The Setup
I landed in Chiang Mai from KL on September 30th, and three things hit me immediately: temples, street food, and weed shops. So many weed shops. Neon signs on every corner, colorful jars lined up like a candy store.Thailand’s had legal cannabis for a while now, which probably explains half the European backpackers wandering around. They recently added a prescription requirement, but honestly? Nothing’s really changed. From what I’d seen on YouTube, Bangkok shops just hire “doctors” now. You walk in, mention you can’t sleep (everyone says this), and boom : prescription in two minutes. It’s theater, but efficient theater.”
I hadn’t arrived in Thailand planning to try weed. But when you’re wandering toward the Old Night Bazaar and pass your fifth cannabis shop, you think : Why not?
One shop, “64 Buds,” had educational posters explaining strain differences and quality markers. Reader in me paused to read and I stepped inside. The woman at the counter was knowledgeable and patient, walking me through my options with the ease and not pushing a sale.
“You have three choices,” she explained. “Raw flower to smoke, cookies with 2-3mg, or gummies with 20mg.”
She asked if I’d tried cannabis before. I nodded. First time in Amsterdam (fantastic Space Mountain Cake). A few times in the mountains with friends, sharing around a joint. To me, this counted as experience.
“Then try the gummies,” she suggested. “The cookies might be too mild for you.”
I bought a box of five gummies for 250 baht (roughly 650 rupees). She mentioned they’d take 30 minutes to kick in and last 4-6 hours. I thanked her, tucked the box into my sling bag, and continued exploring. Dinner at a local night market. A walk through quiet streets. Back to my hotel room by evening.
Only later would I realize that her definition of “experienced” and mine existed in completely different universes. Oh man!
The Preparations
Back in my room, I did something right: I texted Tanya. Told her I was about to consume cannabis, shared my hotel details and my brother’s number. If you’re going to be reckless, at least be responsibly reckless. I knew she’d check on me in the morning.
At 8:30 PM, I popped the first gummy. It was gel-like, mildly sweet, unremarkable. I chewed it as instructed, then settled onto my bed with my Kindle.
And I waited.
An hour passed. Nothing. I felt completely, utterly normal. The rational part of my brain wondered if they’d sold me a dud. Maybe the dosage was too low, maybe it wasn’t authentic. The impulsive part decided to take a second gummy around 9:30 PM.
This was, of course, a spectacular mistake.
Here’s what haunts me: I consider myself a careful person. I like controlled experiments, calculated risks. I understood I was alone in a foreign country trying something that could go sideways. So why did I casually take a second dose without even Googling?
I’ve replayed that moment countless times. Was I truly sober when I took the second gummy? Or had the first one already begun its subtle work, messing with my judgment just enough to make me think I felt nothing? It’s a question I’ll never be able to answer.
What I know now: 40mg of THC is an extreme dose. Even regular users would think twice.
The Build (9:30 PM - 11 PM)
I was lying in bed, scrolling through my phone. Around 10:30 PM, I felt my brain begin to spin.
I texted Tanya immediately: “It’s starting.”
She replied asking how I felt. I typed back that everything felt “slow,” but even typing that message was proof. Words that should take three seconds to write stretched into twenty. My fingers couldn’t quite remember the letter position, muscle memory gone! My thoughts arrived delayed, as if traveling slowly.
Somewhere in there, I dozed off.
When It Hits (12:45 AM - 5:30 AM)
I jolted awake at 12:45 AM, heart hammering. My head wasn’t just spinning anymore, it was a washing machine. I felt dizzy, confused, lost. I couldn’t stay in bed. I had to move.
I started pacing, back and forth across my room like a caged animal (most accurate way to describe). My heart was racing, and the disorientation was so complete that I could barely string thoughts together. But a few realizations cut through:
I took too much. This was stupid. 40mg was reckless.
I checked my garmin watch and pulled up the heart rate screen. 140 beats per minute. For context, I’m an athlete. A light walk should put me at 70-80 bpm. This wasn’t just anxiety I was feeling; it was my cardiovascular system responding to the chemical, and my mind was reacting to that elevated state. I tried to remember what I knew about blood pressure and heart rate correlation. Was my blood pressure spiking too?
Then came the harder question: Do I need a hospital?
I ran through the calculations:
Physical Safety: From everything I’d read, there’s no lethal dose of cannabis. The panic was real, but the physical danger was minimal. I just needed to ride it out and keep monitoring my heart rate. HR was also not going beyond 150, which was a good input.
Logistics: I was in a foreign country. While cannabis was legal (mostly), seeking medical help meant questions, hassle, possible police involvement about prescriptions. A hospital would likely just admit me for observation. Expensive, complicated, and probably unnecessary.
The Plan: Tanya would call in the morning. I found my credit card clip and kept it in my pocket in case I needed to go to the hospital after all. For now, I’d stay alert, pace, monitor my heart rate, and wait. I’d dealt with anxiety attacks before. This was similar : a mind trapped in its own feedback loop. It would pass.
This was the hardest phase. My heart rate rose and fell in waves, every few minutes. Each surge brought a fresh crash of anxiety. I paced constantly, but so slowly that each lap of my small room took nearly a minute. Time had become elastic, stretched thin and meaningless. I was completely lost and trapped.
One thought kept repeating: Is this what it’s like to be trapped in your own mind? Some people live with this. The thought gave me a strange, humbling empathy for what mental illness must feel like : the inability to escape your own head.
The worst part was the scattering. My thoughts wouldn’t hold still. They flickered and jumped continuously, each thought disappearing before I could grasp it. I kept thinking I should use ChatGPT to research my symptoms, but even that simple decision of which device to use became complex:
- Phone? Too risky. I wasn’t sure I could operate it properly, and I might accidentally call someone and make them panic.
