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Cautionary 3FPM Tale that I tried to blame on cleaning fluids.
At the end of a three day 3FPM binge I needed rest and for reasons I won't go into fell asleep in a cheap hotel in Brent.

As I nodded off, my final thoughts were that the pillow beneath my face smelled very strongly of cleaning fluids: solvents and something else; something unusually acrid. In truth, this will have been coming from my nasal cavity rather than being external. But my mind and body needed rest, hypnogogic shapes were appearing and there was no place for evil-smelling pillows in my dreams. I relaxed and slept soundly for eight hours.

I woke an hour prior to checkout, feeling oddly detached and strangely unrested. Wandering blindly into the bathroom, I emptied my bladder, then went over to the wash basin to clean my hands and face. I cupped my fingers and splashed water liberally onto my cheeks, discovering in the process that one side of my face felt a completely different size and shape from the other.

Glancing into the mirror above the basin, I was greeted with the full horror of my situation. My left eye was almost closed and the remaining one looked like it intended to follow suit.

Both cheeks and lips were swollen to maximum extent and my neck had swelled up to a point where I appeared to have no chin. I literally looked like the elephant man.

I had quite clearly had my jaw broken with an absolute jackpot punch, hadn't I? Presumably with accompanying amnesia. Gingerly, I started tapping around my jawbone, waiting for the agony when I found the fracture. But it never came. Whatever had caused my facial disaster obviously hadn't been a pub-fight. Which, since England is largely free of the type of poisonous creatures capable of producing such effects, left the solvent-smelling pillow. I was in absolute denial about the 3FPM.

I noticed the phone on the table just as it rang: reception advising thirty minutes to checkout. 'Oh, OK thans ery muff', I replied, 'I'm sorry Sir?', queried the receptionist, 'I said, thans ery muff', I repeated. There was a pause before she hung up.

So, what to do now? Perhaps a chemists at the very least, since I'd noticed one directly across the road. On balance, this seemed a preferable strategy to dying of anaphylaptic shock whilst arguing with the receptionist about pillow-wash and spiders.

I packed my bag and got past reception without her even glancing up at me as I dropped the key and it's pointless swab pointlessly into its slot in the counter eight inches away from her. She grunted a thank you and retrieved the key via a wooden flap on her side. There was no glass between us.

Then I was outside, the cold air highlighting every weird facial angle and swelling. My occasional reflection in shop windows showed that my entire head was now morphing into a shape somewhere between seed potato and giant peanut.

Arriving in the Chemist, where one might expect a certain degree of sympathy or at least desensitization to facial disfigurement, I was a little nonplussed to find both customers and staff glancing away in horror as I joined the queue. Given that one of the guys in front of me had a loud and lengthy discussion about hemorrhoid ointment at the counter, I felt his fussiness was a little off. My face was growing more strangely shaped by the moment and I was concerned I'd be incapable of speech when my turn arrived. I envisaged writing 'Help me, I don't normally look like this.' on some paper acquired using the 'can I have the bill please?' gesture. Eventually, hemorrhoid-boy concluded the saga of the benighted nipsy.

Over his shoulder, I glimpsed the girls behind the counter maneuvering to avoid serving the freak with the jigsaw-piece head. But finally one of them ran out of prescription counterfoils to file and I was next.

'Can I help you, Sir?' she asked, blinking at maximum speed.

Despite my concerns, I did actually manage to croak the gist of my predicament through the massive set of mismatched lips sagging onto where my chin ought to have been: a bizarre experience that brought to mind the idea of a series of farts escaping from between chicken fillets. But apparently, communication had occurred.

'I'll get the right person to see you, Sir', she responded, as though they had a swollen-head expert onsite, kicking his heels waiting for this very situation.

'BER-LOODY HELL!' were the Pharmacist's reassuring opening words. Having thoroughly and repeatedly satisfied himself it wasn't the result of a punch by poking my face with a pencil and getting me to make figure-of-eights with my jaw, he then rattled off a list of questions: could I breathe freely, had it happened before, did it hurt? His eyes were like saucers and I was sure he wanted to take a photograph. Well, he decided, its definitely a serious allergic reaction of some sort. He gave me antihistamines and a card with the address of Middlesex emergency treatment centre.

'Go there now', he said 'immediately'. He appeared to be surprised I was still alive and didn't seem to fancy my chances of reaching the place. The guy really did need to work on his bedside manner. However, he did point out the route. 'It's up that road there.....try to get a cab', he added, as I hoisted my sizeable rucksack onto one shoulder and went through the door. Glancing back at the Chemist, I saw the Pharmacist gazing wide-eyed at me walking up the street. He'd definitely wanted a photo. So, swapping my phone's camera-mode to frontal, I took a few snaps of myself. I was as ugly as a witch's tit (the traditional old hags, not the modern/young/hot ones, obviously).

A couple of moments on my phone's GPS told me that getting to Middlesex Urgent Treatment Centre would involve a two-mile walk through Brent housing estates in the afternoon gloom. If you're a white guy who looks like he's had his face kicked in and is struggling to carry thirty kilos on his back, this can be rather confrontational.

I got all the usual tests: the begging, the stand-overs, the questions shouted long after you've walked away. But I passed them all. Presumably the bullet-proof jacket and IRA-style woolen hat I was wearing, together with the wooden handle sticking out of my bag, helped a bit. As did my single hostile eye staring out from a visage which spoke of probable familiarity with violence. But these things do make catching cabs more difficult, so a suit and tie might have got me there faster. Or it could have got me robbed if no cab was available, so: swings and roundabouts.

I jumped the emergency queue by complaining of breathing difficulties and stared down (with my cyclopean eye) the jealous faces of those already waiting by indicating my misshapen head. This was accepted disturbingly quickly by the group.

