When I first read the published results from the Phase 2 MDMA trials for the treatment of PTSD,
I gasped.
“Oh my God… all of my therapy clients need this.”
And then, sipping espresso on the patio of a local South Jersey coffee shop, the realization
dropped deeper.
“Oh my God… I need this.”
That’s when I began to cry. Not a few polite tears — the full-body kind.
Streaming down my face.
Sobs catching in my throat.
Body trembling.
Heart cracking open.
That was the first time I realized — truly realized — that I had PTSD.
The lifelong depression.
The way opioids had crept in to help me manage a very real back injury — but had stayed
longer than they were welcome.
The constant hum (and often clanging bell) of anxiety.
The fear.
The night terrors.
The feeling of never fully being here.
At 40 years old, I finally let myself say it:
I had been a traumatized boy.
And I was a man living with PTSD.
Oddly enough… it was a relief.
To name it.
To stop trying to outpace it.
To stop calling it something else.
And from that moment on, I knew I wanted to be involved in the research. But that’s another
story for another time.
Not long after that first moment of truth, I received my first guided psychedelic experience.
It brought me right to the heart of something I had been carrying for decades:
The belief that if I ever truly let go…
Let my body rest…
Let my vigilance soften…
My whole life would fall apart.
And I wouldn’t be able to protect my daughter.
Or myself.
So I lay in bed — I did that a lot in those days —
Tense. Still.
Staring at my late cat, Topaz, perched high atop my dresser.
She lay there like a stone Buddha.
Totally relaxed.
Tail slowly swaying… back and forth… back and forth.
Then — without warning, without a sound —
She launched off the dresser like a rocket, vanishing into the next room.
Not a wasted movement. No hesitation.
She had heard something I hadn’t — something inaudible to a bed-bound human like me.
And she responded.
And in that moment, it hit me like a revelation:
It is possible to be deeply relaxed in one’s body and ready to respond to the moment with clarity
and speed.
I wept again.
The mushrooms, the MDMA, my friends, and my guides helped me rebuild my nervous system
from the inside out.
But Topaz —
She showed me what was possible.
That my natural state isn’t fight or flight.
It’s not collapse or control.
It’s this quiet readiness.
This poised responsiveness.
This animal dignity — relaxed, alert, alive.
And from that moment on, I began to learn how to live that way.