- Laptop? Would leave a digital trail if things went truly wrong and police got involved.
- iPad? This made sense. It had a strong VPN. Anonymity protected.
I decided on the iPad. Then, around 1:45 AM, I collapsed into bed and mercifully fell asleep. My mind finally released its grip.
The Long Morning (5:30 AM - 10 AM)
I woke at 5:30 AM, still deep in the fog. “Stoned” suddenly made sense. I felt like stone, heavy and unable to move, consciousness trapped inside an unresponsive body.
By 8 AM, my heart rate began stabilizing. The waves of panic were smaller, more manageable. I brushed my teeth, stared at my face in the mirror, and barely recognized the exhausted person looking back. Hello, tu kaun!!
Finally, I grabbed my iPad and opened ChatGPT. I typed out everything that had happened and asked for a diagnosis and management steps.
The AI’s response was startlingly accurate:
- 40mg is a very high dose for someone with minimal tolerance (it is high even for experienced people)
- There is no lethal dose of cannabis; I wasn’t in physical danger
- Effects could last 12+ hours at peak intensity, with full recovery taking up to 24 hours
- My symptoms : Extreme confusion, dizziness, scattered thoughts, elevated heart rate : were textbook for this dosage. Well done, Rishi Sareen.
Reading this was profoundly reassuring. ChatGPT described exactly how I was feeling with such precision that I felt seen, understood. I was not going mad, this was exactly as expected. It also made clear: I wasn’t going anywhere today. Part of me was struggling with this. I wanted to explore the city, hit my daily 20,000 steps. But acknowledging I needed to stay put stopped that internal struggle.
ChatGPT suggested grounding exercises:
- Box breathing: inhale for 4 seconds, hold for 4, exhale for 7, hold for 7 seconds
- The 5-4-3-2-1 technique: name 5 things I can see, 4 I can touch, 3 I can smell, 2 I can hear, 1 I can hold
I tried them. They helped. The 5-4-3-2-1 exercise was also hilarious in my state. I stared at my phone charger for a solid minute, trying to recall the name, cycling through “adapter,” “power bank,” “that thing,” unable to find the simple word I needed.
Tanya called around 8 AM. I’d preemptively put in my AirPods, unsure I could hold my phone steady. I don’t know how coherent I sounded, but I managed to convey I was safe. I asked her to check again in 90 minutes.
By 9:30 AM, I felt marginally better. I tested myself by walking to the elevator. When that worked, I decided to risk breakfast.
Breakfast and the Long Day (10 AM - 6 PM)
The breakfast area was in the basement. I took the elevator down, walked with what I hoped looked like steadiness.
I was STARVING. I loaded my plate with eggs, curd, noodles. I avoided coffee. ChatGPT has said (and it is common sense too) that caffeine could spike my heart rate, and we definitely didn’t need that. The food felt so good!
Back in my room, I spent the entire day in bed, drifting in and out of alertness. The brain fog came in waves, sometimes I felt almost clear, other times I was back in the haze.
I can’t say I enjoyed the experience. I’ve built my life to minimize anxiety, to optimize for calm. This forced overdose of panic didn’t sit well.
By early afternoon, I was hungry again and ordered a club sandwich. Hotels almost always nail club sandwiches. They’re my safe bet, and this one was delicious.
I scrolled through social media for hours, the only content shallow enough for my scattered attention span. Reading was out of the question, my mind couldn’t hold a complete thought. It shook me, honestly. So much of who I am depends on being able to focus, to think things through. Take that away and what’s left?
The Return (6 PM - 6 AM)
I kept consulting ChatGPT like a anxious patient: “It’s been X hours now, this is how I’m feeling.” Each time, it affirmed I was on track, that my symptoms were expected, that I was healing. It suggested new grounding techniques for each stage. I know AI is programmed to be helpful, but in those moments, it felt like genuine care.
Around 9 PM, something shifted. The fog began lifting. My thoughts started sticking. I felt like myself again : tired, but myself.
I slept at 10:30 PM and slept well. For the first time in 36 hours, my sleep was deep and dreamless. Real rest.
Reboot Complete (6 AM)
I woke at 6 AM and knew immediately: I was back. The system had fully rebooted. Hurrah!!!
The relief was overwhelming. I was supposed to fly to Bangkok that day but hadn’t booked yet, uncertain if I’d be in any condition to travel. Thank god for flexible plans.
I got up, showered for a long time. letting the water wash away the last residue of fog and booked a 10:15 AM flight. Packing was quick; I’m a seasoned traveler. I went down for breakfast, ate well, skipped coffee again (still being careful), and headed to the airport.
The flight was uneventful. An hour in the air, and I landed in Bangkok.
I checked into SO/ Bangkok : a stunning hotel that deserves its own essay. After settling in, I went straight to the gym. I did a full back and triceps workout, an hour of lifting heavy weights. This is what people mean when they say movement is therapy. My body worked. I could lift. I felt alive.
What I Learned
This accidental overdose taught me something unexpected: a strange mix of respect and humility. Cannabis isn’t harmless fun. It’s chemistry, and chemistry plays with your mind in ways you can’t control or out-think. Sometimes the biggest trip is realizing you can’t outsmart your own brain.
Will I try it again? Maybe. In a much smaller dose. With someone else present. But I’ll remember this experiment: being informed isn’t the same as being wise. Some lessons only sink in when you’re stuck in your own head for twelve hours, humbled by your own miscalculation.
The brain is a powerful thing, and chemistry doesn’t negotiate. Respect both. And maybe, just maybe, one gummy is enough.