Ohio State University Analysis: Psychedelic-Monitored Therapy Brings Depression Relief

By Greg Evans

An Ibogaine blast and all your worries are gone, or so says Professor Kesey. In this world of cheap social media, over-priced and Ad-riddled streaming services, blacked-out sporting events, AI, and chemically-infused plastic food, how could you not be depressed?

The sunshine tablets and watered-down gummies don’t work anymore. “Talking it out,” with your therapist or being stuck on some grim couples participation field trip to repair the marriage is way to 1950s for this damaged crowd. So, a few professors decided it is time to raise the stakes and see if they could pull off the inconceivable. “Let’s convince the government that hard drugs can be therapeutic.” Well, sure, so can beer, until it wears off. Squirt it into the eyeball if you can’t find a vein.

Psychedelics don’t make you mean and aggressive like alcohol, they don’t make you want to shoot and kill innocent people like anti-depressants and they’re hardly addictive. Hardly.

My mother always says, “You have the life you want. This is what society wants.” I’m starting to think she’s been right all along. Some old Mexican wisdom. I often feel like an alien whose ship crashed and can’t be fixed and now I’m stuck here in this weird condo and sub-division-smeared nightmare that I will never understand. When my daughter and I are in the car and I inform her that I am from a different planet, while swerving around bulldozers rumbling along the “five-lane country road,” to clear out yet another farm, my teenager just rolls her eyes, “That would explain, EVERYTHING.”

You have the life you want. Think about it, because weirdly enough, even the crazy, unreasonable madness has become so routine that nobody thinks anything of it.

Land for sale signs everywhere as if it is 1492 all over again. It only took 533 years for the epidemic to reach the Appalachian highlands. Once the trees, creeks, fields, and animals are gone, they are gone. Nobody cares. Take an ibogaine.

You leave your house or apartment to drive 1/4 mile, three minutes to the market for groceries and you’re stuck in 40 minutes of traffic. Then, there is a giant line inside the store. Your bill for ten items $309.76. Take an ibogaine.

There are days I miss living in New York, in the East Village at 149 First Avenue between 9th and 10th streets, apt. 10D; one building away from the Coyote Ugly (153 First Ave.) Didn’t need a car in those days. No traffic. No road rage. None of the human driving habits that make our roadways so pleasant to be on. But the city has their problems too. Noise, noise, endless noise. Too many people. Ugly politics. Get beat up in the subway for your iPod by a career criminal. Everything is outrageously expensive. Get mugged in your building vestibule by another career criminal. Too many people. Take an ibogaine.

Having problems on a website and realize that you then can’t call for help because there is no phone number, just online assistance through the website you are having trouble on. Take an ibogaine.

You need to mail some letters, a book of stamps costs $22.50. Over $1 per stamp!!! Take two ibogaine.

It was once called drug abuse. Now it is called therapy at $200 an hour. The same thing occurred just nine years before the fall of Rome. Everyone was depressed but they didn’t know why. The Gauls recognized they were all stoned out of their gourds on black henbane, too goofy to fight, and then conquered them in record time. An empire for 700 years, gone, poof. Take an ibogaine.

Has there been anything to happen in the past twenty years that actually made the world, as a whole, a better place? Hardly. Maybe a handful of decent books that are worth reading, but now with scrolling, nobody reads anymore. Maybe there were several quality bands that wrote songs worth listening to but instead they have the Mad Rabbit singing at the Super Bowl half-time show. Nothing makes any sense anymore.

I can’t watch the Yankees playoff games on the MLB Network, which is an acronym for, Major League Baseball Network, a channel that only shows Major League baseball games, at least until the important playoffs begin. But, then, the games are blacked out in the United States, because of “exclusivities”. Is that what our soldiers fight and die for in horrific third-world sewers, so you have to go to South Sudan or eastern Stalingrad to watch a MLB playoff game, or be subjected to the crappy music of some rabbit? Maybe I’m missing the point here.

Frankly, I think humans are monsters. I think humans have more in common with Jason (Friday the 13th), Michael Myers (Halloween), and Chucky (Child’s Play), then Jesus, Moses, Don Mattingly or any of the spiritual heroes, and martyrs. And you wonder why people’s brains are getting melted on psychedelics?

What drives today’s progress is analogous to that of Chris Columbus who you all criticize and hate. I hate him too, but not for the same reason that you do. You are just trying to fit in with your cheesy circle of uninformed, political wannabe radicals friends. I actually read the diary of Bernal Diaz, who described the early aftermath of the “discovery”. My distaste for Columbus’s behavior is deep and personal and no amount of psychedelics can cleanse my soul. Oh, by the way, if you are a sleazy developer reading this, you are Chris Columbus reincarnated.

You may all scoff and grumble and call me names but you’d sell your soul to ESPN before lunch if there was an offer in the table. What happened to this world?

“Nothing, it has always been like this.” - Paraphrasing Thucydides in his introduction to the Peloponnesian War.

Forget psychedelics, if it comes to it, just mainline me the hard stuff. Not that cut crap either - I want it pure as the driven snow and equally as numbing. It doesn’t surprise me in this day and age that psychedelics are being used in place of reality. In fact, it’s the only thing lately that really makes any sense at all, not that I agree with it, but it makes sense.

Personally, I don’t think the damaged and violent human mind should ever be subjected to any kind of hard drug. Alcohol is bad enough once you pass “the tipsy” point, and peoples’ real personality shines through. Make for the door.

Now you have the government shutting down because the people who don’t want to work aren’t going to get their appropriations. What’s next on the menu? Take an ibogaine.

So, in conclusion, as mentioned I don’t know if I agree with dousing the human brain with any type of hard drugs, though if a savage hallucination will keep you on the straight and narrow and being a schnitzel at the local billiard hall. Are you offended that I said the music at the Super Bowl is generally God-awful? Good. Take an ibogaine and then get Kenny Chesney to perform.

You have the life you want. My mother was right along.