Wife, mom of 3 beautiful children, dog lover, creative sole and children's book Author. Sharing my journey with depression and anxiety through blogging in hopes of educating and ending the stigma.
I’ve been experiencing overwhelming anxiety and exhaustion.
I’m incredibly vulnerable and beyond hopeless.
I feel like I am all out of viable options.
By Friday evening, the added stressors from my week created an unbearable flare-up throughout my entire body, and may have also been the cause of a vicious migraine on top of it, which lasted most of yesterday.
The migraine has thankfully subsided today, but the flare-up has not.
It’s unrelenting.
Moving my body seems to be the only temporary relief I get. Something I couldn’t do yesterday while nursing a migraine and severe nausea.
Although my body and mind were both craving rest yesterday, which is just as important, today I will do whatever it takes to boost my mood, calm my nervous system down and help manage my debilitating flare-up with some laps in the pool this afternoon.
I’ll do whatever it takes today to get my body and mind to a meditative state in an attempt to conquer another uncertain week ahead.
What are you doing to reset, restart, or refocus today?
I’m feeling very anxious today. Triggers of old wounds and past childhood traumas are abound.
Still broken.
Ten years later.
It’s a day that still plays out in my mind over and over again. A day so clear in my memory; as though it happened yesterday.
Ten years ago today, I uttered the words “I want to die” for the very first time. And I meant it.
It felt like my world was better off without me in it. And it still does.
I could’ve never imagined, not even for one second that ten years later I’d still be here, fighting for my life.
But I am still here, still fighting.
I’m still trying, ten years later, to lift that veil of sadness.
I have come a far way since then, thanks to the continued support and kindness from my wonderful therapist.
I now have a better understanding of my past traumas, my triggers, and my own personal guilt-ridden experiences from my childhood and young adult life that led me to my breaking point on April 4th, 2014.
I am now able to reach deep inside my soul to help me better understand the many depths of my suffering and the wounds I kept securely hidden away in my subconscious mind for far too long which, admittedly, first came to light during some of my Ketamine sessions a few years ago.
I may never heal entirely. I can’t change the past, but having a better understanding that I am not to blame is a good first step and hopefully, with time, I can slowly begin to loosen the noose still tightly wrapped around my neck, ten years later.
Thank you to all of you for continuing to support me and smother me with kindness and compassion along my journey, whether you are new to my life or still hanging on, ten years later.
I woke up that morning after a restless night’s sleep.
I was excited to get to the clinic so I could start my Psilocybin journey.
The wait was over.
The day had finally arrived.
I was hours away from getting the relief I had been dreaming of for so long.
I’d completed all the necessary steps needed in order to be accepted into the clinical trial.
But there was just one thing left still standing in my way.
Earlier that week I had come into close contact with not one, but two people who contracted Covid.
My son being one of them and the other being a Psychiatrist who I’d just spent 2 to 3 hours with in close quarters the Sunday prior.
I had managed to dodge every other exposure to Covid I’d had up til then.
But was my luck about to change?
As routine and for precautionary reasons, I knew the nurse would be doing a rapid Covid test on me (and all other patients prior to treatment) as soon as I arrived.
It was the longest 15 minutes of my life waiting for those results. If the test came back positive, I would be sent home, completely devastated, having to wait who knows how many more months for my turn to come back around again.
When the nurse finally gave me the green light to go ahead, and for Rich to go home, I was so relieved.
So how sad is it that I’ve spent every day since, wishing I had tested positive for Covid that day.
What if I had to come back another day, maybe things would’ve turned out differently?
It’s only Monday morning and I’m already done peopling for the week.
I spent most of the weekend distracted by friends and loved ones and made self-care a top priority, yet I still felt an overwhelming sense of restlessness and dread throughout my body and mind.
Maybe the long weekend just wasn’t long enough for me or perhaps it’s more likely that my subconscious mind spent the weekend anticipating and preparing me for what is likely going to be a very difficult week ahead.
If I find myself in need of extra support or shutting down at any given time this coming week, I will ask for help and do so without shame or guilt.
If I find myself reliving my past traumas of April 2, 2022 or April 4, 2014, the anniversaries of the two worst days of my life, I will give myself the grace I deserve and allow myself to feel my emotions.
If I find myself ruminating, in a fight or flight mode, emotionally exhausted, feeling distressed, irritable, anxious, or sad, I will take the necessary breaks needed for my mental and physical health.
If I find myself triggered by these life-changing events that have occurred to me over the past ten years, I will remind myself that I am doing the best I can to survive each and every day.
I did an interview recently over Zoom with one of several journalists who’d reached out to me after the results from the Psilocybin trial were made public. We were introduced to each other by another participant in the study who had found me and connected us. He lives in Costa Rica. He was very respectful and easy to talk to during our time together. I only wished the interview could’ve been done in person in Costa Rica, lol.
As I wrote in a recent blog, (https://wheredidmommyssmilego.com/2024/03/17/psychedelic-bonds/), I am so beyond grateful that this other participant did find me. Two women, both with many years of suffering from treatment resistant depression, desperately trying to figure a way out of our own despair and now forever bonded by further trauma and pain due to our willingness to participate in a clinical study.
