Discontinuation Syndrome
Three weeks into Citalopram withdrawal, and this is the point where I usually give up and go crawling back to the soft, warm, fuzzy druggedness. I was hoping it would be better if I tried a slow tapering instead of stopping cold turkey (apparently, according to online support groups, stopping citalopram cold turkey is harder than kicking heroin) but although that's helped with the physical symptoms, the badtemperedness and quick moodswings from happy to irritable to mysteriously suicidal are back in force.
"Oh, that's just your bipolar disorder coming back" the doctor told me the last time I complained, and I believed him, and shut up and went back on the pills, despite the side effects. That was before I looked up SSRI Discontinuation Syndrome on the internet, and discovered that every single one of the symptoms I was having was on the list. Yeah, sure they might not be considered "addictive" and the side effects not classed as actual "withdrawal" but it's still one of the most physically and emotionally harrowing experiences I've had to go through.
Still, I'm determined to get through it this time. I've been on these things for five years now. Five years of weight-gain, five years of total lack of libido, five years of becoming more and more disconnected from myself, my body, who I am. Sure, it effectively shields you from anxiety, depression, smooths over a host of irritations. But at what cost? I know that it helped me to endure situations I otherwise could not have, but should all situations be endured? Is habituation, acceptance, settling for the path of least resistance always the best option?
It's my birthday this Saturday, and birthdays are always a time to sit back and look at the milestones. Is my life where I thought it would be at this age? Of course it isn't. OK, count your blessings. I'm employed, albeit in an industry that makes me feel morally ill. I own mine own house, albeit in a shitty neighbourhood of a city I no longer love.
And there I stop. I spend my days alternating between boredom and frustration, sleepwalking through my job, too bored to even argue with people I don't even respect on the internet. I've been demonised on every messageboard I've ever joined, alienated and misunderstood, my name becoming slang for some crazy cat lady. I haven't had a relationship in so long I can't even remember how to do it, yet I can't stand the idea of joining a dating site and sorting through more damaged people, trying to make those split second decisions while they judge you with similarly jaded eyes. It takes forever for me to actually be attracted to someone beyond the silly, fragile crush stage and there's just something so meat market-ish and offputting and unnatural about the whole set up that it ends up feeling like harder work than even looking for a job with less reward.
Oh, I feel like stamping my feet. I don't *want* to have to meet new people. Why can't I just have the one I already *like*? Because life isn't fair. This is the problem with outsourcing your emotional happiness to another human being, especially one who is not even aware they have that role.
What am I complaining about? Oh, I don't even know any more. Irritability and impaired concentration is all part of the "discontinuation syndrome" so I can barely even focus on this post. Was that the cat? Wait, I don't even have a cat. Goodbye.
"Oh, that's just your bipolar disorder coming back" the doctor told me the last time I complained, and I believed him, and shut up and went back on the pills, despite the side effects. That was before I looked up SSRI Discontinuation Syndrome on the internet, and discovered that every single one of the symptoms I was having was on the list. Yeah, sure they might not be considered "addictive" and the side effects not classed as actual "withdrawal" but it's still one of the most physically and emotionally harrowing experiences I've had to go through.
Still, I'm determined to get through it this time. I've been on these things for five years now. Five years of weight-gain, five years of total lack of libido, five years of becoming more and more disconnected from myself, my body, who I am. Sure, it effectively shields you from anxiety, depression, smooths over a host of irritations. But at what cost? I know that it helped me to endure situations I otherwise could not have, but should all situations be endured? Is habituation, acceptance, settling for the path of least resistance always the best option?
It's my birthday this Saturday, and birthdays are always a time to sit back and look at the milestones. Is my life where I thought it would be at this age? Of course it isn't. OK, count your blessings. I'm employed, albeit in an industry that makes me feel morally ill. I own mine own house, albeit in a shitty neighbourhood of a city I no longer love.
And there I stop. I spend my days alternating between boredom and frustration, sleepwalking through my job, too bored to even argue with people I don't even respect on the internet. I've been demonised on every messageboard I've ever joined, alienated and misunderstood, my name becoming slang for some crazy cat lady. I haven't had a relationship in so long I can't even remember how to do it, yet I can't stand the idea of joining a dating site and sorting through more damaged people, trying to make those split second decisions while they judge you with similarly jaded eyes. It takes forever for me to actually be attracted to someone beyond the silly, fragile crush stage and there's just something so meat market-ish and offputting and unnatural about the whole set up that it ends up feeling like harder work than even looking for a job with less reward.
Oh, I feel like stamping my feet. I don't *want* to have to meet new people. Why can't I just have the one I already *like*? Because life isn't fair. This is the problem with outsourcing your emotional happiness to another human being, especially one who is not even aware they have that role.
What am I complaining about? Oh, I don't even know any more. Irritability and impaired concentration is all part of the "discontinuation syndrome" so I can barely even focus on this post. Was that the cat? Wait, I don't even have a cat. Goodbye.
posted by Masonic Boom | 3:52 pm
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