My Modalert Experience

By now, most everyone has heard of Modafinil. It’s one of the hottest smart drugs on the market. If you Google the name, you’ll see that one of the top questions people ask about this wakefulness-promoting nootropic is, What does modafinil do to you?

Well, I can’t speak for others since most all of them have already spoken for themselves (see Reddit, Longecity, et al.), but I can speak for my own experience. Last week, the fine people at shipped a 40 count supply of Modalert, their signature brand of generic modafinil, to me and I was beside myself with excitement.

I had read that modafinil should not be taken if one suffers from high blood pressure, has had chest pains or has had an irregular heartbeat. I also read that modafinil should not be taken if the user drinks excessive amounts of alcohol. As it happens, I have extremely high blood pressure, I have chest pains at least once a week (conservative estimate) and I drink twelve beers a day.

What’s the worst that can happen, am I right?

So, Monday, I dropped my first 200 mg tablet of Modalert and let me tell you, it was something else! The hype was for real, these little pills can really pack a wallop!


I take my first dose on an empty stomach at around Noon. I felt it kick in within about a half hour. I had heard stories about it taking 45 minutes to take effect, but that wasn’t the case with Modalert. I could feel it working almost right away.

Modafinil is supposed to make you work better and feel better. It’s frequently used to treat night shift work disorder. In my case, I couldn’t get any work done because I was overtly aware of my every move. The first rush was one of self-realization with full body sensations.

I was intensely aware of every breath I took and I had a warmth in my chest as if someone had poured hot cocoa on my heart. When I went to the bathroom to urinate, I ended up staring at my junk for what seemed like an hour.

Eventually, I managed to snap myself out of this and that’s when things got interesting. Normally, I would write two to three 1,000-word articles a day for some of my clients, but under the influence of Modalert, I turned out two 3,000-word articles in less than three hours and spent the rest of the day writing haiku about sperm whales and extrapolating on the meaning of life in essay form.

My heartbeat was definitely jacked, but I felt alright except for a slight flush in my face. I looked like that fat kid who used to have a show on MTV, the one who hung out by the dumpsters in Waiting. I never felt so smart and so fat.

But that’s the funny thing. I actually felt like I was burning fat as I went about my daily routine. A few wall push-ups and I would have sworn that I had dropped five pounds on the spot. The ModAlert was definitely working its wonders.


I decided to up my dose by taking one and a half 200 mg pills. My heartbeat is more jacked than yesterday, but I feel even better. The first hour is great, I feel sharp and energized.

As my day goes by, things begin to take a bizarre turn. I feel like strange and terrible things may be about to befall me. Call it a sixth sense or something, I don’t know.

When my fiancee comes home from picking up some groceries and she says, “Hey,” I look up and got a distinct perception that she is a midget. She looks so tiny. Too tiny. I feel like something is amiss in the height department…as if she has shrunk since the last time I saw her.

I try to ignore this and go about my business (I’m supposed to be working on an article about the best nootropics for bowel problems, but I just can’t seem to focus what with the overwhelming attention I’ve been paying to the intricacies of a Vine compilation playing on my iPad)…no matter what I do, I can’t shake the notion that my fiancee is suffering from some sort of adult degenerative dwarfism.

This warped perception eventually passes, but it gives way to something else that’s every bit as disconcerting. As the evening wears on, I am struck by vicious bouts of fierce flatulence. My farts reek like hollandaise sauce even though I haven’t eaten anything but a salad in the last twenty-four hours.

I am also unable to keep my hands off myself. My fiancee calls me a narcissist and I can’t disagree since I am so preoccupied with touching my body that I can’t help thinking I am in love with myself. I have to say, it’s not the worst thing to feel. But it would certainly feel better without the booty clouds.

My fiancee and I turn in early because I feel as though I need to calm down. Everything is moving too fast.


As a responsible drug user, I reflect on my experience from the day before and decide that it may be best to reduce my dosage. I revert back to my first dose amount, taking a single 200 mg pill.

