What Happened When I Said Yes to Drugs

Have you ever felt liquid metal expand in your stomach?

You would if you’ve done ketamine. It actually feels nice.

Ketamine is supposed to treat depression and suicidality (among other conditions) by changing your first emotional reaction to something. Instead of catastrophizing, you might reason through the situation as if you’re the type of person who does that naturally. It allows you to take new paths in your brain, ones not marked with Anxiety or OCD or Depression.

Six sessions of ketamine (the standard) costs $3,000 and change. Insurance doesn’t cover it. I think it’s for people with means or those backed into a corner. I was the latter, but grateful to get financial help from my parents. I couldn’t have done it otherwise.

I’m 23, 22 when I did this, and had never taken drugs before. Here’s what $3,000 got me.

Entering The Ketamine World

I always pictured a blob of metal spreading through my stomach, like what might happen if you swallowed a cup of mercury and didn’t die soon after. With music playing through headphones and a mask over my eyes, that and other physical changes from the ketamine felt more pronounced. My breathing got more and more shallow. The first session, I thought I would stop breathing altogether.

The metal spreads further and the music takes on a more world-shaping effect. Any lift or dip in the beat changes what I see and feel. A cheerful violin cover of something made me see a wedding lit up in holographic sunlight. Everything I saw came without control or effort. Everything I saw was real. I forgot the world I’d just come from bit by bit, until I only felt a citizen to one.

I called it the ketamine world (creative). In the ketamine world the real world feels like the fake. In the ketamine world your body doesn’t move or respond. You’re formless and nameless. I saw myself but didn’t know who I was.

Most sessions went like that. Seeing lights and feeling like I was flying. Talking to God. Exploring and seeing what I’d see. I would gradually go under and gradually come out, timing the experience by the blood pressure cuff that gave a nice squeeze every 15 minutes.

…Most sessions.

When Your Dose Is Too High

At my first session, they gave me my initial dose, determined by weighing me, and then added some extra to help me fully dissociate. My second session they combined both those doses right at the beginning (to my understanding). Ketamine is an anesthetic at higher doses, and for me, this dose was too high.

So I took a very deep nap. I remember my nurse trying to wake me up, squeezing my hand, shaking it, taking off my headphones and eye mask, and shaking me by the shoulders. Loudly saying my name and how I needed to wake up. Another nurse joined to help. I know my parents enjoyed listening to that process from the waiting room. (They let my mom come back and explained, Her vitals are fine. She’s just a very quiet girl.)

I did actually hear the nurses, some of it at least, but ignored it. If you’ve ever floated under water, looking at the ripples and hearing everything through cotton, that’s how it felt. It’s calm. Hard to leave. You have nowhere to be. You have no other responsibilities besides waking up and paying the bill.

After a Session

They don’t let you eat beforehand and hook you to saline during the session, plus give you anti-nausea medication. This meant 2 things: I almost peed my pants the first session and we always got something to eat after.

We went to Target the first time too, and I was pleased to walk around thinking, No one knows I’m high on ketamine right now. I think they probably did, though, or at least something. Lurching down aisles at Target probably wasn’t advisable (didn’t keep me from doing it again) but it made the whole thing less of a bummer. Leverage the Target vibes.

At home, I’d eat and lay down until it left my system. It took hours, at least one or two, for my vision to straighten out and my balance to feel normal. The brain fog took even longer to dissipate. My parents would ask what I saw this time, how it felt.

I’d give short answers or say I’d tell them later.

Navigating Dissociation

I wouldn’t call dissociation pleasant. Unnatural, unhuman, or out of control fit better. Some people feel a newfound spiritual connection with themselves and the world. I felt like I didn’t know why I was paying (a lot of) money to not know where the real world went and float through random scenes triggered by my music.

I wasn’t one of the lucky ones to work through or discover something during their sessions. What I saw and felt the first time (that shallow breathing) scared me; me dying and a newspaper covering the Madison girl who died at a ketamine clinic. The second session I saw nothing. The last four were more pleasant, but neither got anything close to an aha!

The nurses told me not to fight it and give in to the dissociation, because my vitals showed I was doing that. I can’t tell you, though, how scary it sounded to let my mind roam without a leash.

That thing was why I was there. So I really couldn’t. I think, even at the higher doses, I never did. Not fully. We only saw strange weddings and an Aztec forest that looked just like Temple Run. We saw God and light. And I saw my mom once. I didn’t know who she was.

The Results

Um… I’m not really sure.

I do credit the ketamine for a small blip I had once, where instead of catastrophizing I found myself reasoning through an issue. It was shocking. I haven’t noticed anything so pronounced since.

I don’t think the ketamine hurt. I don’t know if it really helped. Pointing any benefits I’ve had back to the ketamine happens with fingers spread in all directions. I started a new antidepressant right around the same time that I know has helped. I’ve been sleeping better with a prescription for that. I have a new role at work I really enjoy. The ketamine is maybe a whisper among those voices.

After $3,000 and almost all my sick time, I wish it was louder. I have other wishes about it too.

I wish I was like one of the people who convinced me to do it, who felt benefits after the first session or two. Best yet, one of the people who can say it saved their life. I wish it wasn’t so scary and I wish I hadn’t been knocked out the second time. I wish the coming-down period was easier. I wish it didn’t make me feel as sick as I was.

