Lying on a mat around a fire in the Costa Rican jungle, I was too terrified to speak. I had just taken iboga, a psychedelic plant medicine native to Central Africa, in a desperate attempt to avoid taking my own life.
It was 2015, two years after I had retired from international rugby, where I was a celebrated full-back, playing for Glasgow Warriors, Sale Sharks and Toulon, and had represented Scotland in two World Cups.
This wasn’t the first time I’d tried psychedelics. I’d tried psilocybin (magic mushrooms) seven years earlier, after a bad concussion, because I’d heard they benefited brain injuries. The harsh reality of rugby culture first struck me, then how players are encouraged to endure pain and injuries well past the breaking point.
That night, under the influence of iboga, I felt a sense of clarity that was almost disturbing. New energy coursed through my body, and I could see all the trauma I’d endured through surgeries, pharmaceutical drugs, and partying.
On my return home, I started researching psychedelics. Until the 1960s, psychedelic therapies were surprisingly commonplace in Western medicine in the areas of psychology and psychiatry.
They fell out of favour, though this is changing now – ketamine therapy is available in the UK for depression and addiction, Australia has just legalised MDMA and psilocybin for therapeutic use, and we finally have scientific evidence to back up efficacy for several mental health conditions, such as post-traumatic stress disorder, which the Duke of Sussex has spoken about.
Winning at all costs
A few years before trying iboga, I’d been lauded as Scotland’s best full-back in the 2007 Rugby World Cup. During the week, I was training hard, while after matches, I was binge-drinking and partying in nightclubs with my teammates, pumped full of Red Bull and Pro Plus until the sun came up.
During my decade-long career as a professional rugby player, I earned a reputation for winning at all costs. I’d been knocked unconscious on the pitch ten times, with many more concussions and broken bones. In 2008, I fractured my eye socket, cheekbone and jawbone and had a seizure. But I kept playing.
Pharmaceutical drugs were handed out freely to the players, so with the help of the anti-inflammatories diclofenac and meloxicam, painkillers co-codamol and tramadol, and muscle-relaxing benzodiazepines, I got on with it.
Popping these highly addictive pills was a way to keep playing and hang on to your livelihood. These drugs take away your physical pain and boost your mood, and they soon started being used beyond their recommended medical capacity.
Finally, in 2012, at 29, I shattered my leg and ankle joint in a career-ending injury. After a year of rest and three surgeries, my ankle failed to heal. My contract was torn up, and my healthcare plan was revoked six months later.
‘I couldn’t imagine a future without rugby.’