My Ressurection Ride

My last ketamine session could not have ended more beautifully—or more unexpectedly.

I came in with a clear and vulnerable intention:
Remove all blockages to love.

But at first? It felt like a total dud.
Nothing happened. I sat through the entire playlist, and the medicine just… didn’t land. It was like I flushed $100 down the drain.

So I did what I often do in that liminal frustration: I started typing. Pouring out three years of context to ChatGPT—layered pain, buried memories, relational wreckage that still bleeds.

What began as a reflection on a recent rupture took me all the way back to Byte.

Back to a time I was grieving the traumatic death of my cousin…
Performing well at work but made to feel invisible and disposable…
Getting lovebombed and discarded by a coworker who once said dating me was "so different"—until she turned cold and said, “You’re no better than any other guy.”

Back to EMDR sessions.
Back to talk therapy.
Back to ADHD support meetings.
Back to crying in front of my computer with no one to talk to.

And back to the HR director who once pretended to empathize—then flipped, screamed at me, and weaponized my trauma against me.

I typed all of that an hour after I had already swallowed the medicine, convinced this session was a waste.

But the moment I finished writing and put on my eye mask—
The medicine came online.
Softly. Slowly. Sacredly.

Spotify had moved on from my carefully curated playlist to the algorithm’s recommendations. And that’s when ketamine threw me a lifeline.

It felt like I was on a carousel ride of grace.

The message was clear and immediate:

“Please be kind to yourself. You’ve already survived more than enough.”

It gave me a tour.
A tour of the last three years.
A tour of the UVU gym.
A spiritual cleansing of all the hidden places grief still lived in me.

And suddenly, everything made sense.

---

I saw how the first rocket session had already shown me expansion and escape.
I remembered the symbolism in my other sessions:

• A shitty job becoming the launchpad
• Overgiving to people who didn’t deserve me
• Christmas jars
• Breakaway, Kite, the soul of someone from 10 years ago
• The command: Protect your energy

---

And now this session connected it all.
Like a final puzzle piece locking in.

It showed me why my therapist at USF was so adamant about self-compassion.
It reminded me that since reclaiming that mindset, I’ve fallen back in love with statistics.
I’ve regained momentum in my Amazon business.
I’ve stepped into jiujitsu.
I’m building muscle, discipline, and clarity.
And I’m getting real help—real support—to finally win in this next chapter.

This time, the rocket isn’t just launching me into better relationships…
It’s launching me into better jobs, better boundaries, and a better life.

Because now I know:

• I will never again stay in a place where I’m disposable
• I will never again tolerate lovebombing, stonewalling, discards, gaslighting, or ghosting

My energy is sacred now.
And it’s time to act like it.

No more chasing people who can’t hold me.
No more giving the best of me to places that only take.
No more trying to earn the love I already deserve.

This was more than a ketamine trip.
It was a reckoning.
A blessing.
A rebirth.

Now that I’ve seen what’s better—
It’s time to be better.

A Better Me.
A Better Life.
A Better U.

---

If you'd like to become a "Better U", go to betterucare.com and use promo code NANDO84 for $100 discount at checkout.

The Phrase That Closed The Loop

I just had my final twice-a-week ketamine session—and ketamine never ceases to amaze me.

Earlier this week, I had my integration meeting with my guide, and he introduced me to that podcast I shared in my stories—the one about the gut being your second brain. It resonated deeply, especially given everything that’s been unfolding in my life.

I recently went through a painful and messy fallout with a couple of people. It left me feeling hurt, betrayed, and raw. That relational pain lingered hard this month. I knew my treatment was winding down, so I made a conscious decision to focus on relational trauma this round.

This all coincided with something unexpected and emotionally loaded: my favorite band, Oasis, reunited after 16 years. That moment stirred up a storm inside me. Grief, hope, nostalgia—and somehow, a surge of rocket energy. From there, things started aligning. There came a Christmas jar. And song after song started showing up in my life, all with a shared theme: U2's Kite, Kelly Clarkson's Breakaway, Dropline's Fly Away From Here.

I didn’t come all this way just to stay small.

I'm the guy who’s had over 60 ketamine sessions, healing layers of trauma I thought would bury me. I'm finally finishing school, balancing two businesses, training in jiujitsu. I’ve outgrown the patterns of tolerating emotional scraps and pretending that chaos is normal. This blog isn’t about petty personal tea, so I’ll leave it at that.

