Walking into my house at 8:30 PM, I am overcome with emotion. Seeing the chair where, just hours earlier, I was reborn as a human, rising from amidst the smoke and empty bags of fast-food, victorious.
Experiencing Psylocibin mushrooms is like taking your entire life and throwing it against a wall to see what sticks. Lost in a head trip, the idea of sobriety itself loses meaning. Dazed, confused and seeing crazy shapes, all reason is abandoned. You don't know what to do. Should I sit here? Should I move? Should I talk to someone? What should I say?
Your rationale becomes your only hope of escape from the trip. Think, you say to yourself, think before you do anything. Building your values and principles back up from nothing, the things that are really important in your life become apparent; the rest fades to black. You reassess everything.
"I exist," I whisper to myself, "I don't know much, but I know I exist." Feeling the "lub-dub" pulsations in your chest, feeling your lungs expand and contract, feeling alive. Indeed, I do exist.
At the end of the day, I feel much better. A sense of understanding and peacefulness washes over the living room. I will go to class today, because I want to be a doctor. Because I want to be a doctor, class has value. I want to be a doctor because one day I will die, and when that day comes, I want to feel like my life had some kind of impact. I want to know my existence wasn't just some fluke of nature, or some kind of divine, transcendental reality show to determine whether I go to heaven or hell. I don't know if there is a God or not, but I do know that I exist. That is enough for me.