Demon in the Dose: My Encounter with Big Pharma and a Darker Reality

In 2005 and 2006, I made a life-changing decision—to quit smoking. Like many others, I turned to my doctor for help, determined to put an end to a long-standing habit. But I had no idea that the real danger wouldn’t come from cigarettes—it would come from a prescription pad.

I was living in New York at the time, but I saw a doctor in Pennsylvania who prescribed me Chantix, a drug hailed as a miracle aid for smoking cessation. I trusted the system, trusted the white coat, trusted the FDA. What happened next would shatter that trust forever.

After several weeks on Chantix, things took a sinister turn. I began experiencing day and night terrors, chest pains, and even psychotic episodes. I reported these terrifying symptoms to my doctor, only to be told, coldly and clinically, that "the benefits outweigh the risks." I was a sheep then, and I kept taking the poison. But one “dream”—if you can call it that—made me stop cold.

The Dream That Wasn’t a Dream

One afternoon, I laid down for a nap. As soon as I closed my eyes, I was transported somewhere else—not just a different place, but a different time. I was with my girlfriend at the time, arriving at her grandfather’s house, a place I had never seen from the inside. Yet, in the vision, I knew every detail.

The house was old, the first house ever built in that small town. We entered through the kitchen, bathed in summer light. Then I moved into the next room, where her cousins—whom I had never met—offered me a beer. I asked where the bathroom was, and they pointed upstairs. I started climbing.

The higher I went, the colder it got. When I reached the second floor, winter had replaced summer. Snow pressed against frosty windows. I spotted a bathroom down the hall, but something to the right caught my eye.

There was a bedroom, and lying in the bed was my girlfriend—but not as I knew her. She was 15 years old, with blue lips and a body trembling under the covers. She looked like she was freezing to death. I went to the window and removed a shotgun that had been propping it open. At that moment, I felt a dread so deep, it rang in my bones. Something inside me screamed ALERT ALERT ALERT.

I placed the shotgun down and walked slowly toward her bed. That’s when she appeared.

An old woman with pitch-black eyes, standing silently at the bedside. The terror I felt was primal, ancient. I tried to reach for the light switch around the wall. The only light came from the moon. As I stretched out my hand, the demon woman growled in a voice like Freddy Krueger: "GET AWAY FROM HER."

Then she rushed at me, faster than anything human. She went through me, and I felt every ounce of life leave my body. I woke up drenched in sweat, my heart pounding. I was fully awake, but paralyzed for about 20 seconds. I could still feel where she had hit me. It wasn’t a dream. It was an assault.

Confirmation from the Other Side

I wrote everything down—every image, every sensation. Later that day, my girlfriend came home, and I told her the whole thing. Her response was chilling.

She said, "Those are my cousins. They used to hang out in that room."

I described the layout of the house, the wallpaper, the details—everything was accurate. Then she led me to a closet, opened it, and asked, "Is this the gun you saw?"

It was.

Same markings. Same model. Same gun. I had never seen it before that “dream.” And the bedroom—the one where I saw her as a 15-year-old—was her bedroom when she was 15.

What Really Happened?

To this day, I believe Chantix didn’t just mess with my brain—it opened a portal. Not metaphorically, but literally. It pushed my consciousness into another timeline, a place where something demonic had already taken root.

I wasn’t dreaming. I was there.

The experience was too detailed, too accurate, too validated by facts I couldn’t have known. Something came through with me—or perhaps I stumbled into its domain.

After that, I quit Chantix. Years later, I would suffer a heart attack, one of the many side effects linked to the drug. I wasn't the only one. Many suffered strokes, heart attacks, psychosis—and some didn’t survive.

We trusted Big Pharma. We were given poison in a bottle with a smile and a co-pay.

Final Thoughts

I haven’t had an experience like that again. I’ve had demonic attacks in another house I once lived in, but that’s a different story for another time.

The bottom line is this: We are playing with forces we don’t understand. Drugs that claim to help us may in fact, be unlocking doors that should stay closed. I now believe Big Pharma has accidentally—or intentionally—created compounds that do more than alter brain chemistry. They alter reality.

Be careful what you take. Some pills don’t just change your body.

They change everything.

Michael T Vara 5/4/25