The medical practitioners in Middlesex must all have been training in the same place, because 'bloody hell' were the Doctor's first words. He called a college in for a second opinion, who added a little variety by exclaiming 'Good God'. I was asked all the same questions and provided similar responses. But this time, I was assured that only an infection could explain such a comprehensive mess and that whilst some kind of solvent may have been a factor, only a bacteria could cause such extensive tissue damage. So I was to keep up the antihistamine if it seemed to help, supplemented with strong antibiotics. If it was an allergy it would be gone in three days, but an infection could take three weeks.

It took three days for the 3FPM-induced inflammation to recede and the glances of horror from women to turn back into smiles. The anti-histamines were what helped. In the process I learned a some important things:

1) Take it easy with the 3FPM.

2) A single Pharmacist can be right and two Doctors can be wrong.

3) Very few people display sympathy towards facial disfigurement.

4) Most people assume that if look like you've been punched, then you must be a violent person and will have deserved it.

Might I suggest altering these last two prejudices, should you hold them. I have.
The opening line is a classic. Thanks for sharing.

Blankets screw you up. Just say no.
You do have my sympathy but that was nonetheless a very enjoyable read. Like Bill Bryson had a bad drugs experience.
3-fpm seems to have a wide variety of poisonous effects that change from person to person.
I went off it as it seemed to give me oral thrush every time I took it. Plus the 'high' is quite weirdly undefinable and not actually that enjoyable if you know what I mean.
Anyway thanks for the post - it goes to further highlight why this is something I don't think I'll ever take again.
What a great read, thanks for the info!
Dude we want pics!!!! I wanna see mr potato head.
love the world and it will love you back. chin
Thanks for sharing, that was a great read. Glad you're okay now. I'm thankful something like this didn't happen to me when I was using 3F regularly.
This is outrageous. This is contagious. So futile.
I'm reminded of this thread.
I would like to say that I am not biased... I've never even tried 3-FPM, but seems like maybe you people are too quick to blame the drug for something unrelated. Jumping to conclusions maybe?
I have sympathy for you and I don't want it to seem like I'm being heartless here. Perhaps something else is to blame?

What if you were allergic to something that was on the pillow?

It was a great story by the way, I've just never heard of a drug causing a reaction like that... Have you ever had a reaction like that before?

I guess that's why it important to do an ALLERGY TEST! I've never been allergic to any drugs... if I was that would be horrible
"Allergy testing" in the context of recreational drug use isn't actually about avoiding allergic reactions. An allergy test involves taking a very small amount of a substance you've acquired as a way of verifying that you haven't actually been sent something significantly more potent than whatever you think you've got. Reagent testing is a better idea (although that doesn't preclude 'allergy testing' either.

Some drugs can cause allergic reactions - this happens with some of the pyrovalerone-derived cathinones. Generally speaking, a true allergic reaction only occurs with proteins, but some drugs can combine with proteins in the body and it's the resulting complex that triggers the allergic response (a substance that does this is called a hapten - urushiol, the allergen in poison oak and poison ivy is another example). 'Allergy testing' won't catch this generally because allergens require a process of sensitisations, usually over multiple exposures.

It's important not to overstate the extent to which practices like 'allergy testing' reduce risk. It can help to verify that a substance you've received isn't another much more potent substance (e.g. allergy testing would have helped protect the people who ordered 2C-B-FLY from Haupt RC back in 2009, who ended up with bromo-dragonfly), but it doesn't do much more than that. Negative effects are much more likely to show up at effective doses rather than very small doses, so it's always a good idea to approach new substances cautiously, starting with low doses and paying attention to negative physical symptoms that occur.

With regard to 3-FPM, there's been multiple reports of inflammatory symptoms as a consequence of use, so attributing the symptoms in 2Corinth13:1's report to the drug seems pretty reasonable.
EDIT: my bad, I thought you were referencing the main 3FPM thread and hadn't actually seen the one you posted nerD. Yes, best to be cautious stating that individual experiences are of universal application. All I can say is that my head swelled up and to make of that as you will.

I wouldn't describe what happened to me as being an allergic reaction, more an intense inflammation caused by banging the back out of a 10g bag over a three day period. I'd have expected a reaction sooner if it was an allergy and I'd experienced the substance many times before (though an allergy test with each batch is the right way always).

In common with many flourinated versions of stuff, 3FPM has always had a shady side for me. It seems to linger in the body and hit the immune system rather hard.

But I imagine that putting 10g of baking soda or sea salt up your nose could be capable of similar effects and I'm not suggesting 3FPM in sane quantities and moderation will always be bad.

What stopped me finishing the entire bag was that 9g into it I snorted a fat line and it felt like I'd put a bamboo skewer up my nose and stabbed myself hard in the pineal gland. That's when I chose to call time and get my (at that point normal-sized) head down.

In the cold light of now, of course, I shouldn't have gone so far. But I survived and if my report of a true event entertains the likes of Tweek in his current situation and the rest of you in yours, whilst sounding a healthy note of caution, then it's all good. I do think 3FPM could be a sneaky one, especially in excess.

Or the entire thing could have been down to all those brightly coloured toads and giant hogweeds that I rubbed into my eyes the day before.
Think it was more the individual substance. Flouride substituted Amphetamines are way less toxic or problematic than the Chlorine or Bromide substituted ones regarding One-off reactions and Neurotoxicity in general. Found 3 FPM problematic in that you seemed to pay back much more energy than you borrowed in plain terms and many had weird Flu or virus like reactions but maybe 4CFPM if possible might have been worse, very few didn't get the feeling caning it was not at all advisable.

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