How MDMA Saved My Life

Pharmacologically, MDMA (3,4-methylenedioxy-methamphetamine) acts as a serotonin-norepinephrine-dopamine releasing agent and re-uptake inhibitor. The street version is called Ecstasy, X, Molly, and a variety of other names. As with all things that have a “street” version the purity and actual quality of the drug are questionable at best. Often adulterants like caffeine or other stimulants are added to give energising effects or sometimes it”s other psychedelics like LSD. But in its pure, unadulterated form MDMA is being shown to have incredible psychotherapeutic properties, most specifically with emotionally traumatic experiences.\r\n

The purpose of my writing about my journeys with MDMA is to add my anecdotal experiences to the growing body of other stories and peer-reviewed science that will hopefully get this and other potentially and/or provably therapeutic psychedelics off of the Schedule 1 (controlled substances that supposedly have no medicinal value) list in the USA, as well as other countries, that they have been put on without any real basis in science. The goal is have MDMA, LSD, “magic mushrooms,” and other psychedelics available to mental health care clinicians so that they can treat patients that are untreatable using currently accepted methodologies. Most of what mental health care workers have available to them are drugs that make their patients slaves to Big Pharma for years and decades, that cost too much for the majority of people to afford, and only partially assuage symptoms without providing any actual cure for or affecting the underlying issue.

Most psychedelics are non-addictive. Natural psychedelics are not dangerous and most are impossible to overdose on. Some artificial ones do have potentially harmful side-effects over long-term use or high doses but for therapeutic use they are extremely safe especially in clinical, observed, and/or guided sessions. I encourage everyone reading this to do your own research on the topic and put aside your pre-conceptions that the popular dogma has been teaching for so many years.

This is an intensely personal account of my emotions, my past, and how I consciously and unconsciously reacted to past traumatic events. I seek neither validation nor criticism for anything I have done or felt but relay these painfully intimate details solely to put my therapeutic experiences within the appropriate context so that the outcome may be properly appreciated. Some may even wonder how these events can be called “traumatic,” as they don”t involve combat, or death, or great disaster, though there is much loss and heartbreak. To those people I can only shake my head and hope that you learn that not everyone”s experience is the same nor do individuals react the same to any given situation.

I believe the details, the context, and the whole story to be important to a real understanding of just how significant of a transformation I”ve undergone.

Trauma occurs when something happens to a person that is so painful, so abhorrent, or so demeaning or dehumanizing that the mind cannot properly process this event(s) and integrate it into the healthy psyche. A traumatic experience will stay in the “waiting room” of the mind for years trying to be dealt with but every time it attempts to be noticed the brain shrinks from it in fear of the pain it carries with it. And every time that past event tries to be noticed that”s a painful memory, a waterfall of agony, a knife to the heart, a soul-rending sense of loss or horror, or, in the worst cases, a flashback.

I discovered through this process just how much trauma I”ve encountered in my life. I am a white-collar professional working at a respectable job with a respectable income with a respectable amount of friends and a respectable amount of so forths and so ons. I”ve traveled the world for work and pleasure and met people from all walks of life, nationalities, and ethnic and social backgrounds. Yet almost no one has ever had any real idea of just how much pain I have been carrying with me on a daily basis. To look at me, you would think of me as a relatively normal member of society and that makes me terrified to think of how many people are likewise suffering behind the mask of normalcy. Truth be told, I had no idea how much trauma I had endured until I was able to confront it objectively and without fear through this process.

Through completely fortuitous circumstances, I was introduced to “Doctor Z” through a trusted third party. Dr Z performs MDMA-based therapy for patients at great risk to her career, professional licensing, and personal freedom. I don”t know that I”ve ever met a more genuine caring and beautiful person. He does what he does because he genuinely wants to help people and because he understands the almost miraculous effect this therapy can have with some people. When I say that meeting Dr Z saved my life, I mean it the most literal sense. Without her, I might already be dead.

I first sought Dr Z”s help because I could not get over a loss of a relationship. When I say I loved this woman, that”s like saying that the Sun is relatively hot in a casual tone of voice. The words cannot approach the magnitude of the reality. I adored her so completely that a story-book princess would be jealous of my devotion. Even though at times we lived on different continents, I saw her every minute of every day through the eyes of my heart. I planned on marrying her and building a life and that was all I could ever imagine wanting.

