When Better Living Through Chemistry Goes Decidedly Wrong
Sunday, January 4, 2009 For a variety of reasons, I decided to give mood stabilizing pharmaceuticals another shot back in January 2006. If I am to be entirely honest, though, it was less of a decision and more of an unavoidable necessity after I spent an entire week alternately crying into a blanket, breaking out in hives, and being utterly unable to leave the apartment. I didn't have a psychiatrist at the time and it takes months on a waiting list to see one in my neck of the woods, so I went to my regular medical doctor and got a prescription for Celexa.
I don't recommend this method of dealing with psychological issues, because the doctor that swabs your tonsils is not a specialist in psychiatric conditions. I know people, including myself, who have been thrown into a whole new world of crazy after they were prescribed medication that was contraindicated either by their family history or the particular brand of off-kilter from which they were suffering. It is one thing to be deeply depressed with developing food issues; it is quite another thing to switch those out for cutting your arms with razor blades and talking to disembodied personalities who live in your closet. In short: your brain deserves someone who specializes in it, and you deserve not to suffer the sometimes negative consequences of taking medication inappropriate for your condition.
I mention this because I have a history with some psychiatric medications: after a year or more of feeling perfectly fine and decent due to a miraculousness normalization* through chemistry, that miraculous chemical normalization turns into the Hyde to its previous Dr. Jekyll. Suddenly and without warning, I start to have suicidal thoughts. They are funny things, these thoughts, because they don't have much in the way of emotion attached to them. For example, I will be doing dishes and feeling around under the suds for cutlery when the idea will occur that my being wrist-deep in warm water with a sharp knife right there creates a perfect moment for slashing my wrists. I don't really want to slash my wrists, and being alive isn't the worst thing that has ever happened to me, but there it all is being so very convenient, so why not? Needless to say, I don't do the dishes a whole lot.
At first, this thought process happens about once a week, but over time it increases in frequency until I am dealing with it several times a day. I'm not sad. I'm looking forward to projects I have yet to complete. I want to grow old with the Palinode and see what the future brings. It just also feels like such a normal idea to throw myself in front of that mail truck. Except that it's not such a normal idea, and I don't actually want to find myself under the tires of a vehicle.
This is where my recent decision to stop taking Celexa comes in. We had a good run, Celexa and I. I lived with it side-effect free for over a year-and-a-half before things got hinky, and that's pretty good, but since the beginning of August 2008, things have definitely been hinky. I did not want to go off it before having a psychiatrist secured, but I have been waiting to see one since the summer, and the psychiatrist who was supposed to see me in December cancelled until February 25th. I was not and am not going to wait until the end of February to talk to somebody about going off a medication that has been making me non-emotionally suicidal for seven months running, so I weighed the pros and cons, and here I go. I'm quitting.
My first full, official day off the medication was yesterday. I am fairly sensitive to being late for even a single dose, so it was a trip. I lucked out with feeling giddiness and an increased appetite, so I spent the day giggling and eating, but I doubt, from past experience, that that is how this whole weaning process will go. When I weaned myself off Paxil, for example, I ended up pushing all the furniture into the middle of the living room and watching patterns on the ceiling while I tried to figure out why I couldn't fit my legs between the coffee table and the sofa. I think am well prepared to deal with whatever my chemical malfunctions will throw at me with this round.
Imagine me pinching my nose, holding my breath, and throwing myself into the pool. Here I go.
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* I just want to make it clear that I don't believe in "normal". Normal is an idea that belongs in the great white vision of the new 1950s suburbia. When I refer to normal, I mean normal for me, which doesn't really exist, either, but it's easier to type than fifty pages explaining how I prefer to experience myself. That sounds dirtier than I intended. Masturbation porn would probably be more interesting, though.
Reader Comments (30)
Sweets, as someone who takes wee fistfuls of happy pills every day-um day, my hat is off to you. Fingers crossed that giggling and eating are the only things that happen during the changeup. Smooches, darlin'.
Thanks for writing this. Isn't if funny how mental illness can be funny? I have some dear friends who deal with depression, mental illness and what-not and it's hard to talk about it sometimes. Humor helps all of us realize we have to talk about it. I wrote a post about a cool group of people I volunteered with to help fight stigma, thought you might like to read: http://chubbymommyrunningclub.blogspot.com/2008/10/chubby-mommy-talks-about-depression.html Please keep us posted on your little chemical war journey!
The same thing happened to me when I began Prozac over 10 years ago...the suicidal thoughts, semi-hallucinations...none of the stuff I'd ever experienced even in my pre-medicated state.
