Summary: This post examines whether technology can remove the worst parts of altered states—those terrifying, harmful, or numbing episodes people call bad trips. I lay out how cheap pharmaceuticals, internet culture, wellness products, startups and AI are colliding with youth distress and spiritual searching. I ask practical questions, offer harm-reduction steps, and point to where tech can help and where it cannot replace human connection or social change.
Interrupt — The shock: Benadryl on TikTok
A viral dare turned lethal. Teens took high doses of diphenhydramine, the active ingredient in Benadryl, to chase hallucinations. The result is not the colorful, cognitive opening associated with classic psychedelics. At sufficient doses diphenhydramine becomes a deliriant: numbness, creepy tactile sensations, disorienting hallucinations and dulled thinking. People describe seeing a recurring shadow figure called the Hat Man—“the Hat Man,” the Hat Man—so often that merchandise exists. That repetition matters: the same phrase, the same image, spreads expectation and then shows up in people’s altered states.
The damage is real. Multiple teenage overdoses and deaths were tied to the trend in 2020. From there the annual count of diphenhydramine overdoses climbed into the thousands. Social media normalized the dare. Cheap, legal, and available, Benadryl became a perverse tool for escaping pain when other outlets were out of reach.
Engage — Why this happens: economics, despair, culture
Why would someone intentionally seek a bad trip? Ask a different way: what does numbness do for someone whose days are heavy with debt, loneliness, or anxiety? Numbness blunts thought. It shuts down. For some users that’s not a thrill but a refuge—temporary removal of mental pain. For others it’s self-harm by proxy. The choice to swallow a dozen cheap pills is a rational act when alternatives are scarce.
There is also a cultural piece. Many young people drink less and take fewer classic drugs than previous generations, yet nihilism and online aesthetics valorizing despair create a subculture where dangerous acts are framed as edgy, funny, or communal. Social platforms amplify the dare and strip context. Who’s accountable when a trend spreads faster than sober voices can respond?
Case study: the Hat Man — physiology or suggestion?
The Hat Man kept coming up in reports. Is the Hat Man a physiological phenomenon tied to anticholinergic delirium, or a culturally driven hallucination created by expectation? Both. Brains are pattern engines. When a narrative circulates—“you might see the Hat Man”—that narrative becomes a cue. The cue nudges perception, and under chemicals that loosen reality-testing, the cue can turn into a shared apparition.
Repeat the phrase: the Hat Man. Repeat the phrase. That mirroring matters. It shows how expectation and chemical state create the same output. That observation is not an excuse for blaming victims; it’s a clue for harm reduction. If suggestion shapes hallucinations, then content moderation, education, and context can reduce harm.
The Monroe Institute and the CIA tapes: a different hunger
On the other side of the coin sits structured altered-state work: the Monroe Institute’s led meditations and their Gateway recordings. These use binaural beats—two slightly different tones to each ear—to nudge brain rhythms and create sensations of separation. The CIA and military interest in the 1980s gave the program a strange credential: a formal inquiry reported “a sound and rational basis” for some methods and added language about projecting thought into reality.
Why the renewed popularity? People want meaningful states without illegal drugs. Retreats, playlists, and online teachers promise safe corridors to expanded awareness. For desperate people, paying hundreds of dollars for a two-week program looks like a shortcut to meaning. That’s understandable. It’s also a market response to unmet social needs: fewer communal rites, more stress, less downtime and connection.
Tech’s attempt to buy safety: AI-designed, non-hallucinogenic compounds
Silicon Valley is trying a chemical fix. Startups such as Mindstate Design Labs claim they can design molecules that trigger neuroplasticity—the brain’s ability to grow or rewire—without producing full-blown hallucinations. The pitch is simple: keep the therapeutic wiring change, lose the terrifying visuals and loss of control. The promise is attractive. A “trip without the trip” could widen access for people who fear losing control or who have contraindicated conditions like psychosis.
