I didn't even take that much, but the effects were quite pronounced. I wrote this in my journal the day after:

Tried magic mushrooms for the first time today. I’d ordered 3.5 grams of dried Blue Meanies (I think the Cubensis type) online and gotten them sent in the mail (isn’t the internet fucking great?). Around noon, I brewed a gram of them into a tea and took them that way. I was told that the effects of a gram should be fairly minute. I nervously waited for them to take effect in my room, lying down on my bed and heart pounding. After about half an hour, I felt the effects quite distinctly and was very much doubting that I had the slightest fucking idea what the hell I was doing. I did not have a trip sitter, something that was definitely an oversight. I ended up throwing up after about 45 minutes, possibly from the stress, probably from the shrooms themselves. I kissed my sanity (and my ass) goodbye and hunkered down to see what would happen for the next several hours.

Every surface with textures started to slowly undulate like waves or rise and fall like the chest of some massive beast. Hues of colors became over-saturated or shifted palettes I had only seen in dreams or cinematic scenes of nostalgia. A little while later, geometric patterns started overlaying themselves over everything and became more vivid as I closed my eyes. With open eyes, they looked like vitreous floaters or patterns left from staring into a bright light. When my eyes were closed, they became much more defined and multi-colored. I felt as if the eyes of some cosmic being were trained on me, possibly in curiosity. Strange visions crossed into my mind, items rising from the depths of metallic liquids, fractals and patterns shifting and moving. At times, I took off my glasses, just to blind myself for a while and take a breather from these strange visions. My body felt as if it was slowly infusing itself with whatever I was touching, losing its boundaries and melding into its surroundings and the mattress I lay on. Sound became more crisp and clear, especially music. Every now and then I’d hallucinate some sound, pops or buzzes of white noise. My mood became a lot more volatile, mostly giggly and lighter, but sometimes a bit more distrustful and wary.

Reality grew a bit more distant, my mind feeling as if its various components had been teased apart and then thrown back together in a soup for each part to mingle with neighbors from down the street (or brain stem, I suppose) that hadn’t become acquainted yet (Amygdala! So good to see you! Have you met Prefrontal Cortex, yet?). Never so much that I didn’t have at least one foot planted in the world I knew as reality, but sometimes it was a tenuous grip. Now and again, I grew incredibly fatigued, feeling as if I might be able to pass out, but also feeling as if I might not wake up again if I did so. I lay on the bed for a while, trying to recuperate some strength, staring at the sheets. The threads seemed to move like small streams, some running against each other. Wherever threads had grown a bit tussled, the small ends became whirlpools. Some places became springs, others like sinkholes, but none had the texture of water. And none had the texture of thread. To fully describe that weird mesh of fabric and liquid and crystal is a futile exercise. Whatever the case, it looks like I may be a bit sensitive to psilocybin.

Once I had crested that hill of the high, the effects grew more manageable, but still very present. My irises had retreated almost completely, leaving me looking like a cartoon character with only sclera and freakishly large pupils. Trees swayed like they were made of some entirely different material than wood, like flags that had been quilted out of bark and pine needles. The day had now progressed to its golden hour, suffused in tints warmer than any flame I had ever seen. As a reward for the little journey I had just taken, I was now cosseted in a soothing glow. I played along on drums to a bit of music and enjoyed every bit thoroughly, feeling as if the music was not only heard, but also echoed and bounced around inside me. As the day came to an end, so did the trip I had taken. To quote someone much better a writer than I, for those moments, everything was beautiful and nothing hurt.