I Am an Addict Part Two

I realized early in my life that I have an addictive personality. You know how you do one funny thing for a toddler and they just keep saying, “Again”? That’s me – but I never grew out of it. I embraced that need for repetition and ran with it for 50 years!  I’ve smoked for almost all of my adult life and that is most certainly an addiction! My addiction to food is obvious and insidious; I was addicted to television shows, foods, sex, people…I think it gave me a sense of comfort and familiarity that I longed for as a child.

What I did NOT become addicted to was recreational drugs. Looking back, I realize that I could be telling a very different story today. I never tried cocaine or crack or crank or anything that required me to snort or inject. How undignified! I did smoke marijuana a few times in college, but I never cared for the loss of control I felt when I did. I sampled variously colored amphetamine tablets – which were GREAT for losing weight, but I eventually grew fatigued by the constant head itch that resulted from it. I took Ecstasy one time. ONE TIME! That singular incident proved to me one thing: I was doomed to be Ecstasy’s slave if only I took it one MORE time.

 

I am not necessarily a devotee of the whole “life in moderation” philosophy.  As an only child, adopted by older parents, I benefitted from their attention and am the first to admit I was (or am) spoiled. Growing up, I wanted EVERYTHING and my parents did the best they could to provide EVERYTHING for me. But I didn’t learn how to moderate. Anything. Not my food, my fun, my voice, my thoughts.

For much of my life, I felt like a fraud. I behaved differently depending on the environment, company or activity with which I was involved. So when the opportunity to feel better about myself presented itself in such a tempting and convincing way, I didn’t want to miss the chance.  Over 15 years later, as I roamed Earth in the form of a “PharmaZombie,” I reluctantly agreed to face my life without medications ruling it.

I began the process of detoxing from Effexor back in November 2015; a gradual step-down in small dosages. The change caused only slight symptoms, but nothing unmanageable or debilitating. I would feel the occasional weakness of limbs, or a little light-headedness upon standing, but to me it was ok. Then the Big Jump happened. First, flu-like symptoms presented themselves with a vengeance. The transition from 150 mg to 75 mg felt akin to participating in the Pamplona running of the bulls: my adrenaline shot off the charts, I was disoriented, panicked, confused and fell down a lot! My heart raced and my senses were heightened to the extreme power; I had brain shivers, where I could barely pronounce my own name. My eyes made squeaking noises when I blinked; I could hear my eyeballs move around inside my head!! With every movement, I heard tiny little ninja noises: ‘whoosh, whish, whoosh.”  The sound of my own voice in my head nauseated me so that I stopped speaking to anyone for one entire day. All I dreamed of was laying perfectly still inside a cool, dark room.

For a period of about nine days, I barely functioned. I have no clear memory of that time in which I drove to work, spent eight hours at the office, drove home and took care of my child. It’s entirely possible that there was a night or two that The Pie had to microwave corn dogs herself for dinner!

After researching ways to manage the symptoms of Effexor withdrawal, I read articles about flushing the toxin out of my system.  I debated about all the options within my budget and eventually found something no too terribly distasteful.  A nifty cocktail of Omega-3 fish oil and a B-Complex vitamin, combined with a natural mood booster eased the symptoms within the first two days of taking them. 

At first, I thought there was NO WAY that some vitamins would do anything to ease my mildly homicidal urges or calm my unexpected sobbing jags. Which is why I know it was not a placebo effect – I had no faith in it whatsoever and it worked anyway! The B-Complex gives me energy and is fortified with Vitamin C which helps fight off yucky germ invasions. The fish oil has no identifiable effect, but it seems to work well with the B-Complex. The mood booster is a variety of things with names that sound foreign, but I will attest to its assistance in managing my mood.

My ultimate goal is to live completely without pharmaceuticals of any kind, unless I become seriously ill. I hated being dependent on daily medication – a slave to pills! I still have a few unexplained crying episodes, but I attribute it to being fully engaged with my emotions again. My temper is admittedly much shorter now that it was, but I just have to remind myself to breathe before I react.

