kaleidoscope-binoculars-resting-on-table

Kaleidoscope: The Ketamine Chronicles (Part 29)

Right away, I could hear my heartbeat in my ears and head, and my face seemed to be pulsating with the rhythm. My ears became surprisingly hot, but all of that faded away after a few minutes. Usually when I close my eyes, I see bizarre images, but they’re mostly distinct and recognizable. This time, there were points when I felt like I was traveling through a three-dimensional kaleidoscope – just shapes and colors that morphed together as they moved. The real world was also especially distorted this time, and once, when I opened my eyes, the wall across from me appeared to be covered in pale yellow cobwebs. There were two tiny silhouetted figures standing among the cobwebs, engaged in what looked like a silent argument. After a minute or so, one of the figures sprouted wings and fluttered away like a moth. I don’t think I’ve ever had my ketamine dreams intrude upon the real world when my eyes are open before. It was really trippy.

I don’t remember much of the internal experience, but I know that there were a ton of lines – straight lines, wavy lines, crosshatched lines, diagonal lines, lines moving away from me, and lines coming closer. Sometimes, I was looking for something among the lines, but it was always hidden out of sight. If you’ve ever seen those “deep dream” images created by Google’s neural net API, you know roughly what my experience was like this time. Here’s one I just made out of a picture of a sloth.

I had always assumed that trippy pictures like that were just weird approximations of what it would be like to be high. But no, it really looked a lot like that. Just take that image and imagine it moving, and that’s pretty much it.

There were rarely any distinguishable objects in my inner view this time, though. It was mostly just a sea of odd, moving blobs and spirals. When the lines and colors and moving kaleidoscope patterns got to be too much, I’d open my eyes briefly. I’m technically not supposed to do that, but it did serve as an effective break from my brain’s wild mishmash of subconscious vomit.

At some point, I switched my crossed ankles and was immediately struck by the sensation that my legs were melting. My bones seemed rather rubbery, and the weight of my feet extending past the footrest made me feel as though my shins were bending in the middle. I remember thinking that I felt just like a Salvador Dali clock, melting over the edge of the footrest. My whole body threatened to melt, at which point I’d slip off the chair into a puddle on the floor. It occurred to me that it would be difficult to get back to the car that way.

During my moments of open-eyed room viewing, I noticed that the door looked unusually soft. It appeared to be made entirely of clay or putty. The color was the same, but it looked temptingly squishy, like if I went over there and pressed my hand on the edge, it would just mush in on itself. Perception is so interesting. Just 20 minutes earlier, I had interpreted the same visual signals in a completely different way.

Ever since I wrote that post about water in my ketamine dreams, I haven’t had any further peaceful drowning experiences. Maybe it’s a coincidence, but I do think it’s interesting that after contemplating potential meanings of that recurring image, I no longer find myself experiencing it. What does still happen is the spreading darkness. This time, I was trying to look through a bright skylight while inky blackness approached from all around. It closed in until all that was left was a pinprick of light. Whenever that happens, my mind just switches gears and I begin a new dream-like vision.

My next appointment is three weeks from now. I think I already feel lighter, although still a little spacey. My memory of yesterday is kind of foggy, and conversations I had feel choppy and surreal. I got home mid-afternoon and promptly fell asleep. At 11pm, I awoke suddenly, wondering where I was. I had fallen asleep on top of my blankets, oriented the wrong way with my feet on my pillow. I sometimes nap this way in order to differentiate naptime sleeping from nighttime sleeping, but it was still incredibly disorienting. I managed to do all the usual things I do before bed and then crawled under the covers the right way.

I hope this ketamine infusion works; I’m feeling discouraged again. I’m tired of being tired and unmotivated. The pandemic set me back a good deal, and I find myself forgetting that I had made some good progress last winter. It just feels like I’ve felt this way forever.

If you liked this post, consider starting from the beginning of The Ketamine Chronicles, or visit the archives for month-by-month posts.

2 thoughts on “Kaleidoscope: The Ketamine Chronicles (Part 29)

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