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Psilocybin Therapy for Alcoholism
Psilocybin therapy for alcoholism affects the serotonin receptor’s location, which resets serotonin to an optimal level for six months.
It was an excellent opportunity for some psilocybin therapy as it was the last long weekend of the summer. It represents the last time one can or wants to go camping deep in the backwoods of Alberta, Canada.
There are many lakes, provincial parks, camping spots throughout Alberta, with some having electricity and running water. Alberta has the most lakes per capita out of all the provinces and territories.
My favourite site is you go to central Alberta and drive west until you find the scenery you like.
There are plenty of lakes to do my favourite pastime besides writing camping and fishing. If you go out west, one of many lakes, rivers, and streams is full of fish, and I seldom get skunked.
We went on this camping trip for the girlfriend’s best friend’s birthday bash.
At the time, my girlfriend and I were in our early 30s and mid-’30s, along with her two girls, both under the age of 12, and her best friend was in her mid 20’s, as was the majority this group that long weekend.
We found a massive clearing surrounded by mostly spruce trees, a river, mountains, and it had a well-built wooden shit house.
It was about a two-hour drive west of Red Deer. We got there late afternoon, and I pulled up beside an unfamiliar car, which was smaller in size than my girlfriend’s Mazda3.
I met these two guys shortly after getting out of the vehicle and stretching my legs.
Psilocybin Therapy for Alcoholism and Weed
They were sharing a marijuana cigarette amongst themselves as I was going into the car to retrieve my tackle box, which hid my weed and bong and other instruments from the girls and worked nicely at hiding the heavy lemony pine skunk aromas.
I overheard the taller broader one say to the more petite skinner dude, “I wonder if anyone else here smokes weed?”
I responded by taking a massive toke from my small water bong. Then, after they looked over from the sounds of the water bubbling, I said, “Yup!”
I took a toke of their weed, and the shorter skinner dude took a bong hoot of mine. I became instant friends with these younger gentlemen. My favourite way to make a new friend is over a joint.
After setting up the tent and unpacking a few hours afterwards, I joined the rest, including the kids.
There were about 20 or more people. Most adults and teenagers of all ages were indulging in various alcoholic drinks. About 18 years old, one younger cat was getting yelled at by a group of 5 young teen girls ranging from 13 to 16.
If you’ve never heard a group of young teen girls sounds like two cats fighting in their highest pitches with sounds of a bunch of balloons popping and a hint of all of my ex-girlfriends at their angriest with me, no one wants or needs to hear it.
Unfortunately, I didn’t gather any of what these young gals were yelling about, but the result was another teen, maybe about 18, punched the other 18-year-old in the face.
Buddy, who was getting yelled at, fell to the ground, then got up in a drunken mess and went and had a nap in his tent.
It wasn’t until months later I learned from the dude’s sister who punched buddy that he got hit and his jaw broken because he grabbed a 13-year-olds ass when he was an adult. But, of course, none of that most likely wouldn’t have happened if alcohol wasn’t involved.
The first night of that weekend, I had a handful of beers but never drank to being obliterated, a little drunk at best. But, of course, it didn’t take much for me to get to the end of intoxicated at that time.
As most people spent time drinking, I spent that time smoking weed, thinking about how I could write about my situation.
Weed never seemed to fail me when it came to a social setting. When alcohol was flowing, I preferred to be smoking. I had spent many hours sitting in one of many lazy boys, love seats, or couches surroundings.
A big oval shape table with two leaves was probably six to six and a half feet. Until one day, I threw my buddy through the table for fun amid boredom.
My roommate then took the broken leaves out, pushed them together, and sawed it off in a way that looked like a stubby fat dick.
So it went from a hard six feet to a stubby 3.
The Next Day
The second day was a lovely sunny September Saturday, kids running, playing in the trees and on the mini hills surrounding the camp area, riding motorized and pedal bikes.
Some kids were on quads and driven by their parents, friends, or parents’ friends, and some adults rode alone and went along with the kids trail riding throughout the many paths in the woods.
