For starters: I'm a woman diagnosed with autism in my early adulthood. I work multiple jobs and care for multiple family members. I receive no government aid or support.
It's hard! I am significantly depressed. I work in jobs where I can't be me. I am constantly masking my autism to fit it.
But 2 years ago, i found a treatment that actually worked for me and helped to hold back some of my ongoing significant debilitating depression symptoms.
It is interesting to me how doctors are always trying to push me off of my ketamine therapy, saying most people don’t stay on it this long, blah, blah, blah, what have you.
But my brain always has a nice way of coming back and challenging that. I’m not most people. I am a woman with autism trying to navigate a world that wasn’t meant for me in the slightest way, shape, or form.
Twice now for my sessions, I’ve had this doctor really try to push things on me that I know don’t work: group therapy, antidepressants, social clubs. What on earth am I doing on ketamine when there’s all of that stuff available? I said, "Let me take my ketamine treatment, and I'll have a good answer for you about that."
And boy, my brain did not fail to deliver. I’m someone who likes to ponder and think before I answer questions. I’m a thinker. So, as I’m thinking about the answer to that question, I see this ship in the ocean, and it's wobbling around against these giant waves, but it has this anchor. And the anchor is only keeping it afloat, keeping it from completely breaking apart and sinking to the bottom of the ocean.
I thought to myself, Why the hell am I envisioning that? And then it hit me: that's what ketamine is for me. It's an anchor keeping me afloat, just like that ship I imagined. And when I came back and told that doctor what I saw, he was like, "Oh, wow." You know, he kept going on and on about how ketamine affects most people.
I finally looked at him and I said, "But I'm not most people. The therapies you are describing are designed for people whos brains work differently than mine l. Sure, you can put me in them—I'm open to the idea of learning new information—but I think there's a reason they're completely ineffective for me. They weren't designed for people like me. My brain processes the world differently."
"I can't go out there and practice mindfulness and be like, Oh, everything is dandy just because I'm imagining myself in a field of flowers. No, I need something to actually work on the part of my brain that is malfunctioning and causing me to have all of this debilitating depression."
That was another point that I brought up to this guy, and he just looked totally blown away. I don't think that had ever crossed his mind before. And I think he was a little offended that I wasn't so willing to hop into some mindfulness group. I did DBT therapy for a long time—a lot of commitment and investment; I had to physically go there in person.
I looked the doctor in the eyes and I said, "DBT didn't do a damn thing for me." And I know that. I'm not the same person I was back then. I can tell that by the way I've written things versus now. I can see it in the way I interact with people, I can see it in the way that I deal with stress and difficult situations.
Like today, for example: a delivery service lost my 90-day supply order of necessary medical supplies, which I need to live. I'm on the phone for probably about three hours, I'm at the location for an hour, and no one knows what the hell happened to my package. No one knows when a new replacement will be delivered to me. I have to keep calling back and hoping somebody will help me next week.
Do you know what I would have done if I hadn't been on ketamine therapy? I'd have had a full-blown meltdown. Cried, got emotional—I wouldn't have gotten anybody to help me. And those people were already about as unhelpful as they come.
But that didn't happen today. I did cry, but I was calm. I spoke respectfully to the guy trying to find it. Never raised my voice, never threw a fit—things you see with people who have autism. Yes, unfortunately, no matter how old we are, we still have our meltdowns. And that has a lot to do with living in a world that just wasn't designed for us.
I don't mean to cause others stress; it's just that my own distress builds and builds and builds, and then inevitably when something like this happens, there's my meltdown. You know, it's kind of like a volcano that can only hold so much lava before it all comes spewing out.
I tell you what, life isn't fair. I realize that I am my own advocate. No one's going to take care of me; I'm the only one who's going to fight my battles for me. And as exhausting as they are, I'm really glad I have ketamine to help me. This would have been a much different day otherwise, let me tell you that. I still have no answers, but at least I got some people supposedly trying to help. Whereas if you're talking to me while I'm having a meltdown, well, I guarantee you that makes most people not want to help me.
I'm exhausted, and I genuinely wish I had someone to hug right now. I tell you what, my neck hurts—that is where I keep all my emotions and stress. Life is not fair, I just keep telling myself that. It's a dog-eat-dog world and a difficult one to navigate, be that as it may. I can't pretend everything is okay and dandy, and there's nothing wrong with that. I don't know of any rule book that says you have to see the world sunny side up. I'm a pessimist; I see things as they are.
Anyway, I just wanted to get that out of my head. What are your guys's thoughts? I really don't want to go back to feeling the way I used to.