Chemicals and me.
October 4, 2005When will I learn that I CANNOT DRINK COFFEE? I love it. I love the coffee. But I am a delicate flower who trembles uncontrollably after half a cup. HALF A CUP. Then I start to write in ALL CAPS.
This morning I had two caffeinated beverages. TWO. And OH MY GOD MY HEART. It can’t take it. I was out with my friend and our children were not there and we were so happy! So happy, and so drinky-drinky with the coffee! And now I am trying to find the right keys on this keyboard thing and it’s hard because my hands are a blur!
Speaking of chemicals in the body…
One year ago, the above-mentioned friend and I and both our children were standing on the corner, being neighborly, when two cars collided. We screamed at the sound of the crunching metal and screeching and then we ran out of the way when it looked like one of the cars was coming right for us. Then we stood there, trying to comfort our crying children, as everyone around us screamed and ran for help and we realized that the people in the cars—who were right there, the shattered glass was at our feet—were in bad shape.
But we were okay. We were safe. We backed away; we showed our children that the firemen and the ambulances were coming to help. We retreated to our homes to regroup and try to make sense of what happened.
That night my heart began to race. The next day it was still going at breakneck speed. My heart wouldn’t slow down; my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I jumped at every sound. I kept thinking about those cars. If I had been at the corner a second earlier, the car would have hit us. If my friend hadn’t been there, I might have been crossing the street. If, if, if. I began to think about how my son wasn’t safe here, living on this busy street. Who knows what would happen the next time we crossed it? Indeed—who knows what will happen, period? There was no way I could keep him safe! Ever! In life! Because life is unpredictable!
I began to think about death. As in, all the time. Death! It happens! No stopping it!
So I began to clean, all the time. Clean clean clean. The cleaning wasn’t really working at drowning out the constant worrying and crying, so I strapped on my iPod while I cleaned and wept and I tried to think about something, anything else.
When I couldn’t wear my iPod or clean, I read the dictionary. You think I’m kidding, don’t you? But the dictionary was the only thing I could read that didn’t depress me in some way, that didn’t bring up some intimation of death. Or life—which just leads to death, as we all know.
My husband told me to go to the doctor, and I was furious. You don’t get it, I shouted! We’re all going to die!
I felt like I was surrounded by the pod people; like I was the only one fighting off sleep so that they wouldn’t come and take my brain. I had to keep up my frantic pace of worrying and fretting and weeping and cleaning, or else.
Finally, when my parents had to come and take my child away for a couple of days so he could spend a few carefree moments not worrying why Mommy wouldn’t stop crying, I thought, hmm. Maybe a doctor isn’t such a bad idea.
The doctor took one look at me and said, ooh, hello, post-traumatic stress lady! You’re nuts! (She may not have said “nuts.” Maybe.) She prescribed two things: A breathing/meditation course, and an anti-anxiety drug. First I took the breathing/meditation course. Which, oh lord, was the silliest thing I have ever done, but the first night of that class? My heartrate went down for the first time, from around 150 (I had been obsessively checking it ever since it began racing) to 65.
Although the course worked wonders for me (I would be happy to share details about it with any of you, if you want to email me), she still wanted me on the medication. So I, the obedient patient, took it. I didn’t notice any dramatic changes, but then, I was already cured, or considered myself to be.
So now, a year later, we’ve both agreed that I should go off the medication, which happens to be Effexor.
Here’s the thing. Effexor has the worst withdrawal of any of these drugs. (Except we can’t call it “withdrawal”! It’s “discontinuation syndrome”!) I have taken it before, and I have gone off it before, and I know what can happen.
But because I’m on a minute dose (see above, re: “delicate flower”) my doctor won’t acknowledge that I will have any problems, or that I need to wean myself slowly. Even though going off this drug cold-turkey is a terrible idea, a surefire recipe for physical and emotional misery, she insists that this is what I should do. Even though all evidence points to her being a moron.
So! I am now going to wean myself. And in the interest of public service, I am going to document here my weaning process. (Not in painful detail, you understand. I will try not to bore you overly. )
I’m nervous, but ready. I know what to do. I have done the research, and I am cheaper than my doctor.
Here’s hoping no more cars crash around me in the meantime.
Reader Comments (140)
And you KNOW that I adore you and Henry and I am delighted that neither of you were squished and also that I am very pleased you've recovered from your PTSD and all of that, but when I am anxious/depressed it becomes very very important for me to sit very still and watch television. Not to clean. So, should you find yourself having a relapse, or something, please come over because my house is often quite dirty. Thanks. ;)
Earlier this year I went through cognitive-behavior therapy after a lifetime of PTSD (my traumatic event was when I was 4, and I'm almost 33). It's hard stuff, and I commend you for getting treatment so quickly. Good luck with the weaning. It can be rough, but it's brief.
Further, I am exactly the same about caffeine. In fact, that is part of the description for a personality type, a not so uncommon wiring, called the Highly Sensitive Person. I qualify, as does my son. Reading the website is great for self-validation: http://www.hsperson.com/
more coming in a non-publicish forum...
I don't know why doctors "pooh-pooh" the withdrawls from these kinds of drugs. I went off Paxil a number of years ago as per my doctor's orders and went batshit! I ended up in the emergency room needing to get a big-ass shot in the butt to make the world stop spinning. When I told her of my saga, she shrugged and declared that she had never heard of that.
So I agree to listen to your own body. Medical professionals are needed, but in the end we are the stewards of our health.
I love your blog and thank you for continuing to write it.
In fact, my own doctor recommended I wait to completely wean myself until spring. The longer hours of daylight supposedly help suppress the symptoms.
Best of luck. And please please please write a book soon. You've got a contract, yes, because there is justice and beauty in the universe?
BTW, I don't know how effexor comes but if it is an extended release or long lasting, etc., you may just want to check on whether it is safe to divide doses.
Let us know how it goes. I wish you well with it!
One Coke at lunch can keep me up til 4 a.m. LOL
((((Hugs)))) I hope the weaning will go gently for you. Anxiety really does suck.
OxycontinAvinzaHydrocodoneBaclofenCelebrexAmbienEffexor
He frequently forgets his pills or lets them run out and goes several days without one or the other. BY FAR the worst withdrawal is Effexor. And, some of those other ones ARE BASICALLY HEROIN!
Taper off! Taper off! Taper off!
You're right to wean yourself. Everything in moderation, even cessation.
To a smooth landing.
Finally, my doctor allowed as how the pharmacist could actually make up a liquid suspension of any medication, including this one. The suspension, measured out in a tiny syringe, allowed me to bring my dosage down at a very teensy, gradual rate -- believe it or not, 5 mg to 4 mg/day was the hardest step of all!
Just thought I would share.
I'm a fan of your blog... which effectively means I'm a fan of you. Which means I'm more sorry than I can say about the accident you witnessed and the feelings you've had to deal with since then. I also wish you... something... it's not luck you need... er, support and best wishes (?) in your withdrawal endeavor.
I've never taken Effexor and if anyone ever recommends it to me, I will proceed with extreme caution. In otherwords, things will have to be PRETTY bad for me to agree to take something like that... but my real point is that the only thing I've ever had to really withdraw from is cigarettes. And that was bad. Real bad. But I haven't smoked for more than four years now and I've become one of those horrible reformed smokers who think smoking is intolerably stinky and gross now.
Anyway, I'll be checking your blog frequently with my energy focused on you and your withdrawal.