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# r-e-s-p-ECT
- URL: https://fessup.mymidnight.blog/r-e-s-p-ect/
- Published: 2026-04-18T16:01:22.000Z
- Updated: 2026-10-07T16:11:39.000Z
- Description: The treatment nobody really talks about.
- Author: Jerry Fess
- Tags: Newsletter, #Migrated-1791389245739, #Import 2026-10-07 11:10

I was in my early twenties when my therapist and psychiatrist sat across from me and suggested electroconvulsive therapy. I said, “Okay.”

That was the whole decision-making process.

![](https://cdn.mymidnight.blog/faafda66202d234463057972460c04f5/2026/10/67bf5e65-252d-4dfd-b9d8-1036755c1840_1024x1536.png)

No deep research dive. No second opinion. No cinematic pause where I weighed the pros and cons while staring out a rainy window. I was young, severely depressed, and out of options. So when the people with the degrees suggested something, I nodded.

When you’ve run through enough medication combinations to stock a pharmacy and you’re still drowning, “okay” starts sounding reasonable.

What I knew about ECT came mostly from movies, which was not exactly ideal. In my head it was *One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest*—people strapped down, screaming, being punished more than treated.

That wasn’t reality. But once an image gets in your head, it likes to stay there.

What scared me more than the procedure was the fact I had gotten to that point at all. That realization hit harder than anything.

To be fair to my doctors, they were honest. They explained how it worked, what the risks were, what side effects could happen. No sales pitch, no sugarcoating. I respected that then, and I respect it more now.

Back in the early 90s, ECT really was the last door in the hallway for treatment-resistant depression. No ketamine clinics. No psychedelic-assisted anything. If meds hadn’t worked and you were still in the hole, this was the next move.

So again: okay.

### What Actually Happens

Nobody explains this part well.

You get wheeled into a treatment room. There’s an anesthesiologist, a nurse, and your psychiatrist. It’s quiet. Clinical. Nothing like the movies.

The idea is to induce a seizure in a controlled setting—basically getting the brain to fire all at once in hopes of interrupting whatever malfunction is happening.

Think of it like rebooting a computer, except the computer is your brain and everyone in the room has very serious credentials.

They start the IV. Your psychiatrist places the electrodes. Mouth guard goes in. Then two injections: one to put you under, one to relax the muscles so you don’t injure yourself during the seizure.

![a black and white photo of a hospital bed](https://images.unsplash.com/photo-1689622267489-8bd2f71606a1?crop=entropy&cs=tinysrgb&fit=max&fm=jpg&ixid=M3wzMDAzMzh8MHwxfHNlYXJjaHwxOHx8eW91bmclMjBtYW4lMjBpbiUyMGElMjBob3NwaXRhbCUyMGJlZHxlbnwwfHx8fDE3NzY1Mjc3NzV8MA&ixlib=rb-4.1.0&q=80&w=1080)

Photo by [Sean Musil](https://unsplash.com/@seanmusil?ref=fessup.mymidnight.blog) on [Unsplash](https://unsplash.com/?ref=fessup.mymidnight.blog)

So no, not barbaric torture.

Still unsettling though. Just a different flavor of unsettling.

What I wasn’t prepared for was the moment right before the anesthesia kicked in.

Lying there. Wired up. Looking at the ceiling.

And being absolutely convinced they were going to hit the switch too early.

Totally irrational fear. Completely overwhelming. Every single time.

Then I’d wake up in recovery with a headache. Every single time.

They’d roll me back to my room, I’d rest, and a couple days later we’d do it again. I had somewhere between six and eight treatments.

Years later I learned that back then, six to eight was considered a full course. Later research showed some people need closer to fifteen before seeing real improvement.

So I didn’t quit early. I just got treated at a point where the science was still catching up.

### What It Took

The most talked-about side effect is memory loss, usually short-term.

Mine was... stranger.

I remembered the treatments. The rooms. The staff. The routine.

What got wiped were softer things.

Movies I’d seen. Certain conversations. How I met some of my closest friends.

I didn’t forget *them*. I knew exactly who they were. Loved them the same.

I just lost parts of the story of us. The origin story. The little connective tissue that makes relationships feel textured and alive.

Some of that never came back.

My ability to read music also slowed down for a while. I could still do it, just not at the speed I’d built over years.

Thankfully that returned.

What never left me was this:

Every time I woke up, my mom was sitting beside the bed.

Every single treatment.

I don’t remember being brought in. I don’t remember the lead-up. But I remember opening my eyes and seeing her there.

That memory stayed.

### What I Saw It Do

I’m not here to tell you ECT doesn’t work.

It absolutely can.

There was a woman on my floor who looked hollowed out by depression in a way that’s hard to describe unless you’ve seen it up close. Just flattened by it.

Over the course of her treatments, something changed.

Watching her come back felt like watching a dead flower turn toward sunlight.

I still think about her.

![](https://cdn.mymidnight.blog/faafda66202d234463057972460c04f5/2026/10/3bc00b08-fc24-4390-986f-b0d3ecc1c8bb_1024x1536.png)

### The Road Keeps Going

Treatment-resistant depression is exactly what it sounds like.

You try things.

Some don’t work. Some almost work. Some help but cost you something.

And you keep going, because what’s the alternative?

The good news is the hallway has more doors now than it used to.

Ketamine. *Spravato* (esketamine). Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation (TMS). New research. New approaches. Even studies looking at medications like GLP-1s like *Ozempic* that no one would’ve associated with depression years ago.

That matters.

I don’t regret doing ECT.

I regret needing it.

Those are two very different things.

Thirty-some years later, I’m still here.

Still learning. Still adapting. Still trying.

And honestly?

That counts.

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