Frequently Wrong, Rarely in Doubt

This morning, I woke up with the sensation known in some cultures as optimism. Historically, the times when I’ve felt this most deeply is when Amazon says a package will arrive early. But today is special. I have my initial consultation today with a doctor about ketamine therapy, which feels a bit like the medical equivalent of opening all the windows on the first warm day of spring, gesturing casually towards the dust bunnies with a large flame thrower, and announcing “Your lease is up.” But screw it – go big or go home, right? 

This is my fresh start. My tabula rasa. My synapsula rasa, if you will (you won’t, and that’s fair). Because after two years of diligently attending the SSRI Rodeo – Sertraline → Prozac → Lexapro → Cymbalta → the void – I’ve decided to try something new. Something science says may actually reshape my brain. Something that involves a clinician, some lozenges, and the gentle hope that my neurons will finally stop unionizing against me.

And I don’t want to brag, but I’m feeling very upbeat about it.

If my antidepressants were romantic partners, the arc would read like a Regency novel where every suitor is a mild disappointment. Sertraline was my well-meaning stable boy who could lift hay bales but not my mood. Prozac? My charming rakehell who dazzled me for two weeks and then retired to a fainting couch. Lexapro and Cymbalta were like two cousins my dowager aunt insisted I meet “They’re perfect for you!” and I nodded politely before collapsing from fatigue like some Victorian governess with tuberculosis of the spirit.

Meanwhile, I lost 110 pounds, cleaned up my health, made (some of) the kind of life improvements that should have caused my anxiety to pack up its things and slither away. And yet? No. My anxiety stood in the doorway like a loyal raccoon: uninvited, unhelpful, and somehow convinced it lived here too. So today feels… refreshingly hopeful. Like maybe my brain is ready to evict the raccoon. I know I should exercise more too – but, one step at a time. Mind altering drugs first, cardio later. 

I love peer-reviewed research. Nothing thrills me quite like a PDF with references. Studies on ketamine show it can trigger rapid antidepressant effects, stimulate neural plasticity, and reset glutamate pathways. Extremely respectable science. And yet, if I’m honest, I learned 60% of this from Reddit threads written by people with usernames like NeuralSpaghetti_420. The enthusiasm was contagious. Still, it’s uplifting: the idea that I can coax my brain into being a little more flexible, a little more willing to try something other than spiraling. When I read that ketamine helps you form new neural connections, my brain practically gasped and said, “Oh… we were supposed to be doing that?” Well. Better late than neuro-never. 

I’ve decided to pair this experience with starting a practice in Buddhism, so I bought a Buddhism FAQ book – because sometimes the path to enlightenment is paved with deeply straightforward questions like “What is suffering?” (insert eyeroll emoji to indicate sarcasm) And I must say: it’s a delight. I’ve always been interested in religion’s applications to psychology, but without being interested in taking part in the actual religious bits myself. Buddhism feels like the perfect compromise: spiritual enough to feel meaningful, secular enough to avoid anyone asking for tithes. Classic win-win.

I’ve read all the clinic’s instructions. The documentation uses terms like “dissociation” and “ego dissolution,” which are perhaps not the words one wants to see before putting anything into one’s mouth. But I’m not nervous. I’ve always had excellent trips – fun, creative, no crawling on ceilings or talking to household appliances (beyond some small talk, just to be friendly). Everything says to have a “safety person,” and my fiance has graciously accepted this role. His primary responsibilities include: keeping the dogs and cat from using my office as a parkour park / obstacle course while I actually ingest the drugs; and checking in periodically to make sure I am still breathing (a shared hobby of ours).

Honestly? I’m excited. Hopeful. I’m choosing curiosity over fear, neuroplasticity over nap-inducing SSRIs, and a medically supervised ego-dissolution over yet another prescription that would tuck me into bed at 2 PM. So yes – today I will Zoom into my doctor’s office like a woman ready to remake herself. Not dramatically. But quietly. Hopefully. 

Here’s to rewiring my brain with drugs – but in a classy, very legal, medically supervised way.