today is the last day.
assuming the treatment proves successful, tonight will be the last time i go to bed as someone who suffers from crippling depression; someone whose world has been heavy and doused in grayness since 11 years old.
in truth, most of me refuses to feel hopeful. a mere 52% of participants who suffered from debilitating depression and anxiety saw improvement after 3 treatments of ketamine infusions (https://www.michiganmedicine.org/health-lab/ketamines-promise-severe-depression-grows-major-questions-remain), and to top it off, the entirety of my pay for this month will go straight to the hospital. how could i possibly be hopeful when the odds are so low, yet the cost is so high?
the backstory of my mental health history: i suffer from a form of ptsd, as well as severe depression and anxiety. in some seasons of life, it’s apparent to those around me. oftentimes, people see that and are shocked, since they assume i’m “fine” (as in, don’t suffer deeply in this way). in actuality, i suffer from it daily – hardly an hour goes by peacefully and comfortably. although it has been a long time since these incidents and need no active concern, suicidal desires, ideation, and even a poorly planned attempt have shaped my core. i’ve been on a multitude of antidepressants, ptsd meds, and ssris since i was 13 years old. i was in denial (but also so fearful?) of the severity of my condition, yet was so terrified by my suicidal desires, that i took out my favorite art supplies and created a new label for my medications. it had little whales and in big bubble letters, the words “happy pills.” fighting through the side effects, i kept them on my dresser and took them diligently. over the years, the side effects nearly made life itself unbearable, but which was worse: physical pain or mental anguish?
over 10 years, despite my willingness and hope to be cured by pills, at no point in my medication journey could i confidently say the medications did their job. regardless of being on different drugs, and even when life was smooth (no triggers and no real reason), things were hard. between the unbearable side effects and questionable efficacy of the multitude of medications i have taken, in 2023, my psychiatrist and i ultimately made the decision to keep me off of medication entirely. at this point, my depression continued to be labeled as severe, constantly at the worrisome end of tests such as the phq-9 and gad-7, and unfortunately, treatment-resistant.
my life continues to be gray and dreary, but at least now without the side effects of the medication. i’m not sure i ever really experience what others call “happiness,” rather, i’ve only had brief glimpses of time where i feel relief from the overwhelming dread. i operate from a place of not really knowing what vibrant color in life feels like, but being confined to a grayscale. i can say with certainty that i live in dreadful gray because in the rare moments where i was blessed to see slivers of color, i‘ve bawled. perhaps it was a mixture of relief, confusion, grief because it’s a rare experience, and fear for when the gray would return to take over again. maybe i can liken it to someone who has lived life in the midst of the ocean waves, always being thrown around, except for a short and unexplainable minute where the waves suddenly stop.
i think i’m afraid to hope that tomorrow will be any different. in 7 hours, i will be at the hospital clinic getting an iv and various monitors hooked up to me. and perhaps, in 10 hours, i’ll emerge as a different person. but who would that person be? will i have to learn how to adjust to a new life? will i like her? maybe she will be strong and courageous, and able to face a lot of life’s hardships. maybe she will be able to sleep and eat regularly, finally unencumbered by irrational anxiety or existential depression. or maybe i’ll just return home and go to bed unchanged in every way except $2,000 poorer.
i’m scared to hope. but in the small chance that there is success — that i am one of the 52% — i’ll be documenting my journey. and if i continue to be treatment resistant, that’ll be okay too (i think?). i’m not sure.