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Depression is a liar

A few months ago, I went to see a psychiatrist. I wanted her professional opinion on what was going on in my head. But more than that I think I just really wanted her to write me a prescription to make the thoughts go away.

I deliberately timed it so that I would see her on the weekend of my 36th birthday. And it took all of one hour for her to give me a clean and clear diagnosis: clinical depression. She says I may have had it for years. She says it seems to have just been bubbling right underneath, rendering me functional on the outside but chaotic on the inside. She prescribed me Cymbalta (Duloxetine HCl)–a strong anti-depressant and asked for me to come back monthly. I told no one what I did.

I took her prescription to the drugstore almost right away and resigned myself almost happily to my new reality. I had depression and there were meds and I could get better. I was hopeful again and found new joy. But that joy was short-lived.

The meds she prescribed I take once daily had some serious effects (to be fair, I was warned). The first two weeks to one month were pure hell. I didn’t want to get out of bed. I was yawning every minute and couldn’t eat. There were cold sweats too and unexplained feelings of paranoia. I wasn’t sure I would survive it.

Thankfully, they did disappear. And for the next few months, I settled into what I thought a depressive was supposed to be. On the outside, I appeared calmer, happier even. But on the inside, the same feelings that drove me to see the doctor remained. My monthly therapy sessions with the doctor barely scratched the surface of the problem.

On top of that, I started experiencing what they call “brain fog”. Extremely short attention span, inability to focus or be productive. There were things I struggled to remember and definitely a lot of other things that fell through the cracks. My work started to suffer. I also gained weight.

After having been on the meds for about seven months, I have decided to wean myself off it gradually. I tried to go cold turkey for a two day spell and that only resulted in the worst migraines and vertigo attacks I’ve ever had. This medicine is poison and whatever promise of peace it holds does not outweigh the horrible consequences it brings. I manually divide the contents of each capsule now into halves and will eventually go into thirds and quarters until I can finally stop. I’m giving myself two months to do this and I look forward to the day I won’t ever need them again. I worry now about the strain I’ve put my liver through with putting these chemicals in my body, not to mention the adverse effects it has had on my brain. I worry I may never recover fully but I hope that is not true.

The thoughts that drove me to see the doctor are still there. But I’ve decided to do what I should have done a long time ago and that is to submit them to God. I see now, after prayerful reflection, that a lot of it is inherited and a result of my childhood and upbringing. A lot of it is also self-inflicted. But I also realize that I don’t ever need be defined by my diagnosis or illness. I don’t have to put myself in that box marked “depression” and stay there willingly. I can participate in my health and wellness actively and trust in the Lord to heal me completely.

I do not write this to discredit psychiatry or psychiatric medicines. While my experience was not positive, there were moments of clarity within and some help I had while I was going through it (like how not all of my anger triggers are valid and should be acted on). Depression is real as are other mental illnesses and help is there for them. But we do not need to submit ourselves fully to what these labels imply we should be or what the subsequent prescriptive interventions say we should do. We need to discern and prayerfully ask God if these will really help and find solutions that will work.

I have decided to go off the drugs and go back to the Word and my quiet time with God. But I will also continue talking to my spiritual mentor about issues as they come up. I am also considering seeing another pyshologist, this time a Christian, in order to be properly guided moving forward. I am hopeful that as I submit this area of my life to Him, He will be faithful to His promise–

I will make up for the years that the ‘arbeh-locust consumed your crops— the yeleq-locust, the hasil-locust, and the gazam-locust— my great army that I sent against you. You will have plenty to eat, and your hunger will be fully satisfied; you will praise the name of the Lord your God, who has acted wondrously in your behalf. My people will never again be put to shame. You will be convinced that I am in the midst of Israel. I am the Lord your God; there is no other. My people will never again be put to shame.

Joel 2:25-27 (NET)

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This isn’t a story about a client from hell, but I know for a fact that it is advice that comes from dealing with them.

When I was studying 3D animation and visualization, we did customer projects as a part of our education. For each project we had a tutor, someone who worked in the industry and knew the ropes. This is legitimately one of the lessons one of our tutors gave us:

Tutor: In our company, we have what we call an “Ugly Red Blob” method. When a design has been finalized, and it’s time to send it to the client for final review, the last thing we do is we add a big, red blob somewhere in the design. The client will look at the mock-up and say: “Okay, that’s good, but take out that red blob, it doesn’t work with the rest.” The client gets a feeling that they’ve contributed to the design in a significant way, and we can get on with our work, without the client trying to micro-manage every font and color.

