I was undergoing ketamine therapy for treatment-resistant depression—leaning back comfortably in a leather recliner, aware of the panic button on the table and a camera trained on my face. My doctor had described the process clinically, almost antiseptically. I expected something strange, maybe intense. But not this.
No one prepared me for the onslaught of psychedelic visions—or the gut-wrenching “flashbacks” that left me sobbing on and off for two days straight.
Why did nobody warn me about the intensity of the psychedelic visions I would have?
It felt as if the entire industry, from the scientists who study ketamine to Johnson & Johnson who invented the spray, to the FDA that approved it for use, and even the psychiatrists running the clinics, had agreed to keep me in the dark about what was coming.
Nowhere in any of the research papers, Spravato’s esketamine website, or the ketamine clinic websites I scoured was the word “psychedelic” ever mentioned. Even my own doctor focused strictly on the science—how ketamine acts rapidly on NMDA receptors, boosting glutamate release, enhancing synaptic connections, and promoting neuroplasticity to rebuild the brain’s architecture affected by depression.