That's at the forefront of what I'm feeling. I don't know how this happened, or how I got here. I remember needing a doctors advice not to go back to work this August. I was still pretty stressed out about Bella's medical state and I had a health nurse say that I should talk to a doctor and go on short term disability in order to be home with her. She was needing medications three times a day - no daycare would have touched her, and I needed to be with her anyway. I was anxious about her. I was anxious about her relapsing. When I went to the doctor I told him I was struggling with anxiety but that I knew it was situational. I didn't think I had any kind of disorder, I just knew that I was pretty tense about her health and that I could see the effects of that in my day to day life and knew I would be a mess at work. I know this doctor. I go to church with him. I totally trusted his judgment on the topic at hand. He suggested medication. I balked. I didn't want to take pills. I didn't want to become addicted to something. He informed me that we would stay on a low dose, and that it was non-addictive. He mentioned that stopping it suddenly would produce undesirable side effects, as would missing a dose, but that it was not addictive. Semantics, I later found out. I noticed a change very quickly on a very low dose. I was happy with the results, and I felt like myself. The goal was to get me to 75mg and stay there for a few months, give myself time to relax, for things with Bella to go better. I was on half that and feeling pretty good. The trouble began when we got to 75 and I thought I would feel better than I did. I felt the same. Not worse but the same. He talked me into 150. The same. He talked me up to 300, which I now know is the highest dose I am able to be on without being hospitalized. I did not know that then.
I'm not clinically depressed. I haven't thought of suicide, or of drowning Bella in the tub. Never. After we hit 300 I said I still felt the same, still not sleeping well. The nightmares that I'd been experiencing before medication were still a problem. He told me it was possible I wasn't tolerant to the current drug, and perhaps we could try another. I was supposed to start the other drug and then wean off this one. That never happened. Until about a month ago, I found myself on the max dose of a pretty serious anti-depressant, and a high dose of another, which was sold to me as little more than a sleeping pill, also non-addictive.
I began to worry the first time I forgot to take a pill. I became so suddenly and so violently ill that I couldn't move. I couldn't turn my head without getting such dizziness that I thought I would pass out. I was home alone with Bella. I stumbled to the kitchen, ate a piece of bread that I kept down through sheer force of will and took my pills. I felt better within a couple hours, and luckily Bella went to bed.
Two months ago I told my doctor I wanted to go off the medication, and was more or less told no. It was said nicely, in good medical (and even biblical) jargon. If you don't stay on for at least nine months your risk of relapse is super high. I don't know why it didn't occur to me to ask, "relapse of what?" Bella is fine. She's doing great. The situation that was causing me anxiety has been lessened greatly. She's weaning off her medication beautifully so far. Why am I stuck on mine? He told me to come back in two months.
I'm starting to feel claustrophobic about these pills. I'm afraid to not take them because I get so sick. A month ago, when I refilled my prescription, the pharmacist gave me smaller pills. I knew I should take two, that it was the same amount of medication, but that other pill was staring me in the face and it upset me somehow. I didn't take it. Peter said I was nuts for doing it without a doctors consent. I couldn't have cared less. I cut my dose in half and found that I slept poorly and was unbelievably tense for a few days. I say "tense". Peter would say "furious". I still sleep worse, but don't feel as though I'm on a trigger switch to bite someone's head off. I haven't taken my original dose again.
Knowing that I was going to the doctor very soon to talk about coming off (nine months be damned) I started to research withdrawal symptoms online. I figured if missing a dose made me so sick, what on earth would not taking it do? I was nervous. Then I spent two days online, and I'm horrified.
What kind of poison am I pouring into my system? For what? I feel like I was put of chemotherapy for a paper cut. Chemo is necessary, it's good - if you have cancer. The possible benefit outweighs what the disease will do untreated. But I wasn't depressed. I was anxious about a situation and I wanted some extra time off work. I wish I'd left well enough alone. I should have stuck Bella with my mom and gone back to work. I should have made a visit with a psychologist. The few drop in visits I had helped me FAR more than this medicine has. We've never noticed a difference beyond the initial. I'd have been fine on 37mg. And now I'm on almost ten times that. The stories of people coming off this drug are horrific. People literally live on it for years because the withdrawals are so bad. And when they withdraw their doctors tell them it's their original depression returning, and so they go back on, and because the drug doesn't work as effectively after you've tried to come off, they go one more. Or add another.