But here’s what matters:

As soon as I thought the words "protect my energy," I had the deepest session I’ve EVER had.

I don’t remember the visuals. I don’t remember exact details. But I remember how it felt. Everything in my system aligned behind that phrase. It became the session’s entire message. Its medicine.

A few sessions ago, ketamine showed me some brutal honesty—how I overextend, where I leak energy, how I try to earn love. This session was the follow-up. But this time, I wasn’t alone or exposed. I felt shielded from the gaslighting, the future faking, the manipulation, the deflection. I saw clearly:

I am no longer available to those people.
Their chaos is not worth re-triggering my trauma.
My energy is sacred. My rocket energy must be protected.

---

The Power of One Phrase

This session was already loaded with intention. I’d gone in asking to:

• Heal my relationship with my gut (my second brain)
• Trust myself again
• Create effortless flow in my studies, my business, and my relationships
• Let go of the need to do everything through force

But those are broad goals—big-picture shifts. The moment I thought "protect your energy," everything condensed. It was like every intention I had suddenly clicked into place behind that one phrase.

And my nervous system recognized it. My body stopped resisting. My gut finally felt safe.

---

Why Ketamine Responds to Truth

Ketamine is strange and sacred. 

"Protect your energy" hit on every level:

• Somatic: It relaxed my gut and helped me drop in fast.
• Psychological: It rewired old loops about self-worth and boundarylessness.
• Spiritual: It affirmed that I’m allowed to choose peace over chaos.

It was a phrase that spoke to my trauma—but also to my readiness to evolve. And the medicine responded not with visions or voices—but with depth. Stillness. Knowing.

---

This Is Energetic Realignment

Something in me has changed. For real. I no longer feel the pull to chase the trip. This session showed me that the craving for the experience—the addiction to going deep just to feel real—is gone.

I didn’t lose the magic. I became it.

The trip lives in me now. The healing is here, not “out there.”

---

Final Reflection

If you’ve been stuck in the swirl—of overthinking, overgiving, emotional chaos—your body knows. Your gut has probably been whispering to you for a while.

And if you ever enter a healing space—whether it's ketamine, therapy, meditation, or even journaling—carry this phrase with you:

"Protect your energy."

This phrase turned my session from just another check-in into a soul-level reset.

I’ll never forget it. And I’ll never again forget to honor it.

If you are ready for this type of healing, go to betterucare.com and use my promocode NANDO84 for $100 diecount on your first purchase.

The Kindness That Carried Me

This last ketamine session was relatively weak. No deep trip. But somehow, it ended up being one of the most impactful sessions I’ve ever had.

It brought me straight to my place of work 10 years ago at Progressive Leasing.  I got a text the night before — from my sweet friend Kirsi.

I’ve known Kirsi for over 10 years. We met at Progressive Leasing during a time when life was heavy. Those years weren’t easy, and honestly, neither were the years that followed. We missed each other when we were both in Florida, and now somehow, life brought us both back to Utah. Through it all, Kirsi has been one of those rare people who just gets it.

She’s the kind of friend everyone deserves to have.

Kirsi has this way of making people feel like their best selves. She brings good energy. She sees the inner work you’re doing — and celebrates it. She tells you she’s proud of you, and she means it. She doesn’t just say “I love you,” she backs it up with consistency, kindness, and actions that speak louder than words.

During the session, I kept being pulled back to her message.  And then I started thinking about everything my therapist at the University of South Florida used to say about self-compassion and connection. Suddenly the session wasn’t about visuals. It was about grace.  From my termination at Progressive to flunking out of USF, to my arrest in Georgia for forgetting to pay for my licence reinstatement fee, it felt like the cycle of pain never ends.  

The medicine helped me feel compassion for my younger self — the version of me working at Progressive Leasing, dragging around years of pain I didn’t know how to process. I mourned the fact I didn’t have access to ketamine or Better U back then. 

Usually my sessions end with a kind of celebration — this felt quieter. More subtle. But maybe that’s the point.

This time, the celebration came in the integration. In the realization. In the whisper:
You’ve carried so much. And you’re still here.

So today, I want to celebrate that.
And say a special thank you to Kirsi — for being a steady light through all these years.
For showing me what true support looks like.

If you feel ketamine therapy is right for you, go to betterucare.com and use my promo code NANDO84 to get $100 off.

