The light at the end of the Crazy Tunnel.
I’m now on 20 granules of Effexor. That’s 7.5 mg—one-fifth of the eensy “starter dosage” I had been on for a year. I mean, I’m guessing it’s 7.5; each globulette is a different size, so for all I know I’m hitting my poor brain with a new dosage each day. Nonetheless, I forge ahead, carefully counting out the bouncy little drug-nubbins as they scatter hither and yon. I pretend I’m a scientist!
I’m feeling vaguely achy and nauseated, but I can live with it. The real problem right now is that I am as emotionally fragile as I have ever been in my life, and that’s saying a lot. On a good day, I’m overly sensitive. Me, I cry a lot. I’ve cried everywhere you really don’t want to cry; at dinner parties, in front of my boss. On a first date. What can I say! I’m a crier!
But these past few days—yeeuuulff. Whatever lightweight emotional armor I ever had has now been sloughed off. I’m crying at commercials. I sobbed watching VH-1’s “I Love the ‘80s.” I choked up when Henry cried because he couldn’t find his good Stormtrooper. I wept at about 30 different comments uttered by my baffled husband. My face is all puffy.
I’m not feeling sad, really. It’s more like I have these tiny buckets right behind my eyes, and they’re perched on two rickety stools, and there’s an even tinier, grumpy gnome storming around the stools, occasionally kicking them and sloshing some water out through my eyes all over my face.
So: I may be weepy, but I’m still capable of inventing a breathtaking analogy. Art triumphs over despair yet again. Huzzah!










November 6, 2005
Reader Comments (59)
As if it does any good--I'm still crying in the bathrooms because I suddenly remembered that commercial where the dad slips a note under his daughter's door after she's moved into her first apartment. Oh god, you'll have to excuse me....
...i think you should name him Boris.
though your withdrawl has been a much slower one, i am still humbled before you; a stronger woman than i.
I've taught myself a trick to help stop getting all verklempt in public. When I feel the sting of tears beginning, I think about a recipe. I go through the recipe ingredient by ingredient and imagine myself adding it to the dish. The thought of doing something so mundane helps me get off the cry wagon. Some days I mentally make my mom's spaghetti over and over and over, but at least I don't make a scene or get too blotchy. :)
My best wishes for you while you endure the weening period.
Good luck, and keep a travel pack of Kleenex with you.
I have always been a cryer (crap, I mean crier because I am not related to Jon at all). Always. Cat food commercials. Long Distance Commercials. Folgers commercials (stupid kid coming home from college).
And previews. Oh my God. You know that stupid movie Dreamer? No desire to see it. None. But I actually sobbed through the preview. Why? No clue. But previews about horses make me cry. I don't even really like horses that much!
And my friends laugh at me when I try to explain why I cried all the way through the last half of "Troy" because I don't like it when people die. Yeah. It's a movie about war. Brilliant.
So, as you can see, I won't be going off the Effexor, oh, ever.