"Faithmaker" - Ps. Subtropicalis High Dose Trip Report
Small life update & some psychedelic music, too
I am coming out of a winter funk. I fell back into some old habits that are not consistent with my best self.
Clean diet and regular physical activity are undoubtedly key ingredients to both physical and mental well-being. While I do consider diet and movement to be paramount, I also noticed that I went almost 4 months without dosing, which may have contributed to my slump. My mental health trends better when I dose at least once every 6 weeks; psilocybin makes challenges like diet and exercise feel possible.
I am not sure who will read this; this blog hasn’t turned out to be quite what I imagined from the outset. Such is the nature of attempting to document my journey with an intensely personal subject that teaches you that you know less and less the deeper in you go.
I am no one of import, and I know nothing. I am just some 30-something gal, who struggles probably in similar ways that you do, who learned how to grow psychedelic mushrooms and ate a fair few of them a fair few times. I have had many experiences where the biggest epiphany was that I should just fucking shut up.
Nevertheless, I am here, and you are here, writing and reading this sentence, respectively. And some people seemed to enjoy my trip report last time, so I will share another one today.
This trip report is from almost a year ago and documents my 2.5-gram dose of Psilocybe subtropicalis. I estimate this dose was about 35 mg PCBE. This was, and probably still is, the second-highest dose I’ve ever taken (the largest was 600 mg of Panaeolus cyanescens TTBVI aborts, which absolutely blew my socks off; I estimate it was about 40 mg PCBE or perhaps a touch more). While both my large doses have been very interesting and valuable, I have found that my preferred and therapeutic regular dose is somewhere in the range of 25-30 mg PCBE.
Some trips stick with you, though. This was one of those trips.
And if you’re interested, here is my favorite psychedelic playlist and what I listened to throughout this experience. I can’t take credit for this playlist; I originally copied it from user “Juan of the Dead” on Spotify and made some modifications based on my personal tastes. I return to this playlist again and again and have had the most profound spiritual experiences of my life while listening to it.
April 27, 2025, 9:20 A.M.
2.5 grams of Psilocybe subtropicalis
I want to finish what I started. The mushrooms have been telling me for a while that I’m ready to go deep again. I’m ready for the full subtropicalis experience. [My prior experiences with P. subtropicalis were 11 fresh grams and then 0.5 dried grams; the former was an excruciatingly uncomfortable underdose that felt like nothing short of karmic punishment, while the latter was an insightful but mild trip wherein the mushrooms, among other insights, politely told me it’s time to quit taking such pussy doses.]
I use a small blender to blend 2.5 grams into a cup of hot chocolate. It doesn’t mask the taste as well as I’d hoped (orange juice is better). The come-up is queasy. These mushrooms are not sitting well in my stomach. This is the sickest I have ever felt from eating mushrooms. I climb into bed, curled in the fetal position as my stomach roils. I am paralyzed by sickness; the slightest movement makes me aware of the delicacy of my stomach. I keep calm by telling myself that this will pass.
The discomfort eventually does pass, if for no other reason than absolutely nothing makes sense in my brain any longer. Up is down, left is right, backwards is forwards, and everything is connected. I begin to question: why had I done this? Why am I growing all these mushrooms? Who is this person who now devotes a whole room in her house to growing fungus? Am I someone who does drugs now? Is this even something I should be doing at all? What happened to the old me - the one who used to spend problematic amounts of time playing online role-playing games? Who is this person I have become?
I continue to plummet deeper and deeper into a state of consummate discombobulation. Panic threatens from the dark corners of my awareness as I wonder if I’ve well and truly fucked up this time. I realize I am teetering on the precipice of completely losing my fucking shit. Time ceases to exist. I am suspended in infinite, eternal, ordered chaos. I am seeing through the Matrix. This is Source. Consensus reality is a projection. Everything is connected and infinite. Fear of death vanishes because I understand that death is not the end. All is Eternal.
This is intense and feels like it will never end. I remain aware on some level that I have taken a drug and that eventually I will return to Time. Until then, I am dancing on the knife’s edge of insanity.
I wish my husband were nearby. I know at some point he will come to check on me because I asked him to before I dosed. Why hasn’t he come yet? How long have I been stuck here? Will this ever end? Be strong. You are strong. Please, please let me live. Everything will be okay. He will come. I have faith.
Clarity crystallizes within me. The answer is Faith. Faith is the only thing that will get me through this. Faith will get me through anything. Faith in myself. Faith in Spirit. Faith in knowing the one I love will come for me when I’m absolutely tripping balls. Everything is going to be okay. Everything IS okay. EVERYTHING IS OKAY.
This is why I did this. I chose this. I chose to go through this. All is okay.
My husband finally appears to check on me. I am tripping so hard I am practically nonverbal. I giggle and say, “Why do we do anything? What is going on? I chose this. I love you.” I am overtaken with a feeling of pure love and am flooded with profound peace. I can control very little in this universe. All I can do is be kind. Let go. Nothing else matters. Everything is okay.
I slowly calm. My husband strokes my hair for a while and then leaves. The trip takes an energetic, kinetic turn. I experience perhaps the most extraordinary mind-body connection I have ever felt. I am alive through every finger, every toe. The tactile sensation of touching my own skin is so transcendently euphoric that I can do nothing but think “What. The. Fuck.” to myself ad infinitum as I drag my fingertips slowly over my face, over my lips. The world beyond me is only a hazy backdrop to my unthrottled consciousness experiencing my corporeal form. Holy. Shit.
The music changes and primal energy possesses me. I sit bolt upright in bed and become an animal. I outstretch my limbs to their limit and writhe around. I can smell myself. There is no judgment. Everything just Is. Glorious. Healing. Magnificient.
I am reborn. Fucking amazing.
Eventually I decide I am stinky so I get up and shower. I look at my body in the mirror, mesmerized by how the bones move beneath my skin and how interesting I look.
I meet my husband upstairs and get ready to go outside. He shares about his day, and I share about my trip as we walk.
Everything is so nice outside. We walk to the lake nearby, and I lie on a picnic table looking up at the clouds. The sky looks like a painting. I can see the individual brushstrokes, the colors of paint. It’s breathtakingly beautiful.
I feel hungry. My body is heavy. We go home and drink a mango smoothie. I still feel very sedated as I continue to come down. The evening is spent journaling, listening to music, and taking one more walk before the sun sets.
Thank you, Ps. subtropicalis. My takeaways from this experience still resonate now as they did then:
Everything will be okay
Have faith
You are strong
You are love
Take care of your body, it’s all you got