When writer Ayelet Waldman fell into depression she started microdosing with LSD. She tells Rachel Cooke about her extraordinary experiment with acid
Some time ago – for reasons that will become apparent I am not allowed to say when, exactly – the American writer Ayelet Waldman scored some LSD. She did this, not on a street corner or via the dark web, but middle-class style, through an acquaintance of an acquaintance, for which reason the drug arrived at her home in Berkeley, California, in a stamp-encrusted brown paper package whose sender (an elderly professor, she believed) identified himself only as Lewis Carroll, a “fellow resident” of her town. Mr Carroll had, however, troubled to write her a brief note. “Our lives may be no more than dewdrops on a summer morning,” it said. “But surely, it is better that we sparkle while we are here.” The bottle he enclosed contained 50 drops of “vintage quality” LSD, of which he advised her to take two at a time. Waldman was delighted. Not to put too fine a point on it, she believed this drug might save her life.
‘I was in a dangerous place, doing everything to ruin my own life’
‘Within a couple of doses the computer of my brain restarted’
‘My husband encouraged me to embark on LSD experiment because he was desperate, too’