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A YouTube Hypnotist Put Me in a Trance Over Skype

One of YouTube's most prolific hypnotist tried to make me think I was a cat.
The author, being hypnotized. Image: Roisin Kiberd

How happy is the blameless vestal's lot!

The world forgetting, by the world forgot.

Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!

Each pray'r accepted, and each wish resign'd

The lines from "Eloisa to Abelard" by Alexander Pope, made doubly famous by Michel Gondry's film Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, describe the euphoric blankness of a mind controlled, free will set aside in favour of following instruction. Since last night, Pope's words have echoed around my head, along with the vague implanted memory of being a cat.

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I should explain. Last month I wrote about hypnosis videos on YouTube, designed to send you to sleep or give you "hands-free orgasms." After the piece was posted, Ultrahypnosis, one of YouTube's most prolific hypnotists, contacted me on Tumblr. I asked if he'd hypnotize me over Skype, and he agreed.

Which is how I found myself stretched out on a sofa, limbs immobile, trying very hard not to make purring sounds on a Thursday afternoon.

This was my first time going under, in person or over Skype. My friend Sibeal agreed to supervise in case I had trouble getting out of "trance" state, or remained in cat mode, climbed out the window, and got stuck in a tree.

I needn't have worried. It turned out to be a much more sedentary experience.

Before the session began I spoke to Ultrahypnosis, who also goes by the pseudonym Carl Nickleson, about how he first learned to trance strangers over the internet. Carl's interest in hypnosis began in middle school, and he began to make YouTube videos in college. "I had really bad insomnia and found I had a lot spare time. And I thought, I have a lot of interest in this, maybe I should do it." The side project progressively took over his life, and he has amassed over 94,000 subscribers on YouTube.

Ultrahypnosis gained a following by creating highly specific videos that cater to viewer requests. He prefers these sent to him by email, which he runs through a program he wrote to pick up on what's most in demand. "It sorts through them all and is based on word frequency, roughly how often something is requested, how much it's requested… Sometimes I can set it to random when I'm not feeling particularly inspired."

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I asked if it took time to perfect the voice he uses to hypnotize listeners. "You have to work out a voice of your own. Keep it clearly modulated, stick with the range you pick and keep the pace a little slower than normal. It's like a calmer public speaking voice, in a way." He tries to keep his hypnosis voice and speaking voice entirely separate. "Occasionally I'll talk to people who are extremely suggestible and can be tranced just by talking to them, so you have to make that distinction."

Even over Skype, Nickleson's speaking voice was slow and very calming. I wondered if I would be one of those very suggestible people.

I stretched out on the sofa like a session with a Freudian. Nickleson began by telling me my limbs were getting heavy, my eyelids beginning to shut. This duly happened, until it felt as though I was sinking into the sofa like Ewan McGregor sinks into the floor in that scene in Trainspotting, only without the heroin. The sensation of falling lasted throughout.

"The deeper you go, the better you'll feel, and the better you feel, the deeper you'll want to go…" All skepticism shut down, and I found myself relying on the voice coming from my laptop, leading into warm, gelatinous darkness.

Image: Roisin Kiberd

It was a rare opportunity to give my brain a rest. Over recent months I've stopped sleeping for more than five hours per night, with my laptop beside me, waking up to read alerts and emails. I feel automated in a different way, by the circuit of tweets and dopamine hits that engineer a short attention span.

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In hypnosis, you allow someone inside your head, to map your thoughts into a network of corridors. You are asked to put your mind to sleep in the world's most comfortable bed. It taps into that part of oneself that wants to be controlled, to have the thinking done for you. During the session I felt disjointed: half my brain was still awake, and listening, even as the other part went unconscious.

Nickleson's voice was like ASMR on steroids. Every so often he'd go "shhh, shhhh" and I would shiver slightly.

The "rag doll" routine followed and my arms were lifted one by one as if by imaginary balloons. It took effort to get them to move but the minute Nickleson said he'd cut the balloon strings, they fell without my control. He made me forget what the number three looked like, though I was still able to name it, then he made my wrists stick together immovably as though tied with invisible strings.

Then he clapped and said "sleep," and I curled up again and went under.

"Going deep into trance always feels good…"

It felt like my brain was doing stretches.

In my early teens I used to believe that drugs were dissociative ("drugs," in general, because school safety classes didn't differentiate between the kinds they warned you against). I thought they sent you out of yourself entirely, and that you'd resurface hours later in a puddle of vomit, or somebody else's bed. But you don't: you're just yourself, exaggerated. Hypnosis is similar: you can't do anything you wouldn't be capable of doing already.

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Which is why I wasn't good at being a cat.

We left this for the last attempt, and it began just as the others. "My voice is here to make you feel good. Follow my voice into deep relaxation…" I went back under, semi-paralyzed.

"Feeling so good. Just letting go. One. Two. Three."

I started to wonder if a cat could be hypnotized to believe it was a human

This time Carl tried to guide me to the "feline part of my mind," a room with a fire and a carpet and cat toys. Already I knew it wasn't going to work. It just seemed too ludicrous. Sibeal, god bless her, tried to help by scratching behind my ears and I nearly burst into giggles.

"It's ok, you don't have to be a shy cat. You can just meow."

I don't know how. We never had a cat growing up, I was allergic.

My thoughts wandered. I started to wonder if a cat could be hypnotized to believe it was a human.

That feeling of wading through treacle remained, the delicious weight to the limbs. But it just wasn't enough. Being a cat, I imagine, is like a yoga class on Valium. Lots of stretching and making oneself more comfortable. A lifelong orgy of yawns.

Dammit, I wanted to be a cat so bad. He stopped trying and the session was over.

"Conscious effort is highly overrated," said Nickleson. "It's a finite resource. It's how you burn yourself out." Though he discourages anyone from seeking serious psychiatric help through hypnosis, he sees it as life-enhancing, a trick to implant good habits and iron out bad ones.

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After my own session with Nickleson I felt happy and upbeat, and curiously warm despite it being the middle of December. My brain felt sharper and faster than before, like I'd had a full night of sleep.

Hypnosis is versatile, each experience apparently unique to the subject. For me the dizzy, underwater feeling of being tranced was enough in itself. The prospect of combining it with actual sex—something Nickleson offers in custom videos with challenges like "12 Days of Edging"—sounds overwhelming.

"Feel wave after wave of relaxation go through you, as you just drift…"

Playing back the session to write this piece I find myself falling asleep in my chair, my shoulders slackening. My arms feel limp and languid as I type this. I wonder how many cans of Monster Energy it will take to get to the end.

I consider going for a cat nap, though there is thankfully no residual purring.