Jamie Stone
At 67, I don't think of myself as old, perhaps because like so many of us in the valley, and in our larger state, we are active and outdoors through our later decades, doing a lot of the same things we were doing in our 20s. But, perhaps I can position my age in a different way in this column — as a way to let people know that it is never too late for hope.
Earlier this month, on Oct. 19, I had the opportunity to share a part of my story, which I called, "Everest Without Oxygen," on the Vilar stage. My presentation was part of SpeakUp ReachOut's "This is My Brave" — a local event tied to a national organization that seeks to reduce the stigma of mental illness and to give hope through storytelling.
I shared how I had "disappeared from the world" in 2010, taken down by a perfect storm of events that threw my brain back to previous events of repeated childhood trauma, of which I had no retrievable memory, nor any knowledge that those memories even existed deep in my amygdala, the part of our brain that thankfully takes over in times of overwhelming trauma.
That perfect storm of 2010 left me in a state of severe depression, as well as symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder, including multiple daily flashbacks, and screaming nightmares. I never knew when they would take me down.
I entered talk therapy three times a week, was on multiple anti-depressants, and found an amazing service dog named Riley who brought me back from flashbacks and nightmares. And, I lived with the all-important love and support from my husband, kids, and close friends.
But, all of that wasn't enough. Six years into it, with no relief from the flashbacks and nightmares, I had come to a point where I realized that not only did I feel like I was on a continual climb up Mount Everest, incredibly steep, so steep that I could barely put one foot in front of the other. But now, after years in this state, there was no oxygen left to support my continuing to climb. I knew that the only thing that would keep me going was grit, and the belief and hope that there was some form of oxygen that would help me to continue the seemingly endless crushing climb.
Not long after this realization, I was listening to Colorado Public Radio, and they were interviewing a woman named Brenda who was sharing her story of being part of the Multidisciplinary Association for Psychedelic Studies research using MDMA Assisted Therapy for people with PTSD — veterans, and people like me with Complex PTSD. I listened to Brenda's description of how the medicine worked, creating a safe space in her brain, calming her amygdala, and allowing her to process her trauma without being triggered.
Something in me knew that this was the key to my healing. While my flashbacks and nightmares continued relentlessly, I read, researched and reached out to anyone familiar with this treatment. Six years later, in the fall of 2021, I found myself in the hands and heart of a facilitator with years of professional and multi-cultural experience with psychedelics, the importance of which I cannot stress enough, and I received the MDMA Assisted Therapy.
My intuition was right, and I felt it right away. A whole new healing journey began, one that eventually brought me this year to Psilocybin Mushroom Assisted Therapy, which brought me even further, to my clearest and truest self.
I am back, fully participating in life, and I, like Brenda, want those who may be struggling with what seems to be "treatment-resistant" PTSD or severe depression that there is oxygen out there, and there is hope for you, too.
For anyone wanting to learn more, Vail Health Behavioral Health, and the Department of Psychiatry at the University of Colorado Anschutz Medical Campus, will be doing research in the very near future. More information can also be found on MAPS.org, and clinical ClinicalTrials.gov
Thank you to SpeakUp ReachOut for also providing the opportunity to locals Julie Kiddoo, Kyle Foster and Emily Brudwick to share their brave and powerful stories of resilience and hope.
Stone: There is hope out there for those of us with PTSD
At 67, I don’t think of myself as old, perhaps because like so many of us in the valley, and in our larger state, we are active and outdoors through our later decades, doing a...
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