“I am. I am. I am.” or so Esther said.

I happened to have read books that contained info on ECT long before I thought I’d be in that room.  Instead of just staring at the Dolphins/Ravens game, I thought I might just flip through a couple of books with some ECT cites.  I read Martha Mannings’ memoir, Undercurrents, that chronicles her days leading up to and out of ECT. Then there’s The Bell Jar. (I’ve always been intrigued by Plath’s and Sexton’s works, but it’s so hard to look up to them when they both die the same way) They were very good reads, but I have to say that at my point in this game, their insights only that: insights.  If anything, everything that might happen during and after ECT can be put into words but what it feels can never really be captured.  I guess I will know what it feels like to be through ECT in less than two weeks, but I realized that I can’t grasp these effects.  I get that I will experience confusion and some potential loss of memory, but I don’t know what that really feels like. I read these words on the pages of Manning’s book about how she forgot that her sister had come to see her the day before, or the time she nearly gets lost in the hospital corridors, or the increasing sense of anxiety that comes as she is about to begin yet another session.  These recounts sound bad, but just how bad do these episodes feel when one’s actually experiencing them? Reading parts of their works again made me feel a little (but not too) hesitant when thinking about ECT.

Oh, so when the media does countdown to Obama’s inauguration, the numbers almost coincide with the start of my ECT.

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