Exoddity t1_jabu9pf wrote

The arrogance and conceit to think nothing is good or wise unless accompanied by the transubstantiation of water to wine or some other such bullshit.

How much does it say about your beliefs that the only thing shackling you to them seems to be its supposed tie to divinity, or fear of some eternal torment?


Exoddity t1_j5dp8bg wrote

type 2 here. When I'm on mushrooms, I'm relaxed. Everything I do is more focused, more deliberate, and with greater ease. I'm more creative, I'm more sociable, and generally at my best with regard to everything I do. The world around me seems more vibrant, less depressing, and you would not ever think for a second that I'm "on" something, other than noting how at ease I am compared to normal, if you know me.

The only problem is it's not the kind of drug you can just take all the time. I relegate myself to once every couple months, in order to get the most from the experience. I've been growing my own for the last 13 years or so and have never had a single bad experience with them. But I also have a rule against sharing psychoactive / hallucinogenics with other people because you never know how they're going to react. It's definitely not something I'd recommend to some one who isn't somewhat grounded as a person. If you're given to notions of the supernatural, without understanding (to the best you can, currently) the science behind what's going on with your brain when you take them, I think you're going to have a bad time.


Exoddity t1_is3j8s7 wrote

I was in Wales a few years back and my appendix decided it was time to explode. It took 6 hours to get an ambulance (and no cabs around due to it being halloween) and then an additional 6 hours waiting in the ambulance outside the hospital because there were no beds, and then an additional 20-24 hours being shuffled around from bed to bed and ward to ward before I ever saw a doctor, who told me "your appendix needs to come out now" but didn't have anyone available to do it for another 24 hours. The nurses were overworked, underpaid, and had very noticeably reached the "I don't give a shit" mark. Everything was filthy, the sheets smelled, and there were (filled) cardboard bedpans and these weird cardboard sock-shaped piss cups all over the post-op ward, sitting in the sun by the window or lining the walls of the bathroom.

At one point, after the surgery, I noticed I was bleeding pretty bad, and my IV bag (with my pain meds) was leaking onto the floor. I tried using the call button to get a nurse, but no one came. I yelled, I screamed, I tried to get up but could not. Even when I screamed when I heard a nurse walking across the ward, no one came. I finally got my cell phone out, found the number for the hospital front desk and told the person there what was going on and what ward I was in (some welsh word I could barely pronounce) and that finally got a nurse there. The dude sitting in the bed in front of me had been sitting in a puddle of his own piss for hours.

This whole 'starve the beast' shit the Tories love is really working as intended.

edit: Here's a couple pics from the ordeal https://imgur.com/a/0TSbCkJ