detox
It's not fun, in fact it might just be the most traumatic experience of my life...
About 8 months ago, after moving across the country, beginning grad school, being away from my parents for the first time, oh, in my entire life...and starting a new relationship with a boy whom would later become my fiance'...I started taking Effexor. What's that, you ask? Effexor. It's a drug. A drug that I quickly became attached to. Dr. Matin prescribed the drug to me after a long list of failed attempts at finding an anti-depressant, anti-anxiety medication to suit me. If they didn't help the depression, they amped the anxiety. If they didn't amp the anxiety, they made the depression worse. It was frustrating and scary. So when Effexor walked into my life, balanced my depression and my anxiety, I fell in love. We were an inseparable pair. I have spent everyday of the last eight months with 150mg of Effexor running through my body with little side effects. I was grateful.
About three days ago, I went to my medical doctor and said that I would like to start weaning off of the Effexor. That I have definitely responded well to it but that I think I am doing well enough that I would like to taper myself off of the drug. She said that would be fine and she sent me home with 6 weeks worth of 75mg capsules (free of charge as I don't have health insurance and she's a kind woman) of my beloved Effexor.
About two days ago, I began my day with 75mg of Effexor, half of the dose I had become accustomed to. I went to work and went about my normal daily duties. About one day ago...I repeated the activities of the previous day...however, didn't quite get to all of my normal daily duties. At about 12 oclock noon, I started feeling a bit like I had been run over by an old, rusty dump truck. I wasn't able to move as quickly as usual and my muscles were achy. Then I started to feel nautious and a bit dizzy in the head. Before I knew it, I was bent over, heaving, howling with pain, and spewing ounces of yellow stuff that tasted worse than the worse thing I've ever tasted. Really. It was disgusting. I hadn't quite made it to the bathroom before the first rocket blew, so after my body cleansed itself to even the deepest crevices within, I had to go clean the yucky lemonade off the couch. But it wasn't really lemonade.
I felt a bit better for a few minutes. At this point, I was convinced I had the stomach flu as the kids I had been nannying for were recovering from the painful bug. I still had 4 more hours of work and decided to push through.
Twenty minutes later...I asked Sam (who is four years old) to get me a bowl from the kitchen. "Angewa? Are you going to thwoah up?" "Yes Sam. It's a possibility." His little legs ran rapidly into the kitchen and he came back with a plastic bowl from his little sister's play-kitchen. "Thank you, Sam," I say, as I head instead to the bathroom. Yes, more heaving, howling, growling, and lemonade. Only it wasn't lemonade.
At this point, I was hardly able to stand, sweat was dripping from my brow, and my eyes were bulging out of my head. I called Ed, my employer, and he said he'd be right home. I didn't feel as though I could drive under these conditions, so I called Bryan who said he'd be right over to pick me up.
Twenty minutes and a few cups of lemonade later (only it wasn't lemonade)...I was sitting in the front seat of Bryan's car, heading to my home sweet home with my home sweet bed. Following Bryan's recommendation, I had a 12oz plastic ziploc bag in my lap. The 12oz plastic ziploc bag came in quite handy...twice. Then we were home and I didn't need it anymore. I had the bushes...and the mail box...and the yard.
Bryan tucked me in my bed, with a large bowl for lemonade (only it wasn't lemonade), a bowl of ice chips, and my cell phone. He had to leave for a couple appointments. A few more lemonade rockets launched and finally, finally, I was able to fall asleep. Incredible as it was, I woke up 3 hours later feeling like a brand new woman! Life was grand. No more heaving or howling...no more rockets. I was cleansed.
Deciding I needed to refill my entirely empty self, I went into the kitchen for a drink. Standing wasn't as easy as sleeping and I started to feel queasy. I knew just the remedy! I'd take a nice, relaxing bubble bath.