I stopped wanting anything but her. Other women held no allure for me even when I”d gone weeks or months without being able to visit. I saw no part of my life where she was not as necessary to me as an atmosphere with approximately 21% oxygen.

And then it was over. My hopes, my dreams, all of my desires, were suddenly swept from the table to smash against the uncaring floor. I lay in ruins. Days, weeks, months, years later; that table still was bare. I could not recover, could not heal. The pain of losing her was as real and pulsating and cutting two years later as it was two minutes after she said those horrid words to me, I”m not in love with you any more.

“You just have to move on.” I beg you, if you ever have a friend or loved one who has suffered a loss please never say those trite, useless, and utterly enraging words to them. I heard them countless times and each time wanted to lash out in rage at the speaker, even those I cared for deeply. If it were so fucking easy and simple of a solution you would not be reading these words. Hold them, hug them, let them feel, but please never minimize the pain with cliches. It”s far, far worse than saying nothing at all.

But I did try to move on. I did my job. I paid my rent. I went out with friends. I told jokes. I tried to push the pain aside, tell myself it was unnatural to feel so much pain for so long. I created a facade of a smiling, joking, mostly normal person. I even tried to date other women but was so caught up in my pain and loss that nothing lasted very long.  I smiled and joked when inside I was falling through an abyss of empty sadness.

Over time the pain seemed to increase. It was exhausting. The constant depression, the adrenaline rush every bloody time the phone would ring and my first thought was that it was her, the disappointment when it wasn”t, or the sleepless nights when all I could do was feel the void next to me in bed that was shaped precisely like her. I was burned out. I would wake up tired every day. I couldn”t sleep. I couldn”t rest. I couldn”t recharge. Imagine running a marathon and then running another one without resting. Wash, rinse, repeat. That was how my life felt every day.

I started to withdraw more and more. When I wasn”t at work most of my time was spent at home trying to find distractions, anything to keep my mind from consciously dwelling on her. Movies, TV, video games, pornography, they were all temporary band-aids that barely slowed the bleeding.

In November of 2013 I moved to a state with relatively open gun laws. It was easy and legal for me to buy a handgun and a few weeks after arriving I did. I bought a Glock model 27, a semi-automatic .40 caliber sub-compact handgun with 2 standard 8-round magazines. The only real reason I bought the weapon was so I had the option of eating a bullet when I decided it was time.

After I bought the gun it was almost always in my hand when I was at home behind closed doors. I became intimately familiar with its loaded and unloaded weight, the texture of the grip, how the cool barrel felt in the furrow of my brow. I would sit and read emails or facebook all the while practicing holding the gun to my forehead and pulling the trigger in an attempt to reduce fear and hesitation when the moment finally came. Every time I pulled the trigger a part of me hoped I had made a mistake and hadn”t cleared the chamber properly.

It was never an “if” that moment came, it was always a “when.” I was girding my loins to make that final decision.

Another thing you should never say is that suicide is a cowardly act. As someone who thought daily, often hourly, about how my brains would look splattered against a wall, my skull split open, my blood pouring out through violent holes in my body I can tell you there is nothing cowardly about it. It”s horrifying. It defies the most basic instinct we have- the primitive mammalian need for survival at all costs. So imagine the pain that someone must be in for that to be an option. People who have committed suicide are not cowards, they were desperate for the pain to stop and they saw no other way for that to happen. Anyone who writes suicide off as cowardly or weak is wholly ignorant of the topic and needs to be educated.  They also need a swift backhand to the face.

I had written a note and polished that first draft a few times, taking time to think about how I wanted to say goodbye, planned on how I would deliver it to people. I began packing things and planning for the disposition of my effects and what little ”estate” I have. I worried how my actions would affect my children but could not properly gauge that through the filter of my own pain. When you hurt that much, all you can see is that pain. Everything else is filtered through it and it becomes the one defining truth of your existence. Nothing is clear but sorrow.

