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  • Writer's pictureAnne Heffron


It occurred to me I might have taken too much. I was, uh, self-medicating in the hopes of lifting a lifetime of anxiety and was figuring things out as I went along. Today it felt as if my skin was evaporating more quickly than usual, and I had the sense I was already halfway to Venus. I told myself, This will only last for twenty-five minutes. I bet you can last until then, so let go and enjoy the ride. I also told myself, If you die, well, you're dying feeling really, really good. That final thought was when I had the wherewithal to have one other thought which was, after that day, it was time to take a break.

Before the summer began, I had not been interested in Ketamine because it sounds like some hard and ugly sport they might play in Germany. However, I am a sucker for influence. I started running in the late seventies, for heaven's sake. (Thank you, Jim Fixx, and your tanned, muscular legs on the bright red cover of your book.) Of course I'll be trying Ketamine in the 2020s.

My next piece will probably be written (it's already being read by) AI.

As I wrote that, a sign popped up on the screen that said "Someone else is editing this post in another window."

I'm going to just keep moving on. Whoever else is here, Hello. Please don't change my words.

What I want to tell you about Ketamine is that it might be dangerous for someone like me. Someone who likes kissing.

Because the best way I can describe how much I love the way Ketamine makes me feel is to remember what it feels like to be both lost and found in the deepness of a great kiss. (It has been a while, but I remember.)

While Ketamine is like kissing, it's, for me, like the most amazing cheerleader. It makes me into pure energy and tells me, You are full of life! Look at how amazing being alive feels! You can do anythign you want! You are a rocket! You are a planet! You love everyone, including, wildly and with fierce gratitude, yourself!

A therapist friend is deeply displeased I am doing Ketamine solo, and I understand their concern. I have been on this self-exploration path for so long that I recognize a helpful tool when I find one, and I also trust myself not to lose myself along the way.

Ketamine might be pushing me to an edge of trust, so I packed up my little jar of what looks like cocaine and my tiny spoon that definitely does not look like it belongs in any kitchen and sealed the box and went to the post office and mailed them to a place I won't mention in case you are curious and go park by the mailbox all week, waiting for deliveries.

This gives me a few days to look at my life as it is, to see how best to move forward, to think about my North Star, to readjust my boat, and to keep paddling.

Do I think Ketamine is amazing? Yes. Do I think it, in a short time, helped me manage my anxiety and depression? Yes. Do I think it could become a habit, one I would have to fight to not do twice a day? Yes.

So there's that.

A better, cleaner (for me) habit would be to write.

So here I go.

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