You’ve
no doubt seen a great deal of changes in my life over the last three
years. Despite never being a risk taker, I quit my job and traveled the
world. Despite being shy and anti-social, I met a few of my celebrity
heroes and hung out with them in their actual homes. Despite never
dating, I fell in love and got married. All of these were possible
because after fifteen years of struggling, I finally curbed my
depression. And I did it without ever using antidepressants.
You’ve
asked me how I accomplished this, but until now, I’ve kept the secret
to myself. The reason? I love you both very much. As a son, loving you
is great. As a writer, it’s a problem. I’ve joked that the biggest thing
holding me back from being a successful artist is that I love my
parents. Any sincere artist/musician/writer should be willing to stand
naked before the masses, honest and vulnerable. That would be a lot
easier for me if you had done a shitty job.
But you didn’t. You
did an amazing job, and because of that, the last thing I want to do is
ruin the shining “golden boy” image you might have of me. I’ve tried to
keep that image polished for you my whole life, and part of me thinks
it’s pointless to sully it while you’re in your twilight years. But, I
feel an increasing weight on my shoulders. I don’t want to disappoint
you, but I’m saddened by the prospect of never allowing myself to be
honest. Whether I’m judged for it or not, I have to tell the truth.
The
truth is that I made one simple decision that profoundly impacted my
life more than any other, and this one decision was the seed from which
so many great things sprouted:
I decided to eat some magic mushrooms.
Please
stay calm. Take a breath. Nothing bad happened. As far as I can tell,
the only long-term consequence is that I now look at the world with
greater empathy, understanding, self-awareness, acceptance, and
unconditional love. You know, nothing major.
Before you pass
judgment, I need to ask: have you ever tried magic mushrooms? Based on
your extremely conservative worldview, I’m going to assume no. (If I’m
wrong, please call me now, because I want to hear that story
immediately!) If I’m correct, then I should explain a few things.
First,
almost everything we’ve been taught by schools, the media, and yes,
even our parents, is a lie. It turns out there is no Santa Claus;
Christopher Columbus was a genocidal asshole; and psychedelics might be
the best way to treat clinical depression. I forgave society for lying
about Santa; I decided Columbus Day can go fuck itself; and I decided to
try everything within my power to rid myself of depression, even if it
included psychedelics.
Depression is embarrassing as hell to talk
about, because I know have a lot to be thankful for. I was born a white
male in the American suburbs with loving parents. That’s an amazing
stroke of luck that I did absolutely nothing to earn. In a world filled
with racism, sexism, violence, and hunger — a world where millions of
people don’t even have access to drinking water — being upset about my
petty first-world problems made me feel like a selfish, ungrateful
asshole. But, as anyone struggling with depression knows, there’s very
little logic that factors into the equation. However, I made the
decision that I was going to get better, and I was going to do so
without using antidepressants.
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I tried meditation, gratitude journals,
exercise, and altruism — all great things — but depression would always
creep back and cling to me like the sneaky, miserable little prick that
it is. Then, one beautiful summer night while I was camping with
friends, I had the opportunity to try psilocybin mushrooms.
Don’t
look at me like that. Hear me out! Your baby boy cured his depression.
Smile! If you still feel like I let you down, let me remind you:
I’m
a square son of a bitch. I didn’t drink alcohol until I was 21. Until I
tried shrooms (age 27), I had never tried any illegal drug, including
weed. I’m a safe, overly responsible nerd who is so calcified in his own
awkwardness that he’s immune to the chisel of peer-pressure. Believe
me, this had nothing to do with peer pressure. This was about healing my
brain, and maybe even my soul.
I’ll be honest — I have no idea
how you’ll react to this news. Maybe you’ll feel disappointed. Maybe
you’ll judge me. Maybe you won’t give half a shit (I’m hoping for this
one). But ultimately, I know all good parents want their children to be
happy, and if there was even a small chance that eating magic mushrooms
could cure my depression, you should support my decision to give it a
shot.
So, camping that night, I gave a friend $10 for a palmful of mushrooms, and I decided to take control of my own life.
I ate the mushrooms, and I can describe the experience in one word:
magic
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AWESOME.