I'm terrified. I look at those stupid bottles by my bed and they make me feel sick. They make me afraid. I see my doctor on Monday morning and I'm telling him that I am coming off. I'm done. I don't care what they say, or what happens, I'm not becoming more dependent on this than I already am. I'm so angry that I didn't research more when he handed me that first bottle. I'm astonished at how this has snowballed. I'm taking the medication of a severely clinically depressed person, just a few steps away from a psych ward. Unreal.
In the doctors defense, I approached him with a problem that he only had one answer to. They give out medication. I should have seen a psychologist. He never even recommended that I should. It's like I took my car to a plumber and expected a fix. I'm angry at myself for that.
There are so many stories like mine online. Stressful job, trouble sleeping: ten years later, still on meds and addicted to a host of them that have been taken to try and get off previous. I get that online is where I'm going to find the worst case scenario. I get that. I know it's not proportional, but there's SO MUCH of it. So many people who said they were told it wasn't addictive and believed it until they tried to quit. So many people who have asked how to come off to be told that they shouldn't.
In good news, I found a non-profit organization that combats withdrawals with natural supplements. They are INCREDIBLY well reviewed. They are founded by people who have been in much worse shape than I've ever been and by doctors who believe that antidepressants are being prescribed at a catastrophic rate, and often to people who do not need them. I'm calling them for a consultation later today. Then I'm going to the health food store. I'm considering stopping the one medication that I'm on a low dose for tonight. It's the weekend. Peter is home and starts day shifts now. We'll see what happens. I'm going to pray, eat well, and be really nice to myself. Peter's going to give me a wide berth (which I need, since one of the other side effects has been weight gain.) I'm going to try to sleep a lot and play with Bella and get outside. I'm going to get off this crap if it's the last thing I do.
Please, oh please, if you are reading this and are taking something for depression, I think that's great. If you have a doctor you trust and you've been through something horrible or you actually have a chemical imbalance in your brain, I think that these medications are good. I can testify that they work. I know people who have needed them and there is NO shame in that. I'm not one of those Christians that believes that every form of depression is spiritual and that doctors are evil and God will heal you if you're supposed to be healed. I don't believe that at all.
I just don't know how I got here. How anxiety over Bella turned into this. A couple of stupid panic attacks forever ago and I'm being treated like I'm practically psychotic. I'm angry. I feel bad for my doctor when I see him. I'm going to make Peter or my mom come with me. That'll keep me calm. I don't mistrust him per se, just don't understand why I'm here or how this happened and why he won't let me come off. He's going to give me a plan to come off on Monday or I'm going to find another doctor, and that's all there is to it. If I had read online what I know now, I would have never popped one pill. Never. And now it's been seven months. I guess we will see how it goes. Stupid. Stupid. I suppose, all this is to say, if you're considering going on medication of any kind, do a little research. See what you come up with, and under no circumstances be afraid to ask your doctor anything. Get a second or third opinion and don't be ashamed of that. At the end of the day, you still have to go home with you. And your myriad of pills. Blast and wretch.
I'm not clinically depressed. I haven't thought of suicide, or of drowning Bella in the tub. Never. After we hit 300 I said I still felt the same, still not sleeping well. The nightmares that I'd been experiencing before medication were still a problem. He told me it was possible I wasn't tolerant to the current drug, and perhaps we could try another. I was supposed to start the other drug and then wean off this one. That never happened. Until about a month ago, I found myself on the max dose of a pretty serious anti-depressant, and a high dose of another, which was sold to me as little more than a sleeping pill, also non-addictive.
