarily manifests as GI disturbances- extremely painful sharp abdominal cramps, vomiting, diarrhea and general nausea that now persists throughout my life. I liken it to swallowing a thornbush or a ball of barbed wire Chills, intense muscle cramps and tension and headaches- it feels like I have been poisoned. It feels like torture, all the more that the psychedelic headspace has me intensely focus on these sensations. This has gotten progressively worse as I’ve gotten older. I used to use psychedelics every week. Now it is less than 5 times a year typically. I hypothesize that I have hypersensitized the concentrated serotonin receptors in my gut. I have tried just about everything under the sun to mitigate these effects and nothing has worked. I’ve tried every natural remedy, vitamin, over the counter nausea treatment, even some prescription treatments from overseas. I’ve tried very specific diets before psychedelic experiences- all I can do is manage the most intense manifestations of these symptoms but even then they still completely dominate the experience. I miss them, I miss the headspace, but it just doesn’t feel worth it to feel like I am being physically tortured for a few hours. I barely notice visuals or sensory effects anymore. It all feels mild and manageable. I wonder how I could weather an intense experience now, but I doubt my body would come out intact.

Benzos meanwhile have developed their own set of issues as I’ve gotten older. I could once use them very casually, but that is no longer the case- any benzo use has to be something planned and mitigated. While the experience can be fun, I am just absolutely destroyed by a hangover the next day- I am compulsorily depressed, extremely fatigued and lethargic, and in an amnesic state that can persist for days after the dose- amnesic effects even stronger than the peak of the experience. This obviously can be an issue when I live a life that requires me remembering things. I attribute this to some sort of kindling effects from repeatedly walking the razor’s edge of near-physical dependence punctuated with long breaks.

I feel like I summed it up well enough in my 2023 review of my drug usage:

“

For those days I am so fatigued I can’t make it through a day without sleeping multiple times. I am in a state of irrational deep depression, my mood is pinned to the sea floor, every input is cast and tainted with an inescapable dreariness that defies reason or cognition. And I am left in a state of amnesia for days after, even stronger than the amnesia during the fun peak of the experience - this proves to be extremely inconvenient for a job that requires my constant attention and knowledge, for meaningful social interactions or simply for trying to live joyous or pleasant experiences; the color of life fades to nothing. As much as I miss the warm fuzzy nights barred out playing videogames or the hedonistic rage of a pure present euphoria not bound to the strictures of memory or the anxieties of the future, it is objectively for the best that this cannot continue. I will cherish the non-memories forever. 

“

Thus, for the last few years, I was almost exclusively writing reports on novel dissociatives, and as I mentioned before, I mostly pursued the ones that I believed would have some recreational value, ignoring the more experimental compounds I had come upon. Nevertheless, I felt an obligation to at least report on the ones I had invented and had synthesized for me. I had access to this exclusive knowledge and had to share it with humanity. Bold ambitions or whatever. I had to put disclaimers before my reports accounting for my tolerance, advising people to never take the doses I take, giving rough estimates of what doses others should use based on reference points from other compounds. Was this reliable, useful, effective reporting? It seemed as my tolerance climbed, as I became more habituated, as the settings of my life changed, the very nature of these dissociative experiences was changing. I noticed some clear discrepancies in many cases between the experiences I had with certain compounds vs. the experiences others had had. I began to even question the utility of my reporting. Perhaps it is time to call it quits, get my life back in order, pass my legacy on to others.

I want to facilitate others who want to follow in my footsteps. I challenge someone to beat my record for number of detailed reports. We need more data. I want to mentor people who wish to embark on that timeless and bold tradition of self-experimentation, to make sure they don’t fall astray in the way that I did. I want to still write about rare drugs, new drugs, design of drugs. I will never not be interested in drugs. They were so central to my identity for my entire adult life. And they are fascinating. Their allure is immense. I’m still doing them in fact, just not the dissociatives. I want to focus my time on political organizing, which demands a sound mind. I want to be more present for my friends and family and the people I love. I want to dedicate more time to the sciences and science communication. I want to read more, I want to write more, I want to watch more movies, I want to make more art. I want to cultivate a strong, healthy body. I want to write about politics or philosophy or science or global affairs if I actually have anything worth saying in those departments.

Ultimately dissociatives and self experimentation don’t necessarily hold me back from some of these aspirations. They even enhance them in some ways. But vastly detract from them in others that take greater priority. The lifestyle and the pattern of the compulsory daily use in particular had made it difficult to dedicate time or energy to much else. I found myself in a place with dissociatives that I could no longer sustain which was accumulating negative effects at an observably increasing rate. I ultimately was very cognitively addicted to them. How did I let this happen? What led up to this point?  Why did they mean so much to me and draw me in so deeply?

