A few nights ago, I received a message from a woman. We don’t know each other, but we sure have a lot in common, including being part of the same community. She told me in her original message that someone had shared my blog with her and that she empathized with so much of my pain reading it. She also let me know that she, too, had participated in the same clinical research trial that I did and is now suffering with many adverse effects from it as well. I was intrigued and in a bit of shock.
After messaging back and forth for a while that evening, we decided it was probably easier to chat over the phone, so she called me. We shared our stories on a much deeper and more intimate level and compared notes about our individual experiences during our time in the trial. We discussed the intensity of our “trips”, the disturbing music we were forced to listen to for the duration of our “trips” and the insignificant therapeutic support and guidance we received both during the treatment and within the months following. Our conversation lasted until sometime after one in the morning that same night. I probably could’ve stayed on with her for hours more, even if I hate talking on the phone. I just felt this indescribable connection to her, which, after hanging up the phone, eventually led me to tears.
Friday afternoon, I received an email from another woman who was also recently sent the link to my blog site as well from a friend of hers who had discovered it. She hadn’t participated in the same clinical trial as me but had instead participated in another psychedelic study 4 or 5 years ago. My story resonated with her, too.
All 3 of us, vulnerable and beyond “desperate for some kind of relief”, along with promises that this could be our “miracle cure” is what led us to trying psychedelics for research purposes, naive to the potential life-altering “impairments” these experiments could have on us. It is an inconceivable bond we all now share.
Since participating in the Psilocybin clinical trial, I have felt very much alone in this particular part of my journey as there are not many people who can truly relate to what I am going through. Then, after reading the published report from the results of the study a few weeks ago when it was sent to me by a reporter asking if I felt like I’d been adequately represented in the results (in case you missed it: https://wheredidmommyssmilego.com/2024/03/03/clinical-trial-published/), I spiraled. I became enraged and overcome by the most intense feelings of defeat, regret, and hopelessness. Mostly, though, I felt completely lost and alone.
My life has been a living hell for almost two years now (well 10 actually, but 2 for this purpose only) but at the very least, I am slowly learning to accept the fact that the unrelenting, often debilitating and unbearable neurological damage I’ve endured from the trial has likely become a permanent part of my being.
However, hearing from others over the past many weeks who have endured similar consequences from psychedelic trials as well as several researchers and reporters who have also reached out to me and spend their time researching and writing articles on “the challenging effects of psychedelics and the safety, misinformation and ethics behind these trials”, I am suddenly not feeling so alone anymore. I am almost elated to know that I am not the only one, that it’s not all in my head, and that there are people speaking out to make others aware that the reports published on many of these studies are not showing the entire picture or truths. Not everyone is being “adequately represented” in these studies.
I am also beyond grateful that my platform has brought some of us together. I don’t think I quite understood until now the depths of my authenticity and just how far-reaching it truly is.
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YouAreEnough 