Not so much scared but really freaked out to a point were we just said “fuck it, let’s get out of here and never talk about it again”.
It was a really warm and nice summer day some years back. I was out with my brother strolling through the countryside with my brother. In just a t-shirt, shorts and barefoot. We took some LSD and really just enjoyed having a very scenic and relaxing walk.
So we were just strolling along, walking between some fields and the edge of a small forest, when it started to smell quite badly. That’s not that unsual near fields, so we walked on. There was a small clearing in the forest and there was a hunting stand. We continued to walk across the clearing and the smell got worse. Then one of us discovered something on the ground. It was a patch of bloody fur.
Now we’re both expirenced with LSD and hadn’t taken that much, but we still confirmed with each other that we’re both looking a bit of bloody fur and made sure we saw and smelled all the same things. We did. After some more walking we discovered more and more bloody bits of fur, flesh and even some bones. They were sprinkeld all over the place. It looked like some animal literally exploded. Though there was no main body, just the bits and pieces everywhere.
At this point we again confirmed with each other that what we saw and that we’re both in control and not tripping.
We then decided that this all was a bit too much and we should head home and not worrie about it right now. On the way home we confirmed with each other again that this actually just happened. But I’ve rarley thought or talked about it since then.
Mine were a bit less acute than most cases here. It doesn't rank up to the kind of emotional trauma other people ITT have been through (though I'm not a complete stranger to that, either) but mine was when I realized my health is going to prevent me from ever doing what I want to and getting my shot at a reasonably happy life.
The slow dread of realizing decades of miserable, exhausting, bitter, mostly hopeless, unappreciated effort is void, and has been a complete waste - realizing that things "working out" is not really on the table anymore, and neither's anything else, much: all you can do is keep existing. That is easily #1.
Or realizing friends and family didn't have my back the way I thought and might actually join my list of a zillion problems. That was pretty scary.
Distant third, near misses in traffic - but frankly, I've had a stronger reaction from losing my fucking house keys. Almost got hit by a tram. Meh. Would've lost my appointment, I'm sure. Some shitheel trash in a BMW (because of course it was) tried scaring me by pretending to hit me while out for a walk, I'm like "😐 ... yeah? Make my day - in fact, throw it in reverse and get a proper run-up, you little bitch".
Nothing as scary as some of the people have mentioned.
The moment of terror I remember most vividly is when I helped my mom reverse park the car in our garage. I was about… 13 I think. The car didn’t have any parking sensors, so it was my job get out and stand behind the car to make sure it wouldn’t hit the work desk at the end of the garage (it was a narrow garage, I couldn’t stand to the side of it without getting my toes run over). I’d shout stop when the car was in far enough and that would be it, nothing special.
I don’t know what happened that day, maybe she was distracted or something, but the car didn’t stop. It just kept going further back, pushing me against that desk and squeezing my organs. At first I shouted louder, thinking she didn’t hear me, but the car kept coming and by then it was too late to get out of the way. I ended up frantically hitting the rear window, shouting as loud as I could. In my mind the car was broken and would crush me against the edge of that desk. I thought I was going to die right there, getting killed by some freak accident. With just almost no room to spare the car finally stopped and drove forward.
Afterwards my mother said something along the line of “I thought you were joking”. I was furious, but when I think back to it now, I suppose she was just as shocked and just didn’t know what to say at the time.
I have long covid and during the initial stages I had some really bad tachycardia (unknown to me yet) that caused breathing issues. It hadn’t been too bad until one day I was lying in bed unable to sleep, and suddenly I feel like every breath is getting me less and less air, even though I’m breathing normally.
I woke up my mom at ~4:30 AM (home because of long covid) and said I feel like I can’t breathe. She asks if it’s bad enough to go to the ER, and I say it might be. I decided to wait 15 minutes, my heartrate was going crazy and I must just be panicked, and that’s why my heart rate is high and why it’s hard to breathe.
Over those 15 minutes my heart rate climbs higher and I’m getting dizzy and hyperventilating and still breathless, and say I need to go now, I think I’m at the edge of where I could actually die.
