That Time I Did Mushrooms for Three Months Straight

Wanting to venture further afield than the usual financial fraud and blockchain related articles, it came to my attention that many of my mutual followers on Twitter were interested in psychedelics, especially with the decriminalization of drugs in Oregon.

So let’s talk anecdotally.

Before we venture onward, I need to blatantly express: I am not endorsing self-medication. I am not endorsing growing mushrooms. I am not endorsing using drugs in any way. I am simply relating a story.

Some of you still reading this hate drugs. You can stop reading now. I urge you to. This isn’t going to be an article that relates to any of the beliefs you have. On that note-

A few years ago I found myself in a very dark place. After my father passed away early from an alcohol-related illness and my partner of four years left me, I wasn’t quite sure what to do with myself. I was on the verge of giving up — which I’m sure many financial traders can attest to, isn’t a difficult realm to reach.

Lacking motivation or will to live is a serious problem, and for some it isn’t curable with some antidepressants or therapy sessions. I’ve tried both.

Rewind.

By the time I was in third grade I worshipped the ghost of Kurt Cobain. I thought the way he lived his life was glorious: he was talented, he was a genius, he got his message across, and he was so disillusioned he decided to leave early. I even looked to his contemporaries — Layne Staley, Shannon Hoon, Mike Starr — and found an unfortunate pattern: drug use, enlightenment, and death.

It’s hard to see flaws in that mindset.

I had this fucked up dream that I too would be a martyr, that I too would give everything, that I too would expose my soul, and that I too would leave early.

It didn’t pan out that way.

But the shadows of your childhood always come back to haunt you. As a dude in his late 20s, I was completely lost, useless. I didn’t have a platinum album to say I adequately professed my message, or a NYT’s bestselling book, a million listener podcast, or a solid degree to fall back on. For fuck sakes, I didn’t have a dad or a girlfriend. I had nothing, and maybe that was enough to leave with. Nothing.

One of my best friends who was also going through an incredibly intense and difficult depression reached out to me. She wondered if we might try growing mushrooms together — not even to cure depression, just for fun.

I loved the idea. It was random, it was silly, and it was i l l e g a l.

So we embarked on a four or five month long journey. We had to learn about mushroom spores, mediums that specific spores prefer, lighting, humidity, etc. etc. It distracted me from the mundanity and pain of life. It was good.

And it took ages. We had to buy a host of equipment (that’s all proven useful for other stuff since [ie, mainly use the pressure cooker for meat or beans now]), wear masks and gloves before they were cool, get humidifiers and tubing. It was a blast.

And it paid off. We got a lot of mushrooms. I was not generous with my share, which is shameful, I know — but I had a plan. I would attempt to singlehandedly C O P E with my depression, and however long it took, is however long it took.

My goal was not to have a series of “come to God” moments, or as psychedelic advocates term it, “hero dosing.” I had experienced hero doses as a younger lad and, while certainly enjoyable, rarely did they lead to a permanent shift in behavior. What I was looking for wasn't going to be instant.

I would split my mushrooms up so as to do a very small amount daily, as long as they lasted. Meanwhile, more continued to crop up:

And?

The effects were pretty quick, though not necessarily long-lasting. I’d take a few, have breakfast, walk to work, and for the most part, feel good throughout the day. Usually I’d feel a little down at night, but I had no trouble sleeping, wasn’t overindulging in alcohol and weed, and wasn’t at the same low I’d been before. At no point did I consider myself “addicted” like I am with marijuana or tobacco.

Astonishingly, the longer I practiced it, the more effective it was. Soon, I wasn’t taking mushrooms everyday, but every other day. And then every three days. And then I was done. I didn’t need them anymore. I wasn’t so fucking sad anymore. I didn’t want to die anymore.

Not For Everyone

Need to reiterate here that I don’t believe psychedelics are for everyone. I haven’t struggled with depression in nearly the same scope since my three months taking mushrooms. This doesn’t mean it would work for you.

My “study” wasn’t a study at all. It was an experiment I was willing to conduct on myself — and I’m exponentially lucky it worked out in my benefit.

Stay skeptical, friends.