Ketamine Nation
How a novel form of depression treatment has transformed me.
I’m in another dimension. I don’t know my name, where I am, what I am. I can’t move any of my body parts. I exist in an overcast plane that’s punctuated by violet and sapphire light. That’s the only thing I know about my reality. Millions of crickets chirp their chorus; my hearing is heightened. I may be dead, but I am okay with it. It doesn’t hurt, and I have no fear. Except for the fact that I feel like I don’t exist in the known world, I am at peace.
The crickets still trill as I feel like I’m being dropped from that alternate dimension. I’m buoyant — it’s a soft descent. I can see myself from a distance, as if my fuzzy mind is in a hot-air balloon and I’m looking down on my body. But more suddenly than I’d like, I’m me again; I’m reclined in a leather chair, staring down at my tan ankle booties and faded jeans. I’m disappointed because I know I’m not really dead or existing on another plane.
Instead, I’ve been on ketamine. I’m back in the world, with its responsibilities and problems. Most disturbingly, I’m back in my broken mind. Back in my brain that I’m trying to fix so that I can stay alive.
The past few weeks, my emotional state has been so raw I feel like my skin has been peeled off with a carrot scraper. When I wake in the…