 

It is obvious to everyone in my life that I love dissociatives. I found incredible, life changing revelations and insights in their depths. I had experiences so beautiful that they made me weep. I became confident, arrogant even, and felt less subject to the scourge of deep self-loathing that had stalked my life. I felt more socially capable. They gave me immense meaning and purpose. Became central to my own syncretic mystical practice. They took me to other worlds, flew me through virtual spaces of structures and entities and infinite colorful forms, allowed me to project into an avatar of my making and generate imagery with my mind. There was such a fantastical exploratory element to it, like the distant voyage of the Dawn Treader in The Chronicles of Narnia. Certain ones were cognitive enhancers for me if I hit the right dose- vastly improving my ability to take and synthesize large amounts of information and draw original conclusions. They made me more articulate and better able to simplify complex thoughts. They had such incredible euphoria to them. They helped me focus and be motivated, acted as stimulants without making me anxious, or calmed me down at the end of a night. They could yank me out of a deep depressive episode. They would help me meditate and ground myself during hard times. They helped me process my life and my emotions and make better sense of abstract concepts. They made everything more interesting, more engaging, more fun, even more emotionally resonant. They could do so much, in so many directions, and I delighted in perfecting and optimizing their combinations for specific effects.

They were my favorite drugs to write reports about and I tried just about every single one that was available on the market. I wrote long essays about how to design new ones, I scored a job synthesizing them for a decent salary, I got to be colleagues with some of the greatest dissociative experts in the world, labs sent me many new ones based on my hypotheses, many of which I was the first human to ever ingest or document, and many of which were incredible successes.

Needless to say, giving them up was an extremely difficult decision for me to make. I had beautiful experiences right up until the very end. It was not a decision that I made lightly. This feels like a grave sacrifice that has uprooted my entire life and being. I have spent many years allowing these drugs to become a habituated lifestyle with a wide range of negative consequences that I am only now coming to amend and correct and seek forgiveness for. While I had considered (and attempted!) to give them up many times over the years, their use most recently has become fully unsustainable and destructive, making my commitment to this decision this time around urgent.

I have been shackled in heavy daily addiction to them for 3 1/2 years now, and have to a lesser degree been addicted to them and the lifestyle they engendered for nearly my entire adult life. It is of course, obvious that dissociatives are not the only drugs I use and abuse, but they have taken a central role in my life that other drugs have not and they are the most pressing for me to give up if I seek to have anything resembling a safe and functional life.

 

I had always been curious about the world that dissociatives presented. I had a few abortive experiences with DXM as a teenager. I tried ketamine and loved the physical sensation it gave me, even if I also found it dull at times. I then encountered a little compound called MXE and my world exploded. So this is what dissociatives could be!

Color, depth, intense visuals, inexplicable physical sensations, flares of mania and euphoria, such an intense rush like a powerful wind to the face. A sense of inhabiting a virtual reality or some elaborate fantasy. I soon after met the manic compounds, lovely customers like 3-MeO-PCP, and eventually, greatest of all, 3-MeO-PCE. MXE had just died out and I needed something to fill the gap. 3-MeO-PCP became my go to for social situations. 3-MeO-PCE, however, became something that was revelatory, healing, beautiful and truly profound. While it lacked the weight of MXE, the headspace was similarly bright and insightful.

At this point I was a senior in college, I used dissociatives about once or twice a week. This pattern of use continued for some time, steadily increasing over the years. There were periods of extremely heavy, near daily use punctuated by long breaks. I knew I was walking a fine line. I believed fully that I could stay ahead of it. At this point I was writing a great deal about them, attracting attention and legitimacy. They became a profound part of my life and my identity that my destiny had become tightly interwoven with. They were inescapable. I was them and they were me. I began doing serious academic work involving them, an offer I had received based on my writing and correspondence with the PI of the lab. I developed several new compounds.

Everything was dissociatives. They had seeped into every aspect of my life. I was around them, thinking about them all day at work. I was going home and doing them multiple times a week. I had money to afford great amounts of them and had secured greater contacts in the vendor world. I don’t blame the work for my increased use. I was bound to fall deeper into an obsession with them, lab or not. It felt nice to turn that passion into something productive.

