You may be wondering how I transformed from a lowly, neurotic caterpillar with no discernible life-force into this butterfly of over-zealous productivity and the kind of positive energy that makes you want to punch a rainbow, so I’m here to share the answer with you: It’s drugs! Were you expecting something else? Well, I sure as hell didn’t pull myself up by my bootstraps. That would have required me to put on shoes and I was a little shaky on the whole concept of leaving the house as it was.
I was suffering from severe, treatment-resistant Major Depressive Disorder with “mixed features” and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder–major bummer, to put it (inappropriately) mildly. These were lifelong afflictions that left me affixed to my bed like a limpet upon a rock, idly waiting for some small, pudgy-handed human to snuff the life out of me with the prod of a curious finger, or, alternately, abuzz with an agitation so acute I punched holes in the wall and popped Xanax like Tic Tacs. Drywall repair may be a useful skill, but shallow breathing and the ability to remain immobile for an astounding period of time will only get you so far in the job market–unless you’re looking to play a corpse on CSI. So, in an effort to avoid the morgue, either real or televised, I found ketamine. This wasn’t a decision I made lightly, but no one wants to hear about decades of therapy, hospitalizations, and drug trials, so let’s fast-forward to the good stuff: Special K!
Staggeringly dysfunctional, virtually unemployable, and rabidly unhappy, I turned to ketamine as my Hail Mary Pass. (Or whatever the Jewish equivalent is. Hail Moses, maybe?) It was my end-of-the-line, if-this-doesn’t-work-there’s-always-the-sweet-release-of-death, at-least-this-is-a-fun-drug-and-won’t-make-me-bloated, Plan K. Well, Moses came through in the clinch. Four mind-bending, time-traveling, world-shaking trips into treatment and I found myself, dare I say it…happy. Content. Fulfilled. Reveling in my newfound ability to clean my apartment, file my taxes, hold down three jobs, and–shock of all shocks–enjoy it!
Biking to work in a rainstorm became an “exciting adventure,” rather than a sign from the universe that I should probably lie down in the gutter and die. Washing buckets and bleaching gym mats for a living became “a meditative practice and wonderful opportunity to contribute to the community,” rather than mind-numbing drudgery and forced social contact befitting the seventh circle of hell. I was actually filled with gratitude while taking out the trash one day because it meant a few moments of basking in the unseasonably warm February air in an alley that was, in all reality, filled with broken glass and sour-milk stains. Gross, right? (The sunny disposition, not the alley. Although, that was gross, too.)
Of course, there’s no such thing as a miracle cure and life isn’t all cupcakes and sprinkles (despite what my Pinterest boards may look like), but with monthly IV infusions and thrice-weekly inhaled doses, things are looking up. (Twice! This double vision is no joke!) So, join me as I chronicle this new and unexpected life in blog form. Because who doesn’t love external validation?