The Dud

Have you ever gone to light a bottle rocket and the fuse sizzles and burns with anticipation…and then…nothing? No dramatic lift-off, no awesome bang, it’s just a dud.

 

That’s how I feel about my ketamine infusion 3 weeks ago. For lots of reasons, some situational, some biological, and some unknown…it simply didn’t have the same effect on my depression as previous treatments had. 

 

I had my treatment, just like always, and then headed back home to Alabama. Within a couple of days, I knew something wasn’t right. Not only was I still in the pit—I was sliding deeper and faster than I could manage. 

 

The week after my infusion, I slept. When I say, I slept—what I mean is that I was a complete zombie who only came out of my room to eat an occasional snack and then went back to bed. I didn’t eat normally, I didn’t shower or wash my hair, and I had no energy or motivation to do any of those things.

 

I talked with Christina, my therapist, on Tuesday and Thursday. She asked me why I was sleeping so much. I told her that it was easier and less permanent than killing myself.

 

**Insert MAJOR red flags**

 

I agreed to shower and wash my hair after our conversation, and I also made a promise to call my doctor and see what he recommended. My initial thoughts were…”Great. Another med change—just what I need…”

 

I didn’t follow through on the shower, but I did manage to make the call to my doctor, who spoke with my other doctor, who ultimately decided that I should have another ketamine infusion.

 

Mom and I made the LONG ASS trip to Ormond Beach and I had another infusion. I could tell almost immediately that this one was going to be different. I am now 3 days post-treatment and I feel great. Not 100%, but definitely in the mid-80’s. I am working and focusing on schoolwork again. I am able to sleep without having terrible nightmares jar me awake every few hours. 

I took the blow of another nasty grade like a champ. I am back on track and able to see through a clearer lens. 

 

I told Dr. Self that I usually gauge my depression by how intense and how frequent my suicidal thoughts are. They never really go away, but they become less loud and obnoxious. 

 

Once again, I am thankful for my friends at the “Life is Ketaful” clinic, and for the life-giving nature of these ketamine infusions.

HAYLPUHS

Three weeks ago, I remember telling Christina, my therapist, that I was good. I even thought to myself, “Am I a little manic?? I’m talking fast and I feel real ‘up’”.  I don’t think I was actually manic; I think that for the first time in years, I wasn’t consumed with the other shoe and when it would drop. I told her that I was so used to moving from one crisis to the next that it felt odd to feel so “ok”. I had just started grad school, classes were going great, I was totally caught up on schoolwork—in fact, I was ahead of the game. One day, I thought about all of the things in my life and how good they are. I thought, “I’m incredibly blessed—I live sort of a charmed life.”

 

A little more than a week ago, I began to feel my mood shift. Instead of waking up at a normal time, ready to greet the day, I was sleeping longer and longer each day. I was going to bed earlier and sleeping later. In the past week, my depression and anxiety have tripled. I have used the terms, “spinning out” and “unraveling” to describe what has been going on with my mood. 

 

I was sick last weekend, so I was unable to go to work. However, even if I had been well, I’m not sure I could have gone to work. I could barely get out of bed for more than an hour without feeling totally exhausted emotionally and feeling completely overwhelmed. I slept a lot last weekend, but I had made plans to work on schoolwork with a friend (when I was feeling better) and I didn’t want to let her down. Plus, I really needed to keep up my momentum with my schoolwork because I couldn’t afford to let it suffer—regardless of how I was feeling. 

 

Monday, I slept. I felt like if I could make it through Tuesday, at least I would have a therapy session and hopefully could talk out some of the things I was feeling. Tuesday, I got up early and went to meet my friend at the coffee shop to study together. She ran late, so we decided to meet at my house later that afternoon. 

 

As I was packing up to leave the coffee shop, I got a call from my mom telling me that my friend that has been staying with us was having a breakdown and was threatening to harm herself. I rushed home—really unsure of what I would find. When I got there, the neighbor was coming out of the house and said that she had left walking and was planning to kill herself. 

 

She had sent us all “goodbye” texts. I got in my car, preparing to leave and look for her. I texted my therapist and let her know that I wouldn’t be able to make our session. I called 911 and explained the situation. Then, I texted my therapist and told her I was freaking the fuck out and all I could think about is finding her like Alek. Then I deleted the text because what could she do, anyway? I began calling my friend. Cycle dialing. No response. The police showed up and I explained to the officer what was happening. He was concerned but wasn’t sure there was anything he could do because she wasn’t overtly threatening to harm herself.

