Sadness is layered and very heavy. Put one weighted blanket on your body. Now put thirty more. Mushrooms showed me this was the weight of sadness that slowed my mind, my life, my eyes. I cried for myself and for others who carry this much grief. I felt what it means to live with sadness. Then mushrooms did their magic: they began to lift the blankets one after another. I got lighter and lighter. Soon there were no more blankets. My mind remembered what it felt like to recognize my body had that much grief, but my body was lighter, and my body and mind were already starting to acclimate to the new normal.

I was a being that was not fully formed, not ready to be born, but there was nothing I could do to stop the pushing. I had the sense of horror—it was like an egg coming out of a chicken before the shell had formed. Normally we can often put the brakes on when things are feeling out of control, but there were no brakes. There was nothing I could do. I was going to have to live my entire life as a being that had not been ready to be born. This helped explain a “not fully cooked” feeling I’ve been aware of in myself in the world for a long time. I can’t change what happened, but having a sense of “knowing” helps. Sure, you can say I was out of my mind on psychedelics and it’s crazy to think that I was back in the womb, actually experiencing what happened, but I’ll take crazy because there are puzzle pieces clicking into place in my mind. If I make sense to me, that’s good enough.

I was walking down the street (in my mind) and a man yelled that he’d give me money if I showed some leg. I yelled with a voice that came from the tips of my toes all the way to the top of my head “LEAVE MY BODY OUT OF IT! MY BODY IS NOT YOUR BODY!” It was the fullness of the yell that was so memorable to me. Normally, when I yell I feel like I can’t find my lungs or the power switch. I yell like a shy person, little of my body participating. I now know I have the ability to full-body yell inside of me. I just have to figure out the art of doing it.

I could not figure out who I was. My identity had disappeared. I was in a grey space, and I was scrolling through different people trying to figure out which one I wanted to go back as. None were appealing to me. It was like I was craving a steak dinner and all I could find were Twinkies. I was frantic in a dull, I’m on mushrooms kind of way. Like, shit. I have to go back but I don’t want to be anyone. After a while, I slowly eased back into myself and was “me” when the session wore off. What I took back from this was my identity is fluid, and it’s something I want to work on. I also am better aware that I can claim my body. My body is my body. A few weeks ago I was at the doctor’s with my dad, and when the doctor asked me what my last name was, my dad said, “Heffron”. I didn’t like that. I think you’ll only understand this if you’re adopted, and if you’re adopted and you still don’t understand, well, jeez. I don’t know. I thought you’d get it.