I began to worry the first time I forgot to take a pill. I became so suddenly and so violently ill that I couldn't move. I couldn't turn my head without getting such dizziness that I thought I would pass out. I was home alone with Bella. I stumbled to the kitchen, ate a piece of bread that I kept down through sheer force of will and took my pills. I felt better within a couple hours, and luckily Bella went to bed.
Two months ago I told my doctor I wanted to go off the medication, and was more or less told no. It was said nicely, in good medical (and even biblical) jargon. If you don't stay on for at least nine months your risk of relapse is super high. I don't know why it didn't occur to me to ask, "relapse of what?" Bella is fine. She's doing great. The situation that was causing me anxiety has been lessened greatly. She's weaning off her medication beautifully so far. Why am I stuck on mine? He told me to come back in two months.
I'm starting to feel claustrophobic about these pills. I'm afraid to not take them because I get so sick. A month ago, when I refilled my prescription, the pharmacist gave me smaller pills. I knew I should take two, that it was the same amount of medication, but that other pill was staring me in the face and it upset me somehow. I didn't take it. Peter said I was nuts for doing it without a doctors consent. I couldn't have cared less. I cut my dose in half and found that I slept poorly and was unbelievably tense for a few days. I say "tense". Peter would say "furious". I still sleep worse, but don't feel as though I'm on a trigger switch to bite someone's head off. I haven't taken my original dose again.
Knowing that I was going to the doctor very soon to talk about coming off (nine months be damned) I started to research withdrawal symptoms online. I figured if missing a dose made me so sick, what on earth would not taking it do? I was nervous. Then I spent two days online, and I'm horrified.
What kind of poison am I pouring into my system? For what? I feel like I was put of chemotherapy for a paper cut. Chemo is necessary, it's good - if you have cancer. The possible benefit outweighs what the disease will do untreated. But I wasn't depressed. I was anxious about a situation and I wanted some extra time off work. I wish I'd left well enough alone. I should have stuck Bella with my mom and gone back to work. I should have made a visit with a psychologist. The few drop in visits I had helped me FAR more than this medicine has. We've never noticed a difference beyond the initial. I'd have been fine on 37mg. And now I'm on almost ten times that. The stories of people coming off this drug are horrific. People literally live on it for years because the withdrawals are so bad. And when they withdraw their doctors tell them it's their original depression returning, and so they go back on, and because the drug doesn't work as effectively after you've tried to come off, they go one more. Or add another.
I'm terrified. I look at those stupid bottles by my bed and they make me feel sick. They make me afraid. I see my doctor on Monday morning and I'm telling him that I am coming off. I'm done. I don't care what they say, or what happens, I'm not becoming more dependent on this than I already am. I'm so angry that I didn't research more when he handed me that first bottle. I'm astonished at how this has snowballed. I'm taking the medication of a severely clinically depressed person, just a few steps away from a psych ward. Unreal.
In the doctors defense, I approached him with a problem that he only had one answer to. They give out medication. I should have seen a psychologist. He never even recommended that I should. It's like I took my car to a plumber and expected a fix. I'm angry at myself for that.
There are so many stories like mine online. Stressful job, trouble sleeping: ten years later, still on meds and addicted to a host of them that have been taken to try and get off previous. I get that online is where I'm going to find the worst case scenario. I get that. I know it's not proportional, but there's SO MUCH of it. So many people who said they were told it wasn't addictive and believed it until they tried to quit. So many people who have asked how to come off to be told that they shouldn't.
In good news, I found a non-profit organization that combats withdrawals with natural supplements. They are INCREDIBLY well reviewed. They are founded by people who have been in much worse shape than I've ever been and by doctors who believe that antidepressants are being prescribed at a catastrophic rate, and often to people who do not need them. I'm calling them for a consultation later today. Then I'm going to the health food store. I'm considering stopping the one medication that I'm on a low dose for tonight. It's the weekend. Peter is home and starts day shifts now. We'll see what happens. I'm going to pray, eat well, and be really nice to myself. Peter's going to give me a wide berth (which I need, since one of the other side effects has been weight gain.) I'm going to try to sleep a lot and play with Bella and get outside. I'm going to get off this crap if it's the last thing I do.
