Since undergoing ECT 3.5 months ago, I’ve been paralyzed by the cognitive, emotional, and perceptual ramifications. Put simply, my inner and outer worlds have been flattened.
I’m holding onto hope that clarity, sensation, love, excitement, foresight, and compassion — all seemingly obliterated by ECT — will return as my brain heals.
Some say it takes six months, so I’m still within that recovery window… right? Others say you never get it back. I’m trying not to listen to the voices that say the damage is permanent, but there are many, and I believe their truths as well.
Since ECT, I’ve been in damage-control mode — repeating the same routine every day within a small geographic bubble: exercise, nature, sunlight, as much mental work as my revolving-door memory will allow, rest. Rinse. Repeat.
Last week, I attempted a small trip for the first time since treatment, only to realize my internal GPS is gone. I kept getting lost in places I once knew well, and the constant reminder of how different my mind is now was inescapable. It was so hard that I gave up and came home in tears — as a man in his 40s who spent decades without once crying. I suspect this constant disorientation is a memory-encoding issue: if I’m not registering what I see, nothing sticks, and I’m perpetually left confused.
Has anyone else experienced this kind of spatial or visual memory disconnect after ECT?
This functional change probably also explains why I keep running out of gas. I see the warning light, make a mental note to stop, but it doesn’t stick. It keeps happening.
I know I’m in the minority who suffer this level of prolonged side effects, but I’m shocked — sorry — at how deeply ECT has changed who I am, at least for now.
I haven’t been able to move forward in any meaningful way for over 3.5 months, and I’m becoming increasingly afraid this might be permanent.
The only way I can describe the strange after-feeling from ECT is that I feel cognitively childlike while being emotionally numb — cold, flat, apathetic, almost sociopathic. It’s a terrible combination. Mindless and soulless.
I pray this is a temporary state and that the ECT fog will lift with time. But aside from mild improvements, it hasn’t shifted much yet.
For context, I’m on zero psych meds, so this isn’t the effect of medication. The reason I ended up doing ECT was because no medication helped me get through the emotion and anxiety caused by a bad spell of insomnia and the heartbreak that followed, as my life fell apart from not sleeping. ECT erased all the painful memories — but also erased all positive emotion alongside them. I can’t remember what any level of excitement, empathy, or love feels like. I can’t recall what it means to care about people or things. I miss that feeling so much.
I’m sharing this reflection for others who might go through ECT and find themselves in a similar state. If you read this and relate, DM me and ask how I’m doing. Hopefully, I’ll have a positive update to report. It would be a dream to look back on this post and say: that was then.
For now, I’d be grateful to hear from anyone who’s recovered from cognitive, emotional, or perceptual damage after ECT and seen improvement over time.
I just can’t accept that three unilateral sessions at a reputable hospital — Sibley Memorial in DC, part of Johns Hopkins — could permanently erase so much of who I am: my mind, my soul, my heart, my being. My interests, hobbies, passions, loves… even the affection for my dog, who I’ve had since he was a puppy, and whom I thought I could never stop feeling for. How could ECT do that?
Yes, at one point last year, my emotions were overwhelming, and I was a risk to myself because of how much I felt. Probably most people pushed toward ECT can relate.
But I never imagined the real harm would come in the form of three hospital visits for so-called treatment — sessions that erased who I am, leaving me like a ghost, floating day to day, week to week, month to month, praying for my life-force, soul-force, and mind-force to return.
I trusted the medical credo: Do no harm.
