madman
Super Moderator
* Psychedelics are not panaceas, but they offer mechanisms of action distinct from conventional treatments. Substances such as MDMA, psilocybin, ibogaine, ketamine, and 5-MeO-DMT are demonstrating the capacity to disrupt entrenched neurobiological patterns associated with trauma, addiction, and depression.
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Explore the transformative potential of MDMA-assisted therapy and psychedelics in treating PTSD and addiction, offering hope where traditional methods fail.
Lucas Trautman, MD, MPH, ABPN, ABPM
Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) and substance use disorders are among the most treatment-resistant conditions in psychiatry. Despite decades of research and the widespread use of SSRIs, CBT, and trauma-focused therapies, a significant proportion of patients remain symptomatic, disabled, or dependent on substances. It’s time for the medical community to take a serious, evidence-based look at emerging alternatives—especially psychedelic-assisted therapies.
Psychedelics are not panaceas, but they offer mechanisms of action distinct from conventional treatments. Substances such as MDMA, psilocybin, ibogaine, ketamine, and 5-MeO-DMT are demonstrating the capacity to disrupt entrenched neurobiological patterns associated with trauma, addiction, and depression.
Take MDMA, for example. In a phase 3 trial sponsored by the Multidisciplinary Association for Psychedelic Studies (MAPS), 67% of individuals with chronic PTSD no longer met diagnostic criteria after just 3 sessions of MDMA-assisted therapy.1 The drug acts as a powerful facilitator, suppressing the amygdala’s fear response while enhancing connectivity in the default mode and salience networks, creating a therapeutic window for reprocessing trauma with reduced avoidance.
Psilocybin, a serotonergic psychedelic, has shown similar promise. In a 2021 JAMA Psychiatry study, a single high-dose session led to a 71% reduction in depressive symptoms in patients with treatment-resistant depression (TRD).2 Psilocybin promotes neural plasticity and breaks down rigid thought loops, which may explain its utility in both depression and addiction.
Ibogaine, though less studied in the US, has shown remarkable anti-addictive effects. It modulates multiple receptor systems—NMDA, kappa-opioid, serotonin, and sigma—and appears to reset the brain’s reward circuitry. A2017 study in The American Journal of Drug and Alcohol Abuse reported that a single ibogaine treatment led to sustained reductions in opioid cravings and withdrawal symptoms.3 Though not legal in the US, ibogaine clinics abroad are attracting patients, including veterans, who have exhausted conventional options.
Ketamine, the only US Food and Drug Administration (FDA)-approved psychedelic-like treatment, has already shifted paradigms. Administered in sub-anesthetic doses, it rapidly reduces suicidal ideation and major depressive symptoms. Its modulation of glutamate and downstream synaptogenesis opens the door to fast-acting interventions in crisis settings.
These therapies aren’t without risks. They require strict medical screening, psychological readiness, and integration by trained professionals. They also raise ethical questions about access, cultural appropriation, and commercialization. But their clinical potential—when administered responsibly—cannot be dismissed.
As a double board-certified psychiatrist and addictionologist overseeing multiple treatment centers, I’ve seen firsthand the limits of standard care. I’ve also witnessed transformation when patients receive interventions that target not just symptoms but the root architecture of suffering. Psychedelics may offer such an opportunity—not as miracle cures, but as tools that, in the right context, restore agency, connection, and hope.
Healthcare professionals must lead this conversation, not follow it. That means supporting research, training clinicians, and advocating for safe, legal access to these therapies. We must also resist the urge to sensationalize or dismiss them. Psychedelic treatments are not fringe—they’re frontier. And like any frontier, they demand courage, data, and discipline.
The question is no longer whether these treatments work; it’s whether we, as a medical community, are ready to responsibly deliver them.
We Need to Be More Open to Psychedelic and Alternative Treatments
Explore the transformative potential of MDMA-assisted therapy and psychedelics in treating PTSD and addiction, offering hope where traditional methods fail.
Explore the transformative potential of MDMA-assisted therapy and psychedelics in treating PTSD and addiction, offering hope where traditional methods fail.
Lucas Trautman, MD, MPH, ABPN, ABPM
Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) and substance use disorders are among the most treatment-resistant conditions in psychiatry. Despite decades of research and the widespread use of SSRIs, CBT, and trauma-focused therapies, a significant proportion of patients remain symptomatic, disabled, or dependent on substances. It’s time for the medical community to take a serious, evidence-based look at emerging alternatives—especially psychedelic-assisted therapies.
Psychedelics are not panaceas, but they offer mechanisms of action distinct from conventional treatments. Substances such as MDMA, psilocybin, ibogaine, ketamine, and 5-MeO-DMT are demonstrating the capacity to disrupt entrenched neurobiological patterns associated with trauma, addiction, and depression.
Take MDMA, for example. In a phase 3 trial sponsored by the Multidisciplinary Association for Psychedelic Studies (MAPS), 67% of individuals with chronic PTSD no longer met diagnostic criteria after just 3 sessions of MDMA-assisted therapy.1 The drug acts as a powerful facilitator, suppressing the amygdala’s fear response while enhancing connectivity in the default mode and salience networks, creating a therapeutic window for reprocessing trauma with reduced avoidance.
Psilocybin, a serotonergic psychedelic, has shown similar promise. In a 2021 JAMA Psychiatry study, a single high-dose session led to a 71% reduction in depressive symptoms in patients with treatment-resistant depression (TRD).2 Psilocybin promotes neural plasticity and breaks down rigid thought loops, which may explain its utility in both depression and addiction.
Ibogaine, though less studied in the US, has shown remarkable anti-addictive effects. It modulates multiple receptor systems—NMDA, kappa-opioid, serotonin, and sigma—and appears to reset the brain’s reward circuitry. A2017 study in The American Journal of Drug and Alcohol Abuse reported that a single ibogaine treatment led to sustained reductions in opioid cravings and withdrawal symptoms.3 Though not legal in the US, ibogaine clinics abroad are attracting patients, including veterans, who have exhausted conventional options.
Ketamine, the only US Food and Drug Administration (FDA)-approved psychedelic-like treatment, has already shifted paradigms. Administered in sub-anesthetic doses, it rapidly reduces suicidal ideation and major depressive symptoms. Its modulation of glutamate and downstream synaptogenesis opens the door to fast-acting interventions in crisis settings.
These therapies aren’t without risks. They require strict medical screening, psychological readiness, and integration by trained professionals. They also raise ethical questions about access, cultural appropriation, and commercialization. But their clinical potential—when administered responsibly—cannot be dismissed.
As a double board-certified psychiatrist and addictionologist overseeing multiple treatment centers, I’ve seen firsthand the limits of standard care. I’ve also witnessed transformation when patients receive interventions that target not just symptoms but the root architecture of suffering. Psychedelics may offer such an opportunity—not as miracle cures, but as tools that, in the right context, restore agency, connection, and hope.
Healthcare professionals must lead this conversation, not follow it. That means supporting research, training clinicians, and advocating for safe, legal access to these therapies. We must also resist the urge to sensationalize or dismiss them. Psychedelic treatments are not fringe—they’re frontier. And like any frontier, they demand courage, data, and discipline.
The question is no longer whether these treatments work; it’s whether we, as a medical community, are ready to responsibly deliver them.
