“I hated waking up, not remembering what had happened to me.”
I was chatting with my therapist
about my experiences
with electroconvulsive therapy.
I was explaining why ECT
I was being re-traumatized
with every induced seizure of my brain.
My therapist asked:
“Are there other times in your life that you woke up and couldn’t remember what had happened to you?”
I’m getting ahead of myself.
I’m a depressed person.
I am mentally ill.
I am clinically depressed.
Even at my most recovered,
my most thriving self:
I am sick.
I have made many sabotaging attempts
to be as sick as I can.
I have also made many attempts
to get well.
Alcohol (I got sober).
Drugs (I got clean).
I starved myself (I recovered).
And, finally, shock treatments.
“I woke up, not knowing what had happened to me.”
This is the declaration that serves as the cliff from which I leap.