 

He asked me to hang tight while he phoned his chief of police. I called my mom and told her that she needed to come home. Somehow, I had the presence of mind to send my location to my friend coming from Dothan to study. In the meantime, I continued to call and text my friend who was missing. The chief of the sheriff’s department showed up. There are now two police vehicles parked in my front yard. My mom came home and just as she got out of her car, my friend from Dothan pulled into the driveway. Immediately, my phone rang, and she said, “Am I at the right place??!” I told her to just park somewhere and that I was dealing with an emergency situation. Did I mention this friend has never been to my house before? (She’s never met my family…this is literally the first experience she has of what goes on in my life) Thankfully, I learned that she is the kind of friend who can simply roll with the punches and she just stepped up, ready to help however she could. 

 

Finally, when the sheriff’s deputy agreed to try and ping her phone, my friend answered one of my calls. I begged her to tell me where she was, but she just kept sobbing and talking about how sorry she was. Eventually, I was able to talk her down and find out where she was. My mom, Dothan friend, and I loaded up and went to find her. We brought her home and the sheriffs made sure she was safe before they left. 

 

The rest of the night was a blur. The friend was exhausted and slept hard until the next day. The friend from Dothan and I ended up working on schoolwork and joining our online class session that evening. She stayed the night, and we woke up early and went to the coffee shop the next day to get more homework done. She ended up staying the next night again, and we went and studied at the coffee shop again Thursday morning. 

 

Between the drama, the copious amounts of caffeine, the anxiety of the situation, and, well, just being completely overwhelmed I was decompensating quite rapidly. I kept telling myself—if I can just make it to Thursday afternoon, I will be able to talk to Christina and sort all of this out. While we were studying at the coffee shop, my mom called and said that the friend who had been suicidal was finally awake and my mom needed help with her. I said goodbye to my friend at the coffee shop and left, heading home, again uncertain of what I would find when I got home. 

 

On my way home, Christina texted me and let me know that her grandfather had passed away and that she wouldn’t be able to make our session. FUCK. Ok. I’m good. It’s all good. I can handle this. At least I’m not as depressed as I have been in the past. I can maintain on caffeine and nicotine for the time being. 

 

Sparing almost all the details, I will say that the situation at home is not handled adequately and is as volatile as it was on Tuesday. I thought things were going better, but as of this moment—THINGS ARE NOT BETTER. 

 

Ok. I’m breathing in and out. My heart is beating, somewhat faster than normal, but beating, nonetheless. I have lived through hard things before and I will live through this.

 

I need a ketamine infusion. Desperately. I want to curl up into a small ball and fold in on myself until I disappear. 

 

This is as close to being in crisis as I’ve been since starting the ketamine infusions, and I hate it. I feel disappointed that I haven’t gone as long in between treatments as I did before but then I think about everything going on and I’m accepting that sometimes shit happens.

 

If you are the praying type—I ask that you remember my mom and me as we have some big decisions to make soon and they likely will be painful and not fun.

 

Friends, I have too much at stake to go backward. I have too much to lose. I am in a career that I love, I am studying for a degree that I love, I have somewhat gotten my shit together financially, I am not living paycheck to paycheck, I have a great car. I have a family and support system who love me.  I CANNOT GO BACKWARDS. PERIODT. HAYLP.

Fat Kid Going Down a Metal Slide

When I was younger, I liked to slide down the metal slides at the park. I was a weirdo, though. I liked to start at the top and slide down as slowly as possible. My legs would stick to the slide and make squishy slurping noises as the sweat suctioned my chubby thighs to the metal slide and I inched my way down…slurp…down…squish…down, until I finally landed at the bottom.

 

There could be 10 kids waiting in line to go down the slide behind me, but I didn’t care. I took my time and pretended I was the only person in the world and enjoyed the slow, sometimes uncomfortable, hot, squeaky slide to the bottom.    

 

When I described my experience of my most recent depression episode, it was this image that came to mind. It was a hot, sticky, uncomfortable slide downward. There was no cliff; there was no drop-off. There was just a gradual descent into a “funk” (The official term for this type of experience). This funk is nothing like some of the episodes of depression I have experienced in the past. I am still a long way from the bottom of the pit, but I’m just uncomfortable and sweaty and I’m ready to get my fat ass off the slide. 

 

After speaking with my therapist last week, I decided it is probably time for another ketamine booster. I was trying to make it to three months, but two months is definitely still a win in my book. 

 

Two months. Two whole months. Two months of feeling good and being able to function normally and carry on with my life. I have done a lot in the past two months. I am preparing to return to school in January to pursue my master’s degree in Clinical Mental Health Counseling. I am super excited about this opportunity and I know that this is the path I’m supposed to be on. I have moved home and started a new job in my hometown. I have navigated the process of going back to school—a three-hour interview with the faculty of the department, the hours of relentless paperwork and applications and financial aid nightmares. I took the GRE. Finally, I learned that I was accepted into the program—and possibly more importantly, I was able to secure the financial aid I need to pursue my degree full-time. 