Kite Rocket Breakaway

 I don’t remember much from my last ketamine session — and that’s common.

But what I do remember is the pattern.

The pattern of deep emotional excavation,
ripping me open one layer at a time —
only to deliver me into a space of celebration,
of light, of clarity.
The playlist.
The imagery.
The cost.
All of it crashing together in a way only ketamine knows how to orchestrate.

And this time, the medicine asked a question I didn’t expect:

“Are they really worth it?”

Not just the money.
But the reactivation of every wound,
the resurfacing of memories I’ve spent years trying to bury,
the somatic aftermath that leaves me raw for days.

It’s no secret I came back to treatment after a rupture —
a relational trauma from people I still have to see regularly.
People who once spoke of love, of plans, of shared futures,
and now respond with silence, performance, or worse — revisionist history.

But the medicine didn’t let me stay in that confusion.
It reminded me of what I already knew.
It brought me back to the rocket.
The one that launched when I chose myself.
The one powered by every truth I refused to swallow.

Kelly Clarkson told me to Breakaway.
U2’s Kite wrecked me. That song’s been on loop for days.
Especially the line:

“In summer, I can taste the salt in the sea.
There's a kite blowing out of control on the breeze.
I wonder what's gonna happen to you —
you wonder what is gonna happen to me…”

And then:

“I’m a man. I’m not a child.
A man who sees the shadow behind your eyes.”

I saw it.
I still see it.
The shadow of false promises.
The flinch in the follow-through.
The ghosting dressed up as “self-care.”
The triangulation, the petty silence, the replacement attempts.

But here’s the shift:
I’m no longer in the swirl disguised as a circle.
That game has nothing for me now.

I've been introduced to abundance.
In my Amazon business.
In Jiu-jitsu.
At UVU.
In the way the love I pour out has finally started coming back.
The medicine once told me: Don’t burn the village when the rocket launches.
But that doesn’t mean I need to tolerate shitty patterns or stay in places that shrink me.

Since starting this treatment, I’ve said I went from not being in the circle
to becoming the whole damn sphere.

And now, I’m tasting love from my homeland again.
Tasting food that reminds me I come from flavor and fire.
Being shown waterfalls, trails, rivers —
and more importantly, being seen for real by someone who doesn’t flinch at my depth.

As much as the last couple months hurt,
they became the launchpad:
for my rocket,
my kite,
my breakaway,
my expansion.

And now?

Now I’m free.
Free from feeling small.
Free from the swirl.
Free to rise without apology.

Love Circles Back With Interest: My Ketamine Jar

 

As I’ve been saying for a while now: KETAMINE REMEMBERS EVERYTHING.

I went in with two intentions — to trust myself more and to trust the universe more.
I don’t need the deep sessions as often anymore, but I restarted treatment after two months because a painful fallout cracked open some old relational wounds. This time, I committed every session in this refill to healing relational trauma. And you know what? My silent haters turned out to be my biggest blessing in disguise.

This session took me back to a movie I just watched on my birthday — Christmas Jars. It brought me into that warmth and generosity of a family giving out Christmas jars. That family radiated so much love. I saw myself in Hope — how she stood at a crossroads between the truth and her fear, between family and career, between protecting and exposing. And how those small choices came back full circle, like her birth mother getting a jar years later.

Yeah, it’s a fictional story — but it carries a real lesson: integrity and honest communication. Two things I was missing from people I thought were closest to me.

The medicine remembers everything. It even took me back to that awkward moment in the breakroom, running into one of them before I chose to sit elsewhere. The medicine showed me: I don’t hate that person.
I get to launch my rocket — but I don’t have to burn the whole village. No throwing hate.

This session made me see this is my own inner child work. And it’s also a message to other CPTSD survivors out there: Carry your own Christmas Jar.
First it was the rocket. Now it’s a Christmas Jar.

The medicine always ends by taking you through a celebratory phase before it lands — I love that part. But what really matters is what comes next: the integration.
The real work happens between sessions — the journaling, the resting, the choices about where your energy goes, what you eat, what you feed your mind. It’s about carrying forward that light you felt during the session, instead of just chasing the next one.

I’m finally learning what integration really means. And I’m not gonna forget it.”**

---

“If you’ve ever been curious about ketamine therapy for deep healing, here’s something for you:

I’m partnering with @betterucare because they’ve been a game-changer for me — helping me untangle trauma, trust myself again, and integrate real breakthroughs.