Thanks to my roommate's Vanilla Bean bubble bath, I enjoyed a long, warm (not too hot) relaxing soak. Bored and wrinkly, I decided to get out. I stood up, reached for my towel, and...Oh crap. The room was spinning. My brain was shaking. My eyes were foggy. I just wanted my bed...my home sweet bed. I slowly got myself up the stairs and plunged into my bed. Only it wasn't as comforting as it had been just a few hours before. I was still shaking, now trembling. My brain hurt and my eyes hurt. I couldn't stop. Then I started crying. I'm scared. I'm nervous. I can't stop. I 'm crying and I can't breathe. My muscles are aching. Ow, my back hurts. Ow, it really hurts. It hurts when I breathe and I can't breathe. I can't stop crying. I'mmm having an anxiety attackkk...help, help. I'm all alone. Call someone. Call someone to come. I just want someone to hold me still. I can't stop shaking. Make it stop. I'm so scared. What's wrong with me? I'nm out of control...make it stop, please. I call my parents. They try to talk to me but can hardly understand through tears and yelps and sobs. I can't stop crying. I feel so out of control. My dad sings to me. My dad sings to me to calm me down. I'm scared. It hurts so bad. Please stop....
Two hours later, Bryan is over, rubbing my back and talking me through all that had happened. He called a nurse at his hospital and asked if this is a possible side-effect to dose changes of anti-depressants. She said yes.
In that time, I felt a bit of relief to hear her say that. I wasn't going crazy but my body was having some pretty severe chemical reactions...literally withdrawal symptoms from a drug. All I wanted was for it to stop. I wanted to take anything...I wanted to take another pill if it would fix the trembling, the tremors, and the pain. I wanted anything but to feel what I was feeling.
Then it dawned on me, this must be similar to what people in drug rehab facilities experience. I can't imagine though how much more intense depending on the drug. There were moments yesterday in the panic, that I wanted to die. That I just wanted everything to stop and I didn't care what it took for that to happen. It made me realize just how closely connected I am to those who deal with different addictions than my own...that I am but a few steps away from being right where they are. In this experience I've learned two things. One, don't mess with meds. Take them like you're told and don't screw with them. Two, have compassion for those who are so deep into their addictions that they feel hopeless. Be considerate but don't give up on them. The addictive cycle is maddening. The withdrawal symptoms are greater than any pain or anxiety we might could imagine. It is no wonder people go back.
About 8 months ago, after moving across the country, beginning grad school, being away from my parents for the first time, oh, in my entire life...and starting a new relationship with a boy whom would later become my fiance'...I started taking Effexor. What's that, you ask? Effexor. It's a drug. A drug that I quickly became attached to. Dr. Matin prescribed the drug to me after a long list of failed attempts at finding an anti-depressant, anti-anxiety medication to suit me. If they didn't help the depression, they amped the anxiety. If they didn't amp the anxiety, they made the depression worse. It was frustrating and scary. So when Effexor walked into my life, balanced my depression and my anxiety, I fell in love. We were an inseparable pair. I have spent everyday of the last eight months with 150mg of Effexor running through my body with little side effects. I was grateful.
About three days ago, I went to my medical doctor and said that I would like to start weaning off of the Effexor. That I have definitely responded well to it but that I think I am doing well enough that I would like to taper myself off of the drug. She said that would be fine and she sent me home with 6 weeks worth of 75mg capsules (free of charge as I don't have health insurance and she's a kind woman) of my beloved Effexor.
About two days ago, I began my day with 75mg of Effexor, half of the dose I had become accustomed to. I went to work and went about my normal daily duties. About one day ago...I repeated the activities of the previous day...however, didn't quite get to all of my normal daily duties. At about 12 oclock noon, I started feeling a bit like I had been run over by an old, rusty dump truck. I wasn't able to move as quickly as usual and my muscles were achy. Then I started to feel nautious and a bit dizzy in the head. Before I knew it, I was bent over, heaving, howling with pain, and spewing ounces of yellow stuff that tasted worse than the worse thing I've ever tasted. Really. It was disgusting. I hadn't quite made it to the bathroom before the first rocket blew, so after my body cleansed itself to even the deepest crevices within, I had to go clean the yucky lemonade off the couch. But it wasn't really lemonade.
I felt a bit better for a few minutes. At this point, I was convinced I had the stomach flu as the kids I had been nannying for were recovering from the painful bug. I still had 4 more hours of work and decided to push through.
