It is all really hard.

But it is worth it.

It’s really hard. That’s what I wanted to say after reading a few trepidatious Reddit posts. I wanted to say “it would have been nice to have someone tell me how hard it would be, but it’s relatively new territory.”

When I had ECT, Ketamine and TMS treatments, I didn’t have a personal introduction.

Because I was the first at those times. The first among people I knew to try any of those. Even the professionals treating me didn’t know that much at those times. I mean, yes, they knew how to deliver the treatment. But they couldn’t predict how treatment would go for me. So they couldn’t prepare me much for my experience.

I was the first to have the TMS H-7 coil at Sibley Hospital, which is part of Johns Hopkins. It was difficult getting insurance to pay for it, but it happened. And that is the insurance trend, I understand.

In TMS, an electromagnetic coil is placed against the scalp. The coil delivers magnetic pulses that stimulate nerve cells in regions of the brain that are underactive. It works for a variety of conditions and disorders.

But nobody knew what my experience would be like. It would have been nice to have someone tell me to bring a mouth guard. My teeth chattered.

Now, that may not be the experience for everyone. Someone may have a lower level of magnetic pulses and not experience facial movements. But I did experience significant facial movements. I had a high level of TMS. It took a high voltage or whatever the measurement is to get my thumb to twitch. And then to get my toes to twitch. You can look up thumbs and toes twitching to understand how your dosage of TMS is calculated.

Bring a rubber mouth guard. You can buy it on Amazon. It makes a billion percent difference.

And bring a neck pillow if you feel your head being knocked around too much. I tried with and without and with a neck pillow was so much nicer. But later I got tired of carrying it.

The room was freezing. Wear layers.

Bring music or something to listen to instead of the knocking noise. Or you can listen to the knocking noise. It is loud. It can be meditative if you let it be. If you think of it that way. If you can relax enough to enjoy the knocking. But have music or audio with you to distract you from the knocking in case it drives you crazy.

And the knocking gets easier to tolerate over the weeks. If it is too much for you, you don’t have to keep going as high or higher. Maybe go lower a bit. Lower frequency. Talk to the practitioner who is treating you.

I cried a lot after the fourth week even though I felt really good, but crying is my thing. When my brain is overwhelmed, exhausted or tripping over itself with activity, I cry easily. It is my body’s response and I am used to it. I just isolate as much as possible at those times since my chemical tears tend to make other people uncomfortable. How many times have I asked people to “ignore the crying?” It’s just my brain working things out, I would say. But tears get old for everyone.

“Are you okay? Are you okay? Are you sure you’re okay?”

No. I really wasn’t okay. Actually, I was exhausted and fed up and frustrated from the torment of near constant thoughts of suicide, homocide and violence. So I tried a ton of things. Things that didn’t do the trick even if they had some benefit to my health and wellbeing. And then I tried TMS, 30 days of going to the hospital to get a treatment that nobody else had heard of. And the treatment is really surreal. Your head gets banged on. For a relatively long time. Or short time. What’s long and what’s short when your head is getting banged on? It’s almost like some weird kind of test of one’s tolerance for the ridiculous.

But I remember thinking “THIS is how bad it is. Is it SO BAD that I would come here every day and get my head banged on in a possibly tormenting fashion just for the chance to get a break from my brain. That is how bad it is. And was.”

And I went. Every day. For weeks. And then boosters. And then more. Until the number of treatments was high.

And now I want to live. Like really and truly and I really can’t even believe it because I was really and truly on the other side for a long, long time that felt like forever and a day.

I want to do a lot of things. There is music and painting and cartoons and friends and family. And now I can. Because my obsessions about death and the accompanying compulsions - some call them addictions - to engage in dangerous thinking and activities are the lowest ever. They are called process additions, for some. Almost zero. For all intents and purposes, zero.

Thank you to TMS. My magic bullet. Maybe not yours, but maybe something to get you through to the next thing. Maybe something to look into. If nothing else, you have to leave your house thirty times for treatment. That is thirty times more than zero. Leaving the house every day for treatment? Yeah. Ask anybody who has done it. It takes a toll.

I hope this treatment lasts. It feels potentially permanent. Maybe I’ll be able to maintain the status quo until I am finished working for the federal government. Then I can talk to H.R. Puffinstuff.

My mother and I tried to talk about mushrooms one night at a family dinner and were quickly shut down. No drug talk around the kids, please.

It wasn’t drug talk. It was “how to save your life” talk. The real, pragmatic, logistical, financial journey of getting yourself to stick with the plan to keep living. Did you know that pretty much anyone can afford mushrooms? The kind that are helpful? I didn’t know that. And they have been really effective for a lot of people, including people I know. They may be really affective for me. I have six more years with the federal government.

But my life has been saved. Now you should let me know if you need help saving yours. I have a lot of tricks and tips.

And you don’t need to be “into living” or “excited about your life” at this time. My life was I.M.P.O.S.S.I.B.L.E. But I was highly motivated to keep my job (as in “highly motivated to not lose my job). Keeping my job performance up and my deadlines met definitely required better treatment than white knuckle phoning-it-in. Which I have done.

So just get through for now. Then we’ll figure out how to make it the life you want.

Get through for now. Then we will make your life amazing. It takes far less than you think to make your life more amazing than it is. I know. I have lived where you have lived. And died more times than I can count.

I know how to come back and this time I think I know how to not slide back too far. I think I know. So listen when I say something good. It might just happen.

I wish someone had told me I would have trouble working full-time after the fourth week of treatment. Which makes sense.

And that I would need to nap in the afternoon every day after the third or fourth week. Which makes sense. And that I would be more confused than usual. Which makes sense. Of course.

Ask me anything. I will talk about any facet of my experience if it will help you.

But it was definitely hard. So don’t be surprised when you try a new treatment and it feels uncomfortable. If you are somewhere bad, hopefully the uncomfortable feeling ultimately takes you somewhere better.

xoxoxo, d

Cutie Rudolph by Herb Moore @hmlightening around town

Post Scripts:

I wrote this post after reading multiple posts on Reddit written by individuals scared TMS treatment will make things worse. If you’re wondering why I got all preachy.

You know, I was at a place where it couldn’t have gotten any worse when I got treatment. But you do not have to wait until it can’t get any worse. You can make it better way before that. I hope you do.