Some of my friends have never known me without the medication and will be probably be confused and a little nervous in my presence. But for those who have been around for the long haul…”I’m baaaaack!”

 

 

I Am an Addict Part One

I’ve tried to ignore the truth for far too long. But now, in the midst of a wildly spectacular spiral of fear and shame of withdrawal, I accept that I am an addict. My drug of choice, however, is nothing so scandalous as alcohol, heroin, cocaine or meth (I do not intend to offend or minimize those who fight the battle with these substances - addiction is universal); the monkey on my back is a drug prescribed to me by a medical professional over 15 years ago as a way to help me live a normal, happy life. This week, Effexor ruined my life.

Allow me to indulge in a little literary device known as back-story:  My regular physician retired a few months ago and a young whippersnapper, who had only recently gotten a white coat, bought the practice. Our first meeting was pleasant enough and he refilled all the usual suspect pharmaceuticals that were part of my daily regimen for years. But only for one month. He lulled me into a false sense of security, thinking I could just blissfully carry on taking government approved poisons for the rest of my days. But he fooled me!

At my next appointment, he explained to me, in soothing tones, how he didn’t feel that I should be taking as many medications as I was at the time, especially the anxiety/depression medication known in user circles as Effxor, and widely known as Venlafaxine. He created a plan to step me down from the medication that would have me pharmaceutical free in three months.  “How lovely,” I thought. No concern of whether or not food or water would be available to take a pill. No adhering to a strict time table of when to ingest certain medicines. Sounded a lot like Heaven. What I got was a whole lot of Hell!

My first prescription for Effexor came in 1999 during a somewhat stressful time. I worked for a highly respected local private school, in the fine arts department and was elbow deep in planning a HUGE arts festival that drew over 3,000 to our campus.  I love artists (I AM one!), but I do not love trying to get them to be organized or meet deadlines. My sweet and long-suffering boss at the time was very understanding and often threw himself on my grenade of a temper when dealing with those free-spirited Bohemians! Several days in a row, I came home and cried. And cried and cried and cried. My roommate lost her patience with me regularly and once, when she, asked, “What the hell are you crying about NOW?” upon seeing my reaction a Hallmark commercial, I knew something was very wrong with me.

It wasn’t until a day about two weeks after that incident that I found myself wanting to hurt something or someone. Rage consumed me so that I was unfit to be in the company of humans – even managed to threaten a coworker at one point! I had gone to grab lunch, and on the way back didn’t quite make the green light. My next memory is of horns honking at me as I banged my hands and head against the steering wheel of my vehicle. I drove to my doctor’s office and waited until he had time to see me. He gave me a quiz (EXACTLY how I wanted to spend my time inside a murderous rage) and determined that I had issues with anxiety and depression. (DUH!)  He patted my head and sent me on my way to the pharmacy with a prescription for Effexor in my tightly clenched hand.

Within a week, I felt better – better about my life, my job, and my relationships – about everything! I no longer felt encumbered by fear, constantly worrying about how something would go wrong and I would break down. Things were good. Until they weren’t.

Over the ensuing decade and a half, my dosage would increase every couple of years until as of late 2015, I was taking more than 6 times my original dosage. I didn’t really see any problem. I managed to coast through the last five years pretty well, only occasionally really feeling the crunch. I mentioned to the new doctor that the Effexor was what I attributed to keeping me sane during the five years caring for my father, the last days of his life and, ultimately, his passing.  When he asked me to name the feelings I experienced, I discovered that while I could produce the words from my lexicon – sadness, grief, loss, anger, joy, love -  I wasn’t actually feeling those emotions. I felt…nothing.

My every reaction was flat. While on the outside, I appeared to react appropriately to a situation, on the inside, nothing really registered. I discussed with Dr. Whippersnapper what to expect with the change in the medication, but he kept repeating, “It will all be worth it in the end.”

What do you think he meant by that?

 

 

 

Stay tuned for Part Two of I Am an Addict.