They’re giving $100 off your first treatment when you use my promo code NANDO84 at betterucare.com.
This is for anyone ready to face their inner shit, not run from it.
Healing is messy. It’s raw. It’s worth it.
Use it, share it, let the medicine do what it remembers to do.

🚀💙
#Healing #KetamineTherapy #BetterU #CPTSDRecovery #Integration #NANDO84”**

Love Playlist, Tough Lesson

I've been saying it for a while now: KETAMINE REMEMBERS EVERYTHING. And today was no different. 

 Since I started this treatment, I’ve been rotating through five playlists from Better U: Heal, Grow, Love, Transcend, and Divine. Today I chose the Love playlist — I actually switched the order because I love the Transcend playlist so much. But ketamine had other plans: it showed me some tough love instead. 

 The session started so gentle. It reminded me of this pair of sisters who come into my store all the time — they’re incredibly sweet to me. Their whole world lights up when they see me. One time, I sat with one of them outside, and she just wrapped her arms around me while we talked. I know that in Latin culture, people are naturally affectionate, so I didn’t read more into it than it was — but still, it feels so fucking good to have someone’s day light up just because I exist. No proving myself. No performance. Just warmth.

 Then, out of nowhere, the medicine took me to a different setting — a memory outside of work where I used to carry so much magnetic energy. Back then, people lit up when they saw me too. But the tough love hit: I ended up choking those connections to death. That was on me.

 I know there are a couple people I’ve had recent fallouts with who’d secretly celebrate reading that line — like it vindicates them. But let me be clear: this blog isn’t about feeding anyone’s ego. It’s about integrating my ketamine experiences — and maybe saving a few lives by telling the truth about what it shows me. 

 This session showed me so much of my own emotional mismanagement. How I overextended. Overgave. Overexplained. How I poured out empathy to people who hadn’t earned it. How I handed out my heart, my words, my trust — things that should be sacred — to people who didn’t have the capacity or the respect to hold them. 

 It showed me how I sacrificed my boundaries on the altar of ‘being the nice guy.’ How every ‘nice guy’ tendency — the people-pleasing, the simping, the need to prove I’m good enough — kept me stuck in the same cycle. I’d give too much too soon, let them cross lines I should have defended, then blame them for taking advantage. But I see now: I set the table for it. That’s on me. 

 Tough love. But true love. Because the medicine doesn’t shame — it just puts a mirror in your face you can’t look away from.

 So what now? Now I let this gut punch do its job. I don’t rush back into another session just to numb the sting — I sit with it. I see it in my real life. I catch myself before I send the midnight paragraphs to people who haven’t earned my words. I slow down when I feel that urge to overgive, to prove I’m ‘good enough.’ I remember that real connection isn’t something I can force or smother — it’s something that flows when there’s safety on both sides.

 I’m learning that my words, my time, my heart — they’re worth something. Not everyone gets access. Not everyone gets the whole story. Some things stay with me. Some doors stay closed. 

 And maybe that’s the real gift: this session hurt like hell, but it reminded me I have power I keep giving away. Not anymore. I’m here to love. I’m here to grow. But I’m not here to bleed myself dry to keep someone else warm. 

 That’s my integration. And I’m proud of it.

 If you’ve been thinking about trying ketamine treatment for your own healing, I can’t promise you it’ll be easy — but I can promise you it’ll show you what you’re ready to see. 

 I do my treatments with Better U, and they’ve been a safe place for me to face this shit head-on. If you’re ready, you can check them out at betterucare.com and use my promo code NANDO84 to get started. Stay brave out there. 🫀

Lighting the Rocket Without Burning Down the Village

 I just had a really deep ketamine session which I don't remember anything from it.  

The night before I was crying watching the Oasis reunion of them playing Live Forever and the beautiful tribute to Diogo Jota at the end of the song.  The Gallagher brothers hugged on stage held hands, bowed bown to each other.  None of us Oasis fans ever dreamed of that reunion.  It was very clear this was way more than a cash grab.  The 12 year old in me cried.  

In my session, the messy and layered fallout came up again.  This was after my rocket session.  I mentioned it before how you make sure you don't scorch the earth while your rocket is launching.  And the rocket came up again in this conversation. 

I want to stand here — big, stadium-voice big — without turning my fire into a weapon.

