Magic Mushrooms Made Me Happier

Over the past few years, a fungi I’ve only heard about in the context of my parents’ young adulthood has gotten a lot of attention. Growing up, I’d heard it called “magic mushrooms,” “shrooms,” or simply “mushrooms.” As a (very) naive teen and young adult, hearing those nicknames conjured up thoughts of outdoor music concerts, where smiling, long-haired women in flowing skirts and flower crowns swayed aimlessly to guitar music, free love flourished, and people didn’t bathe enough. Being the hyper-focused, type A young person that I was, none of this appealed to me. Ergo, I was never curious to try psilocybin, the scientific name for magic mushrooms. My preferred vices were standard and innocent: cheddar and sour cream potato chips, fantasy novels, and late-night reruns of Sex and the City. So imagine my surprise when after a lifetime of noninteraction with mushrooms (or any drug, for that matter), that I came across psilocybin in my thirties -- and found it to be immensely helpful for my depression and anxiety.

My noticing this fungi has been a long time in the making. Although magic mushrooms are naturally-occurring, research has been incredibly limited up to this point, due to the psychedelic being classified as a Schedule I controlled substance for more than 40 years. But that’s changing. Limited, study-related permits are being issued with increasing regularity, perhaps, because the studies surrounding psilocybin are very promising. For example, in December 2016, the Journal of Psychopharmacology released two landmark findings which found that 80% of patients studied showed clinically significant reductions in both depression and anxiety after ingesting a single dose of psilocybin. As an added benefit, test subjects sustained their mood improvement for up to seven months, and there were little to no side effects. Likewise, in 2015, a proof-of-concept trial done at the University of New Mexico found that ten alcoholics who took a dose of psilocybin drank significantly less than before, and this progress was maintained for some nine months. A 2011 study found that after one dose of psilocybin, people became more open to new experiences for at least fourteen months. According to a 2014 study, psilocybin actually boosts brain activity. All sorts of wonderful, dare I say, magical, findings have been discovered in studying magic mushrooms.

But then there’s now. There’s today, and while patience is a virtue, it’s not my virtue, especially if that means enduring multi-month bouts with mood disorders, as I have for most of my life. So when I hit a wall with the side effects from antidepressants, and I’d extricated myself from some major environmental stressors, worked through months of therapy, and despite all that, still experienced life-altering anxiety (and less often but still often, depression), I began to look for alternatives. Magic mushrooms kept popping up -- on the news, in chatter with friends, in conversations between me and my worldly-wise significant other.

Being the risk-averse, neurotic control freak that I am, my youth was not exactly what I would call “experimental.” In college, I stayed up late studying instead of drinking, although I distinctly remember ingesting a Four Loko once, back when it contained a heart-attack-sized dose of caffeine, and regretting it the next day. Other than trying weed once and not seeing the appeal, I never tried any drugs. While friends regaled me of tales of staying up all night, crushing prescription uppers in long, thin lines and snorting them, I nodded along, usually thinking: that sounds dangerous. When my friends’ roommate joked about the time he took painkillers leftover from from a surgery and wandered around confused and lost under the moonlight, I smiled uncomfortably; it just wasn’t for me. So when my doctor told me that I needed to try an antidepressant to alleviate the ever-present, burning pangs of anxiety that plagued me day-in and day-out, I agreed cautiously, and only after a lot of reading and rapid-fire questions. At that point, I figured I’d try anything

So I did what she told me. I took my medicine; it took months to work. I went outside more. I exercised -- daily. I snuggled my dog, meditated, sat in from of a “sun” lamp, and took fish oil. I did yoga, took walks, and rarely let myself dip into habits of isolation. Day by day, I improved. Food became more delicious, the sun seemed to shine a little brighter, and I felt less overwhelmed. But this improvement came at a cost: I needed to sleep almost 10-12 hours a night, which meant I could rarely “hang” past 7 pm. I’d gained weight. My libido was off. Little things, that alone weren’t deal breakers, but as a sum total, left me wanting more. And maybe, I thought, this was it. These were just things I’d have to manage forever to keep my mental state unimpaired.

Enter magic mushrooms. I’d been following the promising studies about them for a while, in true control freak form. I liked that they were natural, unlike any pill I’d ever taken, where the side effects were the price I paid for relief. So one evening, I hunkered down in my apartment with a friend (my psychedelic sherpa, as she called herself) a couple of mushrooms, and a list of good movies to test my fate. Maybe magic mushrooms would help me, maybe they wouldn’t. Either way, I wanted to try. Hopefulness was never lost on me.

