Forging A New Path Through Grief
Somewhere between development and unadulterated wilderness stands an almost prelapsarian swath of mountain ranges — the Tetons. Reflecting, I reminisce on my time west a few weeks ago, the Bob Ross images staring back with their towering jagged peaks framed with pine and spruce and yellow wild flowers. Lush patches of Birch and Aspen, wild bucking horses and rolling waters and the wonderment of those discovering its peaks and valleys for the first time.
And all the changes that spanned a century; wild landscapes turned into resort mountain towns and a myriad of other profound economical and sociological swings. Now back home, a microcosm of changes surround me, and those seemingly commonplace occurrences within that feel existentially cosmic: moving, weaving a relationship, leaving a career, losing a parent and having a sick one. I looked up at the towering rocks and felt simultaneously insignificant and equally worthy of my emotions. Both that it all matters and it doesn’t.
Humbly standing in the lowly places beneath mountains and under any edifice of pride, we’re all the same: traversing some path, most all with pot holes, traffic jams, detours and rain, (and still hoping to enjoy the ride). You’re reminded, standing under sky scraping boulders, that every living thing, no matter how minuit, has significance, and as trite the saying, change is not only a conduit, but necessary for growth.
Tomorrow marks an integral part of my journey in healing to ameliorate years of depression with a pharmaceutical grade ketamine treatment. A change that, I hope, will be well received and positive in laying groundwork for new paradigms of thinking. I’ve long been interested in exploring psychedelics as a medium for not only blowing the gray, ominous clouds away, but keeping them from coming as often.
When I revealed to my mom as an adolescent that many of my days were shrouded in these clouds, and a sense of dread pervaded my nights, (for fear of terrible dreams), she sought treatment for me, in the form of regular psychiatric visits. The list of prescribed trials evades my memory now, too many to count. What is remembered is that this sadness felt like living in a haunted house, a place where other energy inhabits; a place that can be left on occasion but is forced to return to.
This feeling followed me for many years, and so did the typical and atypical treatments: a plethora of therapies (Eye movement desesnsitization and reprocessing, craniosacral, cognitive behavioral therapy, kinesiology, reiki, astrology and energy work) and several types of selective seretonin reuptake inhibitors (SSRIs), which have kept the floor from caving.
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Ketamine, among other psychedelic treatments, is particularly interesting for its ability to create new neural pathways of thought, fostering mind-expansion — literal enhanced neural plasticity. Furthermore, images are said to sweep across the dream-like screen and bring to light what needs to be exposed, for greater study of the root cause of depression.
Other than the occasional small mushroom cap and stem, and Colorado edible, I’ve kept an apprehensive distance from anything seemingly mind-altering for fear that the demons would be let out like a wild stampede — something I would not be able to wrangle thereafter. One instance of poor judgment with the amount and types of alcohol ingested at a party not long after the death of my beloved grandmother led to uncontrollable crying that lasted way beyond both the cathartic and comfort level. This left a stand-offish sentiment that resided with me for a while, confused that I had such a strong emotional reaction to a substance so familiar.
A few years of having psychedelic information sprinkled into my awareness led to a greater fascination with trying a larger dose. What’s the worst that can happen — I lose my mind altogether? Would I re-enter a dark head space where the constructs of reality were like fragmented pieces, and not be able to exit? In hopes of seeking and wanting to return to my truest self, a happier and more emotionally composed version, I trust that whatever alters will be better than the former self.
Change is necessary for growth, and is often met with hesitation, sadness and grief. At some point, we’ve all stood underneath our own mountains, unsure where to go or how to manage the view. Standing below what sometimes seems like an impossible climb, the best way forward is to move.