The farts are still coming in hard blasts and I don’t want to have an accident while going to the store to buy cotton balls (this may be unrelated to the ModAlert intake, but my nose will not stop gushing blood and I’m kind of embarrassed) so it seems best to cut back.

An hour and a half after taking the 200 mg pill and I’m feeling fine. Except that I am grossly aware of my body once again. This is all well and good for a while until I get behind the wheel of my car and start driving to the store.

There is a twitch in my face and, by the time I get to the shop, I am convinced that there is something living on my chin. When I look at it in the mirror, I see that my face muscles are undulating.

There’s definitely something in my chin, I am sure of it. A powerful hunger overtakes me and I decide to forego the cotton balls and head to the closest fast food restaurant.

At the Taco Bell, I begin to lose my shit entirely. The menu options are too much for my mind to fathom. Yes, it’s true that the ModAlert enhances one’s mind, but maybe it enhances it too much. I zero in on each ingredient in each burrito and salad bowl and become lost in thought about the history of each.

Their premium Latin rice makes me ponder the fact that rice is actually the seed of the grass species Oryza sativa and sativa is a word synonymous with cannabis. This, in turn, makes me wish I had some Punchy Kush THC edibles. I begin to quiver.

The cashier asks me what he can get me and I let out a low squealing noise as if wounded. Because I have been wounded, wounded by my own indecisiveness and confusion. I’m still thinking about maize crops and agriculture when he asks me that question.

Why does he want me to decide on just one item? Why am I suffering from the cottonmouth? Why didn’t I pick up those cotton balls? Is my nose still bleeding? Who was the first person to suffer a bloody nose?

I almost want to ask the cashier for a pint of blood, but instead, I decided to order an XXL Chicken Grilled Stuffed Burrito. I’m not sure why I would order it since I’m a lifelong vegan, but I feel like I need protein.

This leads me to stare at the menu for some time, ruminating on the meaning of the word “protein.” Biomolecules are what protein consists of. Consists of of…consists of…that sounds weird.

I think of the process of protein turnover. That leads me to wonder when I last had a turnover. Or maybe I’m thinking of popovers. Do they even make popovers any more? Maybe I’m thinking of croissants.

My head is full of thoughts that seem jumpy and ephemeral. A protein’s lifespan is measured in terms of its half-life. I wonder what the half-life of modafinil is supposed to be. It seems like a doozy!

After my XXL Chicken Grilled Stuffed Burrito is gifted to me by the cashier, a sense of calm washes over me. I am zen with my burrito. All is okay…except…I really need to find out who the first person who cultivated rice was. That guy was cool.

I wolf down my burrito in the parking lot, hiding in my car so that people will not see the monster that I have become. I am Ahab, I am Galileo, I am Nostradamus. I have a prediction: People will not take my experience seriously. But I know that I am on to something.

I go home and my heart palpitations subside. I begin to feel less smart. Consequently, I decided to take another 200-milligram pill. I don’t want my fiancee to think I’m a moron, I want her to see the potential that Modalert has unleashed.

As the sun sets and my fiancee comes home from her job selling bags of oranges on a highway overpass, I greet her with a twenty-five-page note about why the love I feel for her is more legitimate than the love any other human has ever had for his fellow man…or woman. I deconstruct the concept of love and the history of love. I quote Anais Nin and Emily Dickinson. Things get sticky.

Later in the night, I end up vomiting on my fiancee’s chest. I want to apologize to her, but I begin to contemplate the various things that vomit can lead to. It is said that frequent vomiting can lead to wet brain, a condition caused by stomach acid repeatedly rising up in your throat. This scares me.

I end up sleeping with the blankets over my head. Panic has set in and I’m trying my best to ignore it.


When I wake up, I discover that I’ve soiled our mattress and I’ve soiled myself. I stagger to the bathroom, walking like the Penguin from Batman to avoid any further spillage. I resolve to discontinue Modalert use.

It is a totally cool drug, but it’s definitely not for me. I like feeling like a genius, but I don’t like dwelling on rice.

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