 

All of that is to say that it has been a very FULL two months and I am beyond grateful for the ability to pilot myself and function as well as I have because of the treatments I have received. The truth is, I began the process of applying for school back in July. But—again—the truth is, I was not ready. I was distracted and depressed and there is no way I could have done all of the things I’ve needed to accomplish to actually be successful in school until now. 

 

I still feel pretty good, but I feel the darkness creeping in on me and I know that it is time for me to seek another treatment. I’m highly anxious and irritable and I feel a burning rage in the pit of my stomach. I’m afraid of what will happen if I continue to let it rumble and bubble until, eventually, I expel all of that wrath onto someone who really doesn’t deserve it. For instance, I almost lost my shit the other day when I couldn’t find my socks. After some deep breathing and mindfulness, I realized that this is all stemming from the depression that is starting to squeak its way down the slide and into my mind. 

 

I also really want to dye my hair back red. That’s a pretty good indication that things aren’t great in my mental situation. My friend Sara says that my hair is like a mood ring. Every time I dye it some drastic color, I am probably freaking the fuck out inside. She’s not wrong. 

 

So, friends, this is it. I am scheduled for another treatment on Wednesday and I will hopefully post not long after about how the experience goes. 

 

Thanks to each of you who continue to reach out and check in on me—it has not gone unnoticed! 

In the Beginning...There was Ketamine

The first time I remember hearing about ketamine infusions was when I was riding in the back of an ambulance on my way to the emergency room after I had decided to take my own life by overdosing on my medications.

It has been almost a year since that night. I’ll never forget the EMT that sat across from me, measuring my vital signs, who asked me, “Why?” I began to cry, and I looked him in the eye and said, “I just can’t do this anymore. I’m not strong enough.” He took my hand and he said, “There are options. This doesn’t have to be the end. I have a friend who is responding well to ketamine infusion therapy—and before that, she felt like she was all out of options, too. Please don’t give up.”

I have thought about that night many times in the last year. I am thankful for the people that helped save my life that night, but I’m probably more thankful for the fact that some guy planted the seed in my mind about ketamine infusions.

During my most recent depression episode, I felt that—once again—I had run out of options. I had tried so many things. Different medications, different combinations of medication, CBT therapy since I was a teenager, hospitalizations, electro-convulsive therapy, transcranial magnetic stimulation…all with little to no lasting positive effects. I was tired. I was completely devoid of the strength and energy to propel myself through more than the next day, which I promised my dear friend that I would make it to—but I was clear about the fact that I could not promise to make it through more than that. I made plans to see my doctor and express to him that I was in crisis and needed help. I was the first and only patient Dr. Handal had seen in 6 months due to COVID-19. Immediately, he mentioned changing my medication and I stared blankly at him. I told him that I was tired of changing medications, and that I was not willing to wait and see if a change would benefit me because even if it did, historically, the relief would only be temporary. Dr. Handal mentioned performing a pharmacogenetic test that would tell him how my body metabolizes different types of medication and what medications would and would not work well for me. I agreed to the test and I also agreed to another med change. Then—I remembered. I said, “What about ketamine?” He pulled out his phone and said, “I think that it is a good option for you and here is the number for Dr. Self, whom I have referred people to in the past.” I took a picture of his phone screen and felt a twinge of something in my heart—still far too small to name hope.

I left Dr. Handal’s office and I made the call. My hands were sweaty as I prepared myself to explain my situation to some stranger in an office somewhere near Orlando, Florida. Instead of reaching an office—I reached Dr. Self’s actual personal voicemail. I was surprised, but I gathered my thoughts and left him a message anyway. Within a short period of time, Shannon from the Life is Ketaful clinic returned my call and scheduled me for a telehealth appointment with Dr. Self to learn more about ketamine infusion therapy. I drove home (to Andalusia) to my mom’s house and had agreed to stay with her for the foreseeable future until I figured out how to move forward.

During my telehealth appointment, I spoke with Dr. Self, who gave me all the details about ketamine infusion therapy and what it would entail. After speaking with him, I spoke with Shannon again and we scheduled my initial session for the following Monday. Things were happening very quickly, and for the first time in months—I believed that I had options.

Ketamine—which is more commonly known as a date-rape drug, a horse tranquilizer, a party drug—has saved my life. I had my last treatment of the two-week initial sessions on September 11. I left feeling hopeful that things could be different.

In the month following my first set of treatments, I experienced a life-changing difference in my mood and ability to cope. It was gradual at first, but in the first week I (and my mom, who had been by my side during this entire journey) could tell a huge difference in my mood. I was less irritable, less down, and, well, less depressed. My mom noticed changes before I did but would comment occasionally that she believed she could tell a real difference in me.

