Electroconvulsive Therapy

After my mental health took a rather dangerous dip in recent months my psychiatrist decided to sign me up for a course of ECT.

To begin with I didn't really mind the risk of memory loss, feeling too low at the time to care much about any memories in particular, but after giving it some more thought I became aware of a few that I would prefer to hold onto. Memories of people I used to know online, of people from school and the cruel lessons they taught me, of the ways my interactions and experiences have shaped the course of my life, of the ways I've hurt or helped other people or the ways other people have hurt or helped me, of choices I've made, of choices I've later regretted, of the parts of myself that I hate and the parts of myself that I don't hate, of the ways I've tried or failed to change and the ways I wish I could change back, of jokes I've laughed at, conversations I've had, movies that have made me cry, games I've enjoyed, books I've gotten lost in, questions I've asked or answered, and so on. Knowing I might lose a few memories made me appreciate them so much more, and realise how many there were that I was attached to.

After some blood tests and chest x-rays and lots of poking and prodding and form-signing the day of the first ECT session arrived. I couldn't sleep the night before so got up early to write down a few more things from my past that I wanted to do my best to make sure to hold on to, then at 8:30 we set off for the hospital. A doctor talked me through the procedure and then a friendly old nurse took me to be weighed and have my blood pressure checked before having me lie down on a stretcher and wheeling me into a room full of daunting machinery that I was wired up to and had electrodes placed on me. General anaesthetic was injected into the back of my hand and I was moved through to the recovery room. I hadn't noticed myself getting tired, falling asleep or waking up again so had no idea the treatment was already over, and I started to get a little bored of waiting for it to begin so asked one of the nurses how long it would be before things happened. They laughed at me and told me it was already done.

At first I thought I hadn't lost any memories, but over the next few days I started to notice odd things that had been slipping my mind. I was forgetting the names of objects and the addresses for websites I wanted to visit, but nothing too important. The experience hadn't been too bad, the worst part was being spoken to by so many people and being the centre of attention while they worked on me.

As the treatment of two zaps a week continued my memory started to deteriorate more and more. I couldn't remember what day it was or what had happened over the last fortnight or so, and started to forget events from a few years ago and some recent conversations and appointments that I'd apparently had but had no recollection of. It felt kind of like waking up and knowing I'd been having a dream but not being able to recall any of what had happened in it. My ability to form new long-term memories broke down and everything that I saw or heard or read or experienced began being wiped out within the next few hours. This wasn't too much of a problem, I just started writing everything I'd done down in my diary so that I could read back over it to find out what had been going on, but it made studying for my course practically impossible and ate away at the last few months of material I'd covered, which was somewhat bothersome. I might end up failing this module because of it, but I'm trying not to blame myself too much for it lest I make myself feel any worse.

Having my memories erased twice a week made me feel as though I was in some kind of dystopian novel. Even on the days when I didn't have ECT, I could remember things for about 20 hours before they faded into oblivion. It was scary and fascinating at the same time, but my family helped me see the funny side to it by teasing and joking with me whenever I'd start repeating myself and telling them stories I'd already told, or asking questions I'd already asked.

Over time I became quite fond of the staff at the hospital where my ECT was performed, and started to look forward to going in and seeing them each time. The nurses there always seemed so happy whenever I asked them how they were doing, Not being able to remember any of their names was a bit embarrassing, but they seemed genuinely concerned for my well-being and pleased when they saw improvements in me. As I reached the end of my prescribed course of treatment I became quite sad at the thought that I would never get to see any of them again. On my last day I took in a box of chocolates for them all, which seemed to make them happy. When the time came for me to leave they all came up to me to ask me for hugs, some of them asking for more than one. It felt so unusual to not be hated by people. I thanked them for everything they'd done for me, but I'm no good at goodbyes. I'll miss them.

The amnesia is interesting but troublesome to have to deal with, but I think it's been worth it for the benefits of the treatment. I do feel noticeably better now than a few months ago. I've been able to open up to my family much more and talk to them about things I'd kept bottled up inside for years. My social phobia is still just as bad, but I feel a bit more motivated to try and force myself to do things despite it. I'm still stuck at the mental hospital every day having to do nasty group therapy and trying not to seem too weird whenever one of the other patients tries to make conversation with me, but I'll write about all that some other time.