It started as a regular ride for John on his bike, a chance to clear his head, feel the wind, and lose himself in the rhythm of the road. Everything changed in a heartbeat when he hit an unexpected bump on the road. One second he was riding, and the next, he was airborne, separated from his bike, a burgundy colored Honda 600 cc Shadow that reminded him of his grandmother who grew up in the Burgundy region of France. He hit the pavement hard, sliding along the rough asphalt, the world blurring around him. When he finally came to a stop, his heart pounded with adrenaline, his body throbbing with the pain of bruises and contusions.
The EMS arrived quickly, assessing him with calm efficiency. Miraculously, nothing was broken. John was shaken, bruised, and sore but didn’t need to be rushed to an ER. His relief was fleeting. When the tow truck guy arrived, his bluster was as suffocating as the smell of oil and sweat. He boasted about how he owned the road when things went sideways for others, a self-styled king of the highway’s moments of pain and suffering. My client climbed into the guy’s truck, enduring his smug stories of superiority as he drove back to Manhattan. He tried to focus on the New York City sky scrapers ahead, on the comfort of knowing he’d soon be home.
After getting his bike safely stored in the garage, his body still ached, and he knew he needed to check in with a hospital nearby – just to get some meds and something to help with the pain. He asked the tow truck guy if he’d drop him off, thinking it was a small enough ask. The guy’s face twisted into a sneer as he told my client to go fuck himself and then drove off leaving him on the sidewalk.
In the years that followed, that day haunted John. Every time he thought of the tow truck guy’s contemptuous smile and harsh words, his chest tightened with rage. He replayed the scene over and over in his mind. In his darkest moments, he imagined slashing the tow truck guy’s throat.
Ketamine Assisted Psychotherapy helped John untangle his rage from the deep seated hurt that fueled it. In the soft, surreal state induced by Ketamine, he found himself reliving that day, not as a passive victim, but as a compassionate observer. The dissociative properties of Ketamine allowed him to view what happened from a distance, freeing him from the powerful grip of his rage. In that altered state, he was able to imagine changing roles with the tow truck driver who would ask him to be taken to the ER. It was then that John had a moment of triumph. He told me that if he could relive that moment years ago, he would have driven the tow truck guy to the ER.
Responding to both the effects of Ketamine and my compassionate curiosity – one of five compassions described by Gabor Mate in The Myth of Normal – John was able to connect with vital parts of himself that had been frozen in that moment, caught between his fear from the crash and the humiliation of being dismissed by the tow truck driver. Ketamine helped him peel away his protective layers of rage, get to his underlying fear and find his vulnerability buried deep inside him like an ember in the ashes. Instead of imagining violent revenge, he found himself exploring his sadness, fear, and helplessness with me, even the hidden fear that drove the tow truck driver’s sadistic arrogance.
Through this kind of Ketamine aided exploration, John began to release unspoken burdens he’d carried inside him for years. His rage, instead of consuming him slowly gave way to a deeper understanding of why he’d held onto it for so long. In the dissociative calm of the Ketamine state, the tow truck driver’s cruelty was transformed by John into just one scene in his larger life story – a painful moment among many happier moments that made up the fuller, richer story of his life.
On his last birthday, I wished John hundreds of little happinesses instead of just a few big ones and he smiled back at me with a blend of humor and skepticism on his face.