They’re called magic for a reason. I don’t want you to
take the following statement lightly: that night on the beach was the
single most spiritual experience I’ve ever had. In one night I achieved
what most people search for their entire lives: peace, love, and
forgiveness. If you’ve never taken shrooms, it’s nothing like the
bullshit you see in Hollywood. There are no fairies. No cartoon
characters. The actual experience is far more sublime.
The first
thing I noticed was a warmth that spread throughout my body. It felt
like Mother Nature herself wove together a blanket using bliss,
relaxation, and euphoria, then swaddled me up in it like a happy,
newborn babe.
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depression
Then came the urge to laugh. Nothing funny happened. I
was just joyful. I laughed for no reason, other than the fact I was
shocked by how good this felt. I looked around me and saw nothing but
perfection. I never loved anything as much as I did that night, but I’d
also never felt as loved as I did that night. Love was reflected back at
me from everything — the trees, the sand, the ocean.
Above me,
birds flew overhead and split the sky like ripples in a pond. Stars
twinkled and changed colors, exploding like tiny fireworks.
I
laughed some more, convinced that the universe was trying to communicate
to me in a language I didn’t speak. It didn’t matter if it wasn’t using
words; I got the message, and it was something I needed to hear my
whole life. It was a message that was too simple and perfect to be
translated into a flawed, clunky language. It was something I needed to
feel.
I’d never been happier to be exactly where I was, fully immersed within the Now.
“If
you’re happy with yourself now, you should never regret anything in the
past, because everything in the past has led up to who you are now.”
I used to tell people that, but for once in my life, I finally felt it.
Read this: Psychedelics Can Treat Depression: Why We Must Legalize Psychedelics
I
started thinking about my past. The good experiences. The bad.
Especially the bad. But here’s the thing — they were no longer “bad.” In
fact, they seemed to be the most necessary and important experiences I
ever had. I finally recognized how each “negative” experience was
absolutely crucial for me to become the person I am today, and I forgave
everyone that I thought mistreated me. More importantly, I forgave
myself. I literally felt lighter as the weight of blame and resentment
melted off of me and dissipated into the ether.
Then I thought
about both of you, back home in the Midwest, and I started to cry. Not
because I was sad, but because never in my life did I feel more grateful
for everything you’ve done for me. You kept me safe, well fed, clothed,
and sheltered. You encouraged me to learn, and always kept me humble.
Even though we weren’t the type of family that said, “I love you,” I
wanted to call you then and say the words.
But I didn’t, because I
was afraid. I was afraid that if you knew I was on drugs, you’d judge
me. And I didn’t want to feel judged. Not from the two most important
people in my life. That’s why I needed to write this letter. I want you
to understand.
People who try psychedelics aren’t necessarily
hippies, druggies, or burnouts. Many of us are just trying to find our
own piece of happiness. For me, it worked.
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After that night, the
physical side effects wore off, but the psychological benefits remained.
I felt less alone. I felt healthier. I felt more connected to others.
And to my amazement, I no longer felt depressed. To describe the
experience succinctly:
Ingesting psilocybin mushrooms was akin to
floating into heaven, kissing the face of God, then drifting back down
to earth with the knowledge that I always have been and always will be
loved.
Don’t worry, I’m not an addict (and they’re not addictive).
I haven’t done them in over two years. I decided to tell the truth
because if I’m not willing to be honest with you, I’ll never be honest
with the public, and the public needs more clear-minded individuals to
speak out about the benefits of psychedelics so they can finally drop
all of that “hippie” baggage.
With marijuana becoming
decriminalized in many states, hopefully psychedelics will follow the
same path as cannabis. First comes scientific research. This will lead
to the discovery of proven health benefits. Next, people need to be
educated on safe, responsible use.
When this happens, we can
finally evolve as a society and legalize psychedelics. Or rather,
relegalize them (Fuck you, Nixon!). Who knows? In a few years, maybe
sons and daughters will be able to talk to their parents about
psychedelics as comfortably as they talk to them about prescription
medication. In the future, maybe writing a 1,700-word diatribe to shield
against their parents’ potential disappointment will be completely
unnecessary.
Source:
https://healthfit335.wordpress.com/2016/05/09/finally-i-curbed-my-depression/