I grew up in the shadow of Hill Air Force Base. Watching jets fly over my home every day, I became enamored with the idea of flying and serving my country in the military. When recruiters came looking for pilots in the wake of 9/11, I eagerly signed up. I learned to fly C-130s and served five tours in Afghanistan and Iraq. I loved flying, and I loved the people I flew with.
That’s why I was devastated when I was diagnosed with Meniere’s disease. It is an incurable inner ear disorder which causes vertigo and loss of balance. The doctor explained that I would never fly again.
I was medically retired from the military. In one fell swoop I lost not only my career, but also the meaning, purpose and community the Air Force had given me. I felt like the spinning I experienced due to Meniere’s disease was playing out in my life writ large.
Back in civilian life, I felt deeply depressed and disconnected, even from my wonderful family. The problem was how I perceived and filtered life. After being immersed in the conflict of war for so long, I felt like the world I inhabited wasn’t safe and that I constantly needed to be on guard. For a while I put on a brave face and carried on, thinking I could fix my mindset myself.
But I couldn’t. I sought professional help and was diagnosed with PTSD and generalized anxiety disorder. I participated in counseling and was prescribed an SSRI, a type of antidepressant. It helped a little, but I still felt like I had put on a band-aid without treating the underlying infection. Worse still, I saw diminishing returns over time.
My perceptive wife knew I was struggling and suggested I try psilocybin. I was skeptical, but the status quo wasn’t tenable, so I looked into it. I found that a lot of scientific research demonstrated psilocybin could help people who were struggling like me. I got a hold of some, locked myself in the bathroom, and embarked.
The experience was like hitting a reset button.The gut-wrenching knot of anxiety was gone. The very idea that I had been so anxious now seemed ludicrous. I felt compassion and respect for myself and connected to those around me. It was like my brain had been reprogrammed to think in healthy patterns, rather than the dysfunctional ruts I’d become accustomed to.
Sharing my experience puts me in a vulnerable position. Not only am I revealing some very personal experiences, but I’m exposing myself to criminal liability. Psilocybin is a Schedule I controlled substance, and outside of participation in a federally sanctioned study, there is no way to legally consume it in the United States. Yet, I feel compelled to share my story because it is not unique.
Between 11% and 20% of those who served in Operations Iraqi Freedom and Enduring Freedom have been diagnosed with PTSD. And while about 6% of U.S. adults reported a major depressive episode in the last year, 12% of veterans had major depression. Too often, these illnesses end in suicide, especially in Utah. Utah’s veteran suicide rate is significantly higher than both the general population and national veteran population suicide rate. Sixty-six Utah veterans took their lives in 2020 alone, and there is some evidence that these numbers are actually underreported.
Many anticipate that, with so much science backing the efficacy and safety of psilocybin, it will soon be federally rescheduled and made available for medical use. While I hope they are correct, I’m not confident that federal action will come soon enough.
A 2022 letter from the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration recognizes that psilocybin may help address mental illness; therefore, they are “exploring the prospect of establishing a federal task force to monitor and address the numerous complex issues associated with emerging substances.” Not exactly a promise of rapid or decisive action.
Utah veterans and many other Utahns are suffering from mental illness, now. They deserve effective tools — now. If we continue to hope and wait for federal action, those tools will come too late for some.
Eric Swartz
Eric Swartz is a former member of the U.S. Air Force and resides in Salem with his family.
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