Arrival
(Part 12 and the final part of the story of my psychedelic-enhanced journey to mental health)
My psilocybin trip was just over a year ago. I haven’t tried any psychedelic drugs since then — just those two times. Although now that I have my emotions back, I’m curious to try MDMA (ecstasy) to see if I’m able to feel the connection with the universe and other people that its advocates describe.
I have been busy testing my new emotions — or more accurately, my new emotional intensity. My emotions were under-used for so many years that I suspect they need to be exercised, like muscles, to fully function.
It has been fun trying them out. I cry now even at ridiculously maudlin TV shows and movies. Instead of feeling skeptical or competitive, as my old personality would do when it encounters someone else making provocative, controversial statements (like some of the crazy things that people said during the last election), my initial reaction is to be empathetic to try to figure out what they must be feeling to make them say such things.
As I described in a prior chapter, I was famous for hating to dance and abandoning Andrea at weddings and bar mitzvahs to find a ride home with friends. I was intimidated by the loud music and dancing. Everyone kidded me about being a “curmudgeon.”
And I hated birthdays — at least my own. I never wanted a party and just wanted the day to be over as soon as possible. Classic shame-based behavior.
When I turned 65 last year, shortly after my psilocybin trip, I decided I wanted to do things differently. Andrea’s invitation to our friends was hilarious. It read: “Just when you thought the world couldn’t get any stranger [the next line depicted symbols of the coronavirus and of donkey and elephant political symbols], Mark Friedlander wants to have a birthday party. Stranger yet, wait for it….” And the next page of the invitation continues: “It’s a dance party!”
And it was my favorite party ever. I danced all night with Andrea, my daughters, my daughter-in-law, our neighbors and friends. I stayed in the moment all night long and can’t remember a happier time. A complete reversal from my former personality.
But the most important proof of my full-strength emotions was the birth of my first granddaughter, Lucy. Andrea and I babysit for her the entire day every Tuesday. I am crazy in love with her, and I feel that love physically. It feels like a syrupy liquid warmth that pours down the inside of me and opens me up wide to appreciate everything she says and does.
I am chagrined to admit that I don’t think I ever felt that intensity of love for my own children. Andrea and all three of my children confirm that I was always a good father: present, supportive and loving. And all three of my kids confirm that they had a great childhood, two wonderful parents and all the love they ever wanted or needed — even from me.
That is gratifying because I would feed terrible if they had somehow been able to perceive that I was emotionally stunted and that this affected them. They all knew and kidded that I was a classic logic-over-emotion nerd, but they never felt that I lacked any appropriate emotions toward them. I’m glad that I hid it so well and was able to play the necessary role.
Because the truth is: I have never felt my love for them as the warm syrupy drippings that I feel for Lucy. I loved my children as much as I knew how to, but I have changed significantly since then. My emotional shield is gone, and I feel emotions for Lucy with an intensity that I can’t ever recall feeling before.
I’ve told my kids this, including Lucy’s mother, who is a psychologist, and their reaction has been wholly supportive. They applaud my transformation, even if they previously saw me only through the gilded lenses of childhood and weren’t aware of the need for the internal changes that I have now made. I am so happy that they are applauding my future rather than criticizing my past.
Although my shame has not disappeared, it doesn’t appear very frequently. I seem to have it well under control by being mindful of it. Like the fable of the mice placing a loud bell around the cat’s neck, when unwelcome thoughts of unworthiness or shame intrude on my thinking, a warning bell now sounds in my mind. I query where the unwelcome thought has come from, and I usually can trace it to its now-banished source. And then I ignore, or intentionally override it, or otherwise make sure that it doesn’t unduly influence my behavior.
When in therapy I first discovered its influence over my life, I used to hate my sense of shame. I blamed it for “ruining” my life before I realized that that same sense of shame made me academically competitive and financially successful. It trained me on repetitive cycles of challenge and vindication, deriving self-esteem from overcoming the pending challenge.
So I have learned to accept my sense of shame, and instead of hating it, I treat it as obsolete. It served a purpose in the past of helping me cope while distracting me from the pain of disappointing my father, but it is no longer useful. At David’s suggestion, I figuratively threw it a mental retirement party. It is now uselessly taking up space, and even though it insists on remaining at its desk, none of the other actors in my mind will pay it any attention.
Retiring my shame has significantly changed my interests and habits. I used to be very involved in watching and analyzing professional and college sports. I used to love playing high level duplicate bridge and testing myself against the best players in the world. These were classic challenge/vindication cycles where the outcomes of the various games were very important to me. They were the source of my self-esteem.
No longer. My interest in competitive sports is mostly gone. I can appreciate the strategic aspects of the game, but for the most part the outcomes are no longer very important. I still enjoy playing duplicate bridge because I like my partners and appreciate the beauties of the game, but my desire to compete and to win is greatly diminished. I no longer need to win to reinforce my self-esteem because my shame is no longer actively attacking it.
My eating habits have also changed. The psilocybin seems to have changed my brain by altering my food preferences. I find myself preferring typical “Mediterranean diet” foods and having a mild distaste for red meat, sweets and heavy carbohydrates. I no longer have much taste for wine or alcohol, and my drink of preference is hot or iced tea.
As a consequence, my weight has dropped and remains under control. I am down more than fifty pounds, from above 210 to around 160, which I have maintained for more than a year and is a healthy weight for me. Like most people, I’ll occasionally splurge, but afterwards I return to my new habits and lose any short-term weight gain.
I owe a huge debt of gratitude to David for his unflinching support and for his flexibility in letting me find my own solutions. I have endless admiration for Jimmy, his knowledge of psychedelic drugs, and his amazing compassion and support for those who use them.
(I’m not the only person whom Jimmy has impressed. A very talented graduate film student at NYU directed, produced and recently debuted a thirty minute documentary all about Jimmy called “Journey.” I don’t think that it is yet available to the public, but the trailer for the film can be seen at http://newsdocfilmfest.com/year-2023/journey/. I have a small part in the film because the director wanted some of Jimmy’s clients to explain the importance to them of Jimmy’s trip-sitting.)
But the most important person by far in my personal journey has been my wife, Andrea. The whole thing started when she was perceptive enough to suggest couples counseling and forgiving enough to want to remain married to me after suffering from more than forty years of my unemotional, shame-driven behavior. Without her constant support and encouragement, I would never have had the courage or determination to finish my journey.
I ask myself: Is my journey truly finished? Not really. I still have more work to do — but it is not nearly as urgent now. I still see David for therapy, once per quarter now, although it is helpful to know that he is always available in an emergency.
I also ask myself: Why am I writing this? I sometimes worry that it is just self-indulgent ego-stroking. But I recognize that thought as an impulse that comes from my sense of shame, suggesting that I am not worthy of telling my story.
I am really writing this to inspire and give hope to others. I was in my mid-60’s when I started my journey, married for forty years and had a nearly sixty year history of shame and shackled emotions. If I can change so radically after just two years of therapy enhanced by a couple of psychedelic treatments, then anyone may be able to effect similar change on themselves. I don’t want to minimize the work or effort involved, but I hope to stand as an example to anyone who isn’t satisfied with their own mental health.
— Mark Friedlander, March, 2023