My roommate heard me one night. I was on the phone, had been drinking, and was uncharacteristically talking about my desire to make my end to the person on the other end of the line. I was louder than I intended to be, as was the unmistakable sound of a handgun slide being cycled and the subsequent trigger pull. He expressed his concern and told me about Dr. Z. I did not immediately contact her. I didn”t think anything could help, the hopelessness was pervasive. But the dwindling part of me that wanted to find an alternative began to be more insistent and I eventually listened. As an intensely logical person, which is terribly ironic given what my emotional reality was, I know I couldn”t leave this stone unturned despite my lack of expectation for a positive result. I viewed this, quite literally, as a “Hail Mary” play with only a small chance of success.

In my first meeting with Dr Z I was surprised at how quickly my walls came down. I wept in front of this person I had just met when I would barely show any real emotion to the people closest to me. As much as I was weeping for the pain of my loss I now think I was also weeping for me. There was a part of me that still didn”t want to die, that wasn”t quite ready to give up the ghost, and I was weeping for that small, sometimes hard to hear voice.

At first, Dr Z, by his own admission, was not entirely sure if MDMA therapy would be appropriate in my case but by the end of the session he had decided I was. We met on two more occasions to talk about the process, what goals I had, what my expectations were, etc, as well as more about my loss. When the day of the big session arrived I had been preparing for disappointment. I had almost no expectations and little hope but went in with as much of an open mind as I could muster.

MDMA is sometimes referred to as a “social enabler.” It works on the neurochemistry in such a way that shame and embarrassment are lessened, possibly eliminated for a period of time, and also decreases anxiety and fear. A sense of well-being is also associated with it. This is one of the reasons why Ecstasy is a popular party drug- it helps people talk to each other openly and honestly.

Dr Z and I both expected that I would become very emotional during the session as the pain and loss surfaced from the “waiting room” and entered the processing portions of the brain to be fully realised. What actually occurred was something of a surprise to both of us.

The drug was administered in pill form and generally takes 30-60 minutes to take effect. For me the effects became noticeable around 40 minutes.

When I say that I am an intensely logical person anyone who has ever heard my overly-analytical breakdown of common, everyday occurrences will likely respond with a bit of an eye roll and a knowing nod. I abhor black and white answers where there is any possibility for a grey area or a deeper area of exploration to pursue, always demand evidence, and refuse to believe an assertion without supporting rationale or documentation. Tell me the sky is blue and I”ll discuss the subjective nature of colour and how no one really knows precisely what blue actually looks like to another person. Then I will bother you incessantly until you provide some peer-reviewed studies. Under the influence of MDMA, this same mindset reached its full fruition.

As the drug took hold I became entirely detached from emotion. I understood what emotion was, of course, and I still experienced emotion though it was from a distant, observational standpoint. Try to imaging feeling something with your hand whilst wearing a pair of winter gloves inside of a pair of thick mittens. You can feel objects but only in the most detached way. You know something is there in your hand but the can”t feel any of the important details. It”s neither hot nor cold, rough nor smooth. You know it has weight, and you can define its general shape but other than that, there is nothing very immediate or impactful. That was how emotion was for me during this session and it was liberating. I was watching my emotions from the end of a long tunnel.

To try and explain how I felt to Dr Z I used two phrases during that first session. I said that I finally understood what the Buddha meant by a “separation from suffering” and that I had become “the man Mr Spock always wanted to be.” I didn”t feel any pain and it was miraculous. I was able to talk about her, look at her picture, discuss the reality of our nearly 3 years of being apart rationally, with logic, but also with a emotional understanding that wasn”t possible for me until then. The real magic of this is that I was finally able to understand and deal with my emotions once I was distanced from them.

I spoke with Dr Z about my feelings for her, the reasons for our parting, how I had dealt with it, what she had meant to me, the good times, the bad times, the difficulties, the intense joy, the happiness, and the sorrow. All the while shedding not a single tear. This simple ability was monumental for me. I would often have to hide myself several times a day at work when the tears would come and I could not stop them. Even the slightest thought of her had been enough to send me into a deep, biting melancholy but here I was talking about her as calmly as I might discuss a bowl of soup. This was nothing short of a miracle.