During the weeks following my initial treatments, I began to work with my therapist on some trauma therapy. Before this, it was totally unfathomable to even consider taking on any kind of trauma therapy or new approach in therapy. Before this, it was simply about crisis management and keeping me safe…I was too far down for much else.

By the fourth week, I began to feel the clouds returning. It was not drastic, and I would describe it like adding a vignette filter to a photograph. It creeped in at the edges and I began to be aware of the darkness again. I called the clinic and decided to have a follow-up maintenance treatment. On October 11, exactly one month to the day from my last treatment, I had a maintenance treatment in Ormond Beach at the Life is Ketaful clinic.

The experience was as wonderful as the first several treatments. I experienced a warm welcome from the staff at the clinic and Dr. Self came in and discussed my progress with me before the treatment started. He said that he believed I was exactly where he expected me to be and that he was pleased that I had gone a month between my initial and maintenance treatments. After the treatment concluded, I offered Dr. Self a hat that I had crocheted on my way down to the beach. I handed it to him and said, “Thank you for saving my life. I know it’s a weird gift because we’re in freaking Florida…but maybe you’ll travel somewhere cool for vacation.” I was still in a bit of a fog after the treatment, so I was thankful that my words came out making some semblance of normal speech.

My mom stepped out of the room during my treatment and she spoke with April, the super-IV-placing nurse. She told her that in the last week, I had mentioned visiting my friend Missy in Savannah during the early part of November. She said that what was striking about that conversation is that before I had begun ketamine infusion, my future was much more short-sighted. She said that it was a miracle, because I had not been able to think that far ahead in a long, long time. She was beaming.

I continue to be incredibly grateful for the chain of events that led me to the Life is Ketaful clinic and I hope that by reading this account, someone—somewhere—will consider that THERE. ARE. OPTIONS. This does not have to be the end. 

Gratitude and Long Island Iced Teas

Once upon a time, several years ago, I attended a concert with some work friends at a bar called 3^rd and Lindsley in Nashville.  I was working at GBOD and invited a few work friends to go with me to see my new pastor, Sherry, sing with her old band, The Evinrudes. We had a great time and it was a great show. However, I may or may not have had one (or three)-too-many long island teas. I graciously accepted a ride back to our work building from my friend Suzanne. I hopped in the passenger’s seat and we headed back downtown. I was feeling nauseous, so I rolled down the window and hung my head out into the cool air. I yelled at random strangers and then I had this odd, warm sensation from my seat. I immediately worried that I had peed in Suzanne’s car, but I leaned my head back in and shouted, “Suzanne!! My ASS IS ON FIREEEE!!” She cackled, and then advised me that I had somehow turned on the seat warmer. Crisis averted.

There is a point to this story.

During my last treatment on Friday, everything went great. Nurse April performed her magic with the IV and I began my infusion. The first sensation I had was gradual warmth that started in my lower extremities and flowered out until it reached my fingers and toes. It was a pleasant feeling—not too warm—then came the marshmallow clouds. I wish I knew the words to use to describe this feeling, but I don’t. I wish I knew the words, because here I sit, compelled to find them. But, wherever those words exist, they belong to the Universe. What I can do is take off my shoes and recognize the presence of the sacred in this experience.

I won’t try to describe the specifics of this experience, because once again—it was a highly personal experience and I want to honor that by keeping it to myself. Besides—how does one truly describe the way a marshmallow separates into sinewy, sticky pieces when pinched and stretched by one’s fingers?

However, I will say this about the experience: I have curated the perfect playlist (for me) for a one-hour infusion. The songs I included are mostly classical piano. I cannot emphasize enough how important your music choice is for the experience. The music literally carries you through the one-hour journey in your mind. I recommend no lyrics, no fast-paced rhythms, nothing with an overpowering bass line. It took all six treatments and using trial and error to decide which songs worked best for me.

 Here’s the list of songs that make up my “perfect” one-hour playlist:

Moonlight Sonata (1^st movement)

Piano Concerto in A Minor, Op. 7: II. Romanze: Andante non troppo  con grazia

Clare De Lune (Debussy)

Chopin—Nocturne Op. 9 No. 2 in E Flat Major

The Well-Tempered Clavier: Book 1, BWV 846-869: 1. Prelude in C Major

Vivaldi Variation (Arr. For Piano from Concerto for Strings in G Minor)

Adagio Sostenuto

Gymnopedie No. 1 Lent et douloureux

Minuet in A Major, D. 334

Ave Maria-Charles Gounod, Yo-Yo Ma

Nocturne en mi bemol majeur opus 9 Ballade en sol mineur no.1

Liebstraume, S541/R211: No. 3: Nocturne in A-Flat Major

Suite bergamasque: Suite bergamasque: III Clair de Lune. Andante tres expressific

Piano Sonata No. 12 in F Major, K. 332: II. Adagio

Again, this is my personal playlist, so you should choose whatever works best for you. But I have found these particular songs to be the most helpful to keep me relaxed and to allow my mind to float with the rhythm of the music.