Some of us adults stayed back and cleaned, swept, picked up the garbage and cans—just kidding—we just sat around bull shitting, smoking weed, drinking, and adding fuel like dried spruce and birch trees to the ferocious hungry fire.
Some unrecognizable older-looking people looked older than my girlfriend and me by about a decade.
I was 33 and much older, but none, the wiser girlfriend, is 36 years young. So they came with a couple of big newer-looking trailers and set up a couple of 4-man tents.
They sectioned off their own little space tucked away in the corner of our massive camp space.
That evening was met with a warm, clear star-filled night with the only light pollution of what the fire was giving off, but if you go far enough deep into the woods, it is a spectacular display of twinkling stars and curious universes.
The majority of the campers were gathered around the fire as most minor children and babies laid their tired heads to sleep.
My new friend I made the day before we got there, the smaller one when we got there, with whom I shared that joint and bong tokes. He was the first person I spoke with upon arrival.
He was cooking up a batch of about somewhere in the neighbourhood of 7 to 10 grams of psilocybin mushroom tea or magic mushroom tea over the fire as the water boiled as the psilocybin creeped out of the mushrooms forming this mysterious brew.
Oddly enough, he made it in this cast iron mini cauldron-looking thing, and it sat right in the middle of the fire like we were witches in the 14th century about to sacrifice babies.
I would say about 12 of us indulged in this strange tea. Its taste was odd, and it struck the tastebuds with a bitter death taste.
It was about half an hour or so into the trip when it started to hit, and I noticed it hitting others and their wavey-like being melded into the picturesque scenery.
Some small groups thought it would be a great idea to go for a walk in the woods, and like the sheeple, other groups began to take their separate paths in the magic forest seen with new eyes was quite inviting.
I kept my cool even though my mind began to open as the two hemispheres’ started to merge, breaking down the unconscious barriers, melding together with the current consciousness in a soup of exploration and wondering.
I had flashbacks from about seven years prior when my best friend, his two older brothers and his dad took a helicopter out to the middle of these mountains on the Alberta/British Columbia border.
We went for a week, and about the 3rd night, we all except the dad took mushrooms tea in the middle of nowhere with us being the only souls besides those who died and the animals amongst the heavily dense boreal forest.
We were in the height of tripping, and my best friend’s oldest brother and I went for a long walk deep into the forest. We were surrounded by mountains that were a couple of hundred feet away.
We were walking down some path, I’m sure we were lost, and we came upon a fresh kill of a massive deer or moose.
I didn’t stick around long enough to check the horns.
We could see the heat coming off in the near zero-degree weather at those high altitudes. We found our way back to the fire very quickly.
I looked around at who was at the fire, which sat my girlfriend on one side, my girlfriend’s best friends boyfriend on my left side with his girlfriend beside him, followed by a host of empty chairs and straight across from me was my new buddy who moments early brewed this beautiful tea we were all looking into another dimension in.
Beside him was a chick with her dog who was single and sleeping in her jeep. It was the first time I met her, but she was excellent.
So I decided it was time to wonder partially into the Forrest a soft grassy spot with a tree as my pillow; as I looked up at the universe, I put my intentions in for the mushroom trip, which was:
What does the universe and or God want me to learn?
What can I do to improve my book?
Should I start up my website again?
And how can I do the best I possibly can this year in school and the coming years?
So I did a mini-meditation practice, got up, and went for a walk around our camping surroundings’ outskirts.
I kept noticing these bear warning signs posted throughout the camp and decided to play it safe by not going too far into the thick bush.
I soon returned to my spot at the fire as I figured it was probably safest, and my trip was becoming much more intense.
I quickly noticed my girlfriend and her best friend, and her boyfriend was gone as I sat down.
As I wondered where they were her, the boyfriend appeared like a David Copperfield trick.
He then came and sat down beside me with an intensity I felt as he walked up.
I thought it odd that he decided to sit back beside me out of the 12 plus empty chairs around the fire.
He sat down as he was cursing to himself, and I think I overheard him say something along the lines of “things are not going to end well.”
My girlfriend and her best friend came and sat down about a minute or two after the boyfriend decided to come to creep down beside me.
