What losing my mind taught me about psychedelic support
I used to be an atheist. My friend did LSD and I got worried about him because DARE convinced me psychedelics are the worst drug ever. I agreed: consciousness is all I am, so why would I fuck with that?
He gave me the book Doors of Perception by one of my favorite authors, Aldus Huxley. His account convinced me to do more reading, so I spent weeks in my college library reading studies on psychedelics, opiates, and cocaine.
I got clear that I never wanted to eclipse the feeling of natural high with heroine, and that exploring consciousness seemed to be the physiologically safest and least addictive of all of the drugs I read about.
So I took acid on my 19th birthday. I felt inwardly content. I wasn’t tripping balls. It was a little different, but I was fascinated by certain aspects of social conduct and the patterns of bricks, rocks and grass.
After being a scientific perspective for so long, psychedelic drugs gave me an experiential reference for states of consciousness that we define as reality. Originally an atheist because you could not scientifically prove to me “God,” I became a believer of something bigger simply because I had a shift to my consciousness that was more experiential than scientific.
Fast forward to my 30th birthday where I discover ayahuasca, and after a few years with community exploring this medicine and ritual, I head to Peru for a dieta – 10 days of silence and isolation with 5 nights of ayahuasca.
During that retreat, I ingested a considerable amount of a deliriant that lasted for weeks after. Unbeknownst to me that I had more than anyone else and that this plant medicine was classified a deliriant were discoveries I did not make until years later.
I had the equivalent of a psychotic break, caused through a combination of sleep deprivation and a 2-week-long plant deliriant quest of cosmic proportions.
In all my preparation and experience, all my trust and comradery with my group never prepared me for truly losing my mind. Fortunately, no one was hurt, no property was damaged, and all the mistaken theft I would engage in eventually made it’s way back home.
And I had support. Amazing support. Deep and trusted support. Community support, friend support, family support. Everyone tagged in to be absolute heroes when I was failing at coming back from my trip.
Eventually I did come back – and so much of it I can attribute to solid, trustworthy friends and conversations that kept safe and secure tethers back to reality while allowing me to have my experience.
Though I was often questioned about what I was doing or saying with some of these folks, it was more often than not done in a spirit of curiosity and discovery rather than pointing out how ludicrous what I was doing actually was.