Now—what you’ve all been waiting for—the results…please hold your applause until the final results are read. JK. Clap whenever the hell you want to.

I am getting better. I have reached the point in my treatment where I have begun to see the light at the end of a long, dark, nightmarish tunnel. Last week when I started the treatments, I wasn’t even convinced that the light existed for me anymore. I was sure that all hope of ever seeing that light was gone. After all, it had been months of living in the dark and carrying around the weight of the heavy, deep depression.

I began the treatments without really believing they would work and planning on finishing them out and ending my life.

However, progressively, with each passing day and each treatment…I began to have something that I had been longing desperately for, for months on end. Hope.

Dr. Self believes that I am exactly where he expected I’d be after 2 weeks of treatments. It was his belief, and that of my nurses and family and friends, that I grasped with my heart and my hands and held on to with all my might for the past 2 weeks.

My general mood has become lighter—less irritable, less intense reactions to things. I feel calmer and less agitated. My hands still aren’t shaking—which in and of itself is a miracle. I wake up and my immediate thought is no longer wishing I had died in my sleep. I have more energy, I can think past the next “moment”, I can feel the difference in my body, mind, and soul.

Friends, there just aren’t words. Just like there aren’t words to accurately describe the whole experience of receiving ketamine infusions—there aren’t words for the changes I’m seeing happen in my own spirit. There is only deep, deep gratitude. Gratitude for the changes, gratitude for the doctors who collaborated to provide this treatment option, gratitude for the friends and family who have stood by and walked with me on this journey, gratitude for the many friends and family who have reached out to me over the past couple of weeks and offered your words of support, prayers, and kind thoughts. Specifically, gratitude for Sara—for if it had not been for her support through the worst weekend of my life—I would, without a shadow of a doubt—not still be here.

Thank you.

Thanks be to God for each and every one of you—and for this life that I get to continue on my adventures.

All You Need for a Tuesday

 My precious friend was my rock a couple of weeks ago. If not for her support, I can say without a shred of doubt, that I would not still be alive. She shared this on Facebook today and I’m re-posting because maybe someone who reads this will reach out to someone who will listen without judgment, allow them to be depressed, and remind them that there is light. 

“I hadn’t shared anything about Mark since his passing, because I haven’t spoken to him in 20 years. It feels strange to be so sad over the loss of a friend when you hadn’t been friends since entering adulthood. 

Mark lost his battle with mental illness. I know suicide is so hard for people to understand. It can seem selfish and thoughtless. The irony of the loss of Mark is that within those same days, I was in close contact with a sweet friend who was confiding in me that she didn’t think she had any fight left in her. Mental illness has weighed her down for years and there have been multiple times that she has wanted to give up. This time was different though. I knew she was holding on the the last shred of life she could. I knew she was serious. I knew that she was going to end things. Her treatments weren’t working. The system wasn’t working. And she was exhausted. From 2 different states, we talked extensively about her wanting to go and me wanting her to stay. We discussed who would hurt and how they would hurt if she left. We talked about the reality of her suffering and the hopelessness she was feeling. It was Saturday when she promised me she wouldn’t end it until Monday after her appointment with her dr. We talked about why she would keep that promise, and we talked about how I understood that Monday was all she could give me. I understood that there was no Tuesday for her. 

When Monday came, her dr heard her desperation and began her on a new treatment. She was given a little shred of hope, and because of that she found her Tuesday. She’s made it many more days since then, and she’s living again, not because she promised me she would, but because she again sees there might be a reason to keep going. 

I hadn’t talked to Mark in 20 years. But I know of at least 20 other people, who probably also hadn’t had contact with him that would have sat with him and made him promise to give us until Monday. I so wish he had known that so many of us would have sat with him. 

Mental illness is such a thief. It takes everything that it can. People don’t end things because they are selfish or thoughtless. They end them because they have stayed as long as they could possibly figure out how to. Those of us that don’t struggle this way can’t possibly understand how hard it is to keep going. And the system is hard and often not helpful and the illness is unrelenting. 

If you are struggling, please reach out. There are new treatments coming out that are making great strides in defeating devastating drug resistant depression. New advances are happening all the time. One tiny sliver of hope is all you need for Tuesday.”

Fix-A-Flat

I had my 5th of 6 treatments this morning. The experience was similar to previous experiences, but also equally different than any other thus far. 

Dr. Self came in and checked in with me. He said that my PHQ-9 scores have come down some from when we started and that I am exactly where he expected me to be at this point in the process. That was reassuring. I trust his judgment and if he believes I’m headed in the right direction, then I will try to believe it, too. 

