I'm no longer taking Celexa, and I thought that meant I was home free. I hadn't swallowed the little white pill in a full week and I felt perfectly fine... until I didn't.
Three days ago it got really bad.
Chris and I spent Saturday afternoon with his dad and grandma, and then the evening with my dad and brother. The entire time, my mood got worse, and worse, and worse. By the end of the day, I was escaping to the washroom every five minutes so I could cry, because the tears were uncontrollable. Everyone else was having a good time, and I should have been too, but I couldn't. I sat there quietly, for hours, and felt numb.
When Chris and I got home, I wouldn't sit near him, or look at him, or let him touch me, and when he asked what was going on, I'd brush away my tears and say, "I don't know!!"
I said: "It feels like I'm going through waves of being happy, and then being the saddest, most depressed, and most irritable I've ever been, all within a matter of hours... it comes and goes and comes and goes."
In the good moments I feel like myself. But slowly, I feel a disconnect happening between my consciousness and body, if that makes sense.
I Googled "antidepressant withdrawal waves," not knowing it was actually a thing until I stumbled across this amazing post that puts into words exactly what it feels like: Waves and Windows in SSRI Withdrawal.
In the good moments, I feel like myself. Happy, connected to what's going on around me, able to be part of conversations, aware, human.... but the bad moments are terrible, hands down the worst emotional pain I have ever felt. I think about hurting myself. I think, "Chris, my family, my dogs... they'd all be so much better off without me." In those moments, I feel I'd be doing them a FAVOUR by disappearing. When I told Chris this, he said, "Don't you understand how much it would devastate everyone?" And in those moments, no, I don't understand. When I get sucked into those places, I can't see the future, I don't take anyone's feelings into consideration... all I think is that "This is my life, and it will never end, and I can't live like this." At one point, Chris mentioned us having a family one day. I was like... a family? I can't even look passed the next 30 seconds and see a future, the idea of a family is absolutely out of the question.
There's this huge, thousand-mile distance between my thoughts and my body. I feel like my consciousness is trapped inside a room that's in the middle of the desert, while my physical body is far, far away, hanging out with other people. I am trapped inside my own body and I can't communicate the thoughts I am having.
This is Hell.
If I start taking Celexa again, I know I will never again attempt to come off of it; it's that hard. Happy moments are fine... I love being drug free. But the lonely and sad moments that feel like they'll never end... in those moments, I find myself reaching for my little white antidepressant pills. It's such an easy solution. I can be happy again, simply by taking one little pill every day.
Chris gently says, "How about you give it two more days?" and then two days later I feel great. But two days after that, and I'm back in this nightmare.
I wish my doctor would have warned me. This is why it's so important we take our health into our own hands... but aren't doctors the ones who are supposed to know this stuff, warn us, and guide us? Aren't they the experts? On the one hand, I'm really pissed off that I was totally blindsided and didn't expect any of this, but on the other hand... it is my life and my body, and I should have researched what I was putting into it.
Three days ago it got really bad.
Chris and I spent Saturday afternoon with his dad and grandma, and then the evening with my dad and brother. The entire time, my mood got worse, and worse, and worse. By the end of the day, I was escaping to the washroom every five minutes so I could cry, because the tears were uncontrollable. Everyone else was having a good time, and I should have been too, but I couldn't. I sat there quietly, for hours, and felt numb.
When Chris and I got home, I wouldn't sit near him, or look at him, or let him touch me, and when he asked what was going on, I'd brush away my tears and say, "I don't know!!"
I said: "It feels like I'm going through waves of being happy, and then being the saddest, most depressed, and most irritable I've ever been, all within a matter of hours... it comes and goes and comes and goes."
In the good moments I feel like myself. But slowly, I feel a disconnect happening between my consciousness and body, if that makes sense.
I Googled "antidepressant withdrawal waves," not knowing it was actually a thing until I stumbled across this amazing post that puts into words exactly what it feels like: Waves and Windows in SSRI Withdrawal.
There's this huge, thousand-mile distance between my thoughts and my body. I feel like my consciousness is trapped inside a room that's in the middle of the desert, while my physical body is far, far away, hanging out with other people. I am trapped inside my own body and I can't communicate the thoughts I am having.
This is Hell.
If I start taking Celexa again, I know I will never again attempt to come off of it; it's that hard. Happy moments are fine... I love being drug free. But the lonely and sad moments that feel like they'll never end... in those moments, I find myself reaching for my little white antidepressant pills. It's such an easy solution. I can be happy again, simply by taking one little pill every day.
Chris gently says, "How about you give it two more days?" and then two days later I feel great. But two days after that, and I'm back in this nightmare.
I wish my doctor would have warned me. This is why it's so important we take our health into our own hands... but aren't doctors the ones who are supposed to know this stuff, warn us, and guide us? Aren't they the experts? On the one hand, I'm really pissed off that I was totally blindsided and didn't expect any of this, but on the other hand... it is my life and my body, and I should have researched what I was putting into it.
