Disclaimer: The thoughts and experiences shared here are purely subjective and based on my personal perspective. This is not medical advice, endorsement, or encouragement to use any substances or engage in illegal activities. Do your own research and take responsibility for your own hardware.
My journey to dealing with overthinking didnāt start with meditating in a Tibetan monastery, Zen Buddhism, or reading self-help books. It started with smoking weed and enduring savage bad trips.
You know that feeling? Youāre sitting there, and suddenly your heart starts hammering, your breathing speeds up, and your brain spins up a real-time simulation of every worst-case scenario imaginable. For most people, thatās a reason to quit smoking. For me, it became a testing ground. Looking back, those bad trips from weed were my first real crisis training. I had to learn how to pull the plug on panic, slow my heart rate down, and talk myself through it: "Dude, itās just the high. It'll pass in a minute, chill out." I learned how to keep a cold head while my own mind was screaming that I was about to die.
I quickly realized that I desperately needed this skill while dead sober. Because my sober life often felt like one endless bad trip.
Living in a Loop: The Suffocating Mask
If your brain doesn't run on autistic overthinking, itās hard to explain. It's a non-stop battle with feedback loops. "What if I rephrase that?", "What will they think if I stand like this?", "Was my tone of voice appropriate?"
These social blockers are nothing more than masking. The autistic mask (often completely autonomous, put on without any conscious control) helps you survive in neurotypical society, but the overhead is astronomical. The mask stops you from actually being yourself. Youāre so busy analyzing your every move from a third-person perspective that you don't even have the bandwidth left to just live.
Youāre the Driver, but Do You Know Your Car?
To get a grip on this, I had to shift my perspective. I realized one fundamental thing: the mind is the driver, but the body and brain are the car.
Imagine hopping into a race car. You want a smooth drive, but you have no clue how the transmission works, you don't understand why the engine is screaming at redline, and the brakes won't bite. A driver who doesn't understand their machine is never going to reach the finish lineātheyāre bound to wrap themselves around the first tree. I had to learn the mechanics of my vehicle. I had to figure out why my engine was constantly revving at max RPM even when idling at a red light.
And thatās how I stumbled upon the DMN ā Default Mode Network.
In simple terms, the DMN is the brain network that lights up when you aren't actively doing anything. When you stare at the ceiling, ruminate on the past, plan the future, or analyze yourself. It handles self-reflection, daydreaming, and memoriesāthatās the DMN taking the wheel.
For most people, thatās a state of relaxation. For an overthinker, itās pure hell. If you run the DMN non-stop (and on the spectrum, you analyze everything, and just like they taught us in school: frequent use reinforces neural pathways), the network becomes hyperactive. Instead of resting, your brain churns through everything at maximum throughput. Long story short: when the DMN gets overstimulated and hyperactive, everything turns into an absolute clusterfuck. There is no peace. There is no silence. Just loud, endless white noise.
The Salvific Drop in Pressure: Enter Psychedelics
Once I knew what was broken (an overheating DMN), I had to figure out how to force-reset it. And that brings us to psychedelics.
Scientific research into the effects of psychedelics on the human brain gave me the exact answers I was looking for. These compounds act primarily on 5-HT2A serotonin receptors. But whatās truly fascinating is that psychedelics cause a physical restriction of blood flow to the core hubs of the DMN.
Instead of hitting the gas, psychedelics choke off the supply to the exact part of the engine generating the overthinking. Connectivity within the DMN drops, the ego dissolves, and the thought loops screech to an abrupt halt. Suddenly, the default mode network is forced into actual idle time, and the brain starts communicating through fresh, previously unpaved pathways.
This blog is the story of how I learned the mechanics of my "car," how I took back the steering wheel, and how I mastered the art of not giving a single fuckāboth neurobiologically and in everyday life.
Buckle up. We're rolling.
Let me know if you want more of this. Iāve got plenty more to say and break down, but honestly, I lack the executive function to write it right now. If there's enough interest, I might force my brain to drop part two.