The Day I Almost Did Ketamine (and the Energy Healing That Changed My Life Instead)

Let’s call this my final straw moment.

After a year and a half of slowly falling apart—mentally, emotionally, physically—I hit full-blown panic mode. I was doing everything right (or at least everything I was told to do): every medication combo they threw at me, weekly therapy, private specialists, ice baths, grounding, breathwork, supplements.

I was throwing everything at the wall, and nothing stuck.

Diagnosis Roulette

Somewhere in the chaos, I started chasing a definitive diagnosis. I just wanted to know what the hell was wrong with me. Like maybe if I could name it, I could fix it.

Depression. Anxiety. ADHD. Insomnia. Clinical depression. Even whispers of autism from people who weren’t qualified to say it. Eventually, the one that stuck: Complex PTSD.

Cool. Cool cool cool. So here’s my list of labels. Great.

Except none of them came with a real plan. Just more meds. More “management.” No one seemed to know how to actually help me heal.

I’m a Lab Rat

I remember the exact moment it clicked. I was sitting with my girlfriend, exhausted, fried, and I said,

“I’m a fucking lab rat. These people are playing with my life.”

That moment cracked something open.

I realized no one was coming to save me—not the doctors, not the diagnoses, not the pills. If I wanted to survive, I had to stop outsourcing my healing.

Enter: Ketamine

Around that time, ketamine therapy was gaining traction, especially for complex trauma. It wasn’t some Instagram trend or TikTok ad—my therapist brought it up. And she was one of the only people I still trusted.

So I looked into it.

Private ketamine therapy was around $5,000. There was a government program too—but obviously, it came with a 3–4 month waitlist.

When you’re in survival mode, three months feels like a lifetime. But I’d already waited eight months to see a psychiatrist. I figured, what’s a few more if it means there’s a real shot at relief?

So we tried to get me on the waitlist.

Blocked. Again.

To access the program, I needed a psychiatrist’s signature. And the one I finally saw—after months of waiting—refused to sign the paperwork.

She also prescribed me two medications I had already tried and reacted badly to, which told me she hadn’t even read my file.

That moment gutted me. It was another system failure. Another thread I was hanging on to, cut without care.

So I Looked at Private Ketamine

At that point, my mom—who thought she was going to lose me—offered to cover the $5,000. I didn’t want to accept help. I felt guilty, ashamed, like I should’ve been able to figure it all out myself.

But we were out of options. So I started reaching out to private clinics.

The first consult? A hard no. I was severely depressed and still had more energy than the guy on the call.

The second clinic felt more aligned. The intake process was solid. The consult went well. It actually felt like a “yes.”

Until I asked if I could continue therapy with my own therapist throughout the process.

And they said no.

The Line I Wouldn’t Cross

According to them, I was “too suicidal and too sick” to take ketamine and then work with someone I already trusted. Their policy was that you had to use their in-house therapist.

That was it for me. That was my line.

If I was going to let something crack me open, I needed someone beside me who already knew what lived inside me. Someone who had walked with me through my darkest seasons.

Not a stranger. Not another system.

So I walked away.

I Almost Did It Anyway

There was a moment—maybe more than one—where I seriously considered sourcing ketamine myself and doing therapy DIY-style with my own practitioner.

It wasn’t ideal. But I was desperate.

I was tired of the red tape. Tired of needing permission to heal. If this was the thing that could help, I was going to find a way.

And then something unexpected happened.

A Woman. A Farm. A Session That Changed Everything.

Out of sheer “we have nothing to lose” energy, I went to a woman’s farm for a session I barely understood. Energy healing? Quantum something? BodyTalk?

I had no idea what I was walking into.

All I know is: that session changed everything.

I left that farm a different person. I still can’t explain it—but something shifted. For real.

I never ended up doing ketamine.

The Healing I Didn’t Expect

When the clinics said no… when it felt like I had run out of options… I took my health back in a way I didn’t see coming.

That one session led me to BodyTalk. And eventually, to a practitioner who created the kind of safe, grounded space I didn’t know I needed. She held me through some of my deepest unraveling and helped me remember who I was beneath all the survival.

That space—her care—helped me become well enough to step into this work myself.

I still have healing to do. I still have layers to activate and integrate.

But I’m not a lab rat anymore.

I’m not just surviving.

I’m becoming.