The journalist wanted to hear our stories for an article he was writing about the truths that were left out of the final study results. Neither “Heather” or I wanting our experiences to be “silenced” or “minimized”, we agreed to share our stories with him; both of us hoping to bring awareness as to how the use of psychedelics for research and therapeutic purposes need to be vastly improved.
I also mentioned in another recent blog, (https://wheredidmommyssmilego.com/2024/03/03/clinical-trial-published/), that I had asked my Psychiatrist, who I have great respect for, permission to speak my truths to these journalists; given his position in the study itself. He gave me his blessing, but it did come with a warning to be careful as he didn’t want to see me exploited or experience further hurt for any journalist’s own personal gain.
Talking (and writing) about my journey has always been very cathartic for me, even after sharing it like a thousand times by now, but when the journalist sent me the rough draft of the article, asking both Heather and I to approve what he’d written before publishing it, I suddenly became very triggered and traumatized once again. I began reliving that day over and over again in my mind, and the weeks, months, and now years following (it will be exactly 2 years ago this coming week, and in many ways, it still feels like it was yesterday). The deeper I delved into the article, the more unreal it felt reading it. I was numb and just kept thinking to myself, “omg this is not some random stranger’s story, this is my actual f*cking life.” And even though I re-read many of my blogs from time to time and think, damn I’ve been through a lot of sh*t, reading this back from an outsider’s perspective felt very surreal.
I am truly grateful, though, to have been given the opportunity to lend my voice to such a large audience and important conversation. Since published a couple of days ago, the article has been viewed and shared by thousands of people on many different social media platforms and has given my blog some HUGE exposure, for which I am most grateful. I have once again been contacted by several individuals who have read the article, shocked by what I have gone through, thanking me for sharing my story and offering support from their own professional backgrounds and practices to which I look forward to learning more about.
**The photo I shared, with permission, is from Heather herself. It gives you a glimpse into the room we were in for our dosing and therapy sessions. It was cold and “cramped” with “no windows, no plants, no natural light.” Just one of the many things that need to be improved upon.
Here is a link to the article itself if you are interested in reading it, his takeaways the journalist lists at the end of the article are quite valuable as to where future research studies can go from here:
I had a dream recently that I’d won a very (very) large sum of money. I had that same recurring dream again last night. It was a welcomed distraction from many of the more disturbing dreams I normally have. Hey, if I have to dream at all, I might as well dream big, right?
Both times, I was able to recall many vivid details of these dreams the next morning. But both times, these same dreams also sparked a very strong emotional response, too.
Dreams can have many different interpretations and are often shaped by our thoughts and emotions, dreams of winning a lot of money included. But I didn’t realize just how many different interpretations there actually were until I decided to do some more research on the psychology behind my dreams. What I found out in doing so could have just as much to do with my own personal growth, progress and financial stability as it does with how overwhelmed I am feeling lately at home and how completely undervalued I am feeling at my place of work. I feel trapped, and maybe my dreaming of winning that lottery is me subconsciously planning my great escape.
Then reality set in. I know in my heart that the one thing all the money in the world can’t buy me is happiness, even if we are programmed to believe this to be true, but no matter what you may have on the outside; a big house, an expensive car or a wardrobe filled with designer labels, it can never sustain your peace and happiness.
I’m not saying that having money can’t help improve your lifestyle, relieve some of your stressors or lift a heavy weight off your shoulders, I’m just reminding you that it can’t guarantee your happiness or cure depression and anxiety. Just look at the many celebrities who have opened up about their own personal mental health struggles, or those who sadly suffered in silence, which ultimately led them to take their own lives. If past traumas, environmental and biological factors, or negative life experiences are causing a decline in your mental health, those feelings will stay within you until they are properly treated. No amount of money can fix them.
So, as I continue to dream of winning that lottery in the hopes of, at the very least, relieving some of the many stressors in my life, I will continue to prioritize what’s most important; my loved ones and my self-care. Yesterday, I spent time with my loved ones, and today, I focused on my self-care by doing laps for an hour in the pool at my mother in law’s condo, followed by a relaxing sauna.
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.
When I come face to face with myself in the mirror, I feel inadequate and unlovable.
Today, while at work, I began to feel an intensity of emotions all at once.
I needed to somehow escape my inner critic, so I made a quick beeline for the washroom where I found myself being confronted by my own reflection.
I didn’t run, though.
I stood there for a moment, desperately trying to ground myself.
I looked into my own eyes with the utmost of compassion and kindness, and instead of telling myself that I am inadequate and unlovable, I found the courage to softly mouth the words, I am worthy, and I am enough to the image staring back at me in the mirror.
All my senses are heightened, and I’m finding it harder and harder to hold on.
The weight of each added stressor and the weight of my emotional and physical pain I’m in just feel too much.
They keep piling one on top of the other day by day, and my shoulders can no longer handle the weight.
They feel broken.
I feel broken.
It feels like a losing battle.
I am so desperate to find some kind of resolution to my living nightmare.
I am hoping I can begin to learn some new tools of how to protect my peace and walk through my pain as I delve into the pages of my new book, which was written by the inspiring and motivational author, Trent Skelton, who has been rated the number one mindset and self-worth mentor in the world.
YouAreEnough 
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