We drive to a hospital and my heart rate slows down a little bit, and I figure I’m not gonna die in the next hour so I end up waiting, struggling to breathe, until 6AM when my primary care opens his office. They do some tests and say everything looks normal, but later a heart monitor would show my heartrate sometimes get to ~120, even while I’m lying in bed trying to sleep. I eventually learned that is what causes the breathlessness.
I’ve had that happen a couple times since, less frequently it seems, but when it does happen I’m always afraid that this is the time my heart finally gives out. Fortunately it’s very rare and I’ve been able to do some cardio to hopefully help it be even more rare.
the most scared I’ve ever been was when I almost died at 8 years old.
growing up I was rather accident prone - the summer between 1st and 2nd grade I was at a friend’s birthday party & he had a fun idea that we should all ride our bikes to the lake. I had recently gotten a new bike and it had hand brakes, previously I had only used backpedal brakes & in retrospect I probably shouldnt have been riding it yet. on the ride to the lake I took a wrong turn and the bike landed in a rut on the side of the road which launched me into a barbed wire fence (back peddling fast af but, eh, no brakes there). got a really nice concussion (mid-80s, no helmets) but when I fell onto the barbed wire, it ended up ripping a good bit through the top and outside of my leg, through the fat layer and into the muscle (which was fortunate because the major artery is on the inside of the leg). the wound was only about 3 1/2 inches deep and 6 inches across but when you’re 8 years old your legs arent that big to begin with.
when I came to my friend’s mother was understandably losing her shit, driving at rally racing speeds to the local doctor, ~10 miles away. my blood was splattered everywhere on the passenger side of the car and she was screaming at me to apply pressure outside of the giant fucking hole in my leg. honestly thought I was going to die - the memories are pretty hazy after that but mind-shattering trauma will do that.
modern medicine and 150 intramuscular and about the same in dermal stitches saved my life. 35 years later and I still have 100% nerve damage on the outside of my leg above the knee to about mid-thigh. never been that scared since - once you’re forced to confront your own mortality everything else is really tame in comparison.
Faced a loose Pitbull when walking the streets on my own. It wasn’t until then that I realised a dog is completely capable of killing me and there would be nothing I could do to stop it.
Fortunately, it turned out to be quite friendly, and the owners came looking for it a few minutes later.
You run to the bunker and hope you don’t die before you get there. Then you do it again every day for a year. It’s scary enough that you never stop thinking about it even 20 years later.
Took too many mushrooms one night and I have tripped a couple hundred times. But these were particularly strong bois and I started to believe I was having a heart attack, it was only a panic attack, but I seriously thought I was dying from a heart attack. I was begging my wife who had taken two times as many as I had to call 911. She did her best to stay calm and remind me that I was just tripping on mushrooms and I told her I knew that I was tripping on mushrooms but something was wrong with my heart because I was freaking out and I could tell my heart was beating too fast. At one point she even stuck a Fitbit on my wrist and told me to look at my heart rate, and when I looked at it of course I couldn’t read it because everything was just pixelated and swirling fractals. But somehow she was able to read it and said your heart rate is only 118 which I was able to confirm the next day from the data on my phone. I was crying and holding my chest and I kept throwing myself in a cold shower trying to calm myself down but time was all fucked up and moments were happening out of order and all I could think about was how my daughter was going to wake up in the morning without her father. I kept running through the house completely naked and freezing wet. Trying desperately to grasp onto something to send me back to reality. But everywhere I went it didn’t matter because I knew I was dying from a heart attack and my wife who I couldn’t believe at the time refuse to call 911 and save me. In retrospect, I’m so glad she did not lol. I haven’t taken mushroom since. I’m too scared. They are not to be fucked with if you’re not in the right state of mind. I really appreciate that trip though, it really made me appreciate life a whole lot more when I woke up the next day. I’ve never been more scared my entire life and I’m pretty sure I know exactly what it’s going to be like when I actually do die. It was somewhat peaceful but it was taking too long in the moment and especially because time was not flowing correctly and everything was happening out of order It made me really panic. It just seemed like it was taking way too long. I suppose when I actually die time won’t do that because presumably I won’t be tripping when it happens lol.
When I was working the graveyard shift at a service station and a junkie put a knife to my throat and suggested that the money in the register should really be in his pocket.
Add comment