Super Nurse April came in and twirled around in her cape before aptly placing my IV and checking my vitals. 

This began my treatment. I came up with a better description of the initial feeling from the treatment. Instead of marshmallow clouds, it’s like lying on your back in a shallow box with a lid, then having someone squirt fix-a-flat into the box so that it expands and covers every inch of your body. This probably sounds slightly terrifying for anyone with even a hint of claustrophobia--but trust me, it’s one of the most pleasant feelings I’ve ever experienced. It is in this encapsulated vessel that I travel from thought to thought to thought. 

Today’s trip involved thoughts about life, the vastness of humanity, and the incredible difference we each have the opportunity to make in our worlds. 

We left the clinic and ran a couple of errands. We came back to the hotel and mom went out to walk on the beach while I had my therapy session with Christina on the computer. 

At some point during my treatment with Christina, I began rating myself on a scale of 1-10, with one being the best possible and 10 being the worst. At a 10, I have lost all hope for a better future and want nothing more than to stop living--whatever that looks like. 

Today, I rated myself at a 4-5. It’s the first time in several months that I’ve been anything less than a 6, with most of my days averaging around 7-8. 

Christina asked me how it felt to say that out loud. I told her it had been a hot minute, but that it felt really good. I also admitted that it was completely terrifying because it’s different than I’ve been for a long time and "what if it doesn’t last?"

She encouraged me to celebrate the moment and count this as a win. 

After my therapy session, I put on my bathing suit for the first time in 2 weeks and grabbed a towel and headed out for the beach...only to find that it had begun to rain. Go figure. 

When mom came back to the room, I asked her if she’d like to go out to Hobby Lobby. I wanted to buy some yarn so I could crochet while we’re here this week. We went to Hobby Lobby and I told my mom about how excited I was to be at a 5 or below today. We celebrated by stuffing ourselves full of garlic bread and salad at Olive Garden. 

We are back at the hotel and I am whipped. But, friends...I’m at a 5 today. 

A FREAKING FIVEEEEE. 

Praise the Lord and pass the bread sticks!

Chewing Concrete

Today’s treatment was...weird. Not great, not terrible...just weird. 

I got off from work at midnight and went straight to bed. At 4am, I woke up and used my index card list to make sure I packed everything and didn’t leave anything super important behind. (I once went snow skiing without packing pants.) Mom got to my house around 4:30am and we hit the road. She had laid the seats down in the back of her Murano and made a whole little bed.

Y’all. 

This woman. 

I crawled into the back of the car and laid down on the pallet my mom had made and conked out. I woke up around 8:30am, long enough to eat breakfast, and went back to sleep. 

When we got to Ormond Beach, it was around 1pm. We were too early to check into the hotel, so we grabbed lunch at La Catrinas. Let me tell you...guac to die for. 

After we ate, I went for my 4th treatment at Life is Ketaful. 

Dr. Self came in and checked in on how I’d done this weekend and whether I’d noticed any changes to my mood/affect. I told him that Saturday was a decent day. Sunday was miserable. I described the brief lifting of the weighted blanket I’ve been carrying around on my shoulders. He felt good about what I had to say and he said I’m pretty much where he expected me to be at this point. 

Today, we cranked the dosage up a bit more, but less aggressively. 

From the time I hit my head on the sun visor in the car before going into the building to the moment when that needle hit my arm—I was agitated, aggressive, irritated, and just plain grumpy. 

When the treatment started, I realized the playlist I had chosen was not going to work. Throughout this treatment, I changed playlists about 3 times. The music never was quite right. I think my vibe and energy going into the treatment was off, which made it harder to relax and allow myself to fully lean into the dreamlike wave that I have experienced during other treatments. 

At one point, my mom changed my playlist for me and I sat up straight and asked her, “are you mad at me??”

Of course, she wasn’t—but something was just “off” this time. It wasn’t as enjoyable as the previous times. 

At one point, I had a conversation with Bill W. and he told me that I have a voice and words that need to be heard. That was pretty damn awesome. 

After the treatment ended, mom and I left the clinic and headed to the hotel. 

I am literally feet away from the ocean at. This. Moment. 

Ocean therapy is a go. 

Also, there’s a badass pool right outside my room that faces the ocean. So I can swim in non-salty water and still have the beach experience. Most people think I’m salty enough. 

I am going to crash tonight and wake up tomorrow ready to face whatever Tuesday decides to throw at me. 

My Hands Aren't Shaking

 Again, much of Thursday is a blur of sleep, episodes of “The Great”, and, well, sleep. I slept a lot on the days when I didn’t have a treatment—I was making up for years of restless insomnia. Or—let’s be real—I was just freaking tired.