I gave up the meds back then, and but for a few brief flirtations, I haven't been back.
Best of luck to you, and take care!
Good luck to you, sweet girl. I've been there a thousand times, myself.
Hope all goes well with the weaning process. If you need anything, just open your window and yell. :)
Despite what I have written about my brush with crazy, I'm not even ready to say out loud exactly how much I relate.
So, I'll just say good luck or break a lobe or whatever wishes for successful withdrawal are appropriate!
I wish I were brave enough to post this openly. I had a similar experience with Celexa, where all of a sudden it just stopped working. I have been off of it for 2 years, and recently toyed with the idea of taking it again, but don't wish to deal with the same things.
Good luck.
My family has a history of mental illness and we've lost a few members to suicide, all of which were on various pills. At 14 years old I realized that I did not want to follow that ancestral path and got myself onto a waiting list for a shrink. I was extremely fortunate, and the system may be different here in BC, and I got in right away. I stuck with her for 10 years, and have never had to touch a single pill.
What I'm saying is, I think the fact that you are choosing the psychiatrist route is very wise, and I wish you all the luck and good health while you wait to land one!
I am so glad that you're self-aware enough to realize that Celexa is doing this to you and you need to get off it. If you ever need to talk about the cool shapes the patterns on the ceiling are forming, you know you can call me anytime.
Good luck... I know how rough the transformation can be.
Why this looks like a perfectly luscious bridge to hurl one's vehicle from...
Whatdyaknow? I actually like doing dishes. If you need someone to wash up for ya, bring 'em on over!
Good for you for knowing yourself and your own body and acting for your own good. That's rarer than it should be.
Best wishes.
My excuse for not doing the dishes isn't even half that good.
But as someone who's taken a small array of meds for depression, with varying results, I understand. Wishing you the very best outcome from what you're doing.
understand what you mean about the suicidal thoughts. It's not like you want to but the thought of how convenient it would be just crosses your mind. Thanks for being so brave in your writing and writing what most of us cannot. I am keeping you in my thoughts.
I am proud of you, Schmutz. You will weather this storm, too
Thinking of you Schmutzie hoping for smoothness. Beautiful writing, as ever.
I'll be thinking of you during this...
fight the good fight, darlin'!
Soapbox moment: when you have a cold, they can usually see you that morning. When you have a "mental" disease, you have to wait weeks, sometimes months? WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS PICTURE?
Sorry, I'm back.
xo,
SL, who takes fistfuls of tiny pills daily.
You're in my thoughts.
Blessing and thoughts are with you. Hang in there, sister.
I have all kinds of smart ass comments (because that's just me), but I'm just going to say this.
Pulling for you. Still hoping to give you a hug someday.
Wishing you a smooth transition and a speedy Jan/Feb.
You're so very courageous. But I know how it is ... when you're through, you're through. This makes me think twice about the concept of "Universal Healthcare" that's been been bandied about here in the States. A little help by the appropriate professional would go a long way to help you. It really makes me mad that you can't get it. What you're doing is difficult; I'm sending good thoughts your way.
Robin
Robin, this has nothing to do with universal health care. Truth be told, the only reason I can afford a psychiatrist in the first place is because of the Canadian health care system. The problem here is that there is a horrible deficit of psychiatrists in this city. A different health care system would not fix that.
I'm thinking of you, babe. As another person on meds and in fact having problems getting my sleep meds (long story) I know how it goes. xoxo
You are so very brave. If I am even 4 hours late with my pill, I have an instant migraine and sound auras. I would be terrified to think of what I would be like without it at all. But, I am glad you are doing what you need to do for your own sake. Thinking of you and hoping the psychiatrist gets his or her ass in gear.
I'm glad to have read this too...having had my share of non-emotional suicidal thoughts. Sometimes when I take the lid off a can and I see that sharp edge I think "huh, could easily slice my wrist with this" or when driving and see a large semi truck "hmm...could drive straight into that truck..." - I'm not upset or sad - it's as you said an unemotional thought but if acted on would be tragic. I never do it but am glad I'm not alone with this randomness. It's infrequent (and I think tied in with PMS for me).
I've never heard anyone else describe what it is like to have non-emotional suicidal ideations before. I've also been there. Sometimes it is comical like, "Hm, what would it be like if I really did run the car into that brick wall?" except I guess that's not very funny. Good luck chica, I hope withdrawal goes well.
Yeah, this post scared the shit out of me. In a "I really need a shrink" way.
Dude, I am so calling the doctor tomorrow. And rock on with your bad self.