[alittlebitnutty]

Cymbalta Withdrawals Day 3

I'm about to end day 3 of what might be the worst decision of my life (or maybe the best.) But today has been the worst day so far. It's a Monday so I had to contend with being back at work and functioning and getting my shit together. But withdrawing from this drug and getting my shit together just don't go hand in hand. It's been so difficult to focus. It takes all of my effort to look like I'm present and listening and aware. At the same time, I feel as if there was a cat stuck inside of me trying to claw its way out. My head feels like its underwater with two hands pressed on its sides trying to squeeze what's left of me out. This is not fun. I've read so many blogs and forums and posts about how people are angry at Eli Lilly and their doctors for prescribing this and not explaining the effects of getting off it. I remember particularly I asked my shrink how long I had to be on this and she said it might be for life. I had accepted her advice because I didn't know better and because she was a doctor. How wrong I was to trust so blindly. I get why people are mad. I was on Cymbalta for over a year and I worry about its effects on my brain and liver in the long run. But I worry more about this present hell of ridding my body of this drug. The stability and peace I thought I had on it is not worth what I'm dealing with now. And the drug never really dealt with the source of my depression and unhappiness anyway. Those same blogs and posts warn that the worst is yet to come for me. I want this to be over now.

[alittlebitnutty]

Stop Thinking You’re Ok

I’ve been self-medicating since late last year. I was beginning to feel better and I thought it was ok to start gradually decreasing my daily dosage of Cymbalta from 60mg to 30mg to 20mg. I would start the day by manually wringing the capsule apart, eyeballing the correct divisions.

How wrong I was to think things could be so easy. I don’t like my psychiatrist and think she’s a patronizing woman who hardly really listens to me. But maybe I could’ve done a better job of finding someone new. Instead I started entertaining all sorts of things in my thought life again. It started getting harder to find the happy or to keep an even keel throughout the days. At 20mg, I thought I had a hold on my depression but the truth was my depression was again getting ahold of me.

Nothing serious happened. It’s not like I went careening off the deep end. But I toyed with the idea of doing so several times. I started seeing a guy who I first thought was dreamy and was aggressively pursuing me in return. But I eventually found out he was married and even then continued to see him. I started smoking again and I’ve been drinking pretty regularly every other day. It feels like I’m wanting something to go wrong and doing nothing to stop any of it.

So I put myself back up on 60mg. I know I shouldn’t be doing any of this without the guidance of a doctor. But until I find the right one, I’m going to just go back to the current state of affairs and not question why I need it. I should never underestimate this sickness, how it can creep up on you like a silent shadow, waiting for the opportunity to pounce. The true tragedy of this is I don’t think I’ll be ok for the foreseeable future. And the irony is I need to accept that if I have any chance of beating this at all.

[alittlebitnutty]

the bob ross episode descriptions on netflix are so pure and wholesome i feel like confessing all my sins

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I’ve heard grace is easy.  But I’ve never known it that way.  Grace is always getting dirty, right in the mess.

Dirty grace confronts the ugliness inside, grabs it by the fistfuls, and kills it with the relentless violence of love.  It’s not the textbook grace you put on like a cheap dress.  It hurts like crazy: but afterward there is stillness and peace, like the morning.  It’s like beginning again.

– J

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Comfortable shoes and the freedom to leave are the two most important things in life.

Shel Silverstein (via waitingfordoomsday)

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Almost 4 months

It’s been almost four months since I started taking the crazy pills. The one or two days I’ve missed taking them were terrible. Like a bowling ball was swaying from left to right at the base of my skull and a general feeling of dread following me around all day. I fear the day I have to wean myself off it as everything points to a terrible crash. But I look forward to it, too. 

In the meantime, I lean on it like oxygen. I want to think things have improved. I feel that my relationships have at least. Although I do notice I’ve become more selfish and less giving, prioritizing my comfort and convenience over others. I don’t want to be this way, of course. But I also don’t want to feel guilty about all the shoes I’m not filling for so many people. Generally, I’ve felt peppy, cheerful, open, less wanting to kill people, more willing to hug them even if they’re terrible. I feel a giant brake on my head anytime I feel like wanting to do something I’ll regret. The “self-contol” is apparent especially when I come across rude, egotistic, arrogant, and mean folks--the kind that I usually don’t think twice about taking down. But I find myself just smiling at them and walking away. I don’t even wonder about all the things I wish I said. I worry instead about what to watch on Netflix when I get home and if my dog is still ok going some hours without company.

