February 12, 2011
THINGS I’VE NOTICED OVER THE PAST 24 HOURS
This whole Effexor ordeal, and subsequent decision, has sparked feelings in me, mostly feelings of anger. I have misdirected this at Dr. P. Why? When it comes to medication, I always direct my anger toward Dr. P. She is the symbol of my medication woes. The decision to add Effexor to the mix was mostly mine, knowing that in the past, Effexor has caused bingeing.
(Why did I make this decision? In 1998, adding Effexor was beneficial because it ridded me of The Thing. Yes, it suddenly caused bingeing, but this occurred perhaps once every other week, and I noticed that bingeing happened when I did too much cooking in large quantity (a pan of lasagna, for instance). I had no clue that Effexor was the cause. I tried eliminating my ambitious kitchen habits but the bingeing persisted, still once every two or three weeks, sometimes twice a week. I told no one, until one day, a year later, it all came out in therapy. I bawled for the entire session. Once the Effexor was raised, I was bingeing perhaps three times a week, or more. Of course, I had no tolerance for this. My doctor continued to raise the Effexor. I never slept a full night’s sleep, and was always exhausted. I switched doctors. The next doctor immediately took me off Effexor. I had no problem with withdrawal. I began to sleep again, and the bingeing stopped. It was since then that I noticed the pattern: Antidepressants, frequently used to treat the binge/purge syndrome, actually cause the problem for me. I simply can’t take them.)
So it was entirely my fault that I chose, while in the hospital in January, to try Effexor again. I am now stopping it, without Dr. P’s consent, because of my recent suffering with bingeing, which, as far as I am concerned, is deadly due to suicide risk. I already think about dying enough. Thoughts are one thing. I don’t need a reason to actually take action in that direction. I must stop Effexor immediately. It is bad enough that I have It. I don’t need my precious wee hours ruined by this Hell.
My feelings? Anger. Why, one may ask, aren’t I putting the anger in the box? How am I able to tolerate this anger? Do I enjoy feeling it? Does it help motivate me? Does it help me feel…just a little…alive again?
Yesterday, I was motivated–yes, motivated–and almost traveled by bus to the Mouthful reading in Central Square, prepared to do a five-minute reading, and then It overtook me. What feelings drove this motivation? Hope, perhaps? Hope is not a feeling, nor is self-confidence. I recall, sadly, a time when The Thing had a very strong grip on me, I signed up for private music composition lessons at Longy School of Music, paid for them, and didn’t attend a single lesson! Of course, I had no mental capability or cognitive ability to compose music at that time, because of The Thing. It had been years since I had touched a piece of music composition paper. What was I thinking?
Could this feeling of confidence in self be due to the Effexor finally helping me? Could this presence of feelings–that I am actually tolerating without putting in the box–be from the Effexor? Could this presence of feelings be something I actually cannot tolerate? Could I now be experiencing feelings that feel good, and feelings that feel bad? Am I perhaps not ready for this? Am I numbing all this out by bingeing?
NO, NO NO NO NO. ABSOLUTELY NOT. I do not buy this theory. The binge-urge is the binge-urge. Medications cause it, and medications take it away. I have had 30+ years’ experience with this illness as it applies to me.
I WILL NOT ACCEPT THIS “TRADEOFF.” Let us just say I had an allergic reaction to Effexor and had to get off of it immediately. Surely, there is something else that will help me that we can try.
I will put my anger, misdirected at Dr. P, into the box now, and let her work her magic.