The Best of Intentions Vs. The Vulcan Mind Fuck
Let’s be honest, publicly stating your intention to start a blog is easy. Following through with a second witty, well-written, and engaging post? Well – that’s the hard part isn’t it?
Here’s where I’m at…
Blank page? Check. Curser blinking? Check. Fingers happy to be back on the keyboard? Check. Words flowing like a river of liquid gold, or in my case, molten chocolate lava from a perfectly baked cake? Not so much.
As I write this, I’m going through withdrawals. And not the good kind. Like the – I’ve got the shakes because I haven’t had McDonald’s in a week – kind.
Nope. I had a keto-fied lettuce-wrapped Quarter Pounder with Cheese yesterday.
These brain zapping; tinnitus-amplifying withdrawal symptoms are definitely not the Golden Arches equivalent of a Happy Meal. More like the Arches are short-circuiting and experiencing sudden surges of electricity.
Picture that classic movie scene. Camera focused on the neon sign above the drive-in snack shack. You can hear the buzz. See the bright lights flicker. Then BAM. The power surges, and sparks fly. People scatter. Cover their heads. Run for safety. You get the idea.
Unfortunately, when your brain is withdrawing from Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors, or SSRIs for short, there’s nowhere to run to. Nowhere to hide.
At least not in my case. And sadly, I’ve been here, done this before. Multiple times.
The drug of choice this time around is Cymbalta (brand name) or, if you’re like me, and you get your prescriptions filled at Walmart, Duloxetine (generic name).
Why have I elected to stop taking the Duloxetine – without consulting my doctor – you ask? Good question and a great opportunity for a consumer warning. *Don’t be like me. Touch base with your medical expert if you’re thinking about any drug treatment changes.
Seriously. Consult your health guru.
In my case, the simple truth of the matter is…SSRIs don’t reduce the pain I feel on any level, and the side effects (nausea, dry-mouth, fatigue, diarrhea, constipation, dizziness, sweating, difficulty sleeping, dry hoo-ha and difficulty orgasming) are not worth increasing the amount I take to see if I might (might) benefit from popping more pills in a higher mind-fucking dose.
Errrch – brakes on. Did she say dry hoo-ha and difficulty orgasming?
YES. Yes, she did. And ain’t nobody got time for sex if there’s no promise of the big O at the end. Am I right? And this girl likes sex (so does her husband of 25 years).
She likes the big O even more. (She also likes her husband.)
So, the Cymbalta, like every other SSRI I’ve tried, has got to go. Buh-bye.
Any hoo-ha, moving on.
I was first (mostly self) diagnosed with Fibromyalgia in 1996. Or was it 1997? Honestly, I can’t remember. But man, getting that FMS diagnosis was everything.
EVERYTHING.
(My FMS and eventual Ankylosing Spondylitis diagnoses were both cluster fucks unto themselves, so if you’re still reading this, and you’re interested in more – stay tuned for future blog posts.)
Finally! A reason for the extreme fatigue and random flashes of pain I was experiencing daily.
I wasn’t a lazy new mom, unwilling to do it all. Work full time, cook, clean, keep baby alive, keep food in the fridge – oh, and – by the way, your garden needs weeding.
I wasn’t suffering from postpartum depression – which is a REAL thing – and something that was considered in my case, but the pain issues I was having didn’t fit the symptomology.
I wasn’t an all around bad person (this is where my brain goes because this is how my brain is hardwired).
Nope.
I had a syndrome. A medical condition with a name. The pain was real and not a figment of my overactive imagination. Hallefuckinglujah! Praise baby Jesus.
Now make it go away.
My first ever dance with SSRIs was with Effexor, prescribed to me by the Fibromyalgia specialist I was referred to. At that point, I would have ingested anything – ANYTHING – to feel better. To feel like myself. To feel normal. So that’s what I did.
I took an extremely high dose of Effexor daily for several years. Miss a pill. Miss a lot. Take the pill(s). Miss a lot. Basically, I was a walker before zombies were mainstream cool.
My husband, who is not Daryl Dixon (but who communicates with the same non-verbal pattern of grunts, groans, and militant facial expressions), none-the-less wanted to save me from my own personal zombie apocalypse, and so, he insisted I cut that Effexor shit out. (His words.)
My response included a lot of heartfelt F-bombs and desperate tears which eventually led to an acceptance that he was right and I was wrong. Not an easy thing to admit back then. Not an easy thing to admit today. (Thankfully, the he’s right, I’m wrong situation doesn’t come up often.) *Insert his narrow eyed/ throat grunt combination here.
Compared to my first prescription drug withdrawal, the low dose brain zaps I’m suffering now is a walk through knee-deep zombie guts compared to the high dose three-million volt live-wire surges I suffered back then. There were other withdrawal symptoms, too. Dizziness. Headache. Nausea. Vomiting. Irritability.
Irritability. SERIOUS IRRITABILITY.
I stayed away from SSRIs for several years after that, had a second beautiful baby boy while drug-free, and tried not to steak knife my husband in the heart every time he told me my pain issues were mind over matter.
He meant well. He truly did. It’s why he’s still alive today.
The thing is, I wasn’t taking responsibility for my own health during those early years. The FMS specialist told me to take Effexor, so I did. My husband told me to cut the pills, so I did. My body told me to move less, so I did. I drifted along in a sea of pain, occasionally asking my doctor for a magic pill that would make me skinny, happy, and pain free.
My doctor would laugh (because she thought I was being funny), and then prescribe another SSRI for me to try. The results? The same. No significant improvement in pain levels, and an eventual brain spasming withdrawl.
So why keep trying? Because, I’m still in pain. And the magic pill hasn’t been invented yet. At least, not that I’m aware of.
And to be clear, I’m not knocking SSRIs. If they work for you, sweet! I’d love to know more about your experience and successes, so please do share, and drop a comment or suggestion below.
Until the next blog – peace out pain sufferers.
Current pain level 8/10.
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