But now I know. And because of that, I have some takeaways from my experience I think everyone should know before they lower the eye mask at that first session.

Know This:

MUSIC IS EVERYTHING

Much of the darkness of my first session came from my choice of music, which was a hasty decision made when the nurse made sure “No words, right?” Gone went my soothing Christian music playlist. The panicked option I thought of next was rain sounds; dark, spooky, and I think why I almost peed that time.

I went with ‘Upbeat Instrumental Music’ varieties after that. Music makes all the difference. The more pitch it has and the happier it sounds, the better stuff I saw. I always saw bright lights, colors, and had the sensation of flying when my music was happy. With the rain sounds of my first session, I was alone in a dark forest and scared. Don’t end up there.

Also on the note of sound, make sure you silence your phone AND put it on ‘do not disturb.’ I had someone call me during a session; last thing you want is to worry about who’s calling you and if you should try to force yourself awake to see what they need.

You Will Probably Have to Pee (Very Badly)

The first thing I said to my mom after my initial session was a garbled, I have to pee. Being in that dissociative state, I was very nearly convinced it’d be okay to pee mid-session. I just wanted to get rid of the feeling.

They started giving me less saline, which you can request, and that helped. I never almost peed my pants again, at least. So I’d recommend that—ask for less saline (depending on how your first session goes) and try not to drink much beforehand.

You Won’t Fly Away

I wasn’t expecting to feel like I’d started twisting in knots, or levitating up like an elevator with no top floor. I almost always felt like I was moving, flying. Or whirling and spinning. This is apparently common, but I hadn’t heard of it and wasn’t expecting it to be constant.

I never actually moved in real life, though. I worried I’d wake up half-off my chair or the nurse would tell me I started spinning and knocked over equipment. All the physical sensations never left my mind, though.

Be Careful What You Watch or Read Beforehand

At my consult they told me some people who read or watch fantasy see that world, and the tone of it can affect your experience. I would watch Spongebob or Phineas and Ferb before my sessions, something light and funny, because of this. I was generally more careful with what I watched and read for those 3 weeks, especially the day before my sessions.

My fourth session mostly included me being Jake Peralta from the show Brooklyn 99 (guess what I’d been binge-watching.) Waking up and realizing I was not Jake Peralta was sad, but a fun experience for a bit.

The Come-Down Isn’t Easy

I feel like no one told me this part, not in detail. It’s arguably the most unsavory aspect of ketamine therapy. You leave the clinic barely able to see. Walking feels like something you shouldn’t be able to do but, disorientingly, your feet take you forward anyway. You’re not allowed to drive. You can eat once you’re done, but it takes a good minute to move your mouth normally again.

When I first woke up I’d need to flex my hands, blink, and rub at my jaw for a few minutes. I reoriented this way. I’d see two of my mom’s faces asking me how it went.

The staff started letting me come out of it naturally, instead of urging me awake, and that helped the reorienting to feel less jarring. I could slowly open my eyes, take out my AirPods, blink and flex, and eventually get up to pee. I definitely preferred that gradual awakening.

Even when the more pronounced effects faded, like not being able to see straight, I’d still feel off the rest of the day. I was usually pretty sad and just wanting to watch a movie and not talk.

Don’t pressure yourself to do anything that takes much thought for the rest of the day. Let yourself adjust and know it’s okay that it takes time.

It’s Okay If You Can’t Articulate What Happened

Journal everything you experienced!

I hate journaling. And I didn’t like talking about what I saw and felt, because I never really knew the answers. Or if I did, I didn’t like them.

“I saw light and trees. I feel the same now but more sad, since I feel the same.”

I can’t imagine how badly I’d want to know the details of someone’s ketamine session. But if you ask, and they just shrug, that’s okay. It’s either overwhelming to parse through and try to make sense of or it just feels like nothing very special happened. (I can visualize light and trees without drugs.)

Don’t stress about crafting the perfect depiction of your experience. Write it down if you want; tell someone about it if you want. I am glad I wrote down mine, but only to remember it better.

Trying Something Is Better Than Doing Nothing

I’m one of the many who didn’t experience the life-changing abilities of ketamine. I entered and left each session depressed. My depression-test scores never changed over the 3 weeks I spent getting injections, twice a week. The last time I seriously considered suicide was actually a day after my final session. I was not ‘better.’

But—I’d tried to be. That mattered to me then and it still does now. I wouldn’t change it.

We had backups for if the ketamine didn’t work; intensive outpatient or something of the like. I’m grateful the antidepressants I started took effect before we needed to do that. I’m grateful I got to try ketamine, that I knew it was an option, and that it was accessible to me.

And so I want to leave you with this: try. It doesn’t have to be ketamine. Do anything and learn.

Because I didn’t enjoy my experience. It added extra complications and stress at a time when that was harmful for me. But taking any sort of step towards healing also invited the thing I needed so badly—hope. It gave me a reason to think the next day might be better. Priceless.

Even a sliver can change the landscape. Little bits shine especially bright when it’s been dark so long.

So try it, try anything. And I’ll see you where it’s bright.