Being the amateur that I am, my movie of choice was predictable: Fantasia. Tossing the delicate chopped fungi into my mouth, I laid on a yoga mat in front of my television, allowing the warm feeling in my stomach and beautiful colors on the screen to wash over me. I laughed. I cried. I felt myself wanting to talk about things I’d been holding in for months. I cried at the beauty of the dancing flowers, trumpeting ponies, withering dinosaurs, and magical Mickeys. On my first “trip,” I took everything at face value. I didn’t bring any emotions with me, and I judged everything as I saw it in that moment. My stomach hurt from laughing, leaving me with a sore reminder the next day. And as the colors melted away, and the giggling feelings wore off, I felt a sense of complete tranquility. I remember laying down to sleep at 10:30 that night, feeling like I’d been on a journey that I could never fully explain or account for.

Waking up the next morning, I remember feeling light and happy, like a weight had just been lifted off my shoulders. Except this feeling didn’t last just for the morning, it continued for months after. I felt the best I’d felt in years, at times. The best way to describe it is that I was no longer as susceptible to the sensational whims of my emotions. Sadness wasn’t as dark. Anger wasn’t as deep. And happiness seemed to be much more resilient than it was before.

It was during this time that I decided that I wanted to try living “pill-free.” I should clarify: this decision wasn’t made on a whim. My doctor helped me establish some healthy routines, and I wanted to put my new-found resilience to the test. Going off my antidepressant was one of the more physically-challenging experiences of my adult life, but I did it. And life ticked on. I worked a lot. I embraced some situations outside of my comfort zone. I spoke in front of a room of people. I participated in some creative projects, and organized some of my own. I wrote. I felt incredibly vulnerable, and incredibly happy.

The effects of psilocybin last between three to six months for most people, especially for low-doses, like the one I’d taken. Like clockwork, around that time, I began to feel some of my old feelings again. Maybe it was the holidays. Who knows. I ignored them, and thrust myself head-first into work and extracurriculars. I checked off my healthy habits each day: sunshine, exercise, healthy food, friends, sleep. Ah, yeah -- sleep. I wasn’t sleeping well. Disturbed sleep is always my first heads-up that my anxiety is back. And for two weeks straight that month, I felt on the verge of tears. Everything began to feel burdensome. Small talk felt like nails on a chalkboard. My creativity wasn’t flowing. I was sinking back into some of my same old thoughts: Why am I here? What happens when I die? What if I lose everyone, and I’m alone? I couldn’t catch my breath. My chest felt like it was slowly suffocating me. I knew my anxiety was back.

So I picked up another small dose of magic mushrooms. This time, I decided to go the slightly-less predictable route, and turned on a cheesy movie from my youth: Dirty Dancing. Don’t ask. I thought something less stereotypically psychedelic would prove to my “trip” cohort that I knew what I was doing. Or something. My second trip proved to be dramatically different from my first, however. It was a darker, more philosophical, emotional rollercoaster. I invited my inhabiting emotions to join me on the ride. Most of the experience, I was quiet, holding tight to my friend, watching myself from above, while a fire danced rapidly in the hearth in front of us. I saw all my life’s worries laid out before me, and they had colors. Green. Blue. Dark Purple. Black. Sometimes they troubled me, and I cried. Sometimes I just observed them in paralyzed silence. At one point, I swore I’d died. And like the first time, as the colors subsided, and Jennifer Grey's pale pink dress and curly tresses faded from view, I wandered off to bed at 10:30, exhausted, like I’d been on a journey that I could never replicate in mere words.

Like the first time I tripped, and like any other morning, I woke up early, greeting the sun as it rose slowly over the horizon. And like the first time I ate magic mushrooms, I immediately felt its effects. Or lack thereof? It’s hard to describe. I felt lighter, less perplexed by life’s unsolvable problems, and less affected by the things I can never change or predict. All my anxieties were still there; they didn’t magically disappear overnight, but that was it. They were there, and so was I, and we were finally coexisting. Together.

Before mushrooms, it was all I could do to not be completely consumed with my fears, what-ifs, and worries. They ate at my energy, sapped my joy, and prevented me from living my fullest life. After magic mushrooms, they were still there, but I could leave them at home for the day while I went about and lived my life. More than ever before, I can appreciate that love is the strongest force on this planet, and I want to partake in it with the people that I love as much and as long as I can. Leaning into the sunshine, I laid my head on my significant other’s chest, listening to his heartbeat, feeling his steady breath. I felt lucky, and blessed. Gahhhd, I hate that word too, but I felt it. I felt blessed. And I blame the mushrooms.

Times are changing, and if cannibus’ massive inroads in the last decade are any indication of where psilocybin is headed, I’m looking forward to what the large-scale studies of our naturally-occurring medicines reveal. I’m looking forward to a lot more people living happier, healthier, more chemical-free lives, by harnessing the natural power of the world around us.

Editor's Note: This article should not be read to suggest that the author or Bonded endorses psilocybin as a treatment method for anxiety, depression, or any medical disorder. Before starting any kind of treatment plan, talk to your doctor.