I’ve been a patient at Innerbloom Ketamine Therapy for about two and a half years now, and I’m incredibly grateful to be able to say that ketamine has been the key I had been searching for—one that’s made a profound difference in my mental health. I’d like to share my experience with this treatment, beginning with a bit of background about myself, my struggles with depression, and some of the traumatic events that shaped my journey. I’ll also describe what the ketamine infusion process has been like for me, what ketamine actually feels like and the powerful ways it has impacted my symptoms, outlook, and overall quality of life.
Let’s start with the obvious: depression sucks. Even the most basic tasks can feel insurmountable when you're carrying the crushing weight of darkness on your shoulders. You watch others dance through life—thriving, achieving, moving forward—while you feel stuck, as if your feet are chained to the floor. Your bed pulls you in with a gravitational force akin to a cosmic black hole, and your mind is clouded with a heavy, unshakable fog. Everything feels distant, slow, and overwhelmingly hard. Sound familiar?
I’ve experienced periods of depression throughout my life ever since the onset of puberty, presumably due to the chemical imbalances and changes it kickstarted in my brain. In highschool, I abruptly lost my older brother to suicide. Rather than appropriately processing this horrific event, I “turned-off” my emotions, choosing to ignore, block-out and skip over this terrible time in my family. Fast forward to college, I learned to be the life of the party, choosing to numb my emotions further, resulting in a drinking problem that was easily overlooked due to both typical college drinking culture and my outwardly bubbly demeanor. One night, while heavily intoxicated, I was sexually assaulted in my own dorm room by someone I considered a friend. My depression symptoms have fluctuated over the years (there have been lighter periods where I made progress in my life) but I always reverted to stuffing away difficult feelings, choosing to box up upsetting events and stash them away in the dark recesses of my mind.
Enter ketamine: the clean-up crew, the unpacker, the house renovator. Call it what you want, but this medicine is about feeling your feelings and actually processing those emotions. Sound scary? Yeah, trust me I get it. But this medicine somehow makes it manageable – it lifts depression symptoms and boosts resilience, providing a little window of clarity in your mind, giving you a chance to unpack and organize all those messy boxes you’ve squirreled away.
The initial treatment course at Innerbloom included six infusions, twice a week for three weeks, paired with sessions with the clinic’s psychotherapist, who is an LMFT trained specifically to work with clients throughout their ketamine journey. Since then, I’ve found it beneficial to get a booster infusion about every three months to help keep my symptoms at bay. Once we found this optimal booster timing, I’ve experienced little to no depression symptoms. This has become the most stable, functional and overall-happy period of my adult life.
To begin the process, I filled out a medical intake form and had a phone consultation with Dr. Rivas, who approved me to start ketamine therapy. My first in-person appointment was with their psychotherapist, Cindy, for a preparation session. She helped me clarify my intentions—or treatment goals—and guided me through the concept of ketamine’s ability to reopen “critical periods” in the brain. These windows of heightened neuroplasticity make it easier to learn, adapt, and process emotions in new ways.
I was nervous about handling the psychedelic experience, but Cindy’s thoughtful insights and grounded approach helped me feel much more prepared. She emphasized the importance of “turning toward” any discomfort or challenging emotions that might arise during the experience, encouraging an open and curious mindset—one willing to explore and learn from whatever surfaces through the interplay of ketamine and the subconscious.
Was I actually prepared for what my mind showed me? Hell no. I’m not sure there are the right words in our language to accurately describe the psychedelic ketamine experience. Apparently, some people don’t have much of a psychedelic experience, but I most certainly did.
Once you’re hooked up to the IV, Dr. Rivas gives you eyeshades and a headset with gentle, mystical sounding music. It takes a few minutes for the medicine to kick in, so as instructed, I used that time to focus on slowing down my breath and contemplating my intentions and what I wanted to get out of this treatment. My eyes were closed beneath the eyeshades, but gradually, the blackness became blacker—like ink slowly bleeding in from the edges, spreading toward the center of my inner visual field. Then, very gently, soft sunset colors began to bloom, mixing like watercolor paint – deep purple and soft pinks swirling together. I felt my body relax, and then completely stopped being aware of my body at all.
Ketamine can have dissociative effects, often described as an “out-of-body” experience, and for me, there was so much going on in my mind’s eye, I lost complete awareness of my body. Next, that dark space behind my eyelids seemed to expand, I felt as if I was in the middle of a very large round room. A glittering night sky filled with shimmering, shooting stars opened up overhead, raining down around me, and I was reminded of being inside a planetarium as a child.
As the music changed the scenes unfolded; they seemed to move and dance in time to the beat. Swirling colors, twirling geometric patterns rotating and shifting like someone was twisting a kaleidoscope lens inside my brain. Ketamine feels like the strangest most vivid dream. Consciously, I still knew I was doing a treatment, and my body was laying back in a comfy chair. But my mind (perhaps my soul?) was completely somewhere else. I felt like a bird soaring through the sky, over forests, through valleys and through deep canyons in the sea. I traveled through outer space, saw different galaxies, life on other planets and then squished back deep into the darkness of our earth’s core. I was a thin thread being woven into a great tapestry full of different kinds of strings, fabrics and materials; millions of textures and colors being woven together. It was beautiful, it was intense, and ultimately so very weird.
