It’s been a while since I wrote a blog. I want to start blogging & vlogging more frequently – but my life has been a hot mess, to say the least. So, story-time!
Around October last year, things finally seemed to be falling back into place. I got a new job where I wasn’t going to be on the phones 24/7 with customers yelling at me for things I cannot control (that’s another blog post all of its own! #callcenterlifesucks!) I was struggling with my depression and anxiety – and the overall woes of Borderline Personality Disorder – but I had an appointment with a psychiatrist. Surely, he was going to up my very low-dose of Zoloft and Abilify to a dose that had worked well in the past.
But he didn’t.
Instead, the psychiatrist, knowing my diagnosis and cycling moods stated that he would like to put me on Effexor. I was hesitant, of course. My list of allergies to medications, especially psych and anti-seizure meds is long enough to fill a book, but the doctor assured me this would be a great option. He even laughed at me when I had returned and I told him I was so scared of an allergic reaction that I had a friend hang out with me after I took it.
This doctor KNEW I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder and that during a previous hospitalization it was even suspected that I might have Bipolar as well. He knew I suffered from GERD and have a history of ulcers and upper GI bleeding. He knew I had Lupus and often relied upon Motrin and other pain medications to cope with its symptoms. Nevertheless, he pushed this drug on me, without offering me much information other than, “make sure you take this drug at the same time every day. It’s very important you do that.”
When I picked up the drug, it had big, bold warnings telling me that it can induce episodes of mania and if you have Bipolar, you should make sure it’s definitely OK to be taking it. It also talked about the risk of upper GI bleeding, warning that I should stay away from Motrin and basically every other medication in existence.
The first few weeks, I thought the medication was working great. I had energy. I felt motivated. I could conquer the world! The only problem is, I’d come crashing down fast – what once may cause me to shed a few tears or spend a few hours in bed eating ice cream and listening to sad music, led me to be paralyzed in my bed, shaking, crying, self-harming, and battling suicidal ideations. Things that would lead me to self-harm in the past were things that pushed me straight to suicidal thoughts. Someone ignored me. First thought: I should walk over to Staples and grab a box cutter and slit my wrists. At the time I worked on the 5th floor of a building. During my lunch, I would often sit by the window and look down, wondering what it would be like if I could just jump out. There is a balcony on the 2nd floor that overlooks the 1st floor – obviously not far enough of a jump to kill me, but I thought about jumping a lot. At the same time, I was still cycling with my moods – so much more intensely than before, so much faster. I would be so motivated, so confident and sure of myself. And then I would fall apart.
I ended up hospitalized for suicidal ideation twice since I started Effexor. The last hospitalization, the doctor decided to increase the Effexor. I had an appointment with a new psychiatrist at that time, and when I met with him, I was at a loss. I was feeling this buzzing energy in my skin from the increased dose and I was sad and hopeless and I just couldn’t take it anymore. This new doctor asked me if my moods were cycling more often and what my symptoms are … and we determined that Effexor IS NOT the drug for me. Which should have been a relief, right? I get to stop the drug that has ruined my life in so many ways – my job, my friendships, myself…
But Effexor is a hard drug to stop. Most people struggle so much it takes them almost a year (at my dose) to stop. The doctor said at the minimum it would take 6 months. It hasn’t been 6 months, but I’ve lost my ability to function consistently and I begged him to taper me off faster. Even if the withdrawal symptoms were already hellish as is; sweats, chills, fevers, seizures, hypomania, delusions, anxiety, depression, insomnia, fatigue, etc. I am finally at the lowest dose. 37.5 mg immediate release. One more month – hopefully!
My days consist of me in bed, taking depression naps and curling in a ball when the delusions and anxiety hit. My thoughts don’t quite feel like my own. I feel out of place. And I am constantly telling myself to remember who I am and acknowledge these fears and symptoms for what they are – and they are NOT me.
I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t know the path I need to take right now. Somedays – or let’s be real, some ‘hours’ – I feel great! I think man, I’m really doing good! I am so much better now! But then it hits and I am frozen in bed, filled with a deep and dark sense of dread that is trying to consume my very soul. A loneliness I can’t explain. And the only thing that has carried me through this is prayer and trusting in my Heavenly Father even when my mind tells me he doesn’t exist or he doesn’t care. And trusting a part of myself that is far outside my mind and this human experience – a self that knows this is temporary even when it feels like it isn’t. Consoling myself and loving myself through this, because even when it seems the world has turned its back on me and when I’m in too dark of a place to feel the Spirit, I can still comfort myself. I can still hold myself and pick up the pieces so I can be ready to let God back in. To let others back in.
Serendipity Minds 