I lived most of my life with undiagnosed complex PTSD. I’ve suffered from clinical depression, debilitating anxiety, alcoholism, and addiction. I couldn’t be happier with how my life has turned out.

This is my story.

This bio will take approximately 10 minutes to read.

My Mom’s Death at Age 9

I was born to a middle-class Jewish family in metropolitan Detroit. I grew up having a seemingly normal childhood. That is, until my mom was diagnosed with a rare form of throat cancer when I was 8 years old. Over the next year of my life I watched her fight the grueling battle with cancer. Of course I couldn’t grasp the magnitude of her illness, and would disagree with any adult that tried to prepare me for her death. Eventually - at age 9 - my mom passed away in a hospital bed. She was bald, unconscious, and had a breathing tube in her throat when I last saw her. 

My Dad’s Death at Age 13

Despite everything, my dad fought on and raised my sister and I on his own. Looking back I can see how hard that was for him, especially as he tried to keep his hardwood flooring business alive during the 2008 recession while raising 2 kids by himself. Unfortunately, this also came to an end when I was 13 years old. One night, out of nowhere, my dad unexpectedly suffered from a heart attack that killed him. I woke up in the middle of the night to ambulance lights outside and being told that everything was going to be ok.

I still remember the shock of how everything played out the following morning, and the feeling of how quickly I became an orphan. Fortunately, our neighbors took me and my sister in, providing us with what was the best case scenario given the situation.

I didn’t know it at the time, but this was when my PTSD symptoms started. As a kid I consistently had nightmares where I’d be falling, then I’d hit the ground and wake up sweaty. Looking back, it’s obvious that was a trauma response.

Struggles in High School

The rest of my childhood was uneventful until my senior year of high school. I honestly don’t remember much of it either. Maybe it’s partly because I dissociated so much and tried to ignore my feelings as much as I could? Regardless, I convinced myself that I was normal and that everything was fine.

I joined the drumline during my freshman year of highschool, and found a sense of community there. I quickly became obsessed, and drumming was all that I wanted to do. I would come home from a 12 hour marching band practice, just to keep practicing more. I had to be the best I could possibly be, and nothing was going to stop me (in retrospect, that’s another trauma response).

During my senior year of high school, I was the section leader. I was surrounded with all my best friends, and looked forward to this leadership opportunity for years. However, all of my obsessive practicing caused an overuse injury called focal dystonia. Basically, my hands would tighten up and I couldn’t hold a drumstick even after 1 exercise. To this day, I still can’t hold a drumstick the same way.

I was removed from the drumline, this goal and started getting a taste of depression. I worked so hard to get to where I was, and it was all taken away from me. I struggled through the rest of the year, telling myself to just make it through to college. Everything would get better once I move away and start my freshman year. I had no idea how wrong I was.

My Suicide Attempt in College

I entered my freshman year of college at Michigan State University. All the adults in my life told me that college was the best years of their life, and that this is my time to experiment and “figure it out” (to this day, I don’t know what that means…I’m still figuring it out). I saw all of my friends having fun in college, and confident in their decision to choose and commit to a major (I was declared “no major” for 2 years). On the outside, I was a happy jokester that was constantly laughing and making light of situations. I was part of the outdoors club and going on camping trips every week. However, on the inside, I was rapidly deteriorating and suffering to the point I can’t describe in words.

During my sophomore year, my depression symptoms worsened. It took a LOT for me to finally accept that I needed help. After all, I was this big strong man, and to ask for help would be a sign of failure (or so I thought). I did what society told me would help: talk therapy and medication. For a while, I actually believed they would solve my problems. As I became more depressed and desperate, I lost faith in the mental health system that was supposedly put in place to help patients like me.

On the night of my 21st birthday I hit my rock bottom. I was going to go to the weekly outdoors club meeting, say goodbye to all my friends, then come back to my apartment and kill myself. Looking back, it’s really hard to say if I actually wanted to die or not. A part of me was fed up with this life and wanted an escape. After all, I lived most of my life believing that I was punished for doing something wrong, and that I deserved to be miserable. Most children didn’t lose both their parents by the time they were 13, so what did I do to deserve this? But there was this other part too, a part of me truly wanted to live and was a crying out for help. I felt like I tried everything, and nothing worked. I was out of options, and needed to take matters into my own hands.

Fortunately, one of my friends called the police on me, and I was involuntarily hospitalized. Instead of spending my 21st birthday surrounded by friends at a bar, I spent it alone in a hospital room. I didn’t have my friends for company…I had a nurse that threatened to restrain me when I tried to leave. Once again, the medical system that I trusted my life to failed me. Sure I was kept alive, but the hospital ultimately discharged me without any follow up. I was free to find my own healing, without anyone’s help.

I continued to seek help after my discharge, which of course had many highs and lows. I quickly became an alcoholic (which I of course didn’t realize until later), continued to take medication (many of which I overdosed on), and tried to push through as much as I could. I felt a lingering sense of hopelessness and that no one understood how much I was struggling. It was very isolating.

Living as a Functional Alcoholic In My 20s

Somehow, I got through college without dropping out or killing myself. I hiked the Pacific Crest Trail with the cliche intent to “find myself”. I thought that if I could achieve these ambitious goals then I’d arrive at this place of satisfaction and happiness. Turns out, your problems follow you no matter where you are.

I got a job at a non-profit, and moved in with my long term girlfriend at the time. Even though I had much of I longed for, I was still unhappy. I would consistently get drunk, get in a fight with my girlfriend, and then sleep on the couch. This happened multiple times a week, but I wouldn’t admit that I had a drinking problem.