In 2022, one of my closest friends passed away from an overdose. This was devastating. I don’t want to blame them for what followed, they would be similarly devastated to know the path I took after their passing. It’s not their fault. I made the choice to start using every single day after that. At first it felt like I was coping, it was avoidance of grief, even though I was confronting it and weeping to exhaustion almost every night. Perhaps it still isn’t fully processed, in some form I just kept kicking the can down the road. At first I was thinking I wouldn’t use every day, then I would find some excuse to use- “I want to celebrate x, I’m doing x social thing, I need to cope after x bad thing happened, I saw something on twitter that triggered my urges, etc etc”, and eventually I just stopped bothering with the excuses. I use dissociatives every single day, that is my mandate.

Another dear friend passed from an overdose in 2023. At this point I was just already so deep in drug addled despair, and I just stumbled on in a world that felt emptier.

This pattern of use continued for 3 ½ years. There were occasional breaks for travel. We left the country for 3 months and I wasn’t exposed to dissociatives other than nitrous. There weren’t strong cravings- the extreme change of setting probably kept that at bay. But I was always dreaming about using them.

I came home and immediately fell back into the old patterns of use. I fell back into them even worse than before. Once upon a time years ago I only used one dissociative at a time, that was satisfactory. Sometimes I would mix 2 if I felt really spicy. Now an average night involved some cocktail of 5-6 compounds, some mix of several long lasting manic and short acting heavy dissociative and then various depressants like pregabalin, GHB, carisoprodol, or benzos. My short term memory declined rapidly. I was constantly forgetting what I was doing or trying to say. My sleep and appetite became awful and I became physically unhealthy. My manic rantings and compulsion to be alone to do drugs began to wear on my  relationships. I became paranoid and insecure about people I had loved. I began to neglect everything else in my life- employment and career, familial obligations, progressing academically, organizing and volunteering, anything beyond just rote, lonesome hedonism.. I made myself completely nonfunctional at extremely inopportune times and ruined social occasions that I thought I was going to enhance. But it was thrilling, I felt like I was embracing madness and the chaos I loved so dearly. It was what I deserved, for being a shattered raving mind, just a relentless psychic assault that pushed me away from reality. A nonstop barrage of experiences with absolutely 0 time to actually integrate anything. I became isolated, dissociated from others, dissociated from humanity, alone in my solipsistic journey, a mania driven protagonist syndrome.

My spouse particularly became more and more exasperated with my use as they had to bear the brunt of it. I was regularly having “incidents”- where I would fuck up in some major way while on drugs or have a panic attack. I was having these more and more while on drugs. I was having nightmarish stressful experiences where I felt like I had broken reality in an irreparable way, where it felt like it would truly never end, where it felt like malevolent entities were torturing and confining me. I was often combining them benzos and pregabalin, making me all the more chaotic and reckless and impulsive. I was lying to them constantly to preserve my ability to use. I became arrogant and argumentative and short tempered.  I was constantly forgetting obligations and ruining plans with drug use. They were constantly worried I was going to hurt myself in my increasing recklessness, and I did, many times and in severe ways with frustrating repercussions. All of these worries, frustrations, interpersonal issues extended to and were expressed by almost everyone in my life frankly, but no one had to bear witness to it like they did.

And despite it all, I was given the utmost grace and patience, grace and patience I felt like I did not deserve. It was not a fair burden to place on a person who did not sign up to deal with such madness. It wasn’t nearly this bad when we had met. We attempted mitigations- hiding things away where only they could find them or locking them out of my access. This sometimes worked for some time. But eventually, I began to grow restless, my addiction clawed at me and demanded my attention. I eventually found a million ways to sneak around these restrictions- stealthily make online orders, buy things off of rc afficionados that I knew in person, squirrel things away from the times I did occasionally have access for special occasions.

By 2026, I just gave up on mitigation. I just gave myself full unfettered access to my stash. I was stalked by the daily anxiety that I had no money, so many of these drugs were rare, hard to find, or perhaps ones I was the sole possessor of on the planet. So much of what I was using was completely irreplaceable at any point in the near future. There was a clear finite line on this. What would happen if I just continued my addictive habits and then ran out? It was lack of access that gave me some measure of control when I first started this journey. There was also the aforementioned issue of tolerance. My tolerance was steadily climbing, and of course dissociative tolerance doesn’t really go back down. I needed to use more to feel anything, burning through my limited stash even faster. Mentors, friends, loved ones, were all asking me to stop, or signaling their worry while being scared to confront my stubbornness.

