My journey to ketamine began last June. The house I lived in was placed on the marketk and I had to move. The move put me in a funk. Santa Barbara was in the midst of May gray/June gloom and I began to wonder if I had seasonal depression.
My funk continued to worsen in August. So, I decided to give ketamine a try. My first session was an out-of-control, out-of-body, psychedelic experience. I felt hungover, nauseous, and low afterward and never quite processed the experience. A week later, I had my next session.
This time, I was given a higher dose, and this is where things went sideways. I had a death trip. I experienced being slowly buried alive, and I didn’t know who I was when I returned. After the trip, I felt as if I was living beyond my expiration date. I felt I was no longer meant to be alive.
I spent the next seven months afraid to go outside. I couldn’t eat, sleep, shower, listen to music, talk to friends, drive my car, go to work, or practice yoga. My energy was so off, my puppy didn’t even want to be around me. I couldn’t feel pleasure, fun, or peace. I didn’t want to be alive anymore.
On Valentine’s Day, I admitted to the psychiatric unit at Cottage hospital. I was diagnosed with PTSD, depression, and anxiety, secondary to my ketamine experience. After 10 days in the hospital, I transferred to Casa Serena’s women’s trauma program.
If it weren’t for my loved ones, Cottage, and Casa Serena’s support, I don’t think I would be alive right now. Ketamine can be enlightening for some. For others, it can be frighting. For me, it was a life threatening experience.