So in an effort to shake things up and “see” what exactly is going on with which med I decided I’d take 60mg Cymbalta after lunch when I had a bit of food on my stomach. What happened was….my heart is racing, my brain is racing, and I am so anxious I am jumping at every sound. (In spite of a dose of Xanax.) Now I checked a message board and supposedly this anxiety is an initial side effect of Cymbalta. Problem is…I’ve been at 120mg for almost three months now. I have not added the 20mg Prozac today since I am already so anxious I am breaking out in hives.
I can handle the usual suspects when it comes to psych med side effects- nausea, lethargy, hypomanic brain jolts, stomach problems et al…
But heightened anxiety, after being on it this long, is unacceptable. All these months of being so depressed yet also anxious could be the medication doing it rather than making me feel better. It’s pointless to take Xanax if your anti depressant makes you jump out of your skin. I dismissed it initially as a high dose thus ya know, brief hypomanic brain jolt. Not the worst thing for someone plagued with low energy and lethargy.
Of course, I am going to go in and talk to the doctor and I predict he will be utterly dismissive, tell me I am imagining it (kind of like his disbelief that Latuda made me suicidal and yet, it did the same to others, we must all be pathological conspiratorial liars) and not want to change a thing. I mean, I’m out of bed and functioning, right, all good here.
Except for that utter lack of joy in most everything, the paranoia, the hives from anxiety, and all around being a trainwreck.
My biggest ally is going to be having him check my old file from when I was seeing Dr M, the ONLY doctor under whose care I made any true progress in. (she left town, of course, after her two year podunk rotation was done.) If I did well on her regime with no anti depressants, maybe I just need to suck up the lethargy and weight gain issues. So I’m gonna be depressed every fall/winter, so long as I can keep some clarity and minimal functionality…
It may be take what I can get. IF I can get him on board. Because I know he’s staunch in his “you’re not manic so there’s no need to change the Lamictal.” Agreed, I like Lamitcal and its few side effects. But as he is so fond of pointing out how I have “tried everything” maybe lowering the Lamictal and adding the Lithium while weaning off the anti depressants is what is needed. Hell, I might not even need a secondary med outside of the seasonal.
So frustrating. I am taking these meds trying to get better and I think they may be contributing to making me worse. WTF, people. If it makes my anxiety worse and anxiety is a huge crippling condition for me…it shouldn’t be a fight to get rid of that. Yet with this doctor…it’s gonna be like treating a conscious gator for a tooth problem.
Oh, and the icing on today’s cake of “too fucking weirded out and wired to move off the bed”…I talked to my father on the phone and he started in on all the places they took my kid and got her lunch and they went and got her glasses fixed (cos ya know, I did that last weekend and the weekend before but since I couldn’t keep up and didn’t do it this one time, I am a shit mom.) They bought her this and that, she played with the dog, they want her next weekend again cos of the church program rehearsal…Then from nowhere he launches into me about “what are you gonna do about the insurance on the car? Your mother’s been paying it…”
First off, I’m gonna need the two hundred twenty bucks to transfer the car to my name. Then yes, I will need insurance and since mine lapsed when the Not so Grand Am blew up, it is gonna be a bitch I am sure. But that’s neither here nor there, not his business, not his problem, and he just added one more thing for me to worry about which in my current state…makes dealing with him as logical as rolling in a poison ivy patch to cure my anxious itchiness…
Do do do tell me people, what is it like to have parents who love you unconditionally and don’t judge your every move and dredge up your every mistake and do every fucking possible thing to make your condition worse…
There are times I swear stepmonster wants a little girl to play mommy to once my dad’s gone (he’s 68, she’s only 40) that they’re hoping I do crack my lids so they can take her. Sounds crazy but considering he was carrying on with her while still married to my mother and she was only 17 at the time…I don’t trust the fuckers, at all. Glad they found redneck bliss together and all but the way they go out of their way to trigger me and make me feel bad about myself…Not feeling the love or trust vibe.
One more thing to be used against me as being an unfit mother. “LOok, she thinks her own family is plotting against her.”
No, not plotting. I don’t give them credit for having the intelligence to plot. But pushing me toward the edge with their little digs…I buy it.
Mainly because when I was still pregnant all the parentals- my mom, my dad, my stepmonster- all had a little gathering in which they discussed their opinions on how long it would be before I broke down and couldn’t take care of my child. (My sister told me all about it.)
So if I am crazy…they helped inch me there.
But also, I think I am high as a kite on this Cymbalta, as in all my nerve endings firing rapidly and randomly with anxiety so there’s a good chance I am just venting and ranting here rather than totally insane.
Cymbalta needs to go. Which is one more fresh hell cos coming off the stuff, even tapering, takes weeks, then another month or two for my brain to settle down. Been there, done that before. Sucked. It all sucks. And it sucks more to go to a forum board and read how all these people had no withdrawal or no side effects and they’re the majority so those of us in the minority must obviously be faking it.
On one final note of railing…I got my kid’s school pictures in the mail today. The envelope clearly said in caps PHOTOS ENCLOSED, DO NOT BEND. So my mail person…bends it.
What the actual fuck.
I am starting to feel like maybe I wanna go out via the ending of Scream Queens, locked up in an asylum where I’d probably be calm and happy as a clam because I’d only ever have to deal with the sane crazies as opposed to the dish dwellers who have no diagnosis but are crazy assed idgets. DO NOT BEND.
Cripes, postal service, do you not even require your people to read?