Each infusion lasts 40 minutes, though many of mine seemed to fly by in what felt like 15 minutes. Coming back into my body, I always feel groggy and loopy—like my creative mind had just run a marathon. My lips feel slightly numb, and my vision is always a bit blurry. As the medicine starts to wear off, there’s a short window where things may feel a little confusing. You’ll slowly remember you have a body again. Ketamine’s subtle numbing effect can make you feel heavy and sluggish for a brief period while the acute effects wear off. I always begin to recover by wiggling my fingers and toes, gently calling my awareness back—“Oh yes, hello body, there you are.”
There's a wave of gratitude that comes with returning to my body, and a sense of relief in coming back to reality, where everything feels more grounded and familiar. Within about twenty minutes, I’m mostly back to normal—just a little floaty, like my head is in a bubble, but incredibly mellow. By then, I’m usually able to get up and walk out to the lobby. After about an hour, I feel fully back to baseline, though I’m often worn out and ready to wind down early for the night.
Each of my infusion experiences have been unique, but there seems to be a recurring theme of nature. I often envision the night sky, towering forests, and twisting, growing plants. Once, I experienced the entire life cycle of a sunflower. I felt myself being pressed deep into the earth—I could smell the soil, almost taste it—as it closed in tightly around me. Being buried was frightening, but I tried not to resist it. Soon, I began to grow. I pushed upward through the dirt and into the sunlight, up and up. I could feel water sprinkling over my face as I stretched toward the sky, sensing my leaves unfurl and my petals bloom. Totally trippy, right?
Many of my infusions have been light and uplifting, but others have taken me deep into my psyche, searching for meaning and answers. I’ve cried many times—sometimes because I was overcome by an overwhelming feeling of love and interconnectedness. Other times, I was submerged in grief and pain so intense I felt like I might shatter into a million pieces. In those moments, I searched for a safe space within myself—a place of peace and understanding. What I found was a quiet meadow, nestled in the heart of a dark, dense forest. I curled up in the soft grass and felt a sense of calm unlike anything I’ve ever known. Now, in times of stress, I try to return to that meadow. It reminds me that a place of safety and serenity lives within me—and I can always find my way back.
During another infusion, I wanted to see my inner strength. This journey was dark and twisted—intense and unsettling. It pulled me down into the earth, through slick, cold tunnels. I didn’t like it at all. I felt scared, panicked. But I reminded myself to let go, to surrender and trust the process. What was my subconscious trying to show me?
As we descended deeper and deeper, I began to feel an intense heat building. Suddenly, lava burst forth from the darkness, surrounding me in a white-hot light so blinding I was sure my body must be on fire. But it didn’t hurt. And then—I understood. This was the fire within me. It had been there all along. My strength wasn’t something I had to find—it was something I had to remember. Like a NASA rocket, I blasted upward out of the darkness, soaring into the sky, lit up from within. I know it sounds super cheesy—but no words can fully capture the raw emotion and vivid clarity of that moment.
Not every infusion has been that profound. Most have been bizarre, fragmented scenes that don’t seem to hold any deeper meaning. Others have felt uncomfortable or heavy, and I’ve found myself counting the minutes until they end. Often, I only remember a few flashes of what happened. But something always shifts. In the days that follow, I feel better. More grounded. Not like a totally different person, just more like myself.
I want to take a minute to tell you that ketamine therapy didn’t flip a magic lightswitch for me. The effects were subtle at first. I found myself whistling and humming, something I hadn't absent-mindedly done in years. When my alarm went off in the morning, I realized my first thoughts of the day weren’t negative anymore. It was more like “oh, I better get a move on” rather than “UGHHH.” That may sound minor, but it’s actually huge. I began to have the energy and motivation to work out consistently again and pay better attention to the food I was eating; cleaning up my diet and drinking far less alcohol. The self hate has melted away to almost non-existence, which is truly a magnificent gift.
The thing about ketamine treatment is—it doesn’t do the work for you. But suddenly, the healthier choices start to feel possible again. Going for a walk after work felt like a reasonable option, instead of collapsing into the couch. I’d ask myself, Should I start a new painting or just watch some TV? I still wanted to watch TV, of course—but I could actually negotiate with myself: Why not do something creative first? That shift alone felt like huge progress. I started noticing more patience—with myself and with others. When difficult situations come up, I feel like I have more space in my mind to pause, reflect, and choose how to respond. It’s not that life became easier—it’s that I have more capacity to meet it. Ketamine opens a window. A window of clarity, of potential. But what you do with that window is up to you. For me, it became a turning point. I’m no longer letting life pass me by.
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