Friday morning, we packed up our hotel room and hit the road for the 10-minute drive to the “Life is Ketaful” clinic. We arrived and my treatment was started. This time, we were shooting for 90-95% dosage and I was more prepared for the experience than I had been either of the other times I had a treatment. I knew, somewhat, what to expect and I had made a playlist especially for this time.

The floating experience I had felt during the second treatment returned and I was carried from the room on a wave of classical music and marshmallow clouds. I also saw many pieces of crocheted yarn. They were beautiful, bold colors and they made up a dream-catcher that I felt was created especially for me.

I don’t want to describe the details too closely, because I feel that this part of my journey is incredibly personal and I don’t want to insinuate that anyone else’s experience should be exactly like mine. However, I will say that it was a unique, wonderful experience and I am thankful to have had it.

After the treatment, mom and I left to come back to Dothan. It is a 7 hour drive, and we took turns driving. We stopped for coffee and I held up my hands in front of me. I looked at them—examined them in disbelief—and I said, “My hands aren’t shaking”. For the first time in years—my hands weren’t shaking from anxiety. I was mesmerized as I stared down at my still fingers and palms.

I was hesitant to say much else about how I felt because I was afraid that it wouldn’t last. The truth is, I felt lighter and as if the weighted blankets I’d been carrying for months had lifted off of my shoulders for a moment of relief. I knew the weight was still there and I knew that I wasn’t completely out of the dark, but for the first time in months, I also knew that light existed somewhere. I can’t put into words how it feels to go from believing that there is no light left in your world, to knowing deep within your soul that the light exists and there is hope of seeing it again one day.

Saturday and Sunday I was tossed—not-so-gently—back into the real world as I worked the two 16-hour shifts I was scheduled for on both days.

I have no idea what the future holds, but I feel like I’m headed in the right direction. I will get home at midnight tonight from work and my mom and I will leave around 4am heading back to Ormond Beach for the remaining 3 treatments I have left.

I am acutely aware of just how many people are praying, sending good vibes, and reaching out to me during this journey. I am incredibly blessed to have a wonderful support system, and I am immensely grateful.

Marshmallow Clouds

Tuesday was a blur. I slept most of the day away in the hotel room. Wednesday morning, I woke up early and showered and straightened my hair. It’s the first time I’ve felt like “getting ready” in a long time. Mom brought back a waffle from the continental breakfast and I devoured it before we headed to the clinic for my second ketamine infusion treatment. I was still feeling listless and didn’t have much hope that this treatment would be any different than the first one—which I felt had no effect at all.

At the treatment clinic, I went into the room with the recliner and mentally braced myself for a terrible experience with the IV placement. April, the wizard nurse, came in and before I could say, “ouch!” I was hooked up and receiving my infusion. This woman deserves a medal…or maybe a dipped cone from Dairy Queen. Either way, she’s golden in my book.

During this infusion, I had made a playlist of some classical music without lyrics and I played it when the treatment started. The room was dark, but not too dark. I leaned back in the recliner and allowed myself to be carried by the music.

The experience is a bit hard to describe. I felt like I was lying flat on my back and surrounded by a marshmallow cloud. I felt warmth throughout my body and my breathing was easy and relaxed. I don’t remember a time in my life when I felt more relaxed. My soul was at peace. I had a million thoughts going through my head, but they were all pleasant and curious. I repeated the word “marshmallow” in my head over and over—each time the word became more bizarre.

Marsh…mallow…mellow? Mallow…marsh…mallow…marsh—why marsh? Marsh…mallow.

I thought that the loss of control I was feeling would create anxiety for me, but it was just the opposite. I just leaned into the dissociation and allowed myself to be carried through the waves by the music, which was perfect.

At one point, I heard a loud scratching noise and was pulled out of my dream-like state. I heard a sloppy slurping sound and said to my mom, “What are you doing???” She was writing thank you notes and sealing them by licking the envelope.

Every one of my senses was incredibly heightened—including, or especially, my hearing. I leaned back into the chair and allowed myself to float away on the marshmallow clouds. Marsh…mallow…mallow…

After about 50 minutes of blissfully floating around in my brain, I began to “come down”. I would describe this feeling as a reality check. I opened my eyes and began to allow my vision to focus on things around the room. They still moved as if they were alive, but I could make out specific things around me. The curtains, the window, my mom in the chair across the room…

As soon as the treatment ended, it took me about 10 minutes to become less dizzy and fully present.

Immediately, I missed the feeling from the treatment.

I hopped out of the chair and was ready to go. My mom had promised me a pedicure in exchange for doing her a favor last week. This was my second “treatment” of the day.

The overwhelming feeling I felt for the rest of the day was exhaustion. I still didn’t feel like the treatment did much for my depression, but I was so exhausted, it was hard to tell.

