I Tried Ketamine Infusion Therapy for Depression and Anxiety. Did It Work?
The party drug known as Special K is getting a major rebrand as a fast-acting antidote for depression. In search of relief, a wellness writer tried out the trending treatment for herself.
Fiddling with my breakfast at a wellness resort this past spring, I couldn’t shake off the pervasive dread of being alive—and more specifically, being me. I’d been looking forward to this getaway for weeks, envisioning it’d facilitate a mind-body reset I desperately and so often find myself needing. But the saying rings true: Wherever you go, there you are. Despite being on vacation (at a freaking wellness resort, no less), I couldn’t escape immense pangs of hopelessness, to which I was no stranger given my lifelong battles with depression and anxiety.
The next night, a guy I was seeing who often waxed poetic about his LSD trips asked if I’d ever done ketamine. My sole experience with the recreational drug was during a debauched birthday weekend a few years back, though in recent years I've seen legal ketamine treatments gain traction in the wellness world, particularly for depression. To my surprise, my mom called a few days later saying she’d started ketamine infusion therapy herself, and that it was already providing discernible relief for her mood and chronic pain.
I took this timing and coincidence as signs that I might as well start ketamine infusion therapy for myself… and so I did.
Getting started
When I returned to LA, I voraciously read up on ketamine for depression and anxiety, seeing how it worked, and how others fared with the treatment. A growing body of research illustrates ketamine’s promise to alleviate treatment-resistant depression, rebranding the party drug known as Special K as a legitimate form of medicine. One point of differentiation from other antidepressants—including SSRIs, a smattering of which I’d been prescribed over the years to little or no benefit—is that ketamine produces a surge in glutamate neurotransmission in the brain to yield rapid effects. As a major excitatory chemical messenger, glutamate mediates synaptic activity associated with learning, memory, mood, and reward. (Essentially, the more is literally the merrier.) Ketamine may also enhance neuroplasticity, rewiring the brain to break free from depressive symptoms and maladaptive behaviors for long-term relief.
Some people wrote that their experience with ketamine was terrifying; for others, life-changing. Equipped with a solid track record of responding well to mind-altering substances and a bend towards skepticism, I figured I’d land somewhere in the middle.
I set up a handful of phone consultations with ketamine clinics in LA. Based on considerations like cost, protocols, and the overall vibe check, I felt most confident proceeding with Kure Medical Group in Santa Monica. I planned to do six ketamine infusions over three weeks, a cadence typically recommended for depression based on existing clinical trials. Set on committing as fully as possible to the treatment, I also enlisted the help of a therapist who specializes in ketamine integration to guide me throughout the process.
None of this, by the way, comes cheap: Per my consults, each infusion costs anywhere from $350 to $750, and many insurance plans won’t cover the treatments. Throw in any out-of-pocket therapy sessions plus rideshares to and from treatment (since you’re not permitted to drive until the next day), and you’re looking at an easy few grand down. (In my case, the hazy post-infusion meals at Erewhon next door didn’t make the endeavor any more budget-friendly.) However, I knew that it was more pertinent to save myself from a lifetime of anguish than it was to save money for my next vacation.
What ketamine infusion therapy feels like
At the start of each 45-minute infusion, I put on a light-blocking eye mask and headphones playing calming binaural beats, reclining back as the ketamine trickled into my bloodstream. It takes only a few minutes to kick in, growing more pronounced about 10 to 15 minutes later.
Visually, I’d see a range of colors with accompanying textures and moods. Early in my first infusion, I visualized a gray, semi-sheer velvet drape, which was flowy, soft, and smooth. Physically, tension melted from my jaw, hands, and hips. Mentally, random thoughts—including my many anxieties—rose to the surface. Yet instead of chasing them down and being engulfed by the sadness and stress they’d typically elicit, I could detach and simply move past them. (It’s like keeping a million anxiety-inducing Chrome tabs open and itching to dive into them all, no matter how much they’re slowing down your system, then suddenly developing the ability to minimize, though not completely exit, the entire window. Dissociation, FTW!) During treatment, I clearly felt the influence of drugs but still had agency over my body and mind. All things considered, by the end of my first session, I felt optimistic about the next ones.
My provider and I decided we’d increase my dosage for session two. This time around, the visuals were much more pronounced and varied. I started in a green swamp with a column of light emanating from above before it transitioned to a verdant forest, then returned underwater, and finally found myself moving through a dark tunnel with rotating shadows (akin to the eerie tunnel of terror scene in Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory). At this point, I felt that I was slowly falling into a manhole—not necessarily scary, but surely not serene—until my heart rate monitor beeped and halted my perceived descent. My provider came back in to make sure I was okay given the sudden spike. I felt fine, but needed confirmation that my vitals backed that up. “Do I need to panic?” I asked, well aware that crawling out of (not caving into) anxiety was a chief reason why I started ketamine therapy in the first place. She gave me the all clear, my heart rate stabilized soon after, and back on my trip I went. I saw bright purple and white lights and felt buzzing, rolling vibrations, almost like I was receiving an energetic massage. Pleasant as these moments were, I still fell prey to plagues of worry. Moreover, I couldn’t overcome the drive to “mentally manage” the trip and remember every last detail to journal later. I also experienced moderate nausea, on top of the standard mild dizziness, for an hour after the infusion ended.
My third session was the best of the series by far. I had few (if any) concrete thoughts, lacking the “where am I” and “why am I” musings from my first two infusions. Instead, I could just breathe and simply be. I visualized a range of uplifting colors and tones that shifted with the sounds of my playlist, felt soft and fuzzy waves of energy pulsating throughout my body, and even experienced a few sensations of flight. I didn’t fixate on anything. I felt completely at ease. I was able to surrender.
The latter half of my infusions, however, grew less light and bright. Darker, starker colors and fewer visions took hold. My provider noted that, despite incrementally raising my dosage, I was likely building greater tolerance to the ketamine. I also figured that a few personal circumstances preceding these later sessions could cast a shadow over my trips. While I didn’t perceive these as failures, per se, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t hope to get more out of them.
The verdict
Five weeks out from my sixth ketamine infusion, I wish I could say that I feel healed and whole, born anew and beaming with optimism… but that’s simply not the case. My biggest takeaway is that I ruminate a bit less, and don’t follow deep rabbit holes as automatically or as frequently as I normally do. Still, my dark thoughts take over indiscriminately and I’ve yet to break free from their clutches. I didn’t expect ketamine to work miracles, and I’m glad to notice at least a modicum of progress. At present, I’m evaluating whether I should hold out hope (and my credit card) for future booster sessions to spark up my stagnant system.
My therapist noted that a decline in visions and results from my infusions wasn’t a bad thing, or even something that should be deemed as bad. It simply was. With her guidance, it clicked that this is the same approach I need to take with all my thoughts. Judging them as bad or stressful or depressing—as well as trying to “outwit” and over-analyze them, no matter how much time or energy I lose in the process—won’t bring me peace. The healing isn’t in “figuring it out,” she explained. These thoughts are just there, and I just need to loosen my grip so I can pass through them.
Of course, that’s easier said than done. Yet my earlier ketamine infusions allowed me to experience, for the first time, what it’s actually like to bypass these thoughts and keep on keeping on. For that, I’m grateful—and perhaps even hopeful that I can achieve this again, with or (ideally) without chemical intervention.