Please, oh please, if you are reading this and are taking something for depression, I think that's great. If you have a doctor you trust and you've been through something horrible or you actually have a chemical imbalance in your brain, I think that these medications are good. I can testify that they work. I know people who have needed them and there is NO shame in that. I'm not one of those Christians that believes that every form of depression is spiritual and that doctors are evil and God will heal you if you're supposed to be healed. I don't believe that at all.
I just don't know how I got here. How anxiety over Bella turned into this. A couple of stupid panic attacks forever ago and I'm being treated like I'm practically psychotic. I'm angry. I feel bad for my doctor when I see him. I'm going to make Peter or my mom come with me. That'll keep me calm. I don't mistrust him per se, just don't understand why I'm here or how this happened and why he won't let me come off. He's going to give me a plan to come off on Monday or I'm going to find another doctor, and that's all there is to it. If I had read online what I know now, I would have never popped one pill. Never. And now it's been seven months. I guess we will see how it goes. Stupid. Stupid. I suppose, all this is to say, if you're considering going on medication of any kind, do a little research. See what you come up with, and under no circumstances be afraid to ask your doctor anything. Get a second or third opinion and don't be ashamed of that. At the end of the day, you still have to go home with you. And your myriad of pills. Blast and wretch.
4:31 PM
Wow. Just wow. My goodness, Melanie! I can't believe that. Someone that you knew from church? I am really just astounded. I am so sorry that this happened. I am proud of you, too. And now, after reading this, I am so glad that Kyle was so concerned and not wanting me to go on meds. If there's anything I can do, let me know!
5:47 PM
Thanks Carrie. I'm pretty horrified myself. I talked to the non-profit group. The amount of serotonin in my system is enough to land me in the hospital. She said I shouldn't even eat any food that will convert to it - brain foods - I'm at a high risk for serotonin syndrome which is potentially life threatening. I'm starting the weaning process under very close guidance and supervision right away.
Everyone around me seems super happy - I guess I haven't really been myself, I didn't really notice, but some of the things they say I've said in the last few weeks are pretty astonishing. Ugh. I'm sad, and disgusted, and angry. Anyway.
9:23 AM
It was the last couple of chapters in my intro psych text book that we covered at the end of this most recent semester that discussed Psychological Illness and Treatments, and it was kinda astonishing learning just how much they don't know... but it was really interesting to read that they have done direct comparisons of Counseling vs Drugs treatments, down to doing brain scans regularly as well as everything thing else to score the results and they found that Counseling caused the same brain changes and helped people just as well (or better) than the drugs in most cases. So that was neat to learn... And other times it's totally other problems and people do get put on meds, and end up on max doses, and on it for years, and then they get a new doctor because of a weight issue, and turns out that the doctor, by asking one little question (do you snore?) and all of a sudden the whole problem of exhaustion, feeling down everything was because they had sleep apnea, and weren't getting proper sleep. And it took that person a long while to get off everything, and all she had needed was a sleep-apnea sleeping apparatus, and now she's great. But oh no, her symptoms, combined with a bout of cancer earlier, and she must be depressed or something! Poor doctors, esp. General Practitioners, have to cover Soooo much and can't know everything, and it just depends on their slight speciality or something they cover a lot (in this case, overweight patients) as to how they will see the problem. Even specialists... there's a kind of a joke that if you took one specific case and showed it to all the specialists, they'd each find a diagnosis that related to their specialty, and you'd get a whack load of diagnoses. It's something I'm kinda worried about, going into Vet Med.... I have to know several species, not just one, and am worried about messing up... but luckily I will hopefully be sensitive to God, and seeing as He created everything, He should know all about them and give me some help :D Anyhow, yikes, what an experience. But I know you made it through everything OK, and having had that experience should give you power to pray and speak into this area for others, as well as hopefully help others be educated in this. *Hugs*