You deserve love, we deserve love

Psilocybe cubensis. Image by Mädi.

I have been using psychedelics from a young age. Most of my experiences have been with MDMA, LSD and psilocybin.

I’ve believed in the power of psychedelics to help us develop a deeper understanding of ourselves, our world and our relationship with others and the world since my earliest experiences. But they did not prevent me developing serious addiction issues (nor should anyone expect they necessarily would). Many of my experiences were profoundly beneficial. But my discontent with life and early misuse of alcohol primed me for difficulties with drug dependence.

After a particularly difficult year where I had been using methamphetamine in addition to the other problematic drugs I had used on and off for many years, my life was in ruins. I was unemployed, excluded from my profession, facing criminal charges for drug possession, isolated and broke. Not just broke, but broken.

My days revolved around waking up, collecting my methadone, then drinking the day away. This was the cycle for nearly a year. I saw no hope for the future and felt myself to be of no value to myself or anyone else. Suicide entered my mind. It grew in my mind. It became the solution.

But something inside was questioning whether I should try and run the idea through the psychedelic sieve first. I had been too scared to try psychedelics since my life fell apart. I was worried they would make me worse, or perhaps even fracture me completely. Yet my past experiences led me to believe that risk may be worth it.

I decided to try a fairly low dose of Psilocybe cubensis. I was just planning to watch some movies and not focus inward, to reintroduce myself to the experience without it becoming overly emotional. I thought this might prepare me to dive deeper with a more therapeutic intention next time. Just in case things did get heavy, I didn’t want to put someone I knew through a potentially difficult time helping me work through my grief. I felt deeply ashamed about my situation. I journeyed alone.

 
I made a lemon tea with 3g of P. cubensis and took it just before sunset. I put on some cartoons and opened a hard cider, my first of the day, and usually the first of ten for the day. They started to take effect as the familiar fullness in my belly began and the blue-green tinge to my vision set in. The experience rapidly came up. Within half an hour my body felt uncomfortable, tense and anxious.

 
The first profoundly healing experience of the night came when I took a sip of my cider. The same cider I had been drinking to excess for several years. A taste I associated with escape and relief. And it was horrible. It tasted like I imagine formaldehyde must. And as the liquid entered my body, I felt it poisoning me. Images flashed in my mind of my brain and liver shrinking and becoming hard as rocks. My organs blistered in my mind’s eye. I could not take another sip. And then the experience took its own path to showing me what I needed to see.

I began to cry. The sudden visceral awareness of the damage I was doing to myself, be it alcohol from a can or other substances through a needle, sunk in. But it did not elicit the sense of hopeless self-loathing I had become familiar with. It did not result in a destructive cycle like so many nights before.

Instead, images from my childhood entered my mind. I had few positive memories from childhood, despite my awareness that objectively my childhood was actually quite good. I saw images of my family and friends crying, as they had done so many times when they thought I was dead or lost forever. I experienced the guilt I knew all too well … but it was different.

Compassion, radical self-acceptance, things I had never been familiar with in regards to my thoughts about myself, suddenly overwhelmed me. I was suddenly not crying because of grief. I was crying because I felt sorry for myself. Sorry my mind had become so negative. Sorry for all I had been through. Sorry for what it had meant for those who loved me, for what I had put them through. I thought of my path from childhood to here, my arms scarred, my mind broken, struggling to get through the day. I thought of the child trapped inside, waiting for the day I could accept that long detached part of myself into who I was. I cried, and cried, and cried.

Then I wrapped my arms around myself and screamed. I hugged myself until my arms hurt. For the first time I could remember, perhaps even the first time in my life, I understood myself. Without criticism, without shame, without guilt, without hate. I felt I could love myself. I believed I could be loved. I believed I was WORTHY of love. Self-acceptance that felt real. Visceral compassion I could experience without discomfort. My brain unpacked years of compounded trauma, not intellectually as was often the case for me, but emotionally.

I lay on my back as waves like this intensified and abated, washing over the sand of my mind, smoothing out years of negative self-beliefs. This continued for maybe an hour before the intensity began to wane.

I sat up. I was not euphoric by any means. I felt drained, worn out, sore. I felt exhausted, but not tired.

I went back to my happy, playful movies. I often enjoy movies on the tail end of an experience, and on this occasion it was a welcome change of set. I actively redirected my attention outward. I felt I had done all the internal work I could tolerate, and perhaps all I needed for the moment. I did not have another sip of the still full cider can in front of me. Even the smell made me sick.

It has been two years now since that experience. I still credit it with being the pivotal moment in my self-destructive behaviours. I still drink, but not to excess. The images and sensations that overwhelmed me when I sipped my cider that night come back if I start to overindulge. But it is not just the aversion that keeps me away.

The most profound outcome from this experience was the love and compassion for myself that I experienced afterwards. Love and compassion I had never had before. And a belief that I deserved to feel love, compassion, sympathy and care. The sense of comfort with who I was: mistakes, imperfections and all. These feelings are not set in stone and they do waver, as is the case for all of us. But they remain and I can actively reinforce them.

A few points to reflect on: Firstly I think most of my friends would have been happy to try and help me through this experience. I wouldn’t recommend taking psychedelics alone to everyone, particularly if you are worried things might get dark or if you are planning to try and actively work through something distressing, especially for those with less experience working with these substances. Taking psychedelics at a time of crisis or when in distress is potentially quite high risk, even when not planning to actively address the issues during the experience. In this case, I was lucky things went favourably.

Secondly, while the substance facilitates the experience, you facilitate the meaning. I had, often to my own detriment, spent many years trying to understand who I was and how I had come to be who I was. On an intellectual level, I think I had a fairly good grasp. What I lacked was the ability to have compassion for myself and accept who I was. I also struggled to own my control over who I could be. It was all of that thought and energy spent in my attempts at self-analysis that I believe facilitated the deeply meaningful experience I had at this critical moment in my life.

This is why preparation is so important for maximizing the potential benefits of using psychedelics with some therapeutic intent. I did not have to do so much active integration, but I did have to lean into the new behaviours my mind was pushing me towards after the experience.

I had to go out and socialise. I had to make amends with those I had put through so much. I had to get back in the ocean and back into the bush. I had to look to the future and nurture the sparks of hope the mushrooms had lit in my mind. I had to keep loving myself.

Some are better equipped than others to do this with more or less support. I believe some people would get the most benefit from these experiences with a more structured approach to preparation and integration. For some, friends or partners may help with this. For others, professionals may be better equipped.

Psychedelics are not without risk, particularly for those of us who struggle with deep issues. And they are certainly not a magic bullet to end all suffering. But for some, or perhaps many of us, when used safely they can play a critical role in our recovery from the issues that stem from a lack of trust in the world and a lack of compassion for ourselves. You deserve love, we deserve love.

- Anon, age 30.


Disclaimer: This article provides information for educational purposes only, and is not intended as legal, medical, or professional advice. The views expressed in this article are the author’s, and don't necessarily reflect the views of the Australian Psychedelic Society or its members.