Magic Mushrooms Ruined My Life
2,009 miles from my hometown in California — halfway across the country, I’m reflecting on my life
You’re probably reading this because you wonder how magic fungi “ruined” my life. Plain and simple, it no longer exists. That undergoing has been nothing but intense.
In recent years, we’ve heard praises of how psilocybin can rewire the brain, such as significantly reducing symptoms by up to a year for some patients.
To those who’ve experienced chronic depression, anxiety, obsessive-compulsive disorder, or any other mental health disorder — psilocybin sounds like the cure.
While I’m a massive advocate for the use of psilocybin to treat mental disorders and heal the human spirit, you should know this isn’t a self-help piece that promises a quick fix. Rather, this is a cautionary tale for those who wish to embark on the psilocybin journey.
Pre-Trip
On January 26, 2020 — after months of researching, I woke up with the full intention of tripping on magic mushrooms. I was fed up with what my life had become. There was a constant wishing, wanting, longing, for SOMETHING to bring joy back into my life.
I desperately wanted to drop out of college during my sophomore year. I didn’t understand these feelings of rejection toward school. I’d always been a straight-A student and just did what I was supposed to do without hesitance because there was a path laid out to me by family, and echoed in conversations with friends and peers.
Despite it seeming simple, it caused deep fear and anxiety about straying from this pre-determined path. What would happen?
If I didn’t finish college, get a career, find a spouse, marry, buy a house, and have kids — all in that order and all by the time I reached 30, then I sure would be a failure.
I identified so heavily with the pressure of what I should be, that it led to misery. I finished college only by a thread. It didn’t go without countless episodes of self-destructive behavior followed by therapist visits.
No matter how religiously I took the medication and practiced mindfulness meditation, it still felt like there was a tar inhabiting my being, blocking any long-lasting happiness from shining into me. I knew I had to go deeper.
I first heard about psilocybin therapy after taking up the practice of waking mindfulness and meditation to offset anxiety attacks. I read books about how PTSD essentially eats away at the human brain, meanwhile, psilocybin activates the a5-HT2A receptors, allowing neural connections the time to reform healthy neurons.
In theory, all these new healthy connections allow us to process early traumatic memories that we don’t consciously think about — releasing us from the invisible grip of anxiety and depression.
But the catch is that in order to get ahead, we need to go back.
The Trip
I desperately sought a solution to my deteriorating mental health, and such promising data and anecdotes lead me to assume that one mushroom trip would reset everything and get me on my way.
What I didn’t know is that ego death is beyond words and nothing could fully prepare me for it.
Two hours after I ingested an eighth of white albinos, the strength of the psilocybin rendered me immobile as the medicine prepared me for what was to come. My body interpreted this as an attack.
The grass shook beneath my trembling body. I tightly clung on, convinced that if I loosened up, I’d be ripped away into the void. My ego gripped onto any semblance of control. I choked back tears while the clouds above me whispered about shifting realities within my reach.
I didn’t know what was happening, I simply felt the immense swell of pain that had lived buried within me for a lifetime. It ached worse than when I broke my ankle or when I endured my first heartbreak.
Memories of my childhood rose to the surface and I lay back as if watching a movie. Family, friends, and co-workers were mere actors on the screen. I felt distant from everyone, including myself.
What is all this?
Whatever you want it to be, the cloud above me said, and suddenly everything behind my eyelids exploded in technicolor.
The urge to walk into traffic to stop my pain subsided. Suffering was traded for euphoria and a deep comforted knowing. I watched the trees and grass dance in harmony with the wind. This time I cried tears of deep joy as I felt a wave of comfort wash over me.
I would never float off into space because I was born on Earth, and every cell in my being had a purpose. I felt blessed. Every single sequence in my life happened for a reason, and the way it colored my future cognition depended on my interpretation.
Now — The Takeaway
Though I now sit comfortably and safe reminiscing on how much has changed, the journey here was nothing short of a battle. And it’s nowhere near over.
The truth is, magic mushrooms reveal all the dark, putrid layers of ourselves that we would rather hide from the world.
Akin to a caterpillar entering into cocoon form before its majestic resurgence as a butterfly, we too must be prepared and willing to undergo darkness before shedding what no longer serves us.
I believe that’s where the real magic happens in our transformation.
For the first few weeks, my transformation looked like severe depression because I was suddenly forced to confront years of repressed trauma. Every morning I fought off an anxiety attack as the countless voices from family and friends rattled off notions of what I should do in my head.
But deep down in my heart, I knew. There were visions of childhood dreams, now abandoned out of fear. The phrase ‘ignorance is bliss’ took on a whole new meaning. I worked intensely with a trauma therapist to process and integrate the many layers of myself that I’d neglected.
I often recalled how the clouds, trees, and grass held me. Everything has a rhyme and a reason. Beginning to see life this way truly felt strange, but with time I learned to embrace it more fully.
I learned that though it seems easier to suppress, hush, or quiet our heart’s desires, we’re doing our future selves a disservice. Once we acknowledge the desire for change or growth, we either take accountability for our choices there on out or live in shame and regret later on. And that is a terrifying concept when trauma has beaten and shaped us to live in learned helplessness.
The rigidity of my past life trapped me in a cold, soulless castle where I stood alone, waiting for someone else to come save me.
Today, I have grown more comfortable with the shifting uncertainties of life. I still struggle with anxiety and the occasional resurgence of trauma, but I stride away from that first day I took a step forward.
Though I’m still learning to see and align with my heart’s desires, I wouldn’t trade this newfound discomfort for anything.
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