Microdosing Mushrooms Didn’t Save Me—But This Did: My Honest Psychedelic Therapy Journey

By Marcus Rivera
Published: January 3, 2026 • 11 min read

I’ll tell you what I expected from psilocybin therapy:

A transformative, mystical experience. Decades of depression lifting like fog in sunlight. One of those stories you read about where someone takes mushrooms and suddenly understands the universe and never feels hopeless again.

I’ll tell you what I got:

A journey. A complicated, messy, non-linear journey that included both profound breakthroughs and crushing disappointments. A reminder that mental health has no magic bullets—even the magic ones.

This is my honest account of psychedelic-assisted therapy for treatment-resistant depression.

Fifteen Years of “Resistant”

By the time I considered psychedelic therapy, I’d tried everything else.

SSRIs: four different kinds. SNRIs: two. Atypical antidepressants: three. Mood stabilizers: one that made me gain 40 pounds. Ketamine infusions: helped briefly, then stopped. TMS (transcranial magnetic stimulation): no effect.

I’d been in therapy continuously since I was 19. Talk therapy, CBT, DBT, EMDR. I’d done inpatient programs and intensive outpatient programs. I’d tried every lifestyle intervention in the book: exercise, diet, sleep hygiene, meditation, cold showers, gratitude journals.

And still, the depression remained. A heavy, gray presence that made every day feel like walking through wet concrete.

At 34, I was what psychiatrists call “treatment-resistant.” What I called it was “hopeless.”

The Psychedelic Promise

In 2024, Oregon became one of the first states to legalize psilocybin-assisted therapy. Clinical trials had shown remarkable results for depression, particularly treatment-resistant cases. Headlines proclaimed mushrooms as a breakthrough. People were calling it the most significant advance in mental health treatment in decades.

I was skeptical. I’d been hurt by hope before. But I was also desperate.

I enrolled in a legal psilocybin therapy program. After extensive screening, preparation sessions, and medical clearance, I was approved for treatment.

The cost was significant—about $3,500 for the full program, not covered by insurance. But I would have paid ten times that for relief.

The First Session: Expecting Enlightenment

My first psilocybin session took place in a comfortable room designed to feel like a living room. Two trained facilitators sat with me. I was given a moderate dose of psilocybin (about 25mg), put on an eye mask, and listened to carefully curated music.

What I expected: ego death, mystical revelations, conversations with God or the universe or my inner child.

What I got: A lot of geometric patterns. Intense colors. A feeling of heaviness that made it hard to move. And then, about three hours in, the most profound crying I’d experienced in years.

I cried for my teenage self, who’d been depressed before he had words for it. I cried for all the time I’d lost. I cried because the colors were beautiful and I’d forgotten beauty existed.

The next day, I felt… lighter. Not cured—definitely not cured—but like someone had cracked open a window in a stuffy room.

The Crash

By week three, the depression was back.

Not gradually—suddenly. I woke up one morning and the gray fog had returned, thick as ever. All the openness I’d felt, all the connection—gone.

I was devastated. The hope I’d allowed myself to feel made the return of depression even more crushing. I spiraled for days, convinced I was truly beyond help, that even the thing everyone said was a breakthrough had failed me.

My facilitators weren’t surprised. “Psychedelic therapy isn’t usually a one-time cure,” they explained. “It’s a tool. It opens doors. But you have to do the work to walk through them.”

I didn’t want to hear it. I wanted the magic to be magic.

What They Don’t Tell You

Here’s what the glowing headlines about psychedelic therapy often leave out:

It’s not usually a one-and-done cure. Most protocols involve multiple sessions over months. And the integration work between sessions is just as important as the sessions themselves.

The experience can be difficult. Challenging trips happen. I had one session where I spent hours confronting repressed memories of childhood bullying. It was therapeutic, but it was also brutal.

It doesn’t work for everyone. Clinical trials show significant improvement in 60-70% of participants with treatment-resistant depression. That means 30-40% don’t respond—or don’t respond sufficiently.

The effects can fade. Many people need periodic “booster” sessions to maintain benefits.

It’s expensive and hard to access. Legal programs exist in only a few places, cost thousands of dollars, and aren’t covered by insurance.

What Actually Helped

Here’s where my story deviates from the triumphant narratives you usually read.

Psilocybin therapy didn’t cure my depression. But it also wasn’t useless. What it did was create openings—moments of clarity, emotional breakthroughs, temporary lifting of the fog—that I could work with.

The key was using those openings wisely.

1. Intensive integration therapy

After my sessions, I worked with a therapist trained in psychedelic integration. We processed what came up—the childhood memories, the grief, the rage I’d been suppressing. The psilocybin cracked me open; the therapy helped me reorganize what spilled out.

2. Finding the right medication combination (finally)

During one of my post-session periods of clarity, I made an appointment with a new psychiatrist—someone who specialized in treatment-resistant cases. She suggested a combination I’d never tried: a low-dose antipsychotic added to my existing antidepressant. It sounded crazy, but I was out of options.

Six weeks later, something shifted. The combination worked in a way nothing had before. Not a miracle cure, but a sustainable improvement. The fog thinned.

3. Building a life worth living

This sounds like a platitude, but the psychedelic sessions showed me something important: I’d been so focused on treating my depression that I’d forgotten to live. I’d put relationships, interests, and goals on hold, waiting to feel better first.

I stopped waiting. I started painting again—something I’d loved before depression stole my motivation. I reconnected with old friends. I adopted a dog. I built reasons to get out of bed that existed alongside the depression, not just despite it.

A More Honest Take on Psychedelics

I’m sharing this because I think the psychedelic hype is creating false expectations—and those false expectations can be dangerous.

If you’re considering psilocybin therapy, here’s my honest advice:

Don’t see it as a replacement for other treatment. It works best as one tool in a comprehensive approach—not instead of therapy and medication, but alongside them.

Be prepared for it to be hard. Challenging experiences are common and often where the real work happens. Make sure you have support.

Manage your expectations. Some people have dramatic, life-changing experiences. Many don’t. You might be in the second group. That doesn’t mean it’s useless—it means it’s one tool among many.

Do it legally, with professional support. I know illegal mushrooms are cheaper and more accessible. But the preparation, facilitation, and integration support I received were crucial. This isn’t something to DIY.

Don’t abandon what’s working. I’ve seen people quit their medications because they think psychedelics will replace them. For some, that works. For many, it’s a disaster.

The Takeaway

Psychedelic therapy didn’t save me. But it helped me.

It showed me that change was possible when I’d stopped believing it. It gave me windows of relief that reminded me what I was fighting for. It helped me access emotions and memories I’d buried too deep to reach otherwise.

The actual saving, though? That was a combination of things: the right medication after years of wrong ones, a skilled therapist, building a life with meaning, and refusing—stubbornly, exhaustedly refusing—to give up.

If you’re treatment-resistant and considering psychedelic therapy, I’d say go for it. Just go in with realistic expectations. It might be transformative. It might be helpful. It might be disappointing. Probably, it’ll be some messy combination of all three.

And that’s okay. Because messy progress is still progress.

Marcus Rivera is a graphic designer and mental health writer living in Portland, Oregon. He advocates for honest, realistic conversations about psychedelic therapy and treatment-resistant depression.