The hypothesis is that the MDMA removes the instinct for the upper brain to keep pushing the painful experience back from being processed or dealt with. The reduction of fear and anxiety, as well as the increased honesty and openness, make it easier for the mind to begin the work necessary for integrating the traumatic events into long-term memory. Once the experience moves into the processing centres, the neural network can begin its work. This is precisely what I felt happen.

From http://www.alternet.org/drugs/tk-0– “Torsten Passie, MD, a research psychiatrist at the University of Hanover medical school in Germany, has done studies on the neurohormones released in the MDMA state and how this relates to the subjective effects. He states, on the basis of his studies, that MDMA deactivates the amygdala (the seat of fear-rage emotional reactivity) and reciprocally activates prefrontal brain circuits (which underlie calm thinking). This is the neurophysiological counterpart to the empathic understanding of self and others, reported by the patients. There is also a massive release of serotonin, the neurotransmitter associated with a non-depressive, non-fearful attitude. Passie’s research is described in a monograph published in 2012 by the Multi-disciplinary Association of Psychedelic Studies (MAPS): Healing with Entactogens: Therapist and Patient Perspectives on MDMA-Assisted Group Psychotherapy by Torsten Passie, M.D.”

The combined effects of reduction in fear, the enhancement of calm thinking, and increased empathy allowed to me do what I had never been able to do myself- face the pain.

A friend picked me up some hours later and I went home to sleep soundly for the first time in as long as I could remember. On the second night post-session I had a surreal and intense dream that I woke from at 4 in the morning. I rarely remember my dreams, barely a handful in my entire life, but this dream was so vivid, so powerful, that I woke and went immediately to my computer to commit it to writing before it was lost. It was a dream about her, about being with her when we were happiest and then having her leave to a place I could not follow nor find her, and having her tell me on the phone that she didn”t want to be found. I realised it was me finally truly accepting that she was gone and wasn”t coming back. It was the first step to accepting the loss, the first step on the path to healing.

Over the next several weeks I also began to realise some other notable things. On the day I went to the MDMA session I had locked my handgun in a case. This talisman of choice and control that I had fondled on a daily basis had been all but forgotten. It wasn”t until I saw the case hidden under some clothes that I remembered that I hadn”t thought about the gun in a relatively long time and felt zero need to open it. My alcohol intake had decreased dramatically. My regular visits from insomnia and panic had ceased. I was feeling better and, most astonishingly, I was mostly pain free.

I was skeptical. I always look at all possibilities and I knew there was a chance that once the effects of MDMA fully wore off (brain chemistry can be effected for up to 28 days in some people”s experience) that I could backslide. I was prepared for the fall back into misery. I looked around every corner for the crouching bear, ready to snatch me in its jaws. I was so used to suffering, I was waiting for its return. Then one day I got angry.

I became angry in a way I had never been before- I was angry at her. I was angry at her for giving up, I was angry at her for letting something get between us when the best way would have been for us to deal with it together. I had never been angry at her before. I had loved her too intensely to ever allow myself to feel anger at her. The most negative thing I had ever felt towards here was mild frustration and now I was straight-up pissed. With my new-found clarity I explored that emotion and the thoughts behind and I was able to experience it fully, without fear. It was then that I realised that I really was healing and for the first time in forever my tears were of gratitude and not pain.

I know I”m well on the way to being whole again. I still miss her, how I was with her, and I will always carry great affection and love for her. But I can think about her without pain, without running from that emotion terrified of its intensity. I loved her for a very long time and the processing is still happening and the experience of her is being put in its proper and healthy place. There is nothing wrong with looking fondly back on the wonderful love we shared as long as I can accept that it is in my past. Amazingly so, that is precisely what I am doing.

To me, this transformation is miraculous and life-changing. A year ago I would have told you with the fervor a true believer that I would never reach a place of peace on this subject. I was assured that for however long my life was, it would be nothing but suffering and enduring the soul-deep ache that was her absence.

I haven”t considered suicide since the day of the MDMA session. I haven”t cried over her in months. The anger is gone. I haven”t the slightest doubt that years of talk therapy, of mood-enhancing drugs (had tried them, they didn”t work), of trying to “move on” would not have been able to approach the beneficial and amazing effect that this one afternoon and small pill have had on my life.

This was nothing less than a miracle.