But remove the hard parts and do you remove the growth? Some clinicians and psychonauts argue that working through difficult material during a full psychedelic session is where healing happens. Others counter that trauma need not be re-traumatized for healing to occur. That debate is healthy. It asks the right questions: which mechanisms generate long-term benefit—the subjective meaningful confrontation, or the biological plasticity that follows?
AI chatbots as trip sitters: comfort or danger?
People already ask chatbots to sit with them during altered states. ChatGPT and similar models can offer soothing prompts, playlists, or procedural reminders. But they lack medical context. They do not know your psychiatric history, medication interactions, or seizure risk. They can hallucinate facts, misstate dosing, and fail when real triage is needed.
So ask this: do you want a synthetic companion or an informed human ally? Which would you trust if a friend panicked under a drug’s effects? Repeat the question: Which would you trust? For now, human presence—trained when possible—is safer. Tech can augment, but should not replace, that human loop.
Where tech helps—and where it cannot replace policy or people
Tech shines in three roles: detection, education, and lowering friction for safe services. Platforms can detect spikes in viral harms and de-amplify instructions. AI can generate realistic, non-judgmental harm-reduction content and scale it. Startups can develop targeted molecules that lower physiological risk. Telehealth can expand access to trained sitters and therapists.
But tech can’t fix poverty, loneliness, or broken community institutions. No pill or app will replace stable employment, safe housing, or a friend who will stay awake to watch you through a crisis. If the underlying drivers—economic stress, social isolation, untreated mental illness—remain, tech will patch edges while the core problem persists.
Practical harm-reduction steps you can act on now
I give this freely because it matters: short, practical moves reduce harm.
- Talk plainly about risks. Don’t say “this will kill you” and then leave. Explain what a deliriant does physically—numbness, anticholinergic effects, seizure risk—and what signs require emergency care.
- Commit to one safety plan. If someone is trying a substance, have a sober person present, check medication interactions, set a maximum dose, and keep emergency numbers visible.
- Moderate social media. Platforms should throttle viral dare content and boost harm-reduction posts. Parents and schools should ask open questions: “What have you seen online?” Let that question open a conversation rather than shut it down.
- Use technology for triage, not replacement. Chatbots can provide calm scripts and breathing exercises, but they must be paired with human escalation paths and clear medical disclaimers.
- Invest in low-barrier services. Telehealth sitters, sliding-scale peer support, and community programs cost money and policy attention. Small public investments pay off in fewer ER visits and lives saved.
Questions worth asking—open, calibrated, practical
What would a realistic, ethics-first tech response look like? How would platforms decide when to demote content that normalizes harm? Who pays for scaled harm-reduction counseling: governments, insurers, or platforms? How do we measure whether non-hallucinogenic therapeutics deliver the same long-term benefit?
Ask: How would you design a safe corridor for someone exploring altered states? Repeat: How would you design it? These questions invite collaboration, not panicked bans. They move conversation from punishment to prevention.
Authority, social proof, and commitment
We are not guessing. Case counts, social trends, the Monroe Institute’s enrollment and the rise of YC-backed startups show patterns. That social proof matters when persuading policymakers or funders. If you are reading this and you can commit to one local action—fund a harm-reduction pamphlet, support school programs that teach real physiology, or hold a community conversation—you will be part of the solution. Small commitments add up; they build consistency that scales.
Closing thoughts: what tech should promise and what it should not
Tech can reduce harm, scale accurate information, and design safer therapeutic molecules. Tech cannot replace social bonds, economic security, or the slow work of community repair. If we want fewer bad trips we need both: better tools and better social conditions. Will we build apps that nudge safer choices and fund therapists who can sit with people? Or will we let market spectacle and viral virality keep deciding who lives and who lands in an ER?
I invite you to reflect and respond: What single policy, tech change, or community action would you prioritize to reduce harms from altered states? What scares you about digital fixes, and what gives you hope? Ask aloud; keep the conversation open. Pause. Let the question sit. Then act.
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Featured Image courtesy of Unsplash and Vitaly Gariev (egCFrNJ6Djw)