The last time I had a ketamine infusion, my experience was dramatically bizarre. I have reached the upper limit of what is comfortable for me, so the infusion itself was intensely immersive. More unusual, though, were the days following the infusion. In hindsight, they were a touch disturbing.
Possible Mania After My August Ketamine Infusion
For a few days after the infusion, I frequently felt detached from myself, as if I were simply occupying another person’s body. Looking at myself in the mirror was unsettling, as my reflection was subtly unfamiliar to me. I slept very little – just a few short hours each night – and yet felt perfectly energetic and motivated. I busied myself with tasks that would otherwise have quickly lost my interest. Being still resulted in a pronounced worsening of my tremor and a building pressure to move. Similar reactions had been happening after ketamine ever since I started taking Emsam, an MAOI antidepressant. They started out mild and became more intense with subsequent infusions, especially after I increased my dose of Emsam. Thus, the last infusion felt far more impactful than its predecessors.
There were small black dots that began in the periphery of my vision but soon moved of their own accord across the space in front of me. They traveled incredibly quickly and in a manner not unlike insects – a creepy scuttling that startled me every time. It felt a little like the kind of jumpy sleep deprivation that results in a tense awareness of your surroundings, except instead of momentary startle reactions, it progressed into actual visual hallucinations. I somehow felt alert and productive, while also experiencing an odd disorientation that made time and recent memories disappear out of reach.
If you’re considering ketamine infusions or are already getting them, I should stress that my odd reaction to the last infusion was mysterious and apparently unrecognized as a side effect. None of the mental health professionals I see had ever heard of it happening. For me, that means an unanswered question that makes me feel uneasy. For others, I hope that the rarity of what I’ve described is comforting.
The Following Days
When I came out of the strange state of what my therapist called “miniature mania,” I was initially unbothered by what had happened. But as I considered it in the following week, I became slightly disturbed by it. In the moment, I was uncomfortable due to the jittery, giddy feeling I had, but I felt otherwise like myself. Looking back, I’m not sure why I didn’t reach out to my doctor. It felt like I was in a fog that I didn’t know was there.
After a few days, the energy that the infusion gave me ended abruptly and I could feel myself sinking rapidly back into depression. My doctor isn’t sure why that was the case; even though the feeling of being impaired by the ketamine high was somewhat uncomfortable, it seems logical that its extension into the following days should have boosted my mood, not caused it to worsen. In any case, we decided that the combination of Emsam and ketamine was likely the factor to blame for the sudden decline of my mental health. Yesterday’s infusion was adjusted to a lower dose of ketamine and a planned reduction of my Emsam dose. We hoped that they had just been too much when combined at the levels of the last ketamine infusion.
Recollections of a Ketamine Infusion
The infusion itself was more comfortable this time, although it still pushed my limit. During ketamine infusions, my hearing becomes so sensitive that even the lowest volume of my music is too loud. The pump next to me chugs away, adding to the ambient noise in the room. Without thinking about it, I often turn the volume down on my phone, not realizing that I actually muted it until some time later when I start searching for the music that isn’t there. I haven’t been able to remember my infusions for the past couple of months, which, while not the goal of the treatment, was frustrating and unsettling. This time, I have much clearer memories of what I saw and felt during my infusion.
Once again, I was visited by deep water. I started out by observing a landscape from above. There were trees and grasses waving in the breeze and woodland creatures going about their daily lives. I soon noticed, however, that I was not looking at a terrestrial scene, but rather an underwater ecosystem that bustled with aquatic activity. Fish darted around swaying seaweed and hid among rocky crevices. I watched for a few moments (or maybe much longer – who’s to say?) and then moved on to a different scene.
The other images of water are jumbled in my memory, but I remember being next to a tall building, looking up to the top. Water flowed over me and covered me up so that my view of the building was distorted by light and water. It carried a calm peace because it was a relief to stop straining to see the top. There was another, similar scene in which I was slowly submerged in water while looking up at the sky. I have another fuzzy recollection of being buffeted by waves until they overtook me and I was deep underwater, pressed on by the water on all sides of me.
Stretching and Tangling
My other memories of what I saw and felt were centered around layers of earth-toned colors that I understood to represent landscapes. The layers stretched out like bubble gum, getting thinner and thinner while I felt the pulling as well, as if I were connected to the layers myself. At other times, I was tangled up in green vines, hopelessly lost in their confusing loops and knots.
Layers of Abstraction
In between these scenes, I found myself being sucked into abstract, moving visions of colors and shapes. I felt completely absent at times, as if my body had completely disappeared. During ketamine infusions, I occasionally realize how strange it is to lose my attachment to reality. This time, I frequently forgot what was going on and would reach the end of a song or a scene in my mind and begin to wonder how long I had been immersed in my own imagination to the exclusion of all else. It was like a whirlpool, pulling me in after I got just a split second of clarity.
Tethering Myself to Reality
I experimented this time with the addition of a worry stone. I held it in my right hand so that I could move my thumb in circles around the center. I found it helpful in bringing myself back to the room for a brief moment, which offsets the overwhelming feeling of drifting away into the bizarre soup of my internal universe, never to be seen again.
Although I typically dislike not being in control of myself, the all-encompassing embrace of ketamine is hard to shrug off. I’m constantly in conflict with myself because on one hand, I’m uneasy about letting go of the threads that connect me to the real world. On the other hand, I feel so far away from the boundary between my mind and the tangible world that it seems too late to fight my way out. In those moments, I’m fairly content to never come back.
Going Within My Consciousness
Part of why these ketamine infusions are so intense is because there seems to be no space between my sense of self and what I’m experiencing. I watch it happen while being combined with it, my own essence bleeding into the experience. The visions exist in a realistic way in my mind, and I feel that not only am I observing it, I also am it. I don’t necessarily feel like I’ve traveled somewhere else during a ketamine infusion but rather descended into the very center of my being. Thus, the images seem to have always existed, with me now sinking inside them. It seems that I’m nearly undistinguishable from them.
So far, I feel somewhat normal, except for a few remaining symptoms, including the unbeatable insomnia. I fell asleep after taking my nightly Trazodone, but even that couldn’t overpower the alertness for long. I woke up around 1:30 AM, made some tea, and sat down to document my memories of yesterday’s ketamine infusion. I managed to get a few more hours of sleep after staying up for a while. This morning, I do feel an inkling of the uncomfortable giddiness which flips back and forth with anxiety and dominates my memory of the days following the previous infusion. I also keep forgetting what I set out to do, becoming easily distracted with other tasks. It’s still a bit difficult to move my arms and hands without conscious thought; they get rather stuck if I leave them alone for too long, and my attempts to do some fine motor movements take a couple of seconds to recalibrate. Overall, the reaction seems to be more mild than the last time, which is reassuring. Hopefully, this one will have more of a positive effect on my mood than the last one did. Fingers crossed.