So here’s what I know now:

• I can mourn what never was and still hope for what could be.
• I can forgive people who future-faked me, even if they never say sorry.
• I can hold the sweetness from people who do choose me — quietly — and not let my old fear chase them off. de
• I can be me — all of me — without shrinking or scorching.

The world is healing.
The brothers who swore they’d never speak again hugged on stage after sixteen years apart.
The songs still echo in stadiums long after the lights go down.
People live forever in how we choose to remember them — and how we choose to keep our own fire warm instead of burning bridges we might still want to cross someday.

If you see me lighting my rocket, remind me:
Keep it close enough to burn bright. Far enough not to burn down the village.

If you’re curious about at-home ketamine therapy, I recommend Better U. I’ve had a really meaningful experience with them.  betterucare.com Use my referral code NANDO84 if you want a discount of $100

When Culture Becomes a Cage

 I know the theme of this blog is mostly about integration — the real work I’m doing to heal old trauma and shame after my ketamine sessions.

But I can’t do that work honestly without talking about where I come from — and what it’s like to be Brazilian, living in Utah, wanting to feel at home in your culture… but finding that it’s not always as safe or welcoming as it looks on the surface.

I’ve said it before: I’m proud of being Brazilian.
I love our food, our calor humano, our wild sense of humor, the way we can make a party out of anything.
I love Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, capoeira, MPB, our hospitality, our generosity.
And like any good shadow work — I see the flip side, too: how fanatical we can be, how easily we turn faith into an identity badge you either wear perfectly or get shunned for refusing to.

You saw this in me when I obsessed over Palmeiras during the last Club World Cup — that same devotion runs deep in our DNA. Brazil is wired for faith. So what happens when you mix that with Mormonism? You get people who think they’re not just any chosen people — they’re the most chosen, living in God’s place, doing His work.

So imagine what that does to you when you’re the odd one out.

Recently I met another Brazilian. Barely knew me, and the first question out of her mouth?
“Do you go to the Brazilian ward?”
Innocent on the surface. But underneath? It throws me right into defense mode.
Now I have to explain that I haven’t been Mormon for 13 years — which, for most Utah Brazilians, basically makes me a heretic with a smile.

Same thing happened a few months back with another seemingly sweet woman.
We’d run into each other a few  times, started connecting — then she dropped, “But Heavenly Father has been so wonderful and I’m so grateful for this gospel.”

Suddenly, I’m cornered. If I tell the truth — “Hey, I’m not Mormon anymore” — the warmth evaporates. She disappeared after that.

Or the time my coworker invited me to dinner with her Brazilian friends. Beautiful food. Seemed genuine. Then they brought in the older missionary couple. Church talk dominated the whole table. Even after I’d told her I’m not LDS anymore.

I’m not here to attack anyone’s beliefs. I know these folks are sincere, good-hearted people — but they’re living in a bubble. They don’t realize how invasive these questions feel. They don’t know how they turn what should be warm, cultural connection into a trap: Are you one of us, or not?
And I’m not here to defend myself anymore either. I’m just here to live.
To enjoy real connection, to finish school, build my businesses, heal my soul, protect my peace.

But sometimes it feels like there’s nowhere to breathe. I can’t even grab Brazilian food on Sundays because everything’s closed — while back in Florida, I could meet Craque Neto at a bakery, or see Palmeiras in the Florida Cup, and nobody gave a shit what church I went to.

Even when I was a hardcore Mormon, it was hard to relate. You couldn’t open up without getting told to fast or pray it away. The church selfies, the constant Mormon quotes — they made my real questions feel taboo.

And you know what hits me the most?
I “grew up” in Utah. Not even my Utah-born LDS friends got this invasive. They knew how to let faith be personal. In this Brazilian bubble, faith is the price of admission. And if you won’t pay it, you’re out.

I know they mean well — but good intentions don’t mean they get to hijack my story.
They won’t get my healing journey. My ketamine work. My love for math. My Amazon FBA hustle. My meditation practice, my passion for Jiu-Jitsu, my obsession with music and history outside a Mormon lens.

And that’s okay.
Because the whole point of this integration is learning to trust my gut. To say No more.
No more shrinking my truth for anyone’s comfort. No more polite nods when people put me back in the box I bled to crawl out of.

I’m not here to be convenient.
I’m not here to be a testimony project.
I’m here to live free — wildly, inconveniently, beautifully free.

That’s what this healing is for.

— FG