The Decision to Get My Life Back
The Peru Chronicles | Season 1 | Part 2
And it would take me to the Amazon. Alone.
Read the series in order here: The Peru Chronicles.
In Part 1, I describe a plant-medicine ceremony in Costa Rica that didn’t feel safe, and how I came out of it shaky and unsteady. I left with the sense that I’d opened a door I didn’t know how to close.
This is what happened next.
I went back to Nicaragua afterward, but something had changed.
Over the next year, things got worse. Not in a dramatic, movie way. In a slow, steady way that made me start wondering if I was just losing my mind.
At night the power would cut out, which happened all the time. But when it did, the house didn’t just get dark. It got pitch black. Jungle black. The kind of dark where you can feel your own heartbeat.
And then I’d feel it. A cool breeze.
We kept everything shut at night. Windows. Doors. Everything. The jungle is always trying to get inside. Bugs, geckos, humidity, noise. So when that cold air hit me, it didn’t just feel strange. It felt wrong.
It was October. Middle of the jungle. No storm. No wind. No explanation.
I would be dripping with sweat and then suddenly I’d run cold, like someone had opened a door that didn’t exist.
Then came the voices.
It would be three in the morning. I’d be half awake, and I’d hear footsteps outside my window. Then men and women talking to each other. Not yelling. Not whispering. Just normal conversation, like people passing time.
I’d grab a flashlight and scan the yard, expecting to catch someone standing there.
Nothing.
Just trees. Leaves. The shape of the jungle looking back at me.
And the part that messed with me the most was my dogs. I had three dogs who would bark at a falling leaf. They were asleep. Not alert. Not even curious.
That’s when the depression really started to sink its teeth in.
I couldn’t eat. I dropped to 140 pounds. I’m nearly six feet tall. I was turning into a skeleton with hollow eyes.
And I started reaching for anything that would numb it. Not because it was fun. Because I was trying to drown out whatever was happening. I was trying to shut my brain off long enough to get through the night.
It didn’t work. It just made everything darker.
In the daytime I tried to act normal. I’d make coffee. Take a walk along the beach.
I’d also ride my motorcycle out to our farm land to check on the animals. The goats helped. They always helped. Our young male, Cookie, would run up, nose me, follow me around, and for a short time I’d feel like myself again.
But even that didn’t last. The good feeling would wear off on the ride home, like it couldn’t survive the distance.
Then I’d come home and avoid mirrors on purpose. If I did catch my reflection, it was unsettling. It didn’t look like “me.” It looked like someone else. Like I was watching my life from the outside.
Cade flew down from Florida whenever he could. It was only a few hours on a plane, but it still wasn’t easy with his schedule. He’d show up for a break, and for a few days we’d try to pretend we were having a normal life.
This time he didn’t pretend.
He looked at me one day and said something like, “We need to do something about this.”
We talked about all the practical options. A program in the U.S. A hospital. A treatment center. And I’m not anti any of that. It just didn’t feel right for me. Not to mention the fact that it’s expensive, and it would have meant uprooting everything at once.
But we kept circling back to the same thing.
Ayahuasca.
That’s hard to explain without it sounding like I’m endorsing it. I’m not. I’m telling you what it felt like from inside my nervous system at the time.
I didn’t understand what had happened in Costa Rica yet. I blamed myself for all of it. For the ceremony. For the spiral. For the way my life was falling apart.
I honestly thought I had finally broken.
Cade could still think straight. He’s steady like that. Protective in the right way. And at some point he said it like it was obvious.
“You need to go to Peru.”
And this is also the trip where he proposed to me.
We’d been together seven years, and I had pretty much written off the idea that we ever would. We took a weekend trip to San Juan del Sur. I didn’t know what he had planned. We were in a hotel room and he handed me a ring, and I was so excited I started jumping on the bed like a kid.
For a minute, I felt like myself again. Like I had a body again. Like something in me turned back on.
And then he got serious.
“There’s something we need to do before we get married,” he said. “We need to get you well.”
He couldn’t come with me to Peru. He had to go back to Florida for work. But it wasn’t just work.
We both knew if he was there, my focus wouldn’t be on me. I’d be watching him, worrying about him, trying to keep him safe.
Costa Rica taught us that.
So we made the decision. I was going to the Amazon. To Iquitos, Peru.
I wasn’t going in search of some big spiritual answer. I was going to get my life back.
-R. Michael
If you have thoughts or questions, I’d really love to hear from you in the comments. I read every one.
Want to keep going? The Peru Chronicles.
Quick note for context, since this topic can bring out a lot of strong opinions.
Everything I’m sharing here is just my personal experience, from inside my own body and nervous system. I’m not speaking for the medicine, for a tradition, or for anyone else’s ceremony. I also know firsthand that people can sit in the exact same setting and walk away with completely different experiences.
My goal with this series isn’t to make a claim or start a debate. It’s to tell the truth about what happened to me, and what it changed for me, as honestly as I can.
Fascinating. Thank you for sharing your story.