Do you ever feel already buried deep?
Six feet under screams, but no one seems to hear a thing
Do you know that there’s still a chance for you
‘Cause there’s a spark in you?
~ Katy Perry
Waiting for my first electroconvulsive therapy (ECT) treatment. Got up at 4:15 to be here on time. I’ll be doing this three times a week for at least three weeks.
The nurse gave me an injection to dry up my spit and now my mouth feels funny. I find this annoying, but not as annoying as the fact that I’ve been awake for almost three hours now.
I’ve got a lot of threes in my head.
After I sign away all of my good sense, the nurse leads me into a room and motions that I should get onto the hospital bed in the middle. I lie down and look around. There’s the doctor—always good to have at least one of those present. An anesthesiologist, thank goodness. Two nurses.
Okay, then. I guess I just…sit back and relax? There’s not much else to do, so I lie back and the anesthesiologist makes his way over. Within minutes, I’m out.
I wake up with an excruciating headache—not too surprising when people are shooting electricity into your skull. I don’t feel much happier with life in general, but I assume that’ll come with time.
The headache lasts around 12 hours so I sleep most of the day. If this continues for every session, I’m going to cry.
My headache isn’t as bad this time, thank goodness. I’m even able to be alert for more of the day.
I’m afraid I’m already starting to forget things. Things people said to me at the treatment facility. Things I was supposed to do. I don’t know how much of it is actual forgetting and how much is panic, but I’m afraid.
I don’t want to forget, but I don’t want to be sad, either. I’m not sure there’s a win-win in all of this.
For now I’ll go with slightly forgetful but hopefully soon to be happier.