Twenty minutes later...I asked Sam (who is four years old) to get me a bowl from the kitchen. "Angewa? Are you going to thwoah up?" "Yes Sam. It's a possibility." His little legs ran rapidly into the kitchen and he came back with a plastic bowl from his little sister's play-kitchen. "Thank you, Sam," I say, as I head instead to the bathroom. Yes, more heaving, howling, growling, and lemonade. Only it wasn't lemonade.
At this point, I was hardly able to stand, sweat was dripping from my brow, and my eyes were bulging out of my head. I called Ed, my employer, and he said he'd be right home. I didn't feel as though I could drive under these conditions, so I called Bryan who said he'd be right over to pick me up.
Twenty minutes and a few cups of lemonade later (only it wasn't lemonade)...I was sitting in the front seat of Bryan's car, heading to my home sweet home with my home sweet bed. Following Bryan's recommendation, I had a 12oz plastic ziploc bag in my lap. The 12oz plastic ziploc bag came in quite handy...twice. Then we were home and I didn't need it anymore. I had the bushes...and the mail box...and the yard.
Bryan tucked me in my bed, with a large bowl for lemonade (only it wasn't lemonade), a bowl of ice chips, and my cell phone. He had to leave for a couple appointments. A few more lemonade rockets launched and finally, finally, I was able to fall asleep. Incredible as it was, I woke up 3 hours later feeling like a brand new woman! Life was grand. No more heaving or howling...no more rockets. I was cleansed.
Deciding I needed to refill my entirely empty self, I went into the kitchen for a drink. Standing wasn't as easy as sleeping and I started to feel queasy. I knew just the remedy! I'd take a nice, relaxing bubble bath.
Thanks to my roommate's Vanilla Bean bubble bath, I enjoyed a long, warm (not too hot) relaxing soak. Bored and wrinkly, I decided to get out. I stood up, reached for my towel, and...Oh crap. The room was spinning. My brain was shaking. My eyes were foggy. I just wanted my bed...my home sweet bed. I slowly got myself up the stairs and plunged into my bed. Only it wasn't as comforting as it had been just a few hours before. I was still shaking, now trembling. My brain hurt and my eyes hurt. I couldn't stop. Then I started crying. I'm scared. I'm nervous. I can't stop. I 'm crying and I can't breathe. My muscles are aching. Ow, my back hurts. Ow, it really hurts. It hurts when I breathe and I can't breathe. I can't stop crying. I'mmm having an anxiety attackkk...help, help. I'm all alone. Call someone. Call someone to come. I just want someone to hold me still. I can't stop shaking. Make it stop. I'm so scared. What's wrong with me? I'nm out of control...make it stop, please. I call my parents. They try to talk to me but can hardly understand through tears and yelps and sobs. I can't stop crying. I feel so out of control. My dad sings to me. My dad sings to me to calm me down. I'm scared. It hurts so bad. Please stop....
Two hours later, Bryan is over, rubbing my back and talking me through all that had happened. He called a nurse at his hospital and asked if this is a possible side-effect to dose changes of anti-depressants. She said yes.
In that time, I felt a bit of relief to hear her say that. I wasn't going crazy but my body was having some pretty severe chemical reactions...literally withdrawal symptoms from a drug. All I wanted was for it to stop. I wanted to take anything...I wanted to take another pill if it would fix the trembling, the tremors, and the pain. I wanted anything but to feel what I was feeling.
Then it dawned on me, this must be similar to what people in drug rehab facilities experience. I can't imagine though how much more intense depending on the drug. There were moments yesterday in the panic, that I wanted to die. That I just wanted everything to stop and I didn't care what it took for that to happen. It made me realize just how closely connected I am to those who deal with different addictions than my own...that I am but a few steps away from being right where they are. In this experience I've learned two things. One, don't mess with meds. Take them like you're told and don't screw with them. Two, have compassion for those who are so deep into their addictions that they feel hopeless. Be considerate but don't give up on them. The addictive cycle is maddening. The withdrawal symptoms are greater than any pain or anxiety we might could imagine. It is no wonder people go back.
posted by angela | 4:40 PM
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