The Cut - Why Did I Think Ketamine Could Cure Me?

If it’s good quality, the drug comes as semi-transparent shards. I liked to pretend that the bag was full of tiny pieces of broken glass; a very special kind with spiritual significance to it, like a witch’s scrying mirror or crystal ball, a thing meant to assist me in moving through an esoteric ritual. From bitter winter into late spring 2021, my ritual was as follows: After I finished my work for the day, ate dinner, and did my household chores, I would dim the lights in my bedroom, the warm orange glow of my night-table lamps splashing across the duvet. I would choose some down-tempo electronic album to resonate out of the tiny speaker beside me on the bed. Then I would tap a little bit of the glasslike drug onto a surface, crush it up into a fine powder, and snort it. Basking in the low light and ethereal music, I lay back comfortably as everything twisted and stretched and everything stopped making sense. Surprise, wonder, and confoundment took over me as I spiraled deeper into incoherence. What did it mean to be me? What was I doing living in the world? What was the purpose of a body, the purpose of a mind? Coming down from a trip so ruthlessly existential, I felt a visceral understanding of the deep strangeness of life and personhood. My ritual was humbling in a way that was comforting, and that helped diminish my anxiety and stress. It seemed like a godsend.

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