The boyfriend’s girlfriend said, “why didn’t you take off your boots in his trailer.”
Before they came back, they were with the older people who came later that day in their little corner in the back.
The guy whose trailer they all just got back from was coming up to the fire.
He had an entourage of about five people. As he was walking up, he said in a loud voice and dark tone, “why didn’t you take his dirty boots off.” The girlfriend’s best friend’s boyfriend said, “Fuck you!”
He quickly stood up and went towards him; after a small exchange of more familiar words, I was beside them, now amongst a small crowd.
It was like slow motion when I watched the fist clench.
It seemed like I was watching a movie slowed way down, and as the punches were being thrown, it was pitch blackout, and with the big group of people gathered, I didn’t have a clear vision of what was going on.
A handful of people rolled around on the ground like a dog drying off after having a bath. It looked like the Tasmanian Devil tornado with dirt flying and fists and feet popping out of the dust storm.
I approached the twister and witnessed some fat dude, my height, punch buddy in the back of the head. So naturally, I tried to grab his neck with my right arm, but as I leapt towards him, he backed up, and I forgot how sore my ankle was.
I did a spinning back kick early that day where I kicked this beer bottle about 6 feet high on a Beersbee pole.
Beersbee is a game where you put these metal poles in the ground across from one another, about 20 feet apart or so.
Then, on top of these metal poles form a “Y” shape at the top where they have little stands on top shaped like coaters, and you put a beer bottle on each coaster slap.
In pairs, you through a frisbee from your pole to the opponent’s pole, trying to knock the beer bottles off, and you get the point if the bottle hits the ground. If it hits the ground, the opponents have to jug their drinks.
Kicking Beer Bottles
When I did a spinning back kick and knocked a beer bottle off with my Achilles tendon, it had gotten cut pretty bad. I spent a couple of weeks with a limp.
As I tried to grab the fat man’s neck that was punching my buddy in the back of the head, I slipped last minute, and the pain of my ankle prevented me from getting into the position I was trying.
If I had been successful, I would have had that fat ass in a rear-naked, and he would have been out in seconds. But, instead, I missed it.
Then he turned around and still can remember vividly how fucking ridiculous this fatty looked as he came towards me, swinging his fat little arms in a circular motion.
I remember thinking that this poor fat bastard did not have a clue what his drunk ass was doing.
I felt terrible at how badly I was about to kick him in the face with my good leg and shin.
As I was slowly backing up, I was timing it when he tired himself out, which would have been fast than when I figured out his pattern.
I was stepping off to the side a bit to position the perfect head kick, and then my girlfriend shrieked and jumped in front of me, and fatty turned around and went back to the circle jerk of the original fight.
Meanwhile, back at the now group fight, the chick sitting by herself with her dog tried to break it up, took a random fist to the right cheekbone, and had a nice-looking purple shiner.
Fatty and his friends went cowering back to their little area off to the backside of the campsite.
The rest of us went and sat back by the fire around 1 am or so.
As I was looking around at everyone at the fire, I had a vision of seeing alcohol being the root of all of the issues that had happened from the time we got there when buddy got his jaw broke to moments beforehand when that chick got a wicked shiner.
I have also seen alcohol being the root of some issues from 10 years or better to recent times.
I was looking around at the fire and listening to the mindless drunk conversations happening.
Everyone who had a drink in their hand, the alcohol was like in ultra-HD, and the rest of my visibility was like the first coloured televisions. It wasn’t a good look on anyone.
That camping trip happened almost two years ago now, and I have drunk alcohol maybe three times since then.
I had possibly drunk ten times if that in the last five years before that trip. So I did drink in the previous two years.
I remember that trip out camping, and the alcohol almost repulses me.
To me, it’s like drinking poison that has no positive benefits. I have zero interest in it, and if I think about it, I think of the camping trip and how gross it is.
I haven’t had any alcohol at all this year (2021), and I most likely won’t touch that shit again.
Psilocybin therapy had worked perfectly. Psilocybin depression can be cured through mushrooms.