Unfortunately, by now my mind was completely habituated to the daily use- at times it felt like I was assaulting my brain when I would use out of compulsion with no clear intention or even desire. It was so exhausting. I couldn’t go on like this. This had to end some way. Would I die, crash on the rocks, ruin myself, martyr myself, or would I choose some terrifying complicated minefield path of a life free from the chaos and the burden of these drugs? I felt like I would rather die than quit.

Tolerance not only climbed but would unpredictably fluctuate, sometimes just from a difficult forced day of cessation, and it would be wildly different between specific compounds. I took advantage of this by regularly rotating the ones I used and trying not to use the same ones on consecutive days. Nevertheless, it was still challenging to predict the dose I would need for a specific situation, and I frustratingly often over- or undershot it. The very nature of experiences began to change towards the end, with many familiar compounds I had loved just making me anxious and paranoid. There were clearly just diminishing returns now but I was trapped in the habit and the life and I could still occasionally coax out a revelatory and magical experience.

It was around this time I was heavily using one particular compound, FXiPr. Ironically, it was my meditations on this compound that let me come to terms with the fact that I had no choice but to stop soon. I could analyze in detail the different aspects and ramifications of that process an try to prepare myself for the jump. It helped me find peace and calm during a very stressful and tumultuous time in my life (outside of the drug use- I had a lot going on!) and helped me truly make sense of the dialectical method which has been instrumental to my political life and mental health. I don’t think I have found any drug more grounding and therapeutic other than 3-MeO-PCE. It is becoming more and more difficult to find but I am grateful for the time we spent together.

I decided and declared I was going to use the rest of what I had, replenish nothing, and then quit. There was simply no choice but for others in my life to agree with the method, at this point I was too persistent, too sneaky, and would do everything to ensure my use continued. And I did burn my last stocks of many things. There are unfortunately, some novel compounds that are now effectively “extinct in the wild”- ones that only exist as my initial analytical synthesis for my old job. The test batches I received have been completely consumed. I feel awful because I hadn’t fully characterized one of these compounds, and now it’s gone forever, no one can try it now. For others, I can no longer share test samples with other explorers because of my selfish demand to binge them to death. Shameful.

I began treatment at a substance abuse program. I made this choice completely on my own, but it felt like madness to me. The demon of the addiction that refused to be contained lashed out; I felt so distressed and conflicted about this that I horrendously mutilated myself. Never a clearer sign that my life had spun completely out of control.

I just abused insanely heavily at this point, total reckless abandon. “Incidents” began to rack up faster and faster, I became more manic than I ever had in my life, regularly harassing people late at night with my latest absolutely delusional brilliant idea. I felt like a prophet, I felt like I was going to change the course of history, I felt like I was going to be some kind of countercultural icon, a revolutionary, I felt chosen by divine force. It was extremely dangerous territory where I could’ve acted extremely rashly. I took measures to mitigate the mania but mania is a tricky beast and these often failed.

After one more disastrous nonfunctional manic experience, I made the decision that this couldn’t go on. I culminated my love affair with a series of highly intentional experiences. They were some of the most beautiful in my entire life. And then I stopped.

I spent weeks trying to prepare for the inevitable crash from the mania, but it did little. It felt like a breakup. I felt teary when I remembered the beautiful times I had with dissociatives, right up until the very end. How much meaning and purpose, and just entertainment they gave me. Everything felt so boring now. Everything in my life incorporated dissociatives- from painting miniatures, to making art, to playing video games, to reading the news, to watching movies, to sex and cooking and reading books and doomscrolling and so on and so forth. It was inescapable. It felt like my roots were ripped out. I feel directionless and aimless. The manic aspirations I had been focusing my life force around over the last few months quickly rotted and collapsed away, leaving me humbled and with nothing. I wasn’t cut out for the life of glory that my manic self dreamed of. That world was only possible with a constant injection of artificial manic energy, the kind that was completely unsustainable and would undeniably bring me to some kind of ruin. I was just a stupid little drug addict again, with only things of very niche importance to say. I had to accept that my life would become necessarily slower, more boring, sadder, more solemn and austere. That I wouldn’t accomplish as much anymore. I have found it hard to find levity when I am sober.

I still use Pregabalin and it half fills the niche dissociatives used to, but I have to very carefully moderate that use so it doesn’t become a physical dependance. Walking another razor’s edge. For the 3^rd or so time in my life? We will see how It ends. The Pregabalin makes me annoying towards others but at least it wasn’t destructive like dissociatives were. I still use cannabis daily, it’s just habitually ingrained in my life in a way that isn’t particularly intrusive. It does tend to make me a lot more anxious since I quit dissociatives. Sometimes I’ll take 7-OH-Mitragynine, but it also leaves me pretty hungover the next day. I still take other GABAergics occasionally, like Alcohol, Carisoprodol, and 1,4-BDO/GBL. I’ll still take acid every bicycle day, as I have for an unbroken 11 year streak now.