After we broke up, I moved to Salt Lake City, UT. I felt that there was nothing left for me in Michigan, and I wanted to be closer to the mountains (a goal I’ve had for years). I once again fell into the trap of “if I accomplish _______, then I’ll finally be happy”. I continued to work by day, and be a functional alcoholic at night. Not a single person in my life knew the extent of my drinking, and everyone thought I had it together. I really do want to highlight this point because I think it’s important to this story. I was suffering and numbing everything on the side, but no one knew. Deep down I knew I had a drinking problem, but I would never give anyone the satisfaction by admitting it. I justified it by telling myself all sorts of lies: “I just don’t want to feel any pain”, “it isn’t a problem because I’m still able to function”, or (my personal favorite) “I’ve had really hard life and I deserve just a little bit relief”. Yeah, there were a lot of red flags.

The Loss of My Best Friend

After living in Salt Lake City for a few months, I moved into a new house with a complete stranger who became one of my best friends. Christian Helger served as a mentor to me with the outdoors, and filled this older-brother role that I didn’t know I needed. He taught me everything I know about backcountry skiing and how to thrive (not just survive) in the mountains. 

Unfortunately, all this bliss was taken away on January 2, 2023. Christian was a ski patroller at Park City Mountain Resort and passed away in a freak accident. I won’t go into the details, but the event was entirely out of his control and something that should never happen in a ski resort (or ever). This unexpected loss obviously hit hard and re-triggered a lot of my childhood traumas.

It’s funny, after you experience a loss society gives you about a 2 week grace period before you’re expected to have it all together again.

I went back to work after after the first week, and was greeted with the emotionless “I’m sorry for your loss” from everyone. Once again, I put on this facade of having my life together during the day. At night, I numbed my emotions by drinking heavily (more than I previously was), combining and overdosing on various anti-anxiety medication, verbally abusing my friends, and becoming increasingly suicidal. My life was complete hell, and I truly didn’t care what happened to me or others. In fact there, was one night I got drunk, started looking up how to buy a gun and began to formulate a suicide plan. This was my lowest point since I was hospitalized at 21. I had an established relationship with a therapist and psychiatrist at the time, who were both useless. They tried convincing me that I had a substance abuse problem, and tried to solve the symptoms with more medication.

Nothing I tried was working and I needed a different kind of help.

How Psychedelics Saved My Life 

I knew I needed something different, so I started looking into ketamine. I vaguely heard about how ketamine was being used for treatment resistant depression, but didn’t know much about it. I also really hated needles and clinical settings, so it took a LOT before I knew I needed to try ketamine (most often administered intramuscularly or intravenously). I was skeptical of its promises to “cure” depression within a limited number of sessions, but decided to pursue it nonetheless. Through a friend of a friend I got connected to a ketamine clinic, and begrudgingly booked an appointment. After all, I was desperate for anything at this point.

While I was going through the intake form with my ketamine prescriber (a process I was very familiar with at this point), my prescriber told me something I never heard before in my life: “you don’t have depression, you have complex PTSD”. I never once thought that I was a PTSD victim, but it made so much sense. I started to look back at my life with a different lens, knowing that the depression I struggled with wasn’t my fault. Most other prescribers would try to treat my symptoms, but this person wanted to treat the root of my issues.

My first ketamine-assisted psychotherapy was one of the most profound experiences of my life. Immediately after my session, I experienced the most relief out of any modality I tried. Ketamine gave me a temporary chemical uplift, and I felt motivated to do the work and allowed me to experience this state of happiness that evaded me for so long. I knew, in every cell in my body, that it was possible for me to find happiness again.

Over the next few months, I participated in nearly a dozen ketamine-assisted psychotherapy sessions. To say that it saved my life is an understatement. I was empowered to do the hard work, (such as journalling, meditating, and rewiring my beliefs) needed to turn my life around. Ketamine also curbed my desire to drink, and I’m sober to this day. For the first time in a long time, I had a purpose to live.

Eventually, I got connected with a psychedelic therapist. Over the next two years I worked with her with various medicines (MDMA, LSD, Psilocybin, 5-MeO-DMT, and a combination of these) to fully process and heal years of childhood trauma. Every session I’ve done has allowed me to have a new insight, and my guide has helped me to integrate these lessons into my daily life.

Only 3 months after my first ketamine session.

How I Saved My Life

This journey, albeit hard, has been truly life changing for me. It’s really hard to articulate how impactful this work has been on my life, and how happy I am right now. With each session I’m able to go deep within myself to explore my various traumas and reframe my beliefs around them. I’ve developed various skills to help me navigate adversity moving forward, and no longer turn to negative behaviors (like drinking alcohol) that don't serve me. 

I give psychedelics a lot of credit in the last section, but I really want to emphasize that psychedelics opened the door for me to see what’s possible. Even so, I was still the one that had to step through the door.

Another thing I want to point out in my story are the pictures. Most of the pictures I included show me smiling and happy. This is an intentional contrast, as suffering sometimes takes a different form than we expect. I portrayed a sense of joy and accomplishment on the outside, and the world had no reason to suspect otherwise.

I’m not a therapist or medical professional. I’m just a guy that’s been through a lot of life and has found my own way to heal. I’ve shared this story to demonstrate the power of personal experience with this work, and to show that it can get better. No matter where you are in life, I promise that it can improve, and I’m living proof of that. 

Thanks for reading this far. I really hope for the opportunity to work with you and to share all the lessons I’ve learned!

Interested in learning more about coaching?

Let’s hop on a free 30 minute discovery call to answer any questions and determine if we’re a good fit for each other!