Waves of Depression

Have you felt this? I think every human has—it's just part of the human experience. I feel it every day, at least at some point. I don’t know what to do about it other than exist and breathe. I try not to type or speak when a wave of it comes over me. Maybe I should write when I’m in this state of depression. Right now, I’m there. I can only describe it as my body lacking the chemicals it needs to feel better. I haven’t moved today, I’m sitting in the barn, and it’s 55 degrees out here. The sky is gloomy and indifferent to my craving for sunlight.

But just like I have these waves of depression, I also get waves of overwhelming joy every day. I think my body is just cycling through waves of feelings created by the chemicals running through it. Food, water, and movement combine into a kind of chemical smoothie that fuels my emotions. My thoughts, though—they’re like the non-chemical ingredient in this smoothie, and I haven’t figured out the right dose for them yet. I use my thoughts to bring me joy, but sometimes I also use them to bring myself down.

I’ve been fortunate to spend a lot of time alone with my thoughts, especially as a kid. I used to think about my thinking constantly—always running these little thought experiments to see if I could control my emotions with thoughts alone. I never experimented with substances back then—not as a kid, not as a teen, not even as a young adult. I was obsessed with the idea that maybe I could train my mind to bend the chemistry of my body into a state of well-being.

By my mid-30s, I decided to reevaluate. I’d been “raw-dogging” life, putting zero stimulants or depressants into my body—no caffeine, no alcohol. At 34, I’d made a chunk of money and felt like I was in a good place to experiment with myself without worrying about work or finances. Looking back, I realize I was basically reverse bio-hacking. I didn’t have any plans or systems—I just wanted to understand what made so much of the art and music that moves me deeply. It became clear that a lot of the art I loved most was created by people who used substances that I had avoided entirely.

So, I started doing drugs.

All of them.

Drugs. Just say that word out loud—it’s funny, isn’t it? We have drugstores, which are pharmacies, but if someone “does drugs” or “sells drugs,” they’re definitely not pharmacists. I’ve come to the conclusion that we humans are just a silly people. We haven’t created an advanced language or a real, nuanced conversation around the chemicals we put into our bodies. We’re still using the language left over from old systems of control—governments, religions, and so on. Like I do with money, education, relationships, and everything else, I’m building my own language and understanding. I don’t want to borrow from those systems of control.

Now, I consider everything I put into my body carefully. I study each substance and observe the effects. I even have an AI companion to teach me about what I’m trying so I can be informed about dosing and the impacts. What I’ve found is that I’m mostly drawn to the natural medicines the earth produces. The less processed or synthesized, the better it feels for me.

I’m sharing all this to say that I’ve found waves of depression are much easier to manage with natural medicines and meditation—basically, a combination of chemicals and thoughts. I try to use as few prescriptions or paid professional services as possible. For me, being the custodian of my own mental health feels essential. It’s the same as how I approach my physical health.

I am not the health guru that Bryan Johnson is, who I shared about yesterday. I don’t want anyone to follow my pattern, I just want people to think about language and assumptions we have around drugs, prescriptions, joy and depression.

I started this email today feeling depressed.

Writing for the last hour with my two dogs at my feet and the gloomy cold weather actually feels amazing. My office heated up to 66 degrees. Kurt Cobain has serenaded the last hour with his voice.

Scott X - Happy 420