I miss them so much. But I simply have no choice. Sometimes that’s just how it works I suppose. I am eating more and sleeping better sometimes. I am constantly exhausted- they doubled as stimulants often. I am not embarrassing myself to others as much. I am more present socially, maybe. I am not antsy to leave social situations to go home and use drugs alone as much. I guess that’s good for relationships.

 

What negative effects have drugs given me in the long term?

-Perpetual poor appetite, weight loss and muscle weakness and fatigue

-Terrible insomnia, both from abusing stimulating dissociatives and as a permanent effect from the brief time I was physically dependent on benzodiazepines. I cannot sleep normally in a bed without medications. Corresponding sleep deprivation symptoms.

-Persistent nausea from abusing psychedelics on a weekly basis

-Dissociation from people around me, becoming less receptive to people’s emotions and needs, self-imposed social isolation

-Occasional bladder problems

-Short term memory loss, difficulty with word recall

-Low resolution recording of long term memories

-Persistent paranoia and anxiety during periods of daily use

 

This feels like such a weird turning point in my life. This blog and the accompanying use of drugs was so much of my purpose. I am tearing it out, leaving only a skeleton crew vestige behind to keep the lights on. I feel empty. It feels like a part of me is missing. I feel like I got dumped from a mutually toxic relationship, but one that was comfortable and familiar and not always so full of strife for a good 13 years. I’ll miss them. I really miss them. My willpower is so weak that I must be physically limited from relapsing and it feels like my brain is screaming. I feel slow, stupid, I can’t focus on anything, I am tired and lethargic and just so bored and depressed. The color is drained from everything, nothing feels fun, I have no desire to do anything, nothing seems like it will ever feel good again. I am frankly quite miserable.

But I have to.

 

I want to thank everyone who has given me such kind words and support over the years. The people who have helped me learn how to write better, my mentors, on the internet and in academia, all of the dear friends and the lovely vendors and chemists I’ve met along the way, and all of my friends and fellow experimenters, so many wonderful people I’ve discovered from around the world from doing this! I am grateful for the communities that have taken me in, bluelight, reddit, especially r/researchchemicals, myriad servers and chats.  I am grateful for the immense opportunities I have been afforded to be able to embark on this project. I am grateful for everyone who gave me a little something and helped me find a rare something. I want to honor the many fallen vendors and markets, the memory of silk road.

I want to honor all of my friends who didn’t make it. This is dedicated to all of you, SM, K, RT, GG, TP, OH, AB, RS, who touched my life and touched directly on this journey in so many ways you couldn’t imagine. I think about so many of you all the time, I keep thinking about the last times I saw you. I hope I am doing all of you proud.

I want to thank the erowid project. I really want to thank sci-hub. I want to thank the Shulgins, for being the shoulders we all stand on. I am so blessed to have visited your farm.

I want to thank my mental health and substance abuse therapists and specialists, who have been instrumental in helping me navigate this immense task. It genuinely has helped so much, I couldn’t do it alone. I want to thank everyone in my real life who was on this journey with me, from the colleagues and collaborators to the friends I corrupted into the wild world of letter and number drugs, who appear in so many early reports. I hope what I have created can be something others are thankful for one day. I hope this can be a legacy that has some sort of positive impact on the world, no matter how small. To make drugs seem as complex and strange and immense and bristling with potential as they truly are. To map out a road for the truly curious to delve deeper into the shadowy forest at the bounds of human knowledge.

 

This blog will remain open and fully accessible for posterity. I am looking into getting mirrors of it made.

I will probably not post any more reports (I can never say never) but I am ceasing all use of dissociatives experimental or otherwise.

If I can muster up the motivation I plan to revise my SAR drug design flowcharts and write more articles about obscure drugs.

I wasn’t kidding when I said I wanted to write more about things like politics, global affairs, philosophy etc. to that end I have made a substack. I don’t know if it will be very active. That felt like a much more useful idea when I was manic. This blog however, will be the space in which I continue to share any writing related to drugs.

Otherwise I will still be active on reddit and twitter.

My final stats are: 174 reports, accounting for 161 compounds in detail, with 253 compounds ingested so far over my lifetime.