I’ve had chronic anxiety my entire life and until recently, trying to stay “present in my body” was a faraway concept I thought people made up experiencing, like synesthesia or something. Just kidding. (Kinda.)
But I would be damned if I didn’t try, and I would do almost anything to Grab Life By the Horns™ and Live it To The Fullest™ and be my Full, Unbridled, Authentic Self™ .
So I spent 10+ years trying every kind of method that promised to put me back in my body. These ranged from traditional to far out, including but not limited to: dancing naked with a snake in front of 20+ people to heal my body shame, studying with an old witch isolated in the mountains who would scream at me daily, EMDR, somatic therapy, Tantra, etc., etc.
Some of it was helpful. The snake was super healing and taught me what it was like to actually feel beauty. The old witch taught me what checking out even was because I wasn’t even aware of when it happened. Tantra made me relate to my body in a way I never even knew to consider, helping it feel like a home. And therapy gave me some great coping skills and understanding of why humans are the way they are.
But regardless of all of this, everything in nature is cyclical, including life itself and my relationship to it. And last year, life kept trying to bring me to my knees but I absolutely fully fucking resisted going down. Not this time, motherfucker. And I am tenacious, if nothing else. I didn’t feel like facing the loss I’ve been experiencing – friendships, my sense of purpose, a chronic illness, faith. I had just gone through the whole dark night of the soul song and dance like, a year prior and got to what I thought was the other side.
By November, I realized I had no sense of excitement for the present or the future, and I was completely self isolating, avoiding any attempt at connection. Days blended together. I was working or scrolling my life away on TikTok listening to yet another person cry about their bad haircut or something.
My past self would have either drank something out of a big plastic fake syringe at a club where the DJ would yell at me in that very distinct voice to “put my fucking hands up” (which I never did cause I hate when people tell me what to do). Or go to some uber-spiritual workshop where I’d force myself to have an eye-gazing session with some guy who breathed on me too much. But I’m grown now, I don’t force myself into sucking down overly sweet shots or forcing really weird forms of intimacy with men to try and feel something again.
This time was different, I knew what to do to get out of this. I taught this when I was priestessing – I needed to come back to my body if I wanted to feel alive again.
But my body was covered in eczema and I had migraines for the first time in my life. And I wasn’t running from sadness or anger. Sadness I could deal with and anger I kinda love when I channel it right. I felt bitter and jaded. Absolutely not.
So I did what any wise, curious-but-impatient soul in the modern age would do: I went on the biohacking subreddit to figure my shit out.
I ended up extensively researching stellate ganglion blocks, or dual sympathetic blocks. It. Was. Perfect. Just two shots that go into your neck that resets your nervous system so that you can almost instantly heal anxiety and PTSD. It seemed like the perfect first step, like doing a cleanse for your nervous system. I went into the deepest Reddit portals and all over the internet and really didn’t find a single negative thing about this shot. So many people have benefited greatly from it and it really helped them with PTSD.
I found a place in NYC that offers them, so I booked my appointment, and off I went for a consultation. A few questions and a quick 15 minutes later, I was approved!! I was told by the nurse it was a 20-minute procedure that I could get same day if I wanted, and I could choose if I wanted to go under or not (Red flag #1). I was told the doctor does multiple appointments per day, all in a tone that sounded like she was describing a quick easy piercing.
Something in my gut was telling me it was off, so I said I’ll wait a few days and let them know. But, I thought on my way walking home, I know the body rejects the exact thing it needs to break out of patterns. If my body’s homeostasis is discomfort and anxiety, any approach to break it will trigger that response. The body doesn’t like change. You’re stronger than this, Ferlise! Get it together – overcome your fear and get the damn shot!
A few days later, I was power walking to my appointment. Through the doors of the clinic, I was greeted by artificial warm light and the smell of spaghetti for some reason. My palms were sweaty. Knees weak. Vomit on my sweater already. Just kidding. I can do hard things or whatever I reminded myself. I chose to not go under because I’d much rather feel scared and see a huge ass needle in my neck than wake up nauseous from anesthesia.
After confirming that I was going to raw dog it, I was led to the back area where I laid on what looks like a dentist chair and the doctor I met was there with a sonogram machine in his hand. The spaghetti smell was even stronger back here, but I kinda liked it.
I laid down and he pressed the sonogram directly in the front pit of my neck, and the sweetest nurse ever introduced herself. “I’m going to be with you during this! I’m going to hold your hand and not let go!”
“Human touchhhhhh!” A choir of angels belted at once as a light radiated around her hand clasping mine.
I felt the first shot go into my neck slowly and I took a sharp inhale. It was fine, I’m fine… the only part that was starting to kinda get to me was that sonogram thing pressing into my throat. It felt like I was being choked – and not in a kinky fun way.
“You’re doing great, Annie” the sweetest nurse with the long dark hair said. But I was actually chillin’ and even more supercharged with chillness due to the sweet validation she kept giving me which could easily carry me through the 7th circle of hell with a smile on my face, even if my name is pronounced wrong.
Yes, I was good.
Until my soul started to form into a ball in my chest and rise to my head and start to fall out of my skull.
I can’t describe this any other way. It felt like my soul. Was falling. Out the top. Of my fucking skull.
From what I could tell, I started to wildly flail – I think I was trying to grab on to something. I reached for the light above me, then the nurse, I think? But I could see my right arm slapping the shit out of this amazing person and I had no say over any of it. I saw her hair going everywhere and getting all messed up as I was trying to grab on to her (punch and slap her). I was wearing a maroon mini slip dress and my legs were everywhere, I had a huge ass needle in my neck and I was jolting and flailing almost off the chair. I couldn't tell if I was screaming or not, but it felt like I was. And not in a horror movie way, it was more like that noise from that viral video of the lady on the news stomping grapes and falling.
