Louis Dorian - Suicide. Grief. Godmode.

Louis Dorian

Today’s guest didn’t just flirt with the abyss.
He slow-danced with it, French kissed it, and carved his name into its spine.

Louis Dorian is not your average psychonaut.
He’s a street-forged, grief-hardened, reality-hacking soulsmith.
Born in the spiritual dead zone of San Bernardino, where broken dreams drip from power lines and silence screams louder than gunfire — Lou found god not in church, but in 500mg mushroom trips under flickering streetlamps.

While the world debated serotonin receptors, he was out there watching friends dissolve into madness, bodies drop, and souls burn out — firsthand witness to the razor-sharp edge of unsupervised psychedelic warfare.

Then came his father’s long, cruel death.
Then came western psychiatry’s cold shrug.
Then came the taste of the void, raw and unfiltered — a suicide note written in invisible ink.

But Louis didn’t vanish.
He alchemized.

Through breathwork, Qi Gong, and pure rebellion of spirit, he resurrected himself.
Not with therapy. Not with pharmaceuticals.
But with the hard-won gnosis of a man who’s seen the machine from the inside and lived to spit in its gears.

Then came love. And then came loss — his “life splitter.”
A soul-shaking overdose that shattered him again and rebuilt him even sharper.
More focused. More dangerous. More devoted.

From those ashes came Psychedelist — not just a platform, but a goddamn exodus route out of spiritual poverty.

Louis is now a trauma guide, a death-walker, a healing architect.
He’s worked with the grieving, the broken, the addicted, the warriors of the inner and outer battlefield.

He’s not here to coddle you.
He’s here to hand you the blueprint to your own transformation — and dare you to build something holy with your pain.

So prepare yourself.
This isn’t a TED Talk. This is a psychedelic exorcism.

Please welcome:
The myth. The motherf*cking mirror. The founder of Psychedelist — Louis Dorian.

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