In 2020, I did ketamine around 100 times.

It didn’t turn out as I’d hoped.

Image from Pexels by Roman Biernacki

Note to Reader: Looks like this article is getting popular. I wrote a book called, ‘My Year on Ketamine.” I’ve got to re-write it because it’s smarmy. I may re-name it. It’ll be coming out when someone publishes it in paper book format.

I’ve been on ketamine the past hour. The trip has ended. The cricket sounds were from a You Tube clip that played through noise-cancelling headphones. I’m back in the world, with its responsibilities and problems. I’m back in my broken mind. Back in my brain that I’m trying to fix so I can stay alive.

I bring my favorite white wool blanket close to my face, craving comfort. Then I stretch my arms. It’s time to get out of this chair; there’s another depressive waiting so they, too, can get shot up with ketamine.

I text a friend to come pick me up; patients have to sign something that promises they won’t drive home after coming down from ketamine. I take some deep breaths and hope for the best. Maybe this time the ketamine will work. I keep holding on to the 2019 statistic that claimed ketamine cures depression in 80% of patients.