Next, I only heard what could best be described as one of those crystal healing sound bowls playing from the center of my brain. Going in one ear, and then the other, side by side.
WOOMMPPPP *deafening silence* WOMMMMPPPPPPP *deafening silence* WOMMMMPPPPPPP
I couldn’t hear anything else. I think I was still yelling if I ever was to begin with, because it felt like everything was straining so hard all my vessels were going to pop. I couldn't see anymore. I just remember seeing that dentist looking light above my face and then what looked like a really bad iMovie transition of a black screen swiping upward then nothing.
And then, it stopped. I didn’t know how much time had passed, or what the ever living fuck had just happened. I could hear now. I was covered in sweat and felt this really specific kind of nausea mixed with panic, confusion, and shame as I was practically spread eagle in my stupid dress and I beat the fuck out of the sweetest nurse who was now holding my hand so close and tight and reassuring that I was safe. The doctor scurried out of the room.
I wanted to say something. I didn’t know how to and everything felt so loud, like in a low budget indie movie showing a POV shot of someone all drugged out. Come on, Ani, say “I’m so sorry” or “is this normal” or something. Instead, I had no control of what came out of my mouth. I’ve never spoken something out loud that wasn’t a thought before, but I made my own self jump by hearing my voice say “is there blood?” That was actually a great question, but my brain didn’t think of it.
“No blood, no no no, you’re okay Annie, you’re okay Annie.” the sweet nurse said. And at the time I was too fucked up to even relate that to the Michael Jackson song.
I suddenly zapped into control. “I’m so embarrassed, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?? I’m so sorry. Am I okay?? I’m so sorry. I’m so embarrassed.”
The sweet nurse, still holding my hand, said it was completely normal and she’s seen worse, and that the doctor would be in the integration area in a bit to assess if it worked.
She also told me that I didn’t even get the full two shots. I hate when my body isn’t as strong willed as my mind. I am not a little bitch!
I was carefully held/walked to the dimly lit “integration area” leaning against the wall and walking like a newborn baby deer with placenta still on it (I was like..really sweaty for real). I had tunnel vision as I literally went through a tunnel to the dimly lit room with more dentist chairs, but in a zen way, because there was ambient music and blankets.
The doctor came in. My right eye was drooping, which, he informed me, means the shot worked. He was skittish, backing up and stuttering over his words, but maybe that was my brain still being weird.
I can’t believe I didn’t listen to my gut again. Why is it so easy to override my intuition and it feels so true every fucking time? How is it that I can spin every single red flag I see into a red flag about me that I have to overcome? I felt like an idiot. I knew I shouldn’t have done this.
I stood up. I was drenched in sweat still. I was going to puke. NO, bitch. You already flashed them and fought them, do NOT throw up on their shit.
The sheer threat of humiliation via puking or passing out and causing a further scene gave me the dose of adrenaline I needed to get the fuck out of there. So I made my way through the dimly lit room, down the artificially lit hallway, the spaghetti smell almost destroying me as I was heading toward the exit. I felt like I was army crawling away from the trenches, my hand outstretched and shaking, the light letting me know I’m close to sweet, fresh NYC air, just a few…more…step–
“Ma’am – you can check out right here”
Defeated, I army crawled back and sat as I handed off my debit card. A hefty price tag and my dignity later, the nurse walked me out and helped me to an Uber. The second I got home, I started hysterically crying. I laid on the floor, and was shaking, sobbing big globby tears that gathered by my ears.
I cried all night. I cried about farmers picking up pigs to have them see the stars for the first time because they can’t look up like that apparently. I cried about picturing my dog Anoush seeing Christmas lights. I cried thinking of my dad dying. I cried about the stuff I probably should have cried about before, but stuffed down because I really just didn’t feel like it.
I don’t know if it was the shot, the shame, or the seizure thing – but I released some shit through my sobbing. I am not usually a big cryer when it comes to things that aren’t art or corny surprise homecoming hopecore videos or something, and it was clearly long overdue.
Did I need to get a shot that made me feel like the Grim Reaper was going to pick me up and carry me away from the clinic while “Up Where We Belong” plays, a la Richard Gere and Debra Winger in the last scene in An Officer and a Gentleman? I’m gonna say no. I do not need a shot to do a basic human function. But I’m not saying it was entirely useless either.
I don’t know why it had to take me feeling completely out of control with my body to remember what it felt like to start to come back into it. I had to fight like hell to not freak the fuck out if someone even so much as looked at my neck, nevermind touched it at all for like, weeks. So In that sense, it did work I guess. It did what I wanted it to do — got me to do the stuff I know works for me. Just in the weirdest possible way.
Now go on and feel your feelings and trust yourself and learn from this because Lord knows I’m probably not gonna based on my track record.
Upon further research, I found like three other people documented to have this kind of reaction. But the overwhelming majority really benefited. So was my reaction normal like they said? If anyone knows what the fuck happened to me or has experienced anything like it, with or without the shot, let me know. Also, if you’ve had any experience with getting the shot I wanna know about it, along with any other methods, tips, or experiences that help ease anxiety and PTSD!
I cannot imagine willingly getting a shot in the neck, and certainly not doing so while awake. You're far braver than I.
Wow, just WOW. Ani, I admire your desire to acknowledge your doubts about something but push through anyway. That, to me, is freedom.