Life is simpler, easier to take on. This relief, although artificial and temporary, is still that. And this has been so much better than the usual.

[alittlebitnutty]

Whenever I was going through a tough situation, I had a tendency to yell at God, “Well? Where are You?!” Every single time, He has brought me through. And in the stillness, He said, “Right here”. See, we forget that God is all around us. He is joined to our very spirit. Where can I go from the presence of the Lord? For even in the depths, He is there.

(via alife-full-of-lyrics)

[alittlebitnutty]

I asked God to expand my capacity to love others, so He asked me to trade in my complacency for compassion, to replace my fear with curiosity, and to start making room for understanding instead of making excuses for ignorance.

LB, The Guts & Glory of Grace (via yesdarlingido)

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Sleepy

So I think the Cymbalta is really kicking in. None of the weird yawning and exhaustion I was feeling in the early weeks. Not it’s just general sleepiness during the day and insane insomnia in the evenings. I lie in bed for two hours with eyes wide open before deciding on taking NyQuil and promptly waking up very late and very groggy.

I just texted my Doctora what she thinks. I hope she replies. I’ve been coming in to work at 10:30, sometimes 11am, completely inattentive and unfocused.

It might also have something to do with the fact that I spend my evenings doing all my other side jobs.

I sometimes wish I were rich so I could just focus on being sick and lying in bed.

[alittlebitnutty]

Sometimes

I wake up sometimes unaware if I’m sick. I wake up sometimes and think this is normal. It’s another day and I can be happy and productive and efficient. And then a few seconds later, I realize nope. Still me. Still sick. Still sad. Still scared.

[alittlebitnutty]

I Should Stop

Also, I am smoking again. Of all my vices, this has been the hardest to shake.

That and self-loathing.

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Trying Hard Enough

I sometimes feel like the weight of all my unfulfilled dreams will crush me. I think that’s what happened to me two weeks ago and that’s what sent me to the doctor’s office, desperately seeking answers. The tolerable din that was everything I thought I could be was suddenly let out of its cage and just became too loud to ignore. All the couldhavebeens and shouldhavebeens, taunting me, tugging at my mediocre existence, all saying what have you become?

All my life I’d been convinced I had been gifted these extraordinary abilities. I could write, I could sing, I could get in front of people and sell “ice to eskimos”. I was brave and unfettered and brazen. I was entitled and I was expectant. I thought great things would just naturally happen to me. I didn’t think the adage “work hard” applied. Not to me. Not for special people like me.

But here I am, crawling towards 40 and I wonder what have I really done?

And all this time, I’m beating myself up for being so self-indulgent, being so selfish. I know I should “fix my eyes on Jesus”, as I have been told and taught and have been trying to do. But Jesus right now feels very quiet and far away. While I don’t think He doesn’t love me, I do feel He’s stepped aside for a little bit to let me wallow in this misery. Maybe, like all the other times He’s done it, maybe He’s just waiting for me to wake up.

Or maybe He’s waiting for me to get well.

Or maybe He’s waiting for me to want to get well.

I don’t really have an explanation for what I’m going through. But I take my pills every day and I’m just grateful it quiets down the noise in my head enough for me to go about my life and try to be productive. For now, maybe this is ok.

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“I want to give you the love that has arms that will hold you and never let you go. I want to give you the hope that you deserve having because you’ve always been beautiful, and the light could not have gone out on you. I want to love you because no one has done that before in the right way– they had no idea of what they were doing. They thought they were just taking from you but did not see that they were already destroying you.”

When I saw you, I wanted to throw my arms around you. // p.c (via godsradicaldaughter)

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11:03

I haven’t taken my daily pill yet. While I feel fine, I don’t know if I should tempt fate by not taking it at all.

This always happens to me. The first sign of things being tolerable, I overestimate as things finally being ok and I forget the long, hard road ahead I still need to walk.

So today is that. The pill sits on my desk in its silver foil and I’m typing here instead.

[alittlebitnutty]

Honesty is the first step to healing. It’s really difficult to confront your own ugliness inside. It’s hard to confront your own selfishness; it’s threatening to confess that you are wrong and sinful and flawed. But it’s only with a reckless self-confrontation that you can be liberated from the lies you have believed. You can see the lie for what it really is. It’s only by stepping back from the momentum of darkness that has swallowed up your vision that you will begin to see once more. The light is staggering, blinding, painful, and even humiliating, but to see yourself as you really are is to begin the path to be set free.

J.S. Park (via jspark3000)