Dread. Overwhelm. Exhaustion. Anger. Sounds like the words of a hormonal, emotional teenager - and honestly, it's not an inaccurate description for me lately.
I went to my GP a few weeks ago to talk about my medication and get my prescriptions. I have come a long way from what I was taking three years ago, however, I'm still on a fairly high dose of a drug called Effexor (225mg a day). I completely understand my psychiatrist's decision to trial me on this medication at the time of my hospitalisation after I had Isaac - I was literally begging him to make the depression stop, in any way possible. Effexor can work faster than some other antidepressants, but far out - it has changed my brain a lot. One of the possible side effects is potentially causing high blood pressure, something that has been an issue for me since pregnancy. Long term, it was never intended that I stay on such a high dose anyway, so after talking with my GP and having my blood pressure tested (it was high), we decided I would drop from 225-150mg and book in for a 24 hour blood pressure monitor to see what was happening over the course of a day.
Well, I was expecting withdrawals, as I have with every other medication I have ever weaned from, but this has been pretty next level unpleasant...
Almost immediately, the physical discomfort started. Headaches, dizziness, nausea, feelings like my brain was being zapped by lightning, tingly skin sensations and hot flashes. It was unpleasant, definitely, but I was able to push through largely without too much disruption to my daily life. About a week and a half after lowering my dose, my mood/emotions took the hardest hits.
Waking up feels like a climbing my way through a thick fog of dread, like nothing will ever be OK again. I don't feel as depressed as I did when I was originally treated with PND, but it's close. I am so teary and impatient, irritable doesn't even begin to cover it. The smallest things annoy me beyond belief and trying to control this current irrational force feels nearly impossible. As usual, I started beating myself about it, obviously I'm too weak to do this, why have I let myself become so reliant on medication, why am I such a terrible person - the list goes on. I scheduled an earlier appointment with my psychologist and she helped me see that it's actually... wait for it... not my fault. Something I should know by now, and I consistently talk about these issues in the hope of normalising them and maybe helping someone else feel like they aren't alone/seek help. Why do I consistently treat myself as if I don't get to be counted in that cohort of people who are suffering and have every right to struggle with that? It makes no logical sense and is something I really need to work on. My psychologist showed me some pages from the book Your Drug Might Be Your Problem by David Cohen and Peter Breggin, and some parts that discuss Effexor describe exactly what I'm going through:
I need to be asking for more help right now. It's not forever, but in this season, at this moment, I need help. Professional and personal. Asking for help is hard, I get that. I feel bad even admitting that I need more help at the minute. It's not like life just stops when you are going through something like that, that's the problem. The society we live in is fast and busy and no matter how much I would like to push against that, and I do try - it's just not possible all the time. I still need to work and clean and cook and try my best to be a good Mum, all the while this internal battle is raging almost out of control. As usual I am incredibly grateful for Reid's support and my Mum - I hope I can help Isaac as much as she helps me one day.
The only way I am getting through this phase is constantly telling myself that it will get better. I will get through it. It's not going to be like this for the rest of my life (even though it feels like it at times).
I'm trying to take it easy when I can (whilst trying to shut up that internal voice telling me how pathetic I am and also when I can cope with the guilt). Things are dark at the minute, there is no sugar coating it, but I know that the light will be back soon. I see flashes of it when I look into my little boy's eyes and see his unconditional love for me - what a difficult, beautiful, soul-warming age he is at; he is so close to turning three and through all the struggles and tantrums and big emotions, he amazes me every day. He is my light. The darkness will end.
I went to my GP a few weeks ago to talk about my medication and get my prescriptions. I have come a long way from what I was taking three years ago, however, I'm still on a fairly high dose of a drug called Effexor (225mg a day). I completely understand my psychiatrist's decision to trial me on this medication at the time of my hospitalisation after I had Isaac - I was literally begging him to make the depression stop, in any way possible. Effexor can work faster than some other antidepressants, but far out - it has changed my brain a lot. One of the possible side effects is potentially causing high blood pressure, something that has been an issue for me since pregnancy. Long term, it was never intended that I stay on such a high dose anyway, so after talking with my GP and having my blood pressure tested (it was high), we decided I would drop from 225-150mg and book in for a 24 hour blood pressure monitor to see what was happening over the course of a day.
Well, I was expecting withdrawals, as I have with every other medication I have ever weaned from, but this has been pretty next level unpleasant...
Almost immediately, the physical discomfort started. Headaches, dizziness, nausea, feelings like my brain was being zapped by lightning, tingly skin sensations and hot flashes. It was unpleasant, definitely, but I was able to push through largely without too much disruption to my daily life. About a week and a half after lowering my dose, my mood/emotions took the hardest hits.
Waking up feels like a climbing my way through a thick fog of dread, like nothing will ever be OK again. I don't feel as depressed as I did when I was originally treated with PND, but it's close. I am so teary and impatient, irritable doesn't even begin to cover it. The smallest things annoy me beyond belief and trying to control this current irrational force feels nearly impossible. As usual, I started beating myself about it, obviously I'm too weak to do this, why have I let myself become so reliant on medication, why am I such a terrible person - the list goes on. I scheduled an earlier appointment with my psychologist and she helped me see that it's actually... wait for it... not my fault. Something I should know by now, and I consistently talk about these issues in the hope of normalising them and maybe helping someone else feel like they aren't alone/seek help. Why do I consistently treat myself as if I don't get to be counted in that cohort of people who are suffering and have every right to struggle with that? It makes no logical sense and is something I really need to work on. My psychologist showed me some pages from the book Your Drug Might Be Your Problem by David Cohen and Peter Breggin, and some parts that discuss Effexor describe exactly what I'm going through:
“Many patients become despondent, tearful and emotionally
unstable while trying to withdraw from these drugs. A large number suffer
from bizarre neurological disturbances such as shock-like pains in the head and
weird sensations in the skin. A significant number decide to resume
taking the drugs because the process of withdrawal feels too painful to
endure. Because this group of drugs can cause agitation and anxiety, they
can lead to the increased use of alcohol and other calming drugs.
Patients who take these drugs often experience flattened or dulled
feelings. Families report that they are less attentive, caring or
loving. Some patients become tired and sleepy, particularly on Effexor
and Zoloft. Especially when combined with other drugs that stimulate
serotonin, these drugs can produce serotonergic crises involving agitation,
delirium, muscle spasms, various neurological abnormalities and elevated body
temperature. They occur with both abrupt and more gradual withdrawal”.
I need to be asking for more help right now. It's not forever, but in this season, at this moment, I need help. Professional and personal. Asking for help is hard, I get that. I feel bad even admitting that I need more help at the minute. It's not like life just stops when you are going through something like that, that's the problem. The society we live in is fast and busy and no matter how much I would like to push against that, and I do try - it's just not possible all the time. I still need to work and clean and cook and try my best to be a good Mum, all the while this internal battle is raging almost out of control. As usual I am incredibly grateful for Reid's support and my Mum - I hope I can help Isaac as much as she helps me one day.
The only way I am getting through this phase is constantly telling myself that it will get better. I will get through it. It's not going to be like this for the rest of my life (even though it feels like it at times).
I'm trying to take it easy when I can (whilst trying to shut up that internal voice telling me how pathetic I am and also when I can cope with the guilt). Things are dark at the minute, there is no sugar coating it, but I know that the light will be back soon. I see flashes of it when I look into my little boy's eyes and see his unconditional love for me - what a difficult, beautiful, soul-warming age he is at; he is so close to turning three and through all the struggles and tantrums and big emotions, he amazes me every day. He is my light. The darkness will end.
Image from @rupikuar_ Instagram
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