*Read Ego Death via Ketamine Intramuscular Injection Part I before reading this.
I’ve worked at a ketamine-assisted therapy clinic since 2020, and have used ketamine several times intranasally and sublingually to experience psychedelic effects (ketamine is very dose-dependent, so in low doses, it is not technically a psychedelic; but, at high doses, it produces hallucinogenic symptoms), but had never had an intramuscular (IM) or intravenous (IV) injection. A month ago, I started working at a new clinic (Lucid Therapeutics) that mostly uses IM or IV, and I had the opportunity to use this method of treatment.
I wanted to have the exact experience my clients have in the clinic - I lay on the same couch, listened to the same playlist, and noted how I felt at different time markers that I register for clients (eg. after 3 mins, do I opt for the booster dose? After 90 mins, how do I feel walking to the recovery room, etc). I think it’s critical to understand as best as possible what the client’s experience might be like so that I can be as attuned to their needs as possible. At the very least, I’m ecstatic that I finally experienced ego death, if nothing else, but for the reason of being able to relate to clients who also go there. Here’s what my experience was like:
The doctor injected me with 80mg of ketamine intramuscularly. Similar to anesthesia, I started counting to see how high I could get before being transported to an altered reality. I got to 37. Apparently the doctor asked me at the 3-min mark if I wanted the booster dose, but I have no recollection. I was already lightyears away from the room and any semblance of this individual, corporeal life.
I suspected that I might experience ego death, and I took a playful approach towards it. I wanted to see how long I could recall details of my life and identity like the apartment I just moved into. I tried to visualize it, but I couldn’t. Even the idea of the word ‘my’ lost all meaning. What is possession if there’s no one to possess?
I had a vague feeling that I was with people (in the default world, I was in fact in the room with the doctor, nurse, and another clinician). The feeling was so ephemeral I could only grasp 14% of its intended meaning: there was a feeling of being with, but the concepts of I or other were like drops of water slipping through my fingers.
It was almost scary.
I could feel scary on the horizon, like a path I could careen down if not careful; instead, I felt confident in the surrender.
I let go, trusting the entire way down until I lost myself in the fabric of the universe. It felt like a cozy machine. I felt pressure on my chest, and it was hard to breathe. I became fearful that the body I'd left far behind would cease to breathe. But that body was ages away, and worry floated away on gossamer sails.
I journeyed into the heart of the ketamine machine, which was at once the core of the planet, and the heart of all of humankind. I was there with my team - somewhat like the team who was actually with me in the default world, but I couldn’t hold onto identities long enough to ascertain if it was them. The only identity I was able to hold onto was a dear friend of mine who came into my life in the last year. I felt a strong soul connection with him - as if we're meant to do great things in life, possibly together. Otherwise, I was with some sensation of a team - just the feeling that I wasn’t alone; that we were all in it together, working to figure out the best way to heal with ketamine.
I felt myself enfolded over and over into the melty ketamine machine, with my team cozily tucked inside and around me. I kept feeling things close in on top of me, compressing me in a captivating blanket that felt scary, yet whimsically as inviting as a rolled up magic carpet. Again, it could've been terrifying if I let it be; but, trust felt cozy, so I let it all go.
I let it compress me until I was no longer embodied. Interlocking gears and shifting tetris patterns in constant motion swarmed what semblance of me once existed. Darkness limned any luminosity, but in a way that held fear and trust in an indistinguishable embrace. For a moment, I felt Mexico. I outstretched my arms, and repeated 'tengo el sol.' As my body came back to me, I took deep, chesty breaths, as if learning how to use my lungs. A glimmer of self-consciousness arose like a mist in front of me - in my awareness, but evanescent as all my other attachments. Nothing mattered, and that fact felt like I finally understood what the word mattered meant.