I want everyone to talk about Ketamine.

KETA—what? Never heard of it.

You’re doing what? What the heck is that? … A psychedelic? Oh, that is definitely not for me.

Cool. Cool. Sounds…cool.

So, what? You’re tripping, like on LSD?

No thanks, I’d rather smoke weed.

Eh, I’ve heard of it, but I’m down to two anti-depressants now so I’m doing much better…

I’ve been a little surprised by the reactions I get when I tell people I’m using Ketamine to treat depression. I was so excited by an option that didn’t include experimenting with different brands and doses of anti-depressant or anti-anxiety meds that I thought EVERYONE would be just as thrilled. I hate medication. Ketamine is different.

I don’t just want to talk about this. I want to sing…But that wouldn’t be good for anyone. My own son doesn’t like my singing voice.

I want to scream from the rooftops:

KETAMINE.

What is Ketamine? Without getting too technical, Ketamine is a dissociative anesthetic that is being used to treat chronic pain and depression. Unlike traditional anti-depressants, relief from depression can be swift and long-lasting without the continued reliance on pills. There are few side effects, though you can (and I did) experience psychedelic hallucinations during the infusions.

I was depressed for about two years when I tried Ketamine. My son was born in May of 2020 at the height of COVID. Motherhood already shakes down your foundations until there’s nothing left but rubble that you have to somehow rebuild into a new life while also caring for the delicate life of your tiny human, then add a pandemic like none of us in this generation (call it GEN X, and thereabouts) have experienced, and it’s a miracle we survived at all.

I was barely hanging on.

Ketamine was a lifeline, a desperate attempt to feel better without the anti-depressant drugs my doc was more than willing to prescribe. I had two sessions my first week and two sessions my second, and at some point within those sessions—I can’t say exactly when—the clouds of depression parted and the light of normal living shone in.

I forgot how normal people felt. I forgot what it was like to wake up without anger. I forgot the joy of giving my son a bath. What was this? Did I have…patience? I wasn’t yelling, flying off the handle, becoming unhinged at the most basic inconveniences. My house was still messy, my toddler still threw his toothbrush across the room in an act of hygienic defiance, I still had all those gray hairs, but I wasn’t miserable about any of it. I cleaned the house, found an Elmo toothbrushing video, and dyed the grays. I cleaned out my closets. I enjoyed swimming class with my son. I danced and sang to Walker Hayes with my husband because we’re fancy like ooooh.

Life was the same, but I was not. I could breathe. I gave a shit. I had energy to give a shit. I even got COVID for the first time and it wasn’t the end of the world. It just was. The weight of depression that burdened my whole body, the darkness that followed me like those dismal storm clouds in cartoons, the absolute lack of give-a-fucks, dissolved like the walls that came down every time I sat in that chair for my next infusion.

I’ve had eight sessions in total, the last in December of 2022. It’s April 2023 and the depression hasn’t returned.

The Ketamine sessions themselves were beautiful, transcendent experiences that I have tried (and failed) to adequately convey in other blog posts. I know the point wasn’t to trip and love it, but I tripped and I loved it. The thought of having a psychedelic experience might give a cautious person pause. I get it. Unlike other psychedelics, I wasn’t forced to confront the dark recesses of my soul, or face my deepest fears. During the infusions, I saw only the most amazing colors and patterns, felt only love and peace and joy. If you believe in heaven…yeah, it’s probably like that.

I wouldn’t have believed I could feel this good again if I didn’t feel this freaking good. Studies show I’m not the only one. Ketamine is, for all intents and purposes, healing depression—or, I should say, it healed mine. I’m sure that’s an oversimplification of the complex workings of a psychedelic on the brain, but it’s all I need to know to stand behind it. I feel amazing, and it’s not forced. It’s not a smile I put on for the camera. It’s real.

And it feels so damn good.