That night, I resigned myself to the fact that I must fall within the 25-30% of people that ketamine is not effective for. I was extremely disappointed, but not devastated. I spent a lot of time in therapy and alone, preparing myself to set realistic and reasonable expectations. Although, there was a part of me that wanted to indulge the feelings of hopelessness and despair—I pushed through and tried to accept the fact that I’m just a weirdo and this wasn’t the right treatment for me.

Around 3 o’clock in the morning, I woke up. I was startled because I had woken myself up cackling. To this moment—I have NO idea what was so funny, but I was laugh-snorting in my sleep so hard that I woke myself up. This may seem insignificant enough, but let me explain why this was such a gift. I have terrible nightmares called night terrors. I wake up crying, screaming, or panicking (or some combination of the three) a majority of the time that I sleep. To wake up laughing was a welcome, hilarious surprise.

Maybe there was something to this…maybe this meant that the medicine was doing something in my brain that I couldn’t feel or process yet…maybe this meant that there was hope.

Life is Ketaful

My first ketamine infusion treatment was Monday August 31, 2020. Mom and I traveled from Andalusia to Ormond Beach and checked into the hotel before heading to the clinic for my treatment. I was extremely anxious--particularly about the IV (I have lived horror stories when I’ve had to have IV’s placed before). I was fearful about the ketamine treatment, but I had done plenty of research and I fully trusted Dr. Handal’s referral to this specific clinic near Orlando. 

When we arrived at the clinic, my first impression was how good the room smelled--like real lavender--not the fake shit you spray from a can into the air. I met Shannon, the administrative person, and April, the nurse. They took me to a room with a single reclining chair and a small chair for my mom to sit on. I saw the machine and lots of wires and tubes and my anxiety was cranked up a notch. Dr. Self came into the room and introduced himself. He was very patient and very kind as we asked (what had to be the same as hundreds of other patients) questions about the treatment and what the next couple of weeks would be like. He explained that the first week we would spend titrating to the full 100% therapeutic dose that we would be using during the second week of treatment. He said that we would start about halfway with a 50% dose, increase the next session to around 70-75%, and end the week on Friday with a 90-95% dose. By the time he finished answering--mostly my mom’s--questions, I was less anxious and more ready to get started with my first treatment. 

The nurse came in and I warned her that starting an IV may be tricky, but she pulled out some kind of Harry Potter wizard shit and before I knew it, my IV and treatment started. After about 8 minutes, I began to feel like the room was spin-y. I took the advice of the articles I had read and flushed it all down the toilet. I decided that I knew better than those people and I would prove that I was unaffected by the ketamine "trip". I began texting my friends. I told my best friend in the whole world that in a picture where she was sticking out her tongue; her tongue looked like a penis. I advised another dear friend that I was going to stop texting her and go breathe--because clearly one cannot text and breathe at the same time. I called my sister who lives in California. The one time she ever answered--it was this time. She heard some random mumblings about how the medicine was a miracle drug and that I wished I could live this way in real life. The nurse came in and offered my mom a separate room to take her phone call--and then she realized it was me on the phone. I explained--sort of--that it was my sister and she lives in California. I say sort of because I was trying to speak, but my mouth felt like concrete. I apologized for being on the phone and quickly hung up on my sister. I handed my phone to my mother and relaxed and closed my eyes. 

This is when I began to feel as if I was "coming down" from the wave I had been riding. Unfortunately, I spend the rest of the treatment--about 40 minutes--on this "downside" of the wave and I didn’t return to the height I had been at for the remainder. This was disappointing, but the doctor assured me that it was perfectly normal. He also encouraged me to ditch the phone for the next treatment and play some music without lyrics to maintain the ethereal yet pleasant feeling I had felt during the first treatment. I left the clinic, slightly embarrassed to have wasted the better part of my first treatment fighting the dissociation and clinging to the world via my phone. 

I had spent hours talking about and preparing myself for the realistic possible results from the first treatment. However, the pink kid in me clung to the articles that talked about an immediate effect and how their depression had faded completely within the first session of their infusion treatment. It was these articles that precipitated the disappointment that I felt that evening when I realized the heaviness was not gone and the darkness was still palpable. 

I was exhausted--physically, mentally, and emotionally. I felt like giving up, but I decided to stick with it and see what would happen over the course of the next couple of weeks. I slept most of Tuesday--so much for being a beach bum and pool bunny. I didn’t leave the hotel room for more than 24 hours. I decided on Tuesday night to force myself to enjoy the view and watch the ocean from the balcony for a little while. 

Before beginning my treatments, I was convinced that the depths of depression I had been experiencing could not be any more horrible. I think that feeling the hopelessness of having been through the first treatment and not experiencing some miraculous baptism into mental wholeness was as devastating as what it felt like to lie on the floor at my job, sobbing, desperately clawing the concrete because I didn’